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.