Now that Project Runway is over and Leanne-imal is out designing wave-inspired ensembles, what the hell is a girl supposed to do on Wednesday night? Read a book? Study? Write that paper that is due on Thursday?

Hell no.

Your favorite reality show may be over for the season (or forever, if all of these rumors are true), but that just means it’s time to find a new one. And no, we don’t mean some Real World/Road Rules challenge; those are meant strictly for Saturday afternoons when you have absolutely nothing else to do. At all. And it’s raining. And you are so hungover you can’t even get up to find the remote.

How about Stylista, a reality series following 11 aspiring magazine editors as they compete for Elle editor Anne Slowey’s affection? The show kicks off tonight on the CW and is most definitely gonna be 100% awesome.

“How on earth can a show about magazines ever compete with Heidi and Tim Gunn?” you ask.

We can give you 5 reasons:

1. It is produced by Tyra Banks, which means it is guaranteed to be awesomely bad.

2. 7 girls and 4 (most likely) fabulous gay men.

3. Like any reality show there is sure to be some serious backstabbing, conniving, and a whole lot of crying. And let’s be honest: it is always refreshing and fun to watch that sh*t when it doesn’t involve you and your friends.

4. Did we mention that crazy Tyra Banks is behind it?

5. It gives you a sneak peak into the world of fashion magazines and answers the age old question: does anyone in the magazine industry actually eat?

We will most definitely be tuning in tonight (martini in hand) and covering every. last. second of this show on Thursday mornings. So, watch with us; it’s not like you have anything better to do.

Looks like MTV should change their name to OCTV (Other Crap TV).

That’s all they seem to be showing these days, anyway. Crap. Crap that has more to do with stupid fame whores than new and exciting tune-age. Has anyone heard actual music on MTV lately (besides the stuff they play during The Hills)?

Yeah, me either.

Call this number right now for advice from your very own personal psychic!!!

Then digits flash across the screen, you’re promised that your “every question will be answered” and Road Rules: Annoying People vs. Super Self-Absorbed People comes back on, leaving you to wonder if you just missed your chance to know more about that cute lifeguard from the other day at the beach.

Who hasn’t been tempted to dial or talk to a psychic? They’re everywhere. On commercials, on the internet, solving crimes on TV (Psychic Detectives, anyone?) throwing tarot cards in the back of your favorite head shop, and even telling fortunes from the comfort of their own homes.

I’ll be the first to stand up and confess I’ve given money to someone in the hopes they’ll see into my future. It sounds completely ridiculous once you write something like that down, but those people can be so damn compelling! And always so sure of themselves, no matter what they tell you, they say it with such conviction you feel obligated to believe them (even the ladies who answer the door in their bathrobes with a towel wrapped around their heads. Even these woman, who would be considered crazy in any other circle, read your palm so sternly it makes you forget they decided to conduct business sans clothes).

Why do we do it? Why do we believe someone has the ability to predict what tomorrow’s going to be like? Personally, I chalk up my gullibility to wanting life to be full of grey instead of black or white. But the word gullible is definitely part of the sentence.

Desperate might be there too, although I won’t admit to it. I mean, when are you most likely to seek supernatural advice? When life is shitty. When you want someone tell you they see that shittiness fading away. That your loneliness will soon be thwarted by the perfect man. No one pays $20 to a lady selling crystals and angel figurines when they’re content (and if you do, then you’re making incredibly poor financial choices, my friend).

Maybe some people really are psychic, and the crazies and con artists selling fortunes out of their living room are ruining it for us all. Whatever the case, I’ve had just about enough of “you’ll meet a man in 9 to 12 months who will change your life”.

Unless they’re talking about the guy who sprays my apartment for roaches twice a year, I’m not buying it.