Pre-Season Bachelor Talk--Who Will it Be?

Alright, so I’ve been forced out of semi-retirement early by my “friends” who insist on f’ing around at “work” and sniffing the glue of internet fodder concerning the question on the tip of every American’s tongue: Who will be the next Bachelor?

I’ll humor all of you but, for the record, my prediction is that the show does what’s best and takes last season out behind the shed and beats it to death with a garden rake. True, there are three viable candidates left (five if you give Wes and Ed a chance to cheat again), but all three of them just don’t have the charisma to hold an audience’s attention for a full season. It would be like trying to dribble a half inflated basketball all the way down the court. The 15 minutes that Reid, Kiptyn, and Jake enjoyed should be left in its grave. There are plenty of other attention seeking, late 20’s-early 30’s, protein shake drinking, shirtless, outdoor running, chin-up in the park doing, d-bags in America looking to take a public “journey” in order to find a “connection” with a hot, desperate, emotionally damaged, gold digging, bulimic working in “Real Estate Sales” or “Fitness Training.” Did I mention gold digging? Let’s turn the page already. You hear me, Harrison? Turn. The. Freaking. Page.

With that out of my system, I will now present my hypothetical Bachelor pros and cons if Reid, Kiptyn, or Jake is selected.

1. Reid-- This guy seems like the most obvious choice to me. Why? Because he clearly demonstrated that he wants to be on the show. Over and over and over and over again he showed up like a bad rash trying to win Jillian’s heart away from two cheaters and a cheeseball but was turned down like a bed at a fancy hotel. They might as well have left a chocolate on his lapel. His last attempt to crash the final rose ceremony and propose to Jillian was-in a word-f*cking humiliating. He needs a chance to redeem himself—to rebuild his self confidence. Let’s face it, there are enough women out there who think this guy is bitchin’ and—based on the fact that they all write letters to Chris Harrison—Reid has a shot. UPSIDE: It was fun watching him get kicked in the balls twice last season. It would be fun watching him be indecisive and short again. He seems like a relatively nice guy despite the shots I take at him, and hell, if he’s volunteering they should let him give it the old college try. Maybe he can drop the hammer in the fantasy suite again. DOWNSIDE: He’s Chandler Bing. Literally. He’s anal, whiney, indecisive, and neurotic. Plus, we’d be reminded about how Jillian broke his heart and, frankly, I’m tired of hearing about her—well, at least until she and Ed announce their breakup.

2. Kiptyn-- Frankly, he seems like the most unlikely choice for me. Actually, every prediction I’ve made concerning reality shows has been wrong, but I have a feeling about this one—perhaps that’s just the cabbage I had for lunch. Why is he an unlikely choice? First, his controlling mom appeared to have enough last season when he brought Jillian home and she begrudgingly let her into the giant beachside mansion that her second husband bought to shut her up. Something tells me that what mom says goes. Do you think he voluntarily kept the name “Kiptyn”? Please. Once is enough and Kiptyn needs to go back to doing the fake job his step father created for him. He’s better off letting sleeping bitches lie. Second, the guy clearly wasn’t ready to get married last season. Oh sure, he proposed, but only after making it to the final ring thing and—I’m sure—a terse conversation with the show’s producers. Stay single, dude. It suits you. UPSIDE: He’s got good body (no, I’m not gay) and every female viewer would get to drool into her wine glass every time they showed him toweling off, running down the beach, or groping one of the chicks in a hot tub.

Incidentally, does anyone ever notice that the hot tubs are never turned on? I suppose it’s a sound issue, but the show is fake anyway. Can’t they dub that in later? I’d like my reality television to be a little more like reality. No one sits in a hot tub when it’s off. It’s too hard to pee.
DOWNSIDE: The guy has huge ears. Seriously, he looks like a Cadillac with the doors open. Also, he’s as dry as dry gets. We’d get sick of the forced conversation and repetitive jokes. Remember when he tried to flamenco last season? Disaster. He’s boring. Finally, his name pisses me off.

3. Jake-- I know by now most of you think this guy should be the guy. However, none of you have my prodigious insider connections. However, even without my insider connections, I still think this guy is the definition of “tool” and should just go back to Dallas and play in his cockpit. There should be a standing rule on the Bachelor that any guy who cries—no sobs—uncontrollably on the interior balcony of a hotel after he’s been kicked off the show by the person he’s crying over should never be allowed to be the next bachelor. Back to my insider connections. Word on the street says that Jake is a religious nut who has told more than one person that he believes that God wants him to be the next bachelor. Apparently, he believes that God wanted him to be on 7 shows last season, which is why he thought it was the right move that he return after his 6th show to rat on Wes with hearsay and conjecture about an alleged relationship Wes might possibly be sort of involved in . . .maybe. Wes literally received death threats and the alleged girlfriend did too. I guess Jake skipped over that whole “don’t bear false witness” stuff. Just to be clear, I have no problem if he’s religious. It’s comforting to know that the guy flying me from Dallas to wherever believes in being a good person. However, adding the “God wants us to be together” card to a mix of destiny references and “she’s an angel sent from Heaven” talk will get real old real fast. I’d be willing to put up with it, however, if I thought there was a chance of Wes showing up on one of Jake’s dates and revealing some sort of homoerotic modeling pictures Jake took in college. No such luck. UPSIDE: I’d have tons of new material. DOWNSIDE: I’d have to watch Jake all season.

Well, there it is. We will see what happens. In the meantime, don’t call me. I’ll be holding my breath.

Here Today, Gone to Tali. Luke Decides on More to Love

Oh my, what a season and what a finish. Luke made the big choice and popped the big question. The two hour finale of More to Love had some interesting moments and left us believing that fat people can find love too. (Did anyone actually ever doubt that?)

First, I’d like to apologize for putting this post up a day late. I had some deadlines to meet in the job I actually get paid to do. Speaking of getting paid, how in the hell did Emme justify collecting a paycheck for the show? Seriously. All she did the entire season was show up at the end of each episode, collect the rings in a bowl, and leave. I’m jealous. Johnny Carson works less than her . . . now. Props to her for coming out of obscurity and walking right back into it. I’m sure she’s putting in a pool as we speak.

As is customary, the finale began with a look at Luke’s “journey.” We had flashbacks of the limos arriving like train cars at a cattle auction, memorable moments from the season, and a voice over from Luke about making it to the final ceremony and choosing the new potential Mrs. Conoly. Tali talked. Malissa talked. We all became anxious. Our living rooms were inseminated with the seed of speculation and Americans engaged in spirited discourse about which curvy cutie would win Luke’s pre-arteriosclerotic heart.

Tali is first up to meet Luke’s family. Luke shows up to the park to meet Tali casually dressed in giant cargo shorts with his dog. Tali is appropriately dressed in “I’m meeting the family for the first time in a casual setting” attire but she fails to complete the standard “skip/run through the park and jump and wrap your legs around your potential future husband’s waist” move that Jillian and every size 2 Bachelor/Bachelorette female contestant is taught in reality show training. I guess there are some things that only skinny people should do.

Tali pretends she likes dogs and they walk romantically through the park to a pre-staged picnic where they discuss their feelings. I was going to ask why there is always food, but I believe that’s obvious. The tension on Luke’s face when Tali asks if her “background” will be an issue is thicker than the plaque in his arteries. Translation: Am I too dark and Jewish for your family? I’ll give Luke credit for addressing it like a man. He all but apologized for his dad who—as we will later see—took time out from his Arayan book club meeting to meet the potential future Mrs. Conoly. Luke informs us that his parents are divorced and that Tali will have the pleasure of meeting dear old dad first.

When they arrive at Luke’s dad’s house it is apparent that Luke is a tad embarrassed by his dad. Maybe it was just me but I sensed some issues between them. Luke is clearly a mama’s boy. Dad, who is already a couple of sheets in, seems to enjoy drinking and having people around. He hides his disdain for Jews and dark skin well enough to make it to the dinner table without starting a race war. Tali sneaks off in a pre-planned meeting with Luke’s grandmother who looks like the grandmother from the Beverly Hillbillies. She asks Tali a series of pre-production canned questions and does a poor job acting like she gets the entire reality show concept. Bless her heart. She’s an old lady. Maybe she can be on Too Old To Love as our first Widow-ette or whatever. At the dinner table Luke’s drunk dad draws a line in the sand by insisting on saying an overtly non-Jewish blessing over the food. Tali handles it appropriately and then gets grilled by the family about her “background.” Whatever. Luke eventually gets his dad to back off by dismissing his concerns and sort of sticks up for Tali. Disaster averted.

Malissa is next. For some reason they meet in a pool hall. Malissa proceeds to whip Luke’s large ass in a game of pool. Man, you’ve got to love a lady. What occurs next is baffling. They enjoy a light pre-dinner snack of pizza and beer. Luke confesses that he eats pizza a few times a week while Malissa only admits to eating it “about once a week.” Right. Once a week. That must be why she’s so dainty.

When they arrive at Luke’s dad’s house Luke’s dad commences hitting on Malissa by complimenting her “Irish eyes” and throwing a few beers down her throat. Luke should have just offered her to him and ended it right there. Malissa “loves” dad’s love for our Lord and Savior and expresses excitement when he asks permission to say grace at his own table. Give me a break. Luke looks clearly annoyed. His father actually drops a “well, the choice is pretty clear, isn’t it?” and Luke suppresses the urge to rip off his f*cking head by reminding his dad that the choice belongs to him. Luke’s dial tone of a brother offers a peacemaking suggestion that the decision is not as clear as Luke’s neo-Nazi father believes. I’m certain that moment was played out thousands of times during their childhood. Classic. I would have preferred a headlock or a “you were never much of a father!” blast, but Luke proved himself to be a real man. Frankly, he handled it better than I would have. After throwing down a few more beers with Adolf Conoly and another staged conversation with Granny Clampett, Malissa heads out confident that she’s got the ring in the bag. I’m sure she had a celebratory pizza when she got back to the room, you know, as a bedtime snack.

Just as I was bored to tears, it’s the girls' turn to meet mom. It’s clear that Luke trusts and respects his mom and—dare I say—is going to do exactly what she says. When she arrives at the house dressed in some sort of pinstriped judo uniform thing she resembles a fat Diane Keaton minus the leather gloves and self-importance. She seems a little cold and formal and it’s clear why she dumped Luke’s old man. Ironically, her name is Faith (more about that later).

Malissa begins sucking up like a newborn pig to a sow's belly and Faith clearly isn’t buying it. Finally, someone who can see past the force field of Malissa’s giant boobs. Malissa goes out of her way to sell herself and even refers to herself as a “main character” on the show. Luke looks pissed and does an awful job at poker-facing the remaining minutes of the show. The only one who doesn’t know Malissa is toast is Malissa herself. Tali plays it cool, is respectful, and watches Malissa seal her fate. Mom chops off the boobs of the dragon in her meeting with Luke when she makes it clear that she hates Malissa. She discusses Tali’s “background” and gives Luke some motherly advice about her potential future grandkids. Ironically, it was “Faith” that put them together. Oh, I love it.

The final dates are uneventful to the extent that we’ve seen it all before. Both girls drop the “L” word and Luke reciprocates. In the end, Luke ended up seeing through Malissa and her giant boobs and picking the non-believer Tali. Malissa was pissed off but eventually managed some fake tears in the limo.

As cynical as I am about these shows, Luke and Tali actually looked happy and sincere. I’m rooting for them. Bring on the Bachelor!

Luke Eats Some Pie . . .The Fatchelor Scores

More to Love was down to the final three this week and Luke narrowed his focus and laid on the charm. Well, not really, but it was a good lead in. With my attention distracted by the My Antonio train wreck I have to admit that my interest in this show is quickly losing steam. However, we’re down to the “big” finale next week and I’m committed to see it through.

This week the contestants were crated up and shipped off to Hawaii and treated to one on one dates with our Fatchelor, Luke. I really don’t understand the choice of venue. Didn’t we just see Jillian dismiss that alleged cheater Wes and move on to that real cheater Ed in Hawaii? Do we really need to be in Hawaii again? It brings back so many painful memories for me. I weep for Kiptyn and Reid like Jake wept on the balcony of the Hyatt in Austin. I’d like to see the final dates set in a place more conducive to fat white people like Wisconsin or Michigan, for instance. Nonetheless, Hawaii it is. Incidentally, Michigan is the only state in the country that classifies fat people as a protected class. You can actually sue someone in Michigan if you’re discriminated against for being too fat. You’re welcome for the trivia. Feel free to impress your skinny friends at cocktail parties with that little tidbit. Back to More to Love.

We begin with the first luau and realize yet another reason why this show should have been filmed in a more temperate place. Despite his incredibly fashionable Mexican waiter shirt and delicate linen slacks, Luke was sweating like a hooker in church. I half expected steam to come out of his ears. I began to believe my Frosty the Snowman analogy from last week. They could have at least put up an umbrella for the guy. Regardless, Luke is as charming as ever when he announces that the group dates are over and each woman will get the pleasure of a one on one date. Finally. Malissa grins knowingly, Tali smiles (I assume she could smile because the heat softened the ice in her veins), and Mandy raises her hands and let’s out a whoo hoo. In reality TV land this is known as foreshadowing. Mandy’s celebration is her Swan Song. It’s her Little Big Horn. Her ground war against the Russians in the dead of winter. Her sip of curdled milk after a night of binge drinking. Her dropped left hand in the 12th round of a title fight. Her double expresso in the car the morning after a big Mexican meal. You get the picture. I really wish she didn’t have to go out that way. If she could have tamed her insecurities, she might have won. Oh well. Someone has to get Jillian-ed here so she can get asked back to be the Fatchelorette. It might as well be Mandy. I liked her.

Malissa draws the first date straw and she and Luke are whisked away to play with the dolphins. That sounds like a lot of fun . . . unless you happen to be a dolphin. Apparently, the producers were able to summon the world’s strongest dolphin because it dragged Luke and Malissa across the marina like nobody’s business. I hope he got some extra whatever dolphins like to eat in exchange for pulling the heavy load. Apparently, Luke was too distracted by Malissa’s giant boobs to recall the fiasco of meeting her ball busting sisters the week before because Luke and Malissa again have the engagement/attraction/connection/future together talk followed by (big surprise) dinner. Upon looking erotically into each other’s eyes and espousing their physical attraction to one another, Luke drops the “dessert is in my hotel room” line and Malissa eats it up faster than she did her entrée. They presumably skip dessert (either that or they inhaled it so fast the camera could not catch it) and head directly for the bedroom for some full-sized lovin', touchin’, and squeezin’. I could have done without the smooching and moaning sounds but Luke seemed to be making adequate progress and presumably closed the deal. Good for him.

Luke appears the next morning unscathed from unhooking Malissa’s bra. My bet is that he needed an Allen wrench to undo that thing. Tali shows up to collect her sloppy seconds and Luke announces they are going on a boat ride. He’s excited about this he tells us because Tali was apparently in the Israeli navy. Huh? I’ll give Luke credit for trying, but we quickly learn that Tali’s biggest fear is the water. What the f*ck? Joining the navy and being afraid of water is like joining a sorority and being afraid of date rape. To make matters worse for Luke (who I haven’t felt this sorry for since his date with “I’m a fat virgin” Danielle), has to listen to how Tali is put off because she doesn’t like being in a swimsuit and hasn’t even been in the water since she was 12 years old. Between this and her Uncle Leo’s “her parents hate Christians” speech last week, you’d think Luke would be smart enough to push her off the boat. Nope. He patiently coaxes her into the water for some snorkeling. Props to Luke for putting up with the aggravation and congrats to Tali for facing her fears. Nice job. I still think she’s boring. Apparently, Luke doesn’t though because he’s beaming when he picks her up for dinner despite the poofy black weird looking dress thing she’s wearing. Luke again drops a version of “dessert is in my room” and she takes the bait. Tali makes a comment about facing her fears and saying that she’s not going to do what she normally does and she’s going to take a chance on love by going back to Luke’s room. Translation: I’m not usually a lascivious bimbo, but I will be to win this show. I’m certain her fun-hating parents will be none too happy. Good for you, Tali. Luke and Tali slosh around in the hot tub and talk about the future. As before, I could have done without the smooching and moaning sounds but Luke seemed to be making adequate progress and presumably closed the deal. Good for him.

After scrubbing his genitals and restocking his wallet with the final condom from his Trojan 3-pack, Luke meets Mandy for the final one on one date of the show. In Fredo-taking-a-boat-ride-esque fashion Mandy and Luke go four wheeling through the Hawaiian jungle, share a meal, and cordially smooch atop an outdoor mattress on a boat. Luke, who for some reason wore white Ted Knight like shoes and a white sport coat to dinner, is clearly uninterested but does his best to avoid the F-word (friend) in his interview. The ring ceremony goes off without a hitch. Emme shows up looking like a construction barricade in orange, collects the rings in the bowl, and leaves to join the crew at the buffet. Luke quickly nails the coffin containing Mandy’s dreams shut when he gives the first ring to Tali. Malissa and her boobs are next to collect their ring and Mandy is left whoo-hoo-less and rejected. Luke looks unapologetic, Mandy looks upset, and Malissa and Tali learn they get to meet the big guy’s family.

All in all it was a telling episode. Luke won't have to go to a Hawaiin drugstore to buy more condoms and he eliminated an obstacle to his happiness. Next week is family week and then the big final decision. My money is on Tali to win because I think Luke’s family will see through Malissa and pick the less of two evils. I suppose it’s better to marry a water-fearing non-believer than a child-hating leech. We’ll see what happens.

Family Matters on More to Love

The next installment of More to Love and I have to admit that I’m thinking of scrapping this show and going with My Antonio or Toddlers and Tiaras, both of which are horrifying for different reasons. More to Love is droning on like a swim in a pool filled with sour cream and Luke is one step closer to making his “big” decision. This week was no different from any other week. There was some drama, some crying, some references to being picked on for being fat, some dates, and food . . . plenty of food. We saw Luke’s boobs and we heard his usual banter about finding a confident woman and wanting a family. The girls began to stress about making it to the final four. As if that wasn’t enough pressure, we were introduced to their “families” and reminded why most of them have weight problems to begin with. There was more judging than an episode of Dance Fever. Let’s begin.

We start with the usual recap of the recap and are reminded that Anna, Tali, Malissa, and Mandy all made it to the final four for . . . well, that’s not really apparent. Tali kicks off the one-on-one dates by accompanying Luke to a bumper car ride. What? Bumper cars? Apparently, most of the budget on this show is spent on the buffet for the contestants. While Jason and Molly are running around in New Zealand zip-lining all over the place, Luke and Tali get a ride to Games People Play. It’s bad enough they don’t get to leave town, but they have to cram themselves into tiny cars and drive in a circle. I’d be pissed off it that was my date. Nonetheless, Luke makes the most of it and Tali’s competitive side comes out when she makes it a point to win the race. I’m certain it had something to do with the fact that Luke’s chassis was scraping the ground the entire way; but hey, a win is a win and Tali seems as happy as Tali can pretend to be.

Over a Coke in a Styrofoam cup (again, nice budget), Tali and Luke look knowingly into each others’ eyes and pretend to have a conversation. To be fair to Luke, if you placed a lump of coal up Tali’s ass, you’d have a diamond in about a day. He was clearly trying. We then get the news that Luke has set up a big surprise and that he’s brought Tali’s Aunt and Uncle to surprise her. Upon seeing her Uncle Leo she looks directly at the food he has in his hands and doesn’t recognize him because she was too distracted by the food. This stuff is impossible to make up. Let me restate that: Tali was too distracted by the presence of food to recognize her family. Unbelievable. After Uncle Leo and Aunt Whatever give her forced hugs, the beatings begin. Now let me say this. I understand that not everyone is thrilled with the reality show format and not everyone believes that “finding love” or “establishing a connection” or “going on a journey” is possible in a contained environment with 25 women, 1 man, and dozens of cameras and production people running around shouting directions. Fair enough. BUT, if you’re going to agree to go on the show don’t pee all over it. Upon meeting Luke for the first time, Uncle Leo quickly launches into a diatribe about what a couple of Israeli pricks Tali’s parents can be. The guy was a buzz kill. The producers could have at least given Luke some cotton candy or one of those giant turkey legs to gnaw on while being castigated. Seriously, Joan of Arc was treated better by the English. The look on Luke’s face was along the lines of “this a-hole will never be my brother-in-law.” Tali was equally as horrified but exhibited sufficient Stockholm Syndrome by explaining away her parent’s bigotry and obsession with controlling their daughter. Strike one.

Luke dumps Tali off back at the stable and picks up Mandy for her date. Before he does, we cut to a shot of Malissa and her giant boobs and Anna sitting outside of Mandy’s room asking her questions about Luke. Now remember, Mandy melted down like a stick of butter last week when jealously reared its ugly head and Kristian fanned the flames. Mandy seemed to be rallying this week after her voluntary women’s room lockdown, but quickly reminded us just how close to the edge she’s teetering when she again locked herself in the bathroom after Malissa and her boobs began asking too many personal questions about her feelings for Luke. Malissa and her boobs can be really mean sometimes.

After recovering, she meets Luke on the steps where he just dumped Tali and her emotional scars and off they go to have dinner on the boat docked at the marina where Heather puked in the water, Danielle announced that she’s a fat virgin, and Luke got slathered with suntan lotion like mayonnaise on a Subway sandwich. Again, nice budget. Mandy’s parents are waiting on the boat. Her dad looks like a less hairy Bela Karoly and her mom is about half her height. We never learn how Mandy got so tall, but we certainly learn how she got so crazy. Upon being asked if their daughter is ready for marriage Mandy’s parents proceed to make Uncle Leo look like the life of the party. Mandy is sufficiently annoyed and Luke is again defeated. At least he had food and alcohol this time. Strike Two

Luke shuffles Mandy back to the mansion as quickly as he can and returns to his hut to prepare for his date with Anna. Anna tells us that she grew up a tomboy and that she’s looking forward to bowling with Luke. No, that’s not a euphemism. He literally intends to take her bowling. Anna proves she’s a tomboy by showing up to the date dressed like a boy. She and Luke ham it up at the bowling alley. Luke shows off his lack of bowling skills and Anna wipes the lane with him. Shortly after that, Anna’s parents show up. Apparently, her parents went to high school with Abe Lincoln because they are a collective 360 years old. Luke again seems unimpressed when they squash his hopes for family approval by stating that Anna is not ready for marriage. I’ll go ahead and call this one Ball One. At least they didn’t completely ruin her only hope of bagging a man . . . or did they?

Fortunately for Luke, he had the opportunity to handle bowling balls on his date with Anna because his next date was with Malissa. Her boobs literally could not be bigger. It’s impossible. Malissa approaches Luke with her confidence and attitude. She’s clearly comfortable in her skin and Luke seems impressed. She did look pretty. We find out that Luke is taking her to—where else—a restaurant for dinner and a wine tasting. When they arrive the sommelier (which is French for snooty person who refills my wine glass) blindfolds them for a wine tasting. The blindfold is a ruse and Malissa’s sisters emerge from hiding to sit at the dinner table. Malissa looks horrified at their presence, Luke looks put off, and her sisters…well, let’s start with her sisters.

The dark-haired sister looks like a lower rent Kardasian sister who has been hidden in the background like Rose Kennedy. The “blond” sister looks like the love child of Rod Stewart and Amy Winehouse. Actually, Amy Winehouse looks like Liz Taylor circa 1955 compared to Malissa’s sister. The bitterness between her and Malissa is palpable. At one point, it was so thick, Luke actually tried to spread butter on it and eat it. We learn from her sister that Malissa refuses to babysit her 4 year old nephew—an issue more raw than the inside of Luke’s thighs after a jog on the beach. Malissa explains it away by saying that she “doesn’t like other people’s kids.” Translation: My sister is a white trash meth addict who lives in a shack down the street with her 5th boyfriend since giving birth and I refuse to do her a favor because I hate her.” She quickly reassures a terrified looking Luke that “it will be different” with her kids. Translation: “I hate kids but I really want to win this show.” Luke, is visibly annoyed at the ball busting he’s being made to endure at the hands of the crimped and Clorox bleached hair of Malissa’s sister. In an attempt to go for the jugular, Luke asks how the girls would feel if he proposed to Malissa. They scoff at the prospect and the producers do their best to edit out the hostility. Malissa gives her sisters a fake hug and proceeds into damage control with Luke. I’ll give her credit for embracing the denial. Luke again looks horrified. Strike Three.

After going back to the house, Malissa announces that Luke asked the proposal question and rampant speculation begins. Mandy tears up but manages to keep it together enough not to Heather herself out of the show. Malissa sits back calmly displaying her enormous hooters and Tali contemplates the fact that after begin lambasted by Uncle Leo’s negativity like a ham with a jar of honey Luke might consider her a “difficult choice” in the ring ceremony. You think? Emme, who actually amazes me by collecting a paycheck for doing less than Chris Harrison, arrives with the ring bowl, states the obvious, and leaves to hit the Sizzler. Luke ultimately eliminates Anna because he bought into her parents’ assertion that she’s not ready for the big commitment. It turns out they did ruin her only hope of finding a man after all. The remaining girls get the news that they’re headed for Hawaii (more bathing suits?) to complete the hunt for Luke’s dream girl. I can't wait.

Crazy is as Crazy Does...More to Love Episode 5

Here we are, Episode 5 of The Fatchelor and it’s finally getting interesting. Last night’s episode of More to Love featured some real jaw droppers; and no, I’m not talking about all of the eating going on in the house. We learned that Luke has “a hot body” (WHAT?!) and that Heather doesn’t read my blog. We learned that three desperate women will slather a fat guy in sun tan lotion just to appear spontaneous. We learned that insecurity has a tendency to hide closely beneath the surface and pop out like a stripper out of a cake at a moment’s notice. We discovered that “fantastical” and “romantical” are actual words. We learned that Luke still has zero personality and we confirmed that Fox still has no shame. Let’s begin.

Of course, we begin with a scene of the women eating. I love it how this show has repeatedly been marketed as featuring “normal” American women. I know a lot of “normal” women. None of them eat 4 waffles with whipped cream and a gallon of syrup in the morning, which is exactly what Kristian was cramming down her face when the cameras began rolling. After the third waffle, Kristian becomes excited because Luke left a note and also because of her rapidly spiking blood sugar. She and Mandy get to go on a date with Luke. “It takes two to tango,” says the card and Kristian can’t wait to rub the date into the other girls’ faces like the syrup covered waffle she just rubbed into hers. Off they go in the limo with Luke to the cleverly named “Mari Juana’s” restaurant for some margaritas and dancing at 9 in the morning. In the meantime, the rest of the girls make Luke a cute card and . . . you guessed it . . . a snack. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” is their mantra. If that’s the case, Luke’s been in love for a long time.

Now before I get to the left turn to Crazytown that the girls took this week, let’s just break something down. I’m not a nutritionist, but I did a little research into what I saw Kristian eat on last night’s show. On camera she ate: 4 Waffles covered in whipped cream and drowned in syrup, 1 glass of O.J., 2 margaritas, 3 glasses of white wine, and various finger foods.

4 waffles 352 calories
1 c. syrup 735 calories
1 c. whipped cream 154 calories
1 c. O.J. 110 calories
2 margaritas 180 calories
3 glasses wine 252 calories

TOTAL 1,793 calories

Congratulations, Kristian. In 10 minutes you succeeded in eating just 7 calories shy of the FDA recommended daily allowance of calories for a woman your height. Look, I’m not judging. My point is that these women have been crying unmercifully for weeks now about being overweight and how it’s ruined their hope at happiness. Well, to be fair, Kristian has actually owned the weight and her appearance and cried about everything else, but you see my point. Better choices might not hurt.

When they arrive at the restaurant Mandy already has a strained look of desperation on her face. I found that a bit sad considering she’s one of the more attractive women in the house and—up until this episode—appeared level-headed. So much for appearances. Get out your ticket and pack your bags, we’re about to take a trip to the corner of Crazy Street and Desperation Drive.

We quickly get a voice over of Mandy going on about how Luke is clearly into the other women and how her feelings are getting in the way of her heart and blah, blah, blah . . . After some salsa lessons from a hot female dance instructor (at least this show is consistent) and her incredibly gay Spanish partner, Luke shows off his dipping and spinning skills with the ladies. Kristian was about as effective at dancing as she is at dieting or keeping her mouth shut. She mused that her rear end looked like “two pigs fighting under a blanket.” Yes, it did: two really big pigs fighting under a blanket. Mandy was actually really light on her feet. She looked really good in her dress as well. Apparently, that was never relayed to Mandy. Cut to Luke grinding (yes, grinding) on Kristian and kissing her when Mandy walks in the room and BAM! Mandy goes nuts and locks herself in the women’s restroom. Oh boy. In an incredibly classless move, Kristian sits comfortably sipping her margarita while Luke knocks on the restroom door, “Mandy, are you ok?” Prince Charming he is not.

Incidentally, has anyone noticed that Luke sounds a lot like Frosty the freaking Snowman? Remember when the little girl puts the hat on his head and he comes to life by saying, “Happy Birthday!”? That’s how Luke talks. He’s also about as repetitive as Frosty, but with less charisma. Come to think of it, he’s built like him too. I’ll look for a top hat next week.

Mandy eventually emerges from the bathroom and she and Luke talk it out under the watchful eye of Kristian who through a 9am margarita buzz refers to him as “her man” and admits to us all that she is in love with him. Oh boy.

When they arrive back at the house the other girls are dripping with curiosity like syrup from a stack of waffles. Apparently, Fox put something in the donuts this week because all of them—with the exception of Malissa and her giant boobs—are starting to feel a burning insecurity like Ben Gay in a jockstrap. Mandy recounts her breakdown and all of the girls begin to share their uncontrollable feelings of insecurity and paranoia. Kristian begins digging her own grave by announcing to the other girls that she loves Luke. Heather hears this and starts crying because she hasn’t told Luke she loves him yet and what if that means he sends her home and she thought that they had a good thing and now she just doesn’t know and. . .WHOA! She turned into a rambling, sniffling pile of what she used to be. Tali (I believe her last name is Whacker), the Ice Queen of the bunch, is worried because she hasn’t had enough one on one time with Luke but cautions Kristian about blabbing so much. The plus-sized model Anna is upset because she’s insecure and paranoid too. It’s too bad Luke is not a licensed counselor. It would have served him well. Don’t these broads read my blog! Come on!

Luke’s frustration with all of the drama was readily apparent in his expression and in the way that he repeatedly rubbed his forehead and sighed after constantly reassuring all of them. It was either frustration or he could have been melting. Nonetheless, the show must go on and we quickly learn that Malissa and her giant boobs are going on a helicopter ride with Luke. They take off and begin the usual “it’s so beautiful, amazing, incredible” banter when they arrive at a vineyard and are treated to—you guessed it—a meal. Malissa acts confident and normal (as do her giant boobs) and after finishing their snack they are presented with a tandem bicycle. What? Luke and Malissa make it on to the bicycle and proceed downhill for what seems like an eternity. When they begin uphill, Luke actually throws out a Lance Armstrong reference and stands to pedal. I live in Austin along with Lance Armstrong and I swear I could hear him laughing. Lo and behold, the bike breaks. Yes, it breaks. Not only did it break, he cracked the entire sprocket away from the pedal. I’m not a physicist but that has to require a shitload of force. Classic.

After the date, Malissa announces that she too is in love with Luke (her giant boobs remain silent but I believe it’s safe to assume that they are on board too). Mandy gets some testimonial time to put her sadness on display that she does not yet love Luke because it’s too soon to tell. Ironically, she’s upset at being the most normal, well-adjusted woman in the house. Who falls in love in that setting? Please, save the Molly and Jason or Jillian and Ed comments. Talk to me about both of those relationships in six months. Yes, I know Ryan and Trista worked out. Save it.

The group date is yet another day at the “beach.” Apparently, “beach” in More to Love terms means “the marina where Heather puked in the water, we had our yacht date, and Danielle elicited the “man, I love being on the water” comment. The show is filmed in Southern California and they couldn’t find a beach. Please. Maybe they were afraid Greenpeace would show up and try to push Luke back in the water.

Tali (Whacker) is upset because it’s another bathing suit date. Heather needs desperately to talk to Luke in an effort to fumble the ball on the 5 yard line (READ MY LAST BLOG, HEATHER!), and Anna keeps drinking (perhaps the most rational choice in this environment). There is an awkward staged conversation between the 4 of them with their backs to the water. Luke is upset because the girls are still relying on him to “lead the conversation.” In classic Luke fashion he pulls off his shirt and announces that he needs suntan lotion and that the girls should rub it on him. I’d rather watch Kristian eat a pile of pancakes. As Forrest Gump once said, “that’s all I have to say about that.” Luke spends alone time with a drunken Anna who agrees that she’s not ready to get married and then he's scared off by Heather’s rampant paranoia and insecurity (READ MY LAST BLOG, HEATHER! YOU HAD IT IN THE BAG!) Tali is sufficiently uninteresting and the date is uneventful.

At the end of the evening cocktail hour the tension is thicker than syrup on a stack of waffles. Kristian professes her love while analyzing the body language of each desperate potential future Mrs. Connoly as they take turns pleading their cases to Luke. He looks annoyed. Frankly, it wasn’t a very romantical or fantastical evening. It was quite pathetical. At ring ceremony emotions run high. I was certain Kristian was gone but shocked when Heather got the boot. Kristian displayed her uncanny ability to emotionally break down. Luke comforted her in perhaps his most sincere moment all season but couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Hopefully, she signed a restraining order on the way out the door. Heather lost with class and still looked pretty. She concentrated on the positive and went out looking like the winner she should have been (if she’d only read my last blog). The remaining girls breathed a collective sigh of relief and everyone had a jiggly group hug. This episode should be a lesson to women of all shapes and sizes. Crazy trumps just about everything you can dream up. Stay tuned . . .

I Miss Chris Harrison

Well, here we are: Episode number 4 of More to Love and we have to begin wondering if Fox is going to put this show out of its misery like it did The Littlest Groom or that show where that hot girl had to date a bunch of ambiguous guys and then guess if they were gay or straight in lieu of a rose ceremony. They later moved that piece of shit to the Reality Network and it even failed there. I never learned if Luciano was gay or straight. That’s too bad. I would have enjoyed the closure.

I’d never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss Chris Harrison. I want to give him a big hug. I miss him so much. I want to freeze him in the winter, skate on him, and then thaw him out in the summer and play baseball with him. I want to buy him an ice cream cone and playfully wipe chocolate off of his nose as we laugh hysterically while walking through the park together. I want to run knowingly through the sand just before a Pacific Ocean sunset and fall clumsily into his outstretched arms. Instead, I’m stuck with the first plus-sized super model (and also the first washed up plus-sized super model), Emme, and her Bachelor Meets the Buffet adventure, More to Love.

This week Luke has thin the herd from 8 to 6 women and there’s more tension in the air than on the ladies bra straps. Lauren, the bitchiest most vulgar girl in the house before “I love being on the water” fame Danielle was summarily booted last week, is on a tear for Luke’s attention. She’s more aggressive than a hungry wolverine and has no problem going after the other women. Seriously, Godzilla was less of a problem when he landed in Tokyo.

Incidentally, remember how Godzilla used to fly by propelling himself backward with his super fire breath? Even as a kid that seemed odd to me. Is that really a plausible evolutionary progression into flight? I could see flapping wings or webbed hands or something, but propelling himself backward with his own breath? Even putting aside the fact that he was foam rubber, his joints didn’t bend, and the buildings he destroyed were about as convincingly real as Michael Jackson’s face, it just doesn’t seem right. I’ll have to dust off my Origin of Species and see what Chuck Darwin has to say about it.

Annnnnnnyhooooo…..

We begin this week with the “Good Wife Bad Wife” competition. It’s pretty simple, really. Each girl is presented with a dual sided sign. One side reads “Good Wife” and the other “Bad Wife”. The girls take turns standing in front of the others and the others vote on whether that girl will make a good wife or a bad wife for our Fatchelor, Luke. Notwithstanding the fact that this is a competition between 8 women who have never been asked on a ‘real date’ and have no concept of any male/female relationship the women quickly become marriage experts. Everyone seems to play fair except Lauren.

Let’s see . . . how do I describe Lauren? Well, she’s sort of like the runt of the litter if you replaced the “R” in “runt’ with a “C”. She proceeds to brutalize 6 of the 7 other women to the point of making them cry. Kristian is actually the funniest. “She’s too emotional to be married.” Marriage is a “big deal” and I’m not sure she’s “emotionally stable” enough to be a wife. What? Kristian responds by . . . well, becoming emotionally unstable and, of course, crying uncontrollably. More of the same ensues until we get to Heather—my front runner. To be fair, I thought the “Cabaret Entertainer” (read, “stripper”) would win at first, but Heather was up there on my short list. Thanks to the fact that the stripper was ratted out in week two by Angry Lauren for being as barren as the ratings on this show, I am now a fan of Heather. Thanks, Lauren. I’m the only man you’ve ever made happy. Perhaps we could introduce Lauren to Angry Dave from the Bachelorette. He seemed open-minded and tolerant. They could live Angrily Ever After together.

During the “challenge,” for some reason Lauren—who referred to Heather as her “biggest competition” (I’m certain she meant that literally and figuratively), votes Heather a “Good Wife” thereby pushing her over the fence to victory. Look, it’s been apparent since after the puking in the river incident that Heather is a nice person and—dare I say it—attractive too. Like the other women she’s insecure because of her weight but she’s not certifiably crazy like the rest of them. All she has to do is hold onto the ball until she crosses the goal line. Her “competition” has a way of imploding. She was actually voted a “Good Wife”--we learn from the other girls--because she is “nice,” “sweet,” and “fun.” Lauren, however, thinks there are more important qualities that a wife should have; namely, cooking and “taking care” of her man. As a man I can unequivocally say that I’d rather have someone that is nice, sweet, and fun around me all the time than a cranky fat woman who can cook. Shut your pie hole, Lauren.

Mel B., possibly the biggest (there I go again) crier in the house, cries and cries and cries her way to last place in the challenge. She is unanimously voted a “Bad Wife”. Here’s the twist. She and our front runner Heather both win a one-on-one date with Luke while the remaining girls win the dreaded group date. After Emme swoops in to give everyone the news, she quietly disappears; presumably to go eat. Lauren is not happy. In a four-letter laced tirade that would make Andrew Dice Clay blush she asserts her overall attractiveness and superiority over Heather and Mel B. The power of denial is truly amazing. I know if I was going to go on eHarmony or Match.com or iSlut or whatever to find my dream girl the first three characteristics I would list are Fat, Aggressive, and Angry. At this point, it’s clear Lauren’s f*cking time is f*cking limited. F*cking thank God.

Luke’s first date is with Mel B. After crying and then getting dressed she meets Luke for a short limo ride to a Moroccan restaurant. I will say this about our Fatchelor. He’s an open book. Unlike the skinny bachelors with the skinny crazy girls, Luke doesn’t mess around. It’s clear that he wasn’t into Danielle or any of the other women he’s been on one-on-one dates with except Heather. It must be torture for him to sit there and listen to Mel B. and the others recount stories of how miserable they are because of their weight. “Awww, you’re beautiful,” is his canned response. It’s about as convincing as a Clinton apology. During the most awkward moment between them the producers send in two hot, in shape, belly dancers to dance with Luke and Mel B. Are you kidding me? Of course, Luke decides to get up and dance. Frankly, I’m so tired of watching this guy dance. It’s not entertaining. Nonetheless, Luke shakes what his mama (and a few hundred pizzas) gave him while a voice over of Mel B’s trembling voice reminds us, once again, that she’s fat and insecure. Eventually, the half naked size 2 belly dancers make her feel un-insecure enough to stand up and pretend to have fun. At the end of the date, there’s a cordial kiss and Luke retreats to his lair to wash off the Mel B. and void his bowels of the coriander, pickled lemons, and saffron from the Moroccan food before picking Heather up for their date. Mel B. returns to the house and recounts tales of exotic foods and Luke’s belly dancing skills. “He looked amazing,” she offers. Really? Apparently, it was a Moroccan hookah bar too.

Next, the lovely Heather emerges in an evening gown. Mel B. is immediately crushed because it is clear that Luke is taking her on a better date. The only thing I’ll say about Luke and Heather’s date is that it was lovely. Clearly, they like each other. We should just send the other cows out to pasture (that’s a metaphor) and be done with this show.

Now, the group date. I always love the group dates. Ah yes, the alcohol and insecurity flow liberally throughout the evening. Luke decides to pamper the girls at a local spa. They emerge to find Luke looking like the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man in a giant white terrycloth robe that, if dropped in the pool, would soak up all of the water. We immediately cut to a shot of Fat Angry Lauren complaining about not getting any f*cking one-on-one time with Luke followed by a montage of her insults to the other girls and a revelation that she’s concerned that Malissa is using her “physical attributes” to get to Luke. Translation: Malissa is a tramp. I love it.

Malissa then moves in. Yes, her name is spelled with an “a” instead of an “e”. Apparently, it’s from the Latin words “Mal” meaning “bad” and “issa” meaning “genes.” She quickly spirits Luke away to a conveniently full bubble bath and disrobes to reveal the biggest set of boobs displayed on television since Ed, Reid, and Kiptyn were in the final rose ceremony. I mean these things are huge. It looked like she was stealing ham. Seriously. I haven’t seen anything that big since I was in Boulder, Colorado last weekend. Her boobs were so big that Luke went from Woo to Whoa. I’ve seen camels with smaller humps. Despite the massive water displacement, Luke and Malissa hit the tub for a make out session while the other girls stew in the anger and desperation we’ve all come to love.

When he’s done bowling, Luke actually has the balls to go back to the party and start hitting on the other women. The normal ones are appalled but the desperate ones are glad to have him back. Lauren sees her opportunity to be vulgar and negative in a private setting and gets Luke alone on the balcony. Oh, but wait. The other girls find a conveniently full bathtub and what looks like a bowl of guacamole nearby and investigate. Presumably, it was all meant for Luke and Lauren but they all jump in and begin smearing themselves with the guacamole. Luke quickly joins the celebration. Frankly, I was frightened. Lauren seals her f*cking fate by swearing some more and Mel B. seals hers by crying and pouting. Luke gives them the boot and we end with a jiggly group hug.

Lord, please let the Bachelor begin soon.

The Opposable Thumb of Reality TV

The latest episode of More to Love (The Fatchelor) is priceless. If you haven’t been watching, just skip the other episodes and start here.

We begin with the standard gratuitous shots of the sunrise, the mountains, and cut to “average reality show females” in bikinis and tight little after-five dresses and learn that they are all a size two. Then we cut to the “average American woman” and learn that she’s a size fourteen. There may be some statistic out there that says the average woman is, in fact, a size 14. I can’t dispute that. I’m not an actuary. However, for the women on this show 14 is the number of kolaches they eat for breakfast. None of them even approach a size 14. These girls are so big they make Lane Bryant look like Forever 21. (Yes, I’m in touch with my feminine side).

I promised not to take any cheap shots, but I want to make a point. As this show sluggishly and painfully pushes on it is clear that the many of the women on it have significant emotional scars which lead them to eat in the first place. Some of the women are just “big girls” relatively comfortable in their own big skin. Ironically, these are the girls that seem to be getting booted every week by the dolt with the rings. We are constantly reminded by the “winners” who do receive rings about how miserable their lives are at home, how they have been rejected by every person, have never been on dates, etc. Nice job, Fox. And to think, I thought harnessing a bunch of midgets to an airplane and having them pull it down the runway or having a black guy race a zebra was in poor taste. (Remember that show?)

Incidentally, is “bunch of midgets” the correct way to refer to a gathering of little people? There’s a gaggle of geese, a murder of crows, a flock of seagulls, and so on. I’ll have to look into that. To be accurate, there were some dwarves mixed in with the midgets on that show. Yes, there is a difference. I’m certain of that. Dwarfism is a hereditary genetic disorder that results in short height and disproportionate body parts. Being a midget is not necessarily genetic but can be caused by nutritional deficiencies and is characterized by short height, not disproportionate body parts. Dwarf is a medical term. Midget (these days) is generally an insult. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Wizard of Oz, Over the Rainbow, and Foul Play are all movies that feature both kinds of little people, two of which star Chevy Chase (odd).

Annnnnyhooooo . . .

After the lead ins and recaps the Fatchelor begins this week by inviting the women to “get their sexy selves” down to the living room to find him standing there with that vacant look on his face in front of a bunch of presents. He gives an insincere and awkward speech about missing out on things (presumably activities and not meals) because of being heavy. There is a chorus of sighs and “he so understands me” looks. Luke announces that he will be taking the women to prom and that the boxes are filled with dresses made especially for the larger ladies. Luke then leaves to go rent a tux and the room becomes a jiggling mess of cankles and crepe paper as the women tear through the wrapping and begin trying on the dresses. Come on. Are we to believe that the dresses were actually in the boxes? The Von Trapp family would not have had enough curtains to make one of the dresses. The women eventually cram themselves into the gowns and head off to the biggest limo I’ve ever seen to go to the prom. Watching the actual prom was like watching that pre-recorded New Year’s Eve show that’s always on opposite of Dick Clark. It seemed forced and rehearsed and was probably filmed in the mid-morning. Prom nonetheless. Two of Luke’s “boys” show up unexpectedly and we are informed that they are there to pick a winner for a one-on-one date with Luke. One of his buddies looked like a really fat Sammy Hagar and the other looked like Michael Vick. Both agreed on Danielle as his big date (pun intended).

Now it may seem like I sped through that. I didn’t mention the crying, the “I’ve never danced before," the “I never imagined going to prom”, or the “I was the fat girl in a limo full of couples and had to borrow a date for pictures so I could show my mom” story. All of that is window dressing compared to the one-on-one date with Danielle. I can hardly type fast enough to get it all out.

When Danielle is selected, the reaction of the other women is pure reality show gold. Rolling eyes, clenched jaws, hems, haws, and I swear I heard a moo. Clearly, she’s hated by the other women. Why, you ask? Apparently, she’s known for “unladylike behavior” which they all overtly hope that Luke will soon discover. At this point, I had my doubts. It reminded me of when Wes was the first one invited to the house by Jillian on the Bachelorette. That was preceded by a montage of the men (mostly of that dildo Jake) complaining about Wes not being there “for the right reasons” (although I think he was the only one there for the right reason). They complained about Wes ad nauseam, praying that Jillian would see him for who he really is. No dice. She bought his act. I suspected the same thing would occur here. Oh no. Not even close.

Luke begins his confessional prior to the date by saying that he was surprised that his buddies chose Danielle because she was not “at the top of my list”. Classic. Translation: my buddies are a-holes and I can’t believe they chose her. Danielle wallows in her victory like hog in slop, pisses off the girls at the house, and heads out for the date. She immediately begins by talking and talking and talking and talking about how she’s never been on a second date. Luke is clearly horrified. He takes her to a lovely seafood restaurant on the water overlooking the place where Heather puked over the dock last week. “I don’t eat seafood,” is her revelation. Solid. More to Love? Nope. More to Eat . . . for Luke that is. Cut to Luke awkwardly eating calamari and drinking wine. When Danielle wasn’t talking and talking and talking she was pounding booze like an Irish sailor on leave and stuffing her face with chocolate covered bananas (very subtle, reality TV producers). It was like watching someone pack all of her belongings into a station wagon. Stuff and talk and drink and stuff and talk and drink. The look on Luke’s face was fantastic.

Next, we learn that Luke (who at this point I actually felt sorry for) has a romantic gondola ride planned through the water where Heather puked last week. The conversation was as strained as a constipated rhino. It was all he could do to put his arm around her in the boat.

Now, the coups de grace. ( I don’t have an accent thing on my keyboard so I can’t spell it correctly, but “coups de grace” literally means “stroke of mercy”. It was the final death blow given to a mortal enemy to put him out of his misery. It’s the only phrase that fits what I’m about to describe).

After the most awkward moment in reality TV since Wes corrected himself for saying “my girlfriend” by pausing and saying “uhh, I mean my ex-girlfriend,” Danielle proceeds to tell Luke that she’s so surprised he’s her first second date and that was surprising because she’s never had a second date before, you know, because she’s fat and she’s a virgin and . . . screeeeeeeeeech. (insert death blow here).

Awkward silence. . .wait. . . wait. . .rolling eyes . . . wait. . . wait. . .deep breath . . . wait. . . wait. . .more awkward silence. . . “I love being on the water,” Luke responds.

Brilliant.

His response to “I’m a fat virgin” is “I love being on the water.” And I thought Wes’ “Look, that bird has no foot” was a stroke of genius. If Wes’ that bird has no foot was a single-celled organism then Luke’s I love being on the water is a freaking opposable thumb. If Wes was the first caveman to write on a wall then Luke is Michelangelo. If Wes was a horse and buggy then Luke is a Cadillac. If Wes was . . . oh, you get the picture.

Luke then went on a date with Heather who is also fat but not too fat and very nice and very pretty then he kicked off four girls including Danielle. The End.

Stay tuned . . .

Return of the Bachelorette

Just when we thought it was over, The Bachelorette lives again. As my pen name so obviously states, I live in Austin. I happened to be reading the Austin Chronicle for events and whatnot to fill my busy social calendar when I noticed an obscure event listing at a local restaurant. Apparently, Jesse Kovacs, the winemaker from California who was booted fairly early by the marginally attractive Jillian on the Bachelorette, was sponsoring a tasting of his own wine. Now get this, the event advertised the presence of other bachelors from this season. Call me whatever word comes to mind—and I can probably guess which word comes to mind—but I wanted to go. Austin is a small town. I regularly see that Womack guy from the last season at my gym. I run into Wes Hayden (this season’s bad guy) at various honky tonks across town. He doesn’t play at any of them. He just hangs out there. I figured it would be fun to go so I quickly enlisted the help of my special lady friend and she agreed to go with me.

I figured I was sure to see Wes at the big event. Jesse and Wes at a post-Bachelorette function cross promoting themselves…go figure. Frankly, it added to my theory that Wes was, in fact, honest about intending to promote himself from day one while all of the other guys waited until their PR folks told them it was time for self-promotion. I can’t honestly bring myself to believe that anyone went on the show because Jillian was so hot and irresistible. Well, maybe Jake. Why else would he cry on a balcony?

Oh, and by the way, memo to Jillian, whose interview I saw on Good Morning America the other day: “About” is:

A. a preposition, as in: I wrote a blog about Jillian;

B. an adverb, as in: Jillian’s nose is about twice as big as her face; or

C. an adjective, as in: Ed was out and about in Chicago with two chicks while Jillian was in Hawaii sleeping with his friends.

“About” is not a vehicle operated on a lake. Pronounce it correctly.

Back to the wine tasting. We show up ready to sit back, observe, and objectively assess the situation. Jesse was there playing host to a few dozen of Austin’s most “celebrity” hungry females. It was so sad. Every girl there was dressed like she lived in Dallas. Slut pumps, gallons of makeup, and silky revealing dresses were more abundant than the words “journey”, “connection” and “amazing” on an episode of the Bachelorette. Frankly, the only thing the dresses revealed was how desperate the girls were to hook up with someone who had been on television. Wes arrived in his customary untucked pearl snap western shirt and meticulously tussled hair reminiscent of Wilson the volleyball from that Tom Hanks movie. Next, I saw break dancing Mike—all five feet one inch of him--attempting to enjoy himself while being backed into a corner by some of the desperate Donnas. He seemed nice.

As I fought through the crowd of ladies the only thing thicker than the smell of perfume was the “oh pick me, pick me” sense of desperation hovering around the room like a fart in an elevator. I noticed several curious looks from some of the ladies—undoubtedly stemming from the fact that I was 1.) male, 2.) didn’t appear to be either an employee of the restaurant or gay, and 3.) was still dressed in my work clothes. The looks screamed, “I wonder if he’s somehow associated with the show and if he can do anything for my acting career?”

Next, I saw Dave and Tanner P. cheesing it up in the corner with a few of the ladies. Dave still looked angry and was (surprise) drinking heavily. He still had the pseudo-beard thing he was sporting on his angry face during the Men Tell All show. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but I did (and I swear this is true) hear him telling a few of the ladies that he “almost got in a fight with a couple of Mexicans.” Of course, I thought, the old, “I almost got in a fight with a couple of Mexicans” pick up story. He then proceeded to call attention to himself by demonstrating some sort of Billy Blanks Tae Bo kick moves while relating stories about being “famous”. Famous? Really? No. Michael Jackson was famous. Dave? Just a d-bag. He also (and I also swear this is true) had an odd habit of grabbing the junk of every bachelor guy in the room similar to the way football players smack each other on the rear end after a good play. The whole thing was very odd. I consulted my Man Code book to see if I could find that ritual. I could not. However, I have an older edition of the Man Code book. To be fair, that might have been added recently.

Next, it was Tanner P.’s turn. He was actually garnering quite a bit of attention in his tight green t-shirt and jeans with a white belt. Yes. A white belt. Considering the fact that he looked like a modern day Icabod Crane if Icabod Crane shopped at Armani Exchange and the fact that Tanner P. spent several weeks creeping the viewing audience out with his foot fetish, I’ll give him credit for pulling in the phone numbers he did. Nice job . . . weirdo.

As my special lady friend and I sat at a corner table we noticed several of the women attempting to get pictures with all of the bachelors. Presumably, they planned to blow these pictures up and post them in their cubicles at work while recounting the storied evening. At one point, Jesse and two ladies were right in front of our table and dropped a wine glass, spilling it all over the place. Jesse actually turned around, apologized, and was very gracious about it. No ego. He seemed nice too.

The event wound down with not much ceremony. Wes sat on a few girls’ laps and took pictures. Mike played his guitar and chatted with a few of the ladies. Jesse poured his wine and seemed to enjoy himself. Tanner P. was sufficiently creepy and Dave was, well, Dave. Overall, I think the guys were pretty much a cross section of any five guys you could pick out of a crowd. Two seemed like nice, normal guys (Jesse and Mike), one seemed like a little cheesy but nice enough (Wes), and two of them were complete tools (Tanner P. and Dave). At the end of the day, all of these guys will move on to other things. For now, I don’t blame them for enjoying the ride; no matter how they choose to do it. They were probably all thanking their lucky Texas stars that night that they didn’t “win” the Bachelorette. That’s Ed’s problem now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry on my balcony.

The Joy of Julia

So I lost the Julie and Julia argument last night. I made the mistake of asking my special lady friend what she wanted to do without first suggesting what I would actually prefer doing. “Let’s go see Julie & Julia,” was the dreaded response. Damnit. I thought quickly,

“The thing about a movie theater is that it’s dark and you can’t talk and share feelings. In fact, there is even a rule about not talking. When I was much younger, dinner and a movie was the standard date night. The more I think about it now, I believe that dates should never involve a movie. If I were a woman I’d resent any guy who took me to dinner and a movie on a date. Why? Look at it this way, a movie is basically paying someone 18 bucks in exchange for two hours of silence. I can save my 18 bucks and ignore you for two hours. Or, I can buy a case of beer and sit at home alone for two hours before I pick you up and take you to dinner. A movie is unoriginal and insensitive. I think a woman should appreciate a guy who wants to take her out and get to know all about her; not sit passively in the dark and watch a movie. I would rather go somewhere and just be with you.”

. . . that was my attempt to get out of seeing Julie & Julia, the new Meryl Streep movie where she plays Julia Child. Unfortunately, she wasn’t buying it. I tried. Let me see if I can put this in perspective for the women reading this. Going to see a Meryl Streep movie is painful for a man. It’s like you:

1. Being forced to go to a black tie event wearing the same dress as three other women in the room.
2. Having to wear nail polish that doesn’t match your outfit,
3. Skipping an episode of Sex in the City,
4. Being forced to let your roots grow out, or
5. Having to wear your “fat jeans” to your high school reunion

You get the picture.

Look, the movie was sufficiently cute and Amy Adams was believable and perky. Meryl Streep will get an Oscar nod for her brilliant portrayal of Julia Child and it will be lauded as “miraculous” by Oprah. The View women will gush about it and Elizabeth Hasselbeck will have to admit that she loved it; thereby making it the first time on the history of that awful, catty show that she agrees with the omniscient Whoopi Goldberg. Great. I still didn’t like it. The bottom line is that it’s a chick movie, starring chicks, and made for chicks. I’m not in the target demographic. If I want to see Meryl Streep eat breakfast for two hours, I’ll rent Bridges of Madison County.

To be fair, I will say that as far as a chick movie goes, it was original. The set up between Julie and Julia’s lives and how they each heal and fulfill themselves via French cooking was interesting. It was set in Paris and New York, and that was interesting (as opposed to Madison County with all of its bridges and breakfast tables). I chuckled at some of the humor. It was very Nora Ephron-y. It wasn’t the standard “hardened unfulfilled business guy is bored with being rich and successful and just needs to be loved by the poor sweet woman who got dumped by a cruel man because he couldn’t see her true beauty” plot line. I appreciated that. All in all, I dodged a bullet. The movie was tolerable and less than two hours long. It was like being hit by a pitch rather than striking out.

More to Love Should Be Called More to Cry About

The Fatchelor is back at it. This is a tough one for me to blog about. I was fully prepared to unleash a barrage of insults at all of the women for going on this show. “They signed up for it,” I thought. “What do they expect?” However, I am a man of conscience. I just can’t bring myself to pile on these women (wow, that was Freudian). I actually feel sorry for most of them. I found myself wondering who was taking care of all of their cats while they are away from home. I hope their cats are safe.

Last night’s episode of More to Love bolstered my belief that these women have nothing to gain but a few more pounds by being on this show. All of the even remotely stable women have been eliminated; leaving the crazies to rise to the top like curd on the top of three week old milk. Unfortunately for me, Luke kicked off the 37 year old “Cabaret Entertainer” (read “Stripper”); apparently because he was told by the bitchiest fat girl in the house that she did not want to have kids. She was my favorite fatty and now she’s gone. Frankly, she looked relieved to be going back to whatever double reinforced pole she came from. I actually liked her. Oh well.

Let’s discuss The Fatchelor. The guy is a manipulative bag of cheese. His compliments are stale and insincere and he has as much charisma as a scrotum on a cold day. It is clear that he knows he’s fishing with dynamite and he’s using it to his advantage. Just because he is a big fat guy doesn’t mean he’s more capable of relating to these hefty honeys than anyone else. He apparently was a college athlete and seems to have a great deal of self-confidence, unlike any of the women he’s courting. Frankly, he pisses me off. I’d rather watch a Lifetime movie starring Kiptyn and Reid from the Bachelorette (and, of course, Meredith Baxter Birney) than watch this slob woo the plus sized pants off these women. Nonetheless, there I was, glued to my TV.

Last night began with two group dates. When he arrived at the mansion, he didn’t look hungry for love, he just looked hungry. The women were eating and chatting and sitting around the house. And when they sit around the house, I mean they sit AROUND the house. The room had more chins than a Chinese phone book. The furniture was grimacing. Even their shadows had stretch marks. Alright, I couldn’t resist. After more talk about never being on a date, several of the women tearfully recounted sad stories of infidelity from their youth. Is it common knowledge that fat girls get cheated on more than skinny girls? I had no idea. We then learn that the first group of girls gets to go on a fantasy yacht date and the second group (GASP!) has to go to a pool party. Holy shit. A pool party. Predictably, the notice of both dates brought more crying and carrying on from the women. Hell, I even cried when I found out. A pool party? Really?

The big highlight of the yacht date came when one of the women decided to lean over the side of the dock prior to the boat leaving and puke into the water while everyone listened to her puke into the water. Of course, Luke was very sweet and understanding. He dumped her on the couch in the main cabin, covered her up, and went back upstairs to be charming again. After all was said and done, she rallied and even got a kiss from Luke. Dude.

Now, on to the pool party. The women couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable. They might as well have been naked for God’s sake. After some really unflattering camera shots of rotund thighs (thanks, Fox) and some more crying and carrying on, Luke decided to “make sure the girls were comfortable” because he was sympathetic to their swimsuit-a-phobia. Did he comfort them? Did he make a speech about inner beauty? Nope. He went straight to the booze. After a few pops of wine and some shots (nothing like giving a depressed, insecure fat person in a swimsuit a depressant), Luke decided to get the party moving by ripping off his shirt and doing a cannonball into the pool. Nothing says gentleman quite like a cannonball. Luckily, he didn’t land on anyone. I'll spare everyone my Sea World jokes.

After more crying and carrying on, we got a glimpse of what the future of this show holds. The women were surprisingly catty and mean to one another. It was sort of like Flavor of Love but without the weaves and purple fingernails. At least I have something to look forward to next week. In the end, Luke eliminated three women. They were all forgettable and, sadly, so was the show. At the end of the day I was left with the realization that being fat does not make a person unlovable . . . crying over everything and being desperate does. Oh Jillian, Jillian, where are you?

Move over Jillian and welcome The Fatchelor.

More to Love is an evil show. For those of you who are on a Bachelor/Bachelorette withdrawal, this show, along with a few glasses of booze on Monday nights between 7pm-9pm should bridge the gap.

The premise? It’s the Bachelor meets The Biggest Loser if you take out all of the working out, weight loss, self-esteem creating, healthy habit building, and gay people yelling at the fatties on the treadmill. The Biggest Loser is one of my favorite reality shows for all of the reasons I just mentioned. It’s fat people taking ownership and actually accomplishing something. I dig it. More to Love, however, might be the biggest exploitation of fat women since Flemish art.

We begin with the “lucky” guy set to steal (more like be begged to take) a “plus sized” woman’s heart. His name is Luke Connolly, however, I will now refer to him as the “Fatchelor” (you heard it here first). He’s 6’3”, 330 pounds of all man. He works (big shock) as real estate developer in California. What is it with real estate developers and reality shows? Wasn’t Kiptyn a real estate developer too? Reid was in real estate come to think of it. I’m in the wrong business. I actually have a job where I actually work every day. Sign me up for Real Estate Developer Training School. I need a vacation.

At any rate, we are subjected to the usual beginning montage of the Fatchelor playing golf, closing deals, walking on the beach alone (Bachelor’s run, but that’s not an option for this guy), etc. There’s a lot of talk about fat people and some creepy references from The Fatchelor about his penchant for pretty porcine ladies. However, there is no mention of this guy being lonely or looking for love. Frankly, he gives off an odd vibe. More about that later.

On a side note, I think it’s worth distinguishing between “fat” and “large”. “Fat”—to me anyway—means someone is overweight because they eat too much, don’t exercise, and don’t take care of themselves. There is a big difference between that and “large”. Some women (like the woman who was 6’3” and 277 lbs.) are genetically big people. I find Fox’s attempt to lump (no pun intended) both kinds of women into the same category a bit troublesome. Gabby Reese, the famous volleyball player, model, and tv host, is 6’3” 173 lbs. She’s a lot different than the 5’5” 190 pounder on this show that cried all of the time. I’m just sayin’. Back to the show.

Next, we meet the ladies. Oh my. Look, I’m all for large people finding true love and I’m all for embracing people for their inner beauty and all that, but what ensued when those limos pulled up was horrifying. Some of the women were actually pleasant looking but all of them were big and all of them were covered in the thick, creamy gravy of desperation. As if there was any doubt about that, each woman actually told a sob story about never being kissed, never being asked on a date, teased as a kid, etc. It was hard to watch, but I got over it.

Despite the swanky setting (some mansion in California) and all of the talk about love coming in all shapes and sizes, Fox went out of its way to make sure we know that these women are fat. In their one-on-one interviews as well as any time they pop up on screen their name, height, and weight are conspicuously displayed just in case we forgot what a large woman looks like after watching the Bachelorette for 9 weeks. One woman was 5’11” and 280 pounds. That’s linebacker size. The Fatchelor seems enthralled. He can’t wait to mingle.

The cocktail party. Frankly, this is my favorite part of these shows. Everyone is stressed out and anxious to start “finding love” or “seeing if there’s a connection” or “starting the journey” or whatever. The best idea in the world is to dress them up and open the bar. That’s a great idea here since I’m sure that none of these women have self esteem or food issues. I half expected a binge drinking orgy the way that the women were carrying on about the Fatchelor.

What’s the hook, you ask? Is it a rose? How are these women supposed to know if they are invited to stay? The Fatchelor breaks out a big black box filled with diamond rings. Now we’re talking. As the women ogle the rings like giant buffet hams at the Sizzler, Luke explains that he will give every woman a ring. However, (insert dropped jaw and surprised looks here) at the end of the evening, each woman will put her ring into a bowl and then only the women invited back will be reissued a ring. Wow. Turn the dagger, Fox. Turn the dagger. Give back a diamond ring from a guy you view as your only chance for ever finding a man and then give an interview shortly after being kicked off the show that displays your height and weight on the bottom of the screen. Man, I’d like to read the release they had to sign to get on the show. I hope for Fox’s sake, its as airtight as the Spanks all of those women undoubtedly had on underneath those evening gowns.

The remainder of the show was the Fatchelor going from woman to woman and talking them into kissing him. Weak. Most of the women ate it up, though. One got really drunk, one jumped in the pool with her dress on, a few of them cried every 5 minutes, and all of them fawned over the Fatchelor.

We’ll see how the rest of the season pans out. For now, I’m saving my good material. My prediction is that the Fatchelor will find true love with the plus-sized “Cabaret Entertainer” (read “Stripper”). He might be open minded, but he’s not an idiot.

UFC is Not that Great

Alright, I know that I promised--as if anyone was looking forward to it—to write about More to Love today. Honestly, I saw it last night and I’m still soaking it all in. It may take another episode before I can grasp the enormity (no, that’s not a fat joke) of the show and blog about it effectively. However, I’m compelled to write about something else today that I find even more confusing than the success of a pitch meeting at Fox wherein it was suggested that 20 women over 250 pounds be put on national display and humiliated one by one until one was left standing. I want to discuss the Holy Grail of macho men everywhere: The UFC.

If you have no idea what the UFC is consider yourself lucky. However, if you’ve watched any television, seen a freeway billboard, ordered a pay-per-view sporting event, or dated a bouncer, you are painfully aware that the Ultimate Fighting Championship exists. I realize by posting my attack online I’m opening myself up to potential headlocks, grappling holds, some move called the purple hooter, or a challenge in the office cafeteria; however, I’m willing to take that risk. . .for now anyway.

Let’s get to it. The UFC is, in a word, gay. That’s right. I said it. It’s gay. If you’ve ever watched the advertising, pre-fight hype, an actual event, or looked at any of the merchandise you know exactly what I’m talking about. Basically, a UFC event consists of a bunch of super-excited, half-drunk, adrenaline-filled, men between the ages of 21-40 crammed tightly into a smoky, dark venue bouncing up and down while yelling and screaming at two sweaty guys wrestling around in their underwear. Take out the ring and throw on some Duran Duran and, voila!, it’s a gay bar. It’s like watching the Village People on steroids. Come to think of it, many of the contestants look like some of the Village People on steroids.

Some of the women reading this are probably giggling knowingly saying, “oh, my boyfriend/husband/favorite bouncer watches that and it’s true, hee hee hee.” The women who actually watch UFC are dating a bouncer. The men reading this fall into two categories: 1.) those who know I’m right, and 2.) those who want to fight me. Let me clarify my points.

1.) I am not unappreciative of the physical skill and tremendous mental ability it takes to compete in that sport. However, I view the UFC fighters much like I view Dave Matthews, for instance. I appreciate that he’s talented, but his work sucks and I don’t care for it.

2.) I know Tito Ortiz or Kimbo Slice or whatever amped up manic happens to be holding the belt right now can beat me up. I’ll concede that. I don’t want to fight any of them. I’m 37. I don’t fight people for a living. The “he could beat your ass” argument rings hollow. The sport is still homoerotic.

3.) I’m not confused about my own sexuality and I don’t hate gay people. I just don’t like the UFC.

I do have to hand it to the person who invented it, though. Actually, isn’t it always the most simple idea that work? The Snuggie, for instance, is nothing more than a blanket with sleeves. Genius. Remember Topsy Tail? How about that butterfly thing women were supposed to put in their underwear to prevent the unsightly camel toe? Again, genius. I put the UFC in this category. Two alpha males in a steel cage beating the hell out of each other while several thousand men who paid $100 a ticket and $7 bucks a beer stand by and watch. Good for the guy who was smart enough to market it. It’s just not for me. Then again, I’m not renting Beaches anytime soon either. . .

More to Love in Spin Class

Well, considering the fact that it’s a slow day in reality tv land, I have to find something else to write about. If I’m being honest, I have to admit that I was too tired to watch “More to Love” on my DVR last night. I realize I’m pathetic for recording it, but I figured what the hell. Why shouldn’t the plump have a chance to fall in love on national television? I’m sick of seeing attractive women make whores of themselves fawning over a suit and tie with zero personality and visa versa. Let’s give the overweight crowd something else to worry about. At any rate, I’m looking forward to the oh so subtle different approach the producers will inevitably have to take toward the larger crowd. No pool parties, daring athletic dates, or too much chocolate in the fantasy suite. There will probably be a hefty Chris Harrison host and a lot of references to inner beauty and love being blind. There will undoubtedly be the formerly super fat girl who lost 100 plus pounds and now seeks her soulmate. My only concern is that the mix of plus-sized women is going to include a bunch of girls that are accustomed to hanging out with the skinny beautiful girls who always get the man while they are relegated to stitting in the corner of some trendy martini bar with the hot girls' purses while they all dance with guys in sport coats. Do we really need to see girls like that get rejected by the first guy who has probably ever paid any attention to them? I pray that they have a counselor on site at that mansion. I’m so excited.

In the meantime, I’m sitting here in a café in Austin, Texas re-hydrating after an hour of Spin class. Without belaboring the point, I’m sure that everyone is aware of what Spin class is. Generally, it’s an hour on an exercise bike with an instructor. I like it for several reasons. First, it’s finite. I don’t find myself wandering from machine to machine or seeking my zen place on the treadmill until I’m too bored to run or lift anymore. My mind always gives up before my body. With Spin, all I have to do is do what the person in front of me does on the bike until the music stops. God willing, the person in front of me is female and she’s attractive. It’s amazing how fast that hour passes. Second, I don’t have to be polite to anyone. My bike is my bike for the hour I’m on it. No, “excuse me, are you done using that machine” or “can I work in?” I’m able to be selfish with no consequences. That’s a nice change from the rest of my usual days. Third, I don’t have to deal with meatheads. No, muscle bound bozo wearing clothes too small for himself and carrying around a gallon jug of pureed meat and protein mix ingesting 1500 calories during "Chest Day" writing down his reps and feelings before going to the tanning booth is in my class or my way. That’s always a plus. It’s bad enough I have to deal with that guy if I happen to want to enter a bar in Dallas. I try to minimize my exposure to pumped up gym guy. Spin class is a good way to do that.

What I don’t understand, however, is why people feel compelled to wear full biking attire in Spin class. Granted, the biking shoes are necessary since the pedals require them. I get that. Bike shorts? Ok, maybe. That’s a lot of moving around on a bike seat. Cycling shirt? Yellow jersey? Come on. It’s a stationary indoor bike. There is no need to hoard power bars or energy shots in the rear pockets of the shirt. The wind is not a factor and there is no support car following you. There’s no chance of getting a flat and you’re not going to circle the Champs Elysse. Let the dream go and just work out. Besides, everyone in my Spin class should know that I win every time.

DP

Finally! After the Final Rose...

Bachelorette: After the Final Rose. Great, another hour I will never get back. At least this blog makes use of my hand eye coordination and forces me to think. Well, sort of…

The soft lighting, the subtle colors, the roses a plenty, Chris Harrison was in his element last night. Honestly, I kind of like the guy. His job is basically to host bookend shows at the beginning and end of each season and then just swoop in to each cocktail party to kill everyone’s buzz during the season. Frankly, my favorite part is when he comes in and announces that there is only one rose left and that whoever doesn’t get it will be leaving the show. No shit? I’m honestly envious that he gets paid to do that. Why can’t I get a gig like that?

After the initial lead in and the recap there were, well, more recaps and lead ins followed by a recap of the recap, a commercial, a lead in, and then a recap of the previous recaps and lead ins followed by a lead in, a commercial, and a quick recap. I found myself longing for the 3 hour American Idol montage before they announce how “America voted” and immediately close the show with the loser singing the song that got him kicked off in the first place. That makes no sense.

Back to the Bachelorette:

It was painful. I’m certain every person who took the time to either record the show or sit down and watch it was aware of the goings on over the past 24 hours. Of course, in reality television time, that’s about 3 weeks. That means that Reid has been crying in the shower every morning for 21 days straight and probably sees no reason to break that streak anytime soon. That means that Kiptyn has been sitting in his step dad’s hot tub every night at sunset drinking French wine from the cellar and contemplating his day of surfing for 19 days straight. (I allowed for a travel day and then a day to “catch up” at his fake job). It’s also 21 days since Jillian’s hot cousin left Hawaii. Ahh, the hot cousin…

For some reason, Melissa came back to show off her primped new look and tell us how happy she is. She looked good, but was still annoying. If you looked hard enough you could also sense the sheer hatred for Jason and Molly she harbors to this day. She’s like that Diego Montoya guy from The Princess Bride and Molly is like the six-fingered guy who killed his dad. Who can blame her really? She got kicked in the crotch last season harder than Reid did (twice) this season. All’s well that ends well, though. She was happy to report that she parlayed the dumping into a dancing and acting career AND got engaged to boot. Good for her. I mean it. However, I find it ironic that her old gold digger. . . err . . . boyfriend had to see her suck face in front of millions of people, including everyone in Dallas, and see her get punted like a pigskin on national tv to realize he loved her, but who am I to judge? We’re all thrilled she’s happy and we’re all (still) happy for Jason and Molly and we’re all still terrified for Ty. Incidentally, is this the sort of thing that can turn a kid into a serial killer? I’m just sayin’. Someone should look into that. Maybe Chris Harrison has Dr. Drew’s number. If ballroom dancing champions begin disappearing about 15 years from now in the vicinity of Seattle, we’ll all know whose door to bust down.

After Melissa, it was Kiptyn’s turn to watch himself be humiliated in Hawaii—Hmmm, Humiliated in Hawaii: the Kiptyn Locke Story. . . I think I’m on to his book title, but I digress. He acted hurt and seemed rehearsed. I believed him when he said he had no hard feelings (which was apparently Ed’s problem in the Fantasy Suite) because he’s shallow and rich and Jillian wasn’t up to his family’s standards anyway. I found it odd that no questions from the audience were allowed for him. God, please don’t let him be the next bachelor. I wonder how he “tested” with the studio audience? Was he better than Reid?

Then we finally got to the moment I was waiting for: Reid returns yet again. The guy is like psoriasis for God’s sake. His appearance was yet another testament to his maddening indecisiveness. Granted, his appearance was a contractual obligation, but we all know he wanted to be there to tell America he was indecisive so we would not think he couldn’t decide whether to show up. He was as Chandler Bingish as ever, except without the charm and personality. Frankly, I don’t know what women see in this guy. He’s a dial tone. . .an indecisive, non-committal, dial tone. Oh, and I don’t want to hear the, “but he flew all the way back to Hawaii and proposed so he wouldn’t be indecisive” argument. Bullshit. He’s incapable of making a firm decision and it cost him the relationship. Where I’m from, we would politely suggest that Reid grow a pair of testicles and pick a side of the fence; any side. Frankly, he should have hit the Men Tell All show and skipped this one. He looked even more pathetic than Jake in his pilot’s uniform coming to tattle on Wes. In the end, I’m sure Reid’s a nice guy. He just needs to decide to stay gone. God, please don’t let him be the next bachelor. I wonder how he “tested” with the studio audience? Was he better than Kiptyn?

I’m not even going to mention the Jillian and Ed appearance for fear of vomiting. The giggling like a school girl, flirty looks, and self-congratulatory heir were too much for me to handle; and that was just Ed. All in all, Ed was the big victor (if you consider marrying her a victory). He got what he wanted and he beat out a bunch of better looking, meatier, manlier men to win Jillian’s giggles and nasally Canadian accent for the rest of their lives. Well played, Ed. Well played. I wonder how he “tested” with the studio audience?

DP

The Bachelorette is finally over

As a person who is realistic (ironically) enough to realize that reality television is addictive, I have to confess that I purposely allowed myself to get sucked into The Bachelorette this season. I don't apologize for it and just like Clay Aiken on the cover of his ghostwritten autobiography, I own it. However, it's difficult to impart how relieved I am that this season is finally over. Ed "won" Jillian's heart and now the poor bastard will have to listen to that annoying Canadian accent for the rest of his life . . . well, at least in theory. My thoughts are below.

First of all, I want to say that I’m happy for Ed. I’m happy for Ed not because he “won” but because of how he clawed his way over seemingly insurmountable obstacles. He overcame (no pun intended) male performance issues—although, who can blame him? After two hours of looking at Jillian’s giant nose and doughy face, I probably won’t be able to function for at least a week—a ball-busting boss, multiple cock-block attempts, Kiptyn’s 6 pack, Reid’s whatever she saw in him and his pathetic attempt to undermine the final rose ceremony, and his poor wardrobe selections. Not many average looking, low key Midwestern men would a.) be in the position to enter the storied Fantasy Suite or; b.) rally weeks later after crashing and burning like the Challenger on January 28th to get another shot at it and then miraculously win the entire bundle of sticks.

Before the lambasting begins, I will say that Ed played a masterful game of poker (again, no pun intended) considering the hand he had. He went to the “I love you” card early and often when Reid and Kiptyn were busy with “I guesses,” “Sure, maybes,” and “I could see myself falling for yous”. Ed was bold and decisive. He asked the dad for her hand in marriage. He answered the kid questions from Jillian’s mumu-clad, dyed-haired mother with skill of a seasoned veteran. He sucked up to her grandmother and refused over and over again to backpedal on his poor choice of swimsuit. He went shirtless when he shouldn’t have and, damnit, I have to say he won me over. Bravo, Ed. It’s too bad your prize is Jillian.

I have to admit that I was a bit off base with my prediction that Jillian would cave into Reid’s surprise proposal. However, when I watched the entire thing unfold, I actually had contempt for Reid. First of all, what in the world was he wearing? He looked like he either worked on a cruise ship or forgot to pack his dress shoes. At first, I expected him to break out a mop and swab the deck rather than propose. And for God’s sake, tuck your freaking shirt in. That assumes, of course, that it was his shirt. It was about 4 sizes too big. In retrospect, he might have borrowed it from Jillian’s mother. Second, what part of “I’m sorry Reid, you did not get a rose, please take a moment to say your goodbyes” did he not understand a week earlier? The love of his life was off in Hawaii banging two of his buddies all week and he still wanted to come back and marry her on the show where she was filmed banging the two guys for a week? To each his own, I guess. I did have a moment of sympathy for him, however, when he pulled up to throw the ultimate cock block in a cab. Couldn’t Harrison do him a solid and just send a freaking limo to the airport? Really.

As for Reid having to “pull strings” to get back to see Jillian, I’m not buying it. Ed and Jake both got to come back. The least the producers could do was give the guy a chance. What really got me about Reid, though, was the big moment of clarity where he professed his love and tacitly admitted that he was, in fact, a pu*sy. Then he proceeded to stand there holding her hand and unable to leave for what seemed like at least an hour after she told him to F off. Dude, you lost twice. Get off the stage. You lost because you went on a 28 day game show where you knew you would be required to propose at the end of it if you won and you hemmed and hawed around the issue like Ted Kennedy at Chappaquidick right after Mary Jo Kopoekne was fished out of his car. You lost because you’re an indecisive, wishy washy, bore. Oh, did I mention that he’s short too? Even Wes was smart enough to hightail it to the limo and begin spraying profanity-laced bitterness at the cameras before getting some tail in Spain. He got a second free trip to Hawaii. He should have made it work.

Ok, on to Kitpyn. He proved himself to be the only person on earth who could make Reid look decisive up to the point where he clearly jumped off the cliff and went for it. Too bad he was a week late. His interview with Jillian’s mom was, to say the least, about as awkward as tennis shoes on a duck and the meeting with the dad didn’t go much better. The “I’m getting there” response to her dad’s “Do you love my daughter” question was classic. What an idiot. However, despite his lack of charisma and overall douche-iness Jillian’s HOT cousin (where the hell was she all season?) still did everything she could to steer Jillian into his well-developed arms. Ed is just “different” she said. I hope she slipped Kiptyn her number. On second thought, no I don’t. Oh, and Kiptyn trying to pretend that he’s a “work hard, play hard” kind of guy was about as convincing as David’s apology to Jillian on The Men Tell All show. The guy grew up in a giant house on the beach in San Diego. He’s never worked a day in his life. He surfs and does whatever his step dad asks him to do. That’s not work. Something tells me that Jillian did him a favor by cutting him loose. He’ll be fine.

The Ed and Jillian montage leading up to the alleged big bang killed me. The sexual innuendos were plentiful. There was nothing even remotely subtle about it. Jillian said Ed was “pumped up” to see her. He went to “great lengths” to impress her. The helicopter was “really hot”. They couldn’t wait to see a “volcano erupt”. Please. I’m just thrilled Ed was able to close the deal. However, it was pretty difficult to tell that he did by the way Jillian inhaled Kiptyn’s face the second she saw him. Actually, I’m not sure he actually did close the deal. I am glad that they at least gave the impression that he closed the deal. It’s good to see that someone on that show has a sense of fairness.

Finally, let me discuss Chris Harrison. When did that guy turn into Dr. Phil? Consoling people, coaching Jillian through her difficult decisions, comforting Reid; he was all over it. It’s nice to see the guy finally earning his paycheck.

All in all it was not the “most dramatic finale in Bachelorette history." However, I was entertained.

DP