Hello Readers and welcome to Episode 5 of our favorite show. I’ve got nothing personal to report this week other than the fact that I’m still feeling the effects of cedar season here in Austin. I have a doctor appointment today and I pray that the cure for whatever I have doesn’t involve a rectal examination. I’m going to see Dr. Jellyfinger at 1:30 in case any of you are interested. I hope he can explain why all of the Lone Star I’ve been drinking over the past week hasn’t solved the problem. After all, doesn’t alcohol kill germs?
At any rate, I’m here now and pumped to get this post underway. Before I do, however, this week’s shout out goes to a reader I know only as “Post It Girl.” She sent me a very thoughtful email about the blog even though she’s had a difficult week. Keep things in perspective, Post It Girl, and thank your lucky stars that you’re not on a reality show. Knowing that people like you read this blog every week and take the time to comment has brought me through darker places than you can imagine. I’m thankful for you, even if other people aren’t sometimes. Chin up, buttercup. This too shall pass. With that out of the way, let’s get to it.
We begin predictably with a rundown of things to come. Broadway shows, taking advantage of an aviation tragedy--again, shopping sprees, and—of course—more crying lie ahead as Harrison shows up early and unenthused in his striped gray/blue fancy boy shirt complete with weird button spacing and rolled up sleeves. Frankly, the most enthusiastic thing about him this week was the delicate floral pattern on the inside of his cuffs.
In Agatha Christie fashion Harrison gives us the “and then there were eleven” speech as the relaxed morning make-up requirement instituted this season reared its ratty hair and splotchy skin. Tanning beds are a bitch, aren’t they? Incidentally, did anyone realize that Agatha Christie is the greatest selling author of books of all time? Only the Bible and Shakespeare have outsold her. If you take the King James out of every hotel in the country, she’s probably got a slim lead.
Annnyyyyyhooo . . . .
Harrison tells us that there will be a one-on-one date, a group date, and--GASP!—the dreaded Beyond Thunderdome Two Broads Enter One Broad Leaves Two On One Date. “Things are about to change,” he lets us know. You have an hour to pack your sh*t because we’re going to Vegas, he announces as frowny faces and slouched shoulders turn to squealing smiles and falsified festivity.
We all took a sip of our respective beverages as every man watching thought an hour was more than enough time to shower, shave, see a man about a horse, pack, and grab a game of pool in the game room while waiting for the limo. Of course, every woman watching felt sorry that the remaining women were only given an hour to pack with no idea what was planned for the week and, like Noah’s Ark, would have to pack two of everything, including some bulky, seasonally appropriate attire. After all, certain outfits look so cute on it’s almost a crime not to bring them. You know, just in case.
They cram into the limo in their strappy tanks and thirty foot scarves and head for Sin City as we get the standard shots of the Strip, the hotel sponsor’s property, and hear Frank and Dino belt out a few notes. Upon arrival, the women “oh my God” the Aria Hotel (It was pretty Money) as Brad awaits anxiously in anticipation of dropping a “thank you so much.” We know he really means it. He does. Truly. It’s important that the ladies know that. Really. It is. (Insert sip of Lone Star and feeling of dread that Some Guy was only 10 minutes in and was already sick of Womack’s diction.) Perhaps this guy should hire a public speaking coach instead of throwing away ABC’s money on Dr. Jamie.
Brad escorts the women through the giant lobby of the hotel as they Ooooo and Ahhhh as if Brad was the freaking architect. He’s ready to weed out the freaking mutes and down some champagne flutes and he’s rocking the ABC line of credit to do it. I have to admit, that would have been cool.
Like St. Patrick leading the snakes out of Ireland, Brad leads his gaggle of girls to the biggest hotel suite they’ve ever seen. “We’re in Las (insert 2 second pause) Vegas,” he tells us in his monotone . . .uh . . .tone, I guess?
Champagne flutes magically appear as everyone toasts the suite Harrison gave up in favor staying in L.A. and renegotiating his contract. Brad drops the first date card and splits like a piece of dry oak under a well-swung axe. Incidentally, I don’t think there are or have ever been snakes in Ireland. Someone check on that for me. Ironically, the simile I chose to describe this scenario is also a myth. I’m so amazing sometimes. Truly, I am. I wanted St. Patrick to tell Brad that. Really. Please, go ahead. Thank you. I mean that. I really do.
Marissa, who has heretofore been trying to win Brad’s heart with her Helen Keller strategy, proves she can speak as she gets some face time with the camera. Too bad, Marissa. Bachelor heavy weights know that camera time in Episode 5 after a long silence means you’re headed straight for the curb. Enjoy the trip to Vegas and I hope you didn’t forget your phone charger back at the mansion.
Michelle grabs the date card and reads it and the girls wonder why she’s wearing a serving plate for a ring. Deflated at the sight of another woman’s name, Michelle announces that Shawntel gets the big one-on-one date. “Let’s End Tonight with a Bang,” it reads. Now we’re talking, I thought as I wondered why the Producers didn’t save that one for the Fantasy Suite dates.
THE BIG ONE-ON-ONE DATE
Shawntel appears in her best red off-the-shoulder sweater and white short shorts. “Hold the phone!,” I screamed aloud. White shorts AFTER Labor Day? How tacky. Clearly, any modicum of fashion sense that resides in California has not made it as far North as Chico.
However, perhaps the “white after Labor Day rule” is now passé. What if a tightly fitted pair of white shorts is the new shawl and stylish winter boots—especially in a warm climate like Vegas? Alright, I admit it. I have no idea what I’m talking about. All I do know is that she looked cuter than I’ve ever seen her look. I prayed for a pair of strappy, comfortable, but not too casual sandals to accent the shorts. It was, after all, a first date.
Of course, all of this was running through my twisted mind until I saw what Brad was wearing. He showed up after wandering the hotel grounds in black pants, a black gingham oxford and a vest. Perhaps he got that at The Wild Wild Vest or The Vest is Yet to Come, or Better Than the Vest or Good, Better, Vest or Vest Buy or . . . ok, I’m out.
A vest? In Vegas of all places? He looked like he was taking a smoke break from dealing Baccarat in the Low Rollers’ Lounge. Regardless of their seasonally mismatched date attire, Brad and Shawntel take a hand-holding tour of the grounds. They see crystals, icebergs which are actually ice columns, and all sorts of fancy shops that a modest undertaker from Chico, California would never recognize.
As Shawntel looked for a Wal-Mart and an In and Out Burger, Brad tells us that he’s about to drop a fat Pretty Woman-esque shopping spree on Shawntel. I found that ironic because Brad has always reminded me of a younger, blonder Richard Gere. Think about it.
Shawntel sees some giant tubes filled with bubbling water and takes comfort because they look like the bongs she used to hit when she lived in the dorms over at Chico State University. She and Brad begin what he describes as “every woman’s dream” and I would consider “Some Guy’s worst nightmare”: a day long shopping spree in every upscale shop in the mall.
Brad rubs her shoulders and paws the small of her back as he drops such supportive boyfriend classics as “I’ll bet that color would look good on you” and “you’re so stylish.” Clearly, he’s pegged Shawntel’s love language as either Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, or Receiving Gifts. He’s also well aware that his Acts of Service and Non-Sexual Physical Touch could well be perceived by Shawntel as his way of giving love. Sure, Brad probably never read Chapman’s Five Languages of Love: Bachelor Edition, but it’s a damn good thing that Dr. Jamie and that gay therapist from Austin have a copy floating around their respective offices. Nice job, Brad.
Incidentally, I found myself laughing hysterically at the anticipation of Shawntel coming back to the hotel with literally 75-100 grand worth of free, expensive, top end, designer sh*t in her hands. Win or lose, she got the best Boobie Prize and the other women might as well have entered a Kermit the Frog look alike contest they were so green with envy when she came back to the suite. Brad could have walked into the suite naked and ravished Shawntel on the coffee table and gotten less of a reaction. Hell, he could have invited Harrison and that fat guy with the black hat who helped Roz move her sh*t too.
As Shawntel humbly retells the story of her shopping spree, the women gawk in awe as they drool over purses and dresses and whatever else she picked out. Michelle hated it with a capital “HATED.” She could barely contain herself. Even Emily looked . . . no, I was mistaken about that. She just looked hot.
To be fair to the rest of the ladies, I do recognize that Shawntel’s shopping spree would be the equivalent of some really hot girl taking me to the Lone Star Brewery and letting me know that I could have as much beer and Lone Star swag as I could handle. That was a pretty cool date and I was glad to see that Shawntel was humble and appreciative. Can you imagine what Michelle would have done on that date? ABC would have to sell Chris Harrison T-shirts and tickets to the Tell All and the Finale in order to break even.
Incidentally, in case any of you are wondering, my love language is Acts of Drinking followed immediately by Non-Verbal, Post-Coital Sleeping, but that’s neither here nor there.
After the fashion show, Brad shows up in a suit with a purple tie. Purple is, after all, this season’s new flannel. Shawntel gingerly walks down the stairs in her hot new after five dress and prohibitively expensive heels. Brad almost makes “incredible” the new “amazing” as they leave to the jealous stares of the remaining women. What a freaking drag. What happened to season’s past when the stragglers and rejects would at least make the most of the opportunity to have a good time? What a bunch of Boring Bettys.
Shawntel and Brad forgo the lobby in favor of the Cargo Elevator and eventually arrive on the rooftop (shocking) for dinner and a lesson in Embalming 101. Shawntel describes the embalming process while simultaneously belting chardonnay and stuffing sushi down her freaking face. Brad actually loosened up and I detected a genuine laugh or two from him.
I won’t belabor the date. She got a rose and the big “bang” was a fireworks display. Shawntel impressed me on the date. She was grateful, modest, confident, funny, and open. Granted, her choice of career is unusual but she owned it and was proud of it. She didn’t hide behind some vague, bulls*it career description like “Account Executive” or “Nanny” and she didn’t quit her job the second a reality show came calling. Of all the remaining girls (including that super hot saint with wings, Emily) she deserved the date the most. She won’t win, though, and she’ll ultimately be forced to return to Chico where she’ll talk to dead bodies and pray that the meth lab in the garage next door to hers does not explode in the middle of the night. She did her mama proud and that’s often the most that can come of a stint on this show. I like her. Nice job, Shawntel.
GROUP DATE
The dread in the room on Day Two could be cut with a chainsaw. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about the decency of the Producers of this show. We cut to the Suite as all of the women clench extra tightly while performing their morning Kegels in an effort to relieve the stress of the imminent announcement of the unlucky two women to draw the unbearable two-on-one date.
“Let’s Go Speed Dating” the card reads as we learn that Emily, Jackie, Britt, Lisa, Marissa, Alli, Chantal, and Michelle get selected. As the process of elimination slowly—and I mean slowly—sinks in everyone realizes that the Ashley’s—Fivehead and Ashley S.—have not been mentioned. A collective “oh my God” echoes through every corner of the suite and everyone begins to f*cking cry. Well, everyone except Emily who’s had a lot worse happen to her than not being selected to go on a group date on a reality show. Watch the replay. If she wasn’t so damn sweet, she would have had every right to roll her eyes. Regardless, the pity party starts.
We learn for the first time that the Ashley’s are “best friends in the house” and that this somehow makes going on a date considerably worse than any other date. In complete denial that they have been vying for the same man for the past 4 weeks, Fivehead says that she doesn’t want to “compete against” her friend. They both cry. Everyone else cries and Michelle makes a nasty comment about not caring about who leaves because she’s going to win Brad.
There’s nothing quite like a mean-spirited person, is there? It’s one thing to dislike one person. It’s one thing to be competitive or passionate. It’s a completely different thing to view yourself as so far above other people that you have no sympathy for them. Michelle is a mean person. Mean people are eventually exposed and usually get what they deserve. Ask Jake Pavelka.
The women arrive at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway where a Nascar-suited Brad emerges from a stock car after screaming down the track at a whopping 60 miles per hour in full gear and—of course—greets everyone with his standard “hullo, ladies.” If it wasn’t for the pain of it all, I think Emily would have laughed in his face. Let’s face it, driving a race car at 200 m.p.h. hour for a living is pretty cool. You know what else is cool? Earning a jillion dollars doing it. Without even considering that, Brad looked ridiculous. To be fair, he had no idea he too had been set up.
Brad “educates” the ladies on all of the Nascar greats who have driven on the track. Let’s see, there’s Dale Earnhart, Michael Waltrip, Jimmy Johnson, and—oh yea—Emily’s dead fiancé who happened to crash on this track putting an end to a promising career. That was hard to watch.
Indifferent, Michelle lets us know she’s excited to drive. “I’m fun and hot,” she tells us. She left out callous and crazy, but then again, she really has no need to advertise those two things. To be fair to Michelle, she’s probably a hell of a date. I suppose we could confirm that via married NBA star Carlos Boozer or any number of other guys who picked her up from 5-8 at the local Cougar bar in Salt Lake City. But then again, why go through the trouble? We could just look at the Child Protective Services Incident Reports on file in Utah.
The women take turns speeding around the track with Chantal distinguishing herself as the clear winner. The Producers eventually tell Brad that Emily might have an issue and he pulls her aside where she trumps his racing knowledge and makes him feel like a total jackass. He showed it too. I’d be willing to bet he felt like tearing Mike Fliess’s head from his body and rolling around that race track. The entire date was uncool.
I know I constantly dote on Emily, but let’s be honest here. She handled herself extremely well considering the entirety of the circumstances and even willed herself to get into the race car and take a few laps. I want all of us to remember that moment the next time one of these other girls has a melt down because the zip line or the ocean is really scary.
That moment was just as touching as when Chris L. saw the rainbow after Ali did him a giant favor by picking Roberto. Yes, sometimes in life a seemingly big loss actually turns out to be a win. Emily proved herself to be classy, resilient, and even brave and she looked super hot doing it. Brad was putty in her hands and really seemed intimidated by her calm manner and charm under the circumstances. My guess is that the emotional baggage surfaces in the next week or so and both of them agree that it’s too much to handle. I just hope there’s a direct flight from Austin to Charlotte leaving five minutes after that happens.
As Brad caters to Emily, Alli cracks like a Roman vase in the shadow of Vesuvius. “We all have problems,” she has the balls to say as Brad takes Emily away yet again. Fair enough, Alli. I suppose if the second date would have been to a transgender doctor or to a dentist’s office, Brad would have comforted Alli. It wasn’t Emily’s fault the Producers decided to make the worst tragedy of her young life a major story line this season, yet there was some truth in Alli’s statement—no matter how insensitive it came across.
I think the lovely Emily summed it up later when she told one of the girls who I can’t identify because she was eclipsed by the glow from Emily’s halo something to the effect of “I hate to keep bringing up my past, but if we go to a Nascar track and drive, it’s going to come up.” Amen. That whole date was unfair to Emily and all of the other women and it turned out that way. Shame on whoever really planned it.
Again, I won’t belabor the rest of this predictable date. Suffice it to say that despite being in Vegas, the women did a horrible job of showing their p-p-p-poker faces. By the way, do you know how you wake up Lady Gaga from a nap? You P-p-p-poker face. I’ll be here all week.
Alli cries because it’s hard to feel special, Chantal slips a “love” into her conversation with Brad then brings it back before losing it again and crying. Michelle—of all people—tires of the tears and the “look at me, look at me” whines being shouted from the rooftop pool and drags Brad away for some alone time with her and her boobs. She tries to manipulate him. He dodges the attempt and she eventually settles for a kiss. He loves to kiss Michelle. He really does. He wants us to know that. Truly, he does. Sigh. I was glad I’d opted for the 12 pack of Lone Star this week instead of the normal six pack.
Just when I was about to be lulled to sleep, Brad picked up the Safety Rose and despite the overwhelming feeling of pathetic desperation emanating from the bunch like a cloud of ash from the aforementioned Mt. Vesuvius, Brad does the unthinkable and gives the rose to Emily. She, of course, handled it with dignity and the Southern charm that we’ve grown to love. And—say it with me—she looked hot doing it.
That was an epic date for Emily. It was a thing of beauty to watch. Honestly, it was like watching Jordan play the Celtics in the late 80’s, watching Barbara Walters interview an Oscar nominee, or hitting a half off sale at Sak’s Off Fifth and being the first one in the door. Props to Brad for going with what he felt rather than caving in and making a popular decision. Maybe Dr. Jamie knows what the hell he’s talking about.
TWO WOMEN ENTER. ONE WOMAN LEAVES CRYING
Speaking of not feeling special, we cut to a forlorn and nervous Brad in his black tailored suit and open collared white oxford headed to meet the Ashleys for the dreaded two-on-one date. The Ashleys leave the room as friends. Ashley S. sports a revealing teal cocktail dress while the Fivehead went with an identical dress that was black with a risky horizontal cream stripe across the hips. Try letting Alli wear that, I thought. Both looked lovely, but pouty.
As I relived each girl’s “journey” I realized that these two were front runners for Brad who spent the last 3 weeks slowly but steadily unwinding any progress they made with Brad. That’s the equivalent of hitting a lead off home run and then striking out for the rest of the season. The Tortiose and the Hare comes to mind.
They arrive in the Cirque du Soleil theater and Brad lets us know that he’s a huge fan of—not Elvis as we all expected him to say—the cirque. What? If you believed that, you believe that Michelle is actually 30. Remember that when the story breaks.
The feminine Artistic Director joins them on stage and they practice their pseudo-ballet moves to Elvis’ “Are You Lonesome Tonight” as the impending dumping begins to seep into the theater. Fivehead says that she “hopes the odds are in her favor” when it comes to Brad’s selection. Actually, the odds are 50/50, but nobody feels the need to point that out. I don’t know why she couldn’t get that through her giant forehead.
They rehearse some more and we learn that Brad is tasked with the choice of picking the woman with whom he will perform his aerobatic dance high above the gazing eyes of 1800 Elvis fans who have been bilked out of 150 bucks a pop to watch dozens of French and Chinese kids whose childhoods were stolen from them when they were taken to the local Cirque du Soleil training facilities and signed away by their parents in exchange for cheese and rice. Luckily, we have a 13th Amendment here in the U.S.A. that prevents that sort of thing, but hey, it’s a damn good show.
Ashely S. begins to seal her already rocky future by melting down at the possibility of being sent home and spared the indignity of being dumped on national television in a rose garden in South Africa after sweating through her make up and drenching her evening gown in sweat for three hours.
Brad stresses because the “finality of the decision is overwhelming.” Finality? What, they don’t have land lines or cell towers where the losers live? Finality? Run that line by Jason and Molly and see what response you get. I never understand why these contestants become so myopic as to actually believe in the false constraints imposed upon them by the show’s rules. Dude, if you made a mistake by dumping her, call her up after the show’s over. It’s really that simple.
After rehearsal, they retire to another rooftop for an awkward dinner and Brad drops a “please (insert 2 second pause here) eat” before commencing the dumping. He “no doubt about its” and “thank yous” his way though an uncomfortable dinner before telling Ashley S. that she has a pretty, vulnerable heart right before he drives the sharp end of the rose through it.
Fivehead puts the “F” in “Friendship” by barely containing an “of course” after Brad offers her the rose. Man, that’s going to be an uncomfortable first trip to the wine bar when they decide to patch things up after he dumps the Fivehead in Costa Rica.
Back at the hotel, some gangsta takes Ashley S.’s bag and the women know the truth. I wasn’t sure if that guy worked for the show or if he was just there on a gang-related panty raid. Ashley S. displays the same nail color as Michelle as she buries her hands in her face and cries as if the world was ending.
In a brutal montage, we see Ashley S. cry herself to McCarron Airport in the limo as “Are You Lonesome Tonight” plays in the background. Brad, who looked like a member of the Cirque du So-gay, performs his aerial dance with the Ashley H. as the spotlight controller fights to keep the light from reflecting off her forehead and blinding audience members. How gay did Womack look in all of his makeup and his supertight pseudo military uniform? The Weatherman was probably at home on his couch clenching a fluffy accent pillow figuring out how to get to Austin. He looked more gay than the current cover of People Magazine.
Ashley S. has the standard “there’s something wrong with me” breakdown. Man, the vampire is looking more stable every week. Odd. Hey Ashley S., you’re hot, sweet, fun, and young. Learn to relax a bit and you’ll land a nice Southern guy without the aid of a cable harness and Elvis songs. You’re only problem is a lack of confidence.
DR. JAMIE
After the tough week, Brad checks in with Dr. Jamie who is conveniently lounging in his garden with his land line right in front of him and a camera crew to his left in anticipation of Brad’s call. Aside from his obvious hope that the new OWN network has a time slot available, Dr. Jamie doesn’t say much we haven’t heard.
However, in what is undoubtedly the dirtiest line uttered this season, Dr. Jamie tells Brad that “you’re going to get to the deepest place you’ve ever gone with a few of these women.” Amen, Dr. Jamie. Like me, Dr. Jamie is looking ahead to the Fantasy Suite dates. Solid. Brad commits to be strong and vulnerable and we all rolled our eyes.
ROSE TIME
Brad arrives at the cock tail party dressed like a limo driver and proceeds to thank everyone. He really does. Truly. He wants everyone to know that. Honestly. Putz. Brad calls Chantal out on her insecure whimpering and Chantal proves the maxim that some people are too nice to be honest while some people are too honest to be nice. Keep it zipped Chantal and you’ll go to the final. She recovers but Brad clearly looks annoyed and tells her to “stop giving me crap.” I love it.
“Emotional is one thing. Drama is another.” Well said, Brad. Every woman in the audience should take a pen and write this on a piece of paper before crocheting it on a pillow case and sleeping on that pillow every night of the week. Maybe Dr. Jamie does deserve a show.
Brad eventually caves in to the “it was Emily’s date” nonsense and scrambles to address the respective Love Languages of the ladies. Alli gets dessert, Marissa gets a talking to, and Britt gives him a chance to admire her up do. Is it me or does she look like she escaped from one of those weird religious compounds in Utah where they where blue dresses and get married to some 50 year old at the age of 13? I’m just sayin’.
We see some recycled crazy footage of Michelle in the giant turquoise necklace and she pulls Brad aside for a weird one-on-one where she bosses him around, won’t let him talk, and then orders him to clean house. That zebra dress should have been buzzard feathers. She’s manipulative, mean, and crazy. We wonder if her daughter has successfully loosened the dining room chair from outside her bedroom door and found a way to feed herself. Brad’s looking to spend every day of his life with someone. Michelle is looking to spend his money.
Mercifully, Harrison arrives with the ubiquitous champagne glass and butter knife to announce the Rose Ceremony. It’s been a rough week “because of your feelings for Brad” he tells the ladies. Well, that and the carefully crafted regimen of alcohol, sleep deprivation, and psychological stress implemented by the shows puppeteers.
Emily, Shawntel, and Ashley H. covet their Safety Roses and the remaining five are doled out by the dolt in black.
4. Michelle (still too early to cut her loose. She’s too interesting)
5. Alli (her beaver teeth show that she’s grateful)
6. Britt (one more show to fill a dress, honey)
7. Jackie (This season’s final dress filler. She’s nice)
8. Chantal (her rosy cheeks and puffy eyes prove she’s cracking. She’ll hang on)
The mute Lisa gets booted and proceeds to haul ass out of the room. She was sweet but not aggressive enough to garner the attention she needed to get in order to be noticed. She left with her dignity in tact.
Marissa also gets the shoe to the rear end and cries about having so much to give. She’s attractive too and seemed normal and nice. She cries enough, but not too much. Nice run, Marissa. Again, she just wasn’t aggressive enough—or crazy enough—to win a rose.
Well, there you have it. With the Amazing count at a track-burning 65 and the Journey count at a steady 16, we head into Episode 6 where the respective herd gets thinned in Costa Rica and South Africa. Have a wonderful week. If you need me, I’ll be practicing being strong yet vulnerable as I contemplate each of my readers’ Love Languages. DP
At any rate, I’m here now and pumped to get this post underway. Before I do, however, this week’s shout out goes to a reader I know only as “Post It Girl.” She sent me a very thoughtful email about the blog even though she’s had a difficult week. Keep things in perspective, Post It Girl, and thank your lucky stars that you’re not on a reality show. Knowing that people like you read this blog every week and take the time to comment has brought me through darker places than you can imagine. I’m thankful for you, even if other people aren’t sometimes. Chin up, buttercup. This too shall pass. With that out of the way, let’s get to it.
We begin predictably with a rundown of things to come. Broadway shows, taking advantage of an aviation tragedy--again, shopping sprees, and—of course—more crying lie ahead as Harrison shows up early and unenthused in his striped gray/blue fancy boy shirt complete with weird button spacing and rolled up sleeves. Frankly, the most enthusiastic thing about him this week was the delicate floral pattern on the inside of his cuffs.
In Agatha Christie fashion Harrison gives us the “and then there were eleven” speech as the relaxed morning make-up requirement instituted this season reared its ratty hair and splotchy skin. Tanning beds are a bitch, aren’t they? Incidentally, did anyone realize that Agatha Christie is the greatest selling author of books of all time? Only the Bible and Shakespeare have outsold her. If you take the King James out of every hotel in the country, she’s probably got a slim lead.
Annnyyyyyhooo . . . .
Harrison tells us that there will be a one-on-one date, a group date, and--GASP!—the dreaded Beyond Thunderdome Two Broads Enter One Broad Leaves Two On One Date. “Things are about to change,” he lets us know. You have an hour to pack your sh*t because we’re going to Vegas, he announces as frowny faces and slouched shoulders turn to squealing smiles and falsified festivity.
We all took a sip of our respective beverages as every man watching thought an hour was more than enough time to shower, shave, see a man about a horse, pack, and grab a game of pool in the game room while waiting for the limo. Of course, every woman watching felt sorry that the remaining women were only given an hour to pack with no idea what was planned for the week and, like Noah’s Ark, would have to pack two of everything, including some bulky, seasonally appropriate attire. After all, certain outfits look so cute on it’s almost a crime not to bring them. You know, just in case.
They cram into the limo in their strappy tanks and thirty foot scarves and head for Sin City as we get the standard shots of the Strip, the hotel sponsor’s property, and hear Frank and Dino belt out a few notes. Upon arrival, the women “oh my God” the Aria Hotel (It was pretty Money) as Brad awaits anxiously in anticipation of dropping a “thank you so much.” We know he really means it. He does. Truly. It’s important that the ladies know that. Really. It is. (Insert sip of Lone Star and feeling of dread that Some Guy was only 10 minutes in and was already sick of Womack’s diction.) Perhaps this guy should hire a public speaking coach instead of throwing away ABC’s money on Dr. Jamie.
Brad escorts the women through the giant lobby of the hotel as they Ooooo and Ahhhh as if Brad was the freaking architect. He’s ready to weed out the freaking mutes and down some champagne flutes and he’s rocking the ABC line of credit to do it. I have to admit, that would have been cool.
Like St. Patrick leading the snakes out of Ireland, Brad leads his gaggle of girls to the biggest hotel suite they’ve ever seen. “We’re in Las (insert 2 second pause) Vegas,” he tells us in his monotone . . .uh . . .tone, I guess?
Champagne flutes magically appear as everyone toasts the suite Harrison gave up in favor staying in L.A. and renegotiating his contract. Brad drops the first date card and splits like a piece of dry oak under a well-swung axe. Incidentally, I don’t think there are or have ever been snakes in Ireland. Someone check on that for me. Ironically, the simile I chose to describe this scenario is also a myth. I’m so amazing sometimes. Truly, I am. I wanted St. Patrick to tell Brad that. Really. Please, go ahead. Thank you. I mean that. I really do.
Marissa, who has heretofore been trying to win Brad’s heart with her Helen Keller strategy, proves she can speak as she gets some face time with the camera. Too bad, Marissa. Bachelor heavy weights know that camera time in Episode 5 after a long silence means you’re headed straight for the curb. Enjoy the trip to Vegas and I hope you didn’t forget your phone charger back at the mansion.
Michelle grabs the date card and reads it and the girls wonder why she’s wearing a serving plate for a ring. Deflated at the sight of another woman’s name, Michelle announces that Shawntel gets the big one-on-one date. “Let’s End Tonight with a Bang,” it reads. Now we’re talking, I thought as I wondered why the Producers didn’t save that one for the Fantasy Suite dates.
THE BIG ONE-ON-ONE DATE
Shawntel appears in her best red off-the-shoulder sweater and white short shorts. “Hold the phone!,” I screamed aloud. White shorts AFTER Labor Day? How tacky. Clearly, any modicum of fashion sense that resides in California has not made it as far North as Chico.
However, perhaps the “white after Labor Day rule” is now passé. What if a tightly fitted pair of white shorts is the new shawl and stylish winter boots—especially in a warm climate like Vegas? Alright, I admit it. I have no idea what I’m talking about. All I do know is that she looked cuter than I’ve ever seen her look. I prayed for a pair of strappy, comfortable, but not too casual sandals to accent the shorts. It was, after all, a first date.
Of course, all of this was running through my twisted mind until I saw what Brad was wearing. He showed up after wandering the hotel grounds in black pants, a black gingham oxford and a vest. Perhaps he got that at The Wild Wild Vest or The Vest is Yet to Come, or Better Than the Vest or Good, Better, Vest or Vest Buy or . . . ok, I’m out.
A vest? In Vegas of all places? He looked like he was taking a smoke break from dealing Baccarat in the Low Rollers’ Lounge. Regardless of their seasonally mismatched date attire, Brad and Shawntel take a hand-holding tour of the grounds. They see crystals, icebergs which are actually ice columns, and all sorts of fancy shops that a modest undertaker from Chico, California would never recognize.
As Shawntel looked for a Wal-Mart and an In and Out Burger, Brad tells us that he’s about to drop a fat Pretty Woman-esque shopping spree on Shawntel. I found that ironic because Brad has always reminded me of a younger, blonder Richard Gere. Think about it.
Shawntel sees some giant tubes filled with bubbling water and takes comfort because they look like the bongs she used to hit when she lived in the dorms over at Chico State University. She and Brad begin what he describes as “every woman’s dream” and I would consider “Some Guy’s worst nightmare”: a day long shopping spree in every upscale shop in the mall.
Brad rubs her shoulders and paws the small of her back as he drops such supportive boyfriend classics as “I’ll bet that color would look good on you” and “you’re so stylish.” Clearly, he’s pegged Shawntel’s love language as either Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, or Receiving Gifts. He’s also well aware that his Acts of Service and Non-Sexual Physical Touch could well be perceived by Shawntel as his way of giving love. Sure, Brad probably never read Chapman’s Five Languages of Love: Bachelor Edition, but it’s a damn good thing that Dr. Jamie and that gay therapist from Austin have a copy floating around their respective offices. Nice job, Brad.
Incidentally, I found myself laughing hysterically at the anticipation of Shawntel coming back to the hotel with literally 75-100 grand worth of free, expensive, top end, designer sh*t in her hands. Win or lose, she got the best Boobie Prize and the other women might as well have entered a Kermit the Frog look alike contest they were so green with envy when she came back to the suite. Brad could have walked into the suite naked and ravished Shawntel on the coffee table and gotten less of a reaction. Hell, he could have invited Harrison and that fat guy with the black hat who helped Roz move her sh*t too.
As Shawntel humbly retells the story of her shopping spree, the women gawk in awe as they drool over purses and dresses and whatever else she picked out. Michelle hated it with a capital “HATED.” She could barely contain herself. Even Emily looked . . . no, I was mistaken about that. She just looked hot.
To be fair to the rest of the ladies, I do recognize that Shawntel’s shopping spree would be the equivalent of some really hot girl taking me to the Lone Star Brewery and letting me know that I could have as much beer and Lone Star swag as I could handle. That was a pretty cool date and I was glad to see that Shawntel was humble and appreciative. Can you imagine what Michelle would have done on that date? ABC would have to sell Chris Harrison T-shirts and tickets to the Tell All and the Finale in order to break even.
Incidentally, in case any of you are wondering, my love language is Acts of Drinking followed immediately by Non-Verbal, Post-Coital Sleeping, but that’s neither here nor there.
After the fashion show, Brad shows up in a suit with a purple tie. Purple is, after all, this season’s new flannel. Shawntel gingerly walks down the stairs in her hot new after five dress and prohibitively expensive heels. Brad almost makes “incredible” the new “amazing” as they leave to the jealous stares of the remaining women. What a freaking drag. What happened to season’s past when the stragglers and rejects would at least make the most of the opportunity to have a good time? What a bunch of Boring Bettys.
Shawntel and Brad forgo the lobby in favor of the Cargo Elevator and eventually arrive on the rooftop (shocking) for dinner and a lesson in Embalming 101. Shawntel describes the embalming process while simultaneously belting chardonnay and stuffing sushi down her freaking face. Brad actually loosened up and I detected a genuine laugh or two from him.
I won’t belabor the date. She got a rose and the big “bang” was a fireworks display. Shawntel impressed me on the date. She was grateful, modest, confident, funny, and open. Granted, her choice of career is unusual but she owned it and was proud of it. She didn’t hide behind some vague, bulls*it career description like “Account Executive” or “Nanny” and she didn’t quit her job the second a reality show came calling. Of all the remaining girls (including that super hot saint with wings, Emily) she deserved the date the most. She won’t win, though, and she’ll ultimately be forced to return to Chico where she’ll talk to dead bodies and pray that the meth lab in the garage next door to hers does not explode in the middle of the night. She did her mama proud and that’s often the most that can come of a stint on this show. I like her. Nice job, Shawntel.
GROUP DATE
The dread in the room on Day Two could be cut with a chainsaw. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about the decency of the Producers of this show. We cut to the Suite as all of the women clench extra tightly while performing their morning Kegels in an effort to relieve the stress of the imminent announcement of the unlucky two women to draw the unbearable two-on-one date.
“Let’s Go Speed Dating” the card reads as we learn that Emily, Jackie, Britt, Lisa, Marissa, Alli, Chantal, and Michelle get selected. As the process of elimination slowly—and I mean slowly—sinks in everyone realizes that the Ashley’s—Fivehead and Ashley S.—have not been mentioned. A collective “oh my God” echoes through every corner of the suite and everyone begins to f*cking cry. Well, everyone except Emily who’s had a lot worse happen to her than not being selected to go on a group date on a reality show. Watch the replay. If she wasn’t so damn sweet, she would have had every right to roll her eyes. Regardless, the pity party starts.
We learn for the first time that the Ashley’s are “best friends in the house” and that this somehow makes going on a date considerably worse than any other date. In complete denial that they have been vying for the same man for the past 4 weeks, Fivehead says that she doesn’t want to “compete against” her friend. They both cry. Everyone else cries and Michelle makes a nasty comment about not caring about who leaves because she’s going to win Brad.
There’s nothing quite like a mean-spirited person, is there? It’s one thing to dislike one person. It’s one thing to be competitive or passionate. It’s a completely different thing to view yourself as so far above other people that you have no sympathy for them. Michelle is a mean person. Mean people are eventually exposed and usually get what they deserve. Ask Jake Pavelka.
The women arrive at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway where a Nascar-suited Brad emerges from a stock car after screaming down the track at a whopping 60 miles per hour in full gear and—of course—greets everyone with his standard “hullo, ladies.” If it wasn’t for the pain of it all, I think Emily would have laughed in his face. Let’s face it, driving a race car at 200 m.p.h. hour for a living is pretty cool. You know what else is cool? Earning a jillion dollars doing it. Without even considering that, Brad looked ridiculous. To be fair, he had no idea he too had been set up.
Brad “educates” the ladies on all of the Nascar greats who have driven on the track. Let’s see, there’s Dale Earnhart, Michael Waltrip, Jimmy Johnson, and—oh yea—Emily’s dead fiancé who happened to crash on this track putting an end to a promising career. That was hard to watch.
Indifferent, Michelle lets us know she’s excited to drive. “I’m fun and hot,” she tells us. She left out callous and crazy, but then again, she really has no need to advertise those two things. To be fair to Michelle, she’s probably a hell of a date. I suppose we could confirm that via married NBA star Carlos Boozer or any number of other guys who picked her up from 5-8 at the local Cougar bar in Salt Lake City. But then again, why go through the trouble? We could just look at the Child Protective Services Incident Reports on file in Utah.
The women take turns speeding around the track with Chantal distinguishing herself as the clear winner. The Producers eventually tell Brad that Emily might have an issue and he pulls her aside where she trumps his racing knowledge and makes him feel like a total jackass. He showed it too. I’d be willing to bet he felt like tearing Mike Fliess’s head from his body and rolling around that race track. The entire date was uncool.
I know I constantly dote on Emily, but let’s be honest here. She handled herself extremely well considering the entirety of the circumstances and even willed herself to get into the race car and take a few laps. I want all of us to remember that moment the next time one of these other girls has a melt down because the zip line or the ocean is really scary.
That moment was just as touching as when Chris L. saw the rainbow after Ali did him a giant favor by picking Roberto. Yes, sometimes in life a seemingly big loss actually turns out to be a win. Emily proved herself to be classy, resilient, and even brave and she looked super hot doing it. Brad was putty in her hands and really seemed intimidated by her calm manner and charm under the circumstances. My guess is that the emotional baggage surfaces in the next week or so and both of them agree that it’s too much to handle. I just hope there’s a direct flight from Austin to Charlotte leaving five minutes after that happens.
As Brad caters to Emily, Alli cracks like a Roman vase in the shadow of Vesuvius. “We all have problems,” she has the balls to say as Brad takes Emily away yet again. Fair enough, Alli. I suppose if the second date would have been to a transgender doctor or to a dentist’s office, Brad would have comforted Alli. It wasn’t Emily’s fault the Producers decided to make the worst tragedy of her young life a major story line this season, yet there was some truth in Alli’s statement—no matter how insensitive it came across.
I think the lovely Emily summed it up later when she told one of the girls who I can’t identify because she was eclipsed by the glow from Emily’s halo something to the effect of “I hate to keep bringing up my past, but if we go to a Nascar track and drive, it’s going to come up.” Amen. That whole date was unfair to Emily and all of the other women and it turned out that way. Shame on whoever really planned it.
Again, I won’t belabor the rest of this predictable date. Suffice it to say that despite being in Vegas, the women did a horrible job of showing their p-p-p-poker faces. By the way, do you know how you wake up Lady Gaga from a nap? You P-p-p-poker face. I’ll be here all week.
Alli cries because it’s hard to feel special, Chantal slips a “love” into her conversation with Brad then brings it back before losing it again and crying. Michelle—of all people—tires of the tears and the “look at me, look at me” whines being shouted from the rooftop pool and drags Brad away for some alone time with her and her boobs. She tries to manipulate him. He dodges the attempt and she eventually settles for a kiss. He loves to kiss Michelle. He really does. He wants us to know that. Truly, he does. Sigh. I was glad I’d opted for the 12 pack of Lone Star this week instead of the normal six pack.
Just when I was about to be lulled to sleep, Brad picked up the Safety Rose and despite the overwhelming feeling of pathetic desperation emanating from the bunch like a cloud of ash from the aforementioned Mt. Vesuvius, Brad does the unthinkable and gives the rose to Emily. She, of course, handled it with dignity and the Southern charm that we’ve grown to love. And—say it with me—she looked hot doing it.
That was an epic date for Emily. It was a thing of beauty to watch. Honestly, it was like watching Jordan play the Celtics in the late 80’s, watching Barbara Walters interview an Oscar nominee, or hitting a half off sale at Sak’s Off Fifth and being the first one in the door. Props to Brad for going with what he felt rather than caving in and making a popular decision. Maybe Dr. Jamie knows what the hell he’s talking about.
TWO WOMEN ENTER. ONE WOMAN LEAVES CRYING
Speaking of not feeling special, we cut to a forlorn and nervous Brad in his black tailored suit and open collared white oxford headed to meet the Ashleys for the dreaded two-on-one date. The Ashleys leave the room as friends. Ashley S. sports a revealing teal cocktail dress while the Fivehead went with an identical dress that was black with a risky horizontal cream stripe across the hips. Try letting Alli wear that, I thought. Both looked lovely, but pouty.
As I relived each girl’s “journey” I realized that these two were front runners for Brad who spent the last 3 weeks slowly but steadily unwinding any progress they made with Brad. That’s the equivalent of hitting a lead off home run and then striking out for the rest of the season. The Tortiose and the Hare comes to mind.
They arrive in the Cirque du Soleil theater and Brad lets us know that he’s a huge fan of—not Elvis as we all expected him to say—the cirque. What? If you believed that, you believe that Michelle is actually 30. Remember that when the story breaks.
The feminine Artistic Director joins them on stage and they practice their pseudo-ballet moves to Elvis’ “Are You Lonesome Tonight” as the impending dumping begins to seep into the theater. Fivehead says that she “hopes the odds are in her favor” when it comes to Brad’s selection. Actually, the odds are 50/50, but nobody feels the need to point that out. I don’t know why she couldn’t get that through her giant forehead.
They rehearse some more and we learn that Brad is tasked with the choice of picking the woman with whom he will perform his aerobatic dance high above the gazing eyes of 1800 Elvis fans who have been bilked out of 150 bucks a pop to watch dozens of French and Chinese kids whose childhoods were stolen from them when they were taken to the local Cirque du Soleil training facilities and signed away by their parents in exchange for cheese and rice. Luckily, we have a 13th Amendment here in the U.S.A. that prevents that sort of thing, but hey, it’s a damn good show.
Ashely S. begins to seal her already rocky future by melting down at the possibility of being sent home and spared the indignity of being dumped on national television in a rose garden in South Africa after sweating through her make up and drenching her evening gown in sweat for three hours.
Brad stresses because the “finality of the decision is overwhelming.” Finality? What, they don’t have land lines or cell towers where the losers live? Finality? Run that line by Jason and Molly and see what response you get. I never understand why these contestants become so myopic as to actually believe in the false constraints imposed upon them by the show’s rules. Dude, if you made a mistake by dumping her, call her up after the show’s over. It’s really that simple.
After rehearsal, they retire to another rooftop for an awkward dinner and Brad drops a “please (insert 2 second pause here) eat” before commencing the dumping. He “no doubt about its” and “thank yous” his way though an uncomfortable dinner before telling Ashley S. that she has a pretty, vulnerable heart right before he drives the sharp end of the rose through it.
Fivehead puts the “F” in “Friendship” by barely containing an “of course” after Brad offers her the rose. Man, that’s going to be an uncomfortable first trip to the wine bar when they decide to patch things up after he dumps the Fivehead in Costa Rica.
Back at the hotel, some gangsta takes Ashley S.’s bag and the women know the truth. I wasn’t sure if that guy worked for the show or if he was just there on a gang-related panty raid. Ashley S. displays the same nail color as Michelle as she buries her hands in her face and cries as if the world was ending.
In a brutal montage, we see Ashley S. cry herself to McCarron Airport in the limo as “Are You Lonesome Tonight” plays in the background. Brad, who looked like a member of the Cirque du So-gay, performs his aerial dance with the Ashley H. as the spotlight controller fights to keep the light from reflecting off her forehead and blinding audience members. How gay did Womack look in all of his makeup and his supertight pseudo military uniform? The Weatherman was probably at home on his couch clenching a fluffy accent pillow figuring out how to get to Austin. He looked more gay than the current cover of People Magazine.
Ashley S. has the standard “there’s something wrong with me” breakdown. Man, the vampire is looking more stable every week. Odd. Hey Ashley S., you’re hot, sweet, fun, and young. Learn to relax a bit and you’ll land a nice Southern guy without the aid of a cable harness and Elvis songs. You’re only problem is a lack of confidence.
DR. JAMIE
After the tough week, Brad checks in with Dr. Jamie who is conveniently lounging in his garden with his land line right in front of him and a camera crew to his left in anticipation of Brad’s call. Aside from his obvious hope that the new OWN network has a time slot available, Dr. Jamie doesn’t say much we haven’t heard.
However, in what is undoubtedly the dirtiest line uttered this season, Dr. Jamie tells Brad that “you’re going to get to the deepest place you’ve ever gone with a few of these women.” Amen, Dr. Jamie. Like me, Dr. Jamie is looking ahead to the Fantasy Suite dates. Solid. Brad commits to be strong and vulnerable and we all rolled our eyes.
ROSE TIME
Brad arrives at the cock tail party dressed like a limo driver and proceeds to thank everyone. He really does. Truly. He wants everyone to know that. Honestly. Putz. Brad calls Chantal out on her insecure whimpering and Chantal proves the maxim that some people are too nice to be honest while some people are too honest to be nice. Keep it zipped Chantal and you’ll go to the final. She recovers but Brad clearly looks annoyed and tells her to “stop giving me crap.” I love it.
“Emotional is one thing. Drama is another.” Well said, Brad. Every woman in the audience should take a pen and write this on a piece of paper before crocheting it on a pillow case and sleeping on that pillow every night of the week. Maybe Dr. Jamie does deserve a show.
Brad eventually caves in to the “it was Emily’s date” nonsense and scrambles to address the respective Love Languages of the ladies. Alli gets dessert, Marissa gets a talking to, and Britt gives him a chance to admire her up do. Is it me or does she look like she escaped from one of those weird religious compounds in Utah where they where blue dresses and get married to some 50 year old at the age of 13? I’m just sayin’.
We see some recycled crazy footage of Michelle in the giant turquoise necklace and she pulls Brad aside for a weird one-on-one where she bosses him around, won’t let him talk, and then orders him to clean house. That zebra dress should have been buzzard feathers. She’s manipulative, mean, and crazy. We wonder if her daughter has successfully loosened the dining room chair from outside her bedroom door and found a way to feed herself. Brad’s looking to spend every day of his life with someone. Michelle is looking to spend his money.
Mercifully, Harrison arrives with the ubiquitous champagne glass and butter knife to announce the Rose Ceremony. It’s been a rough week “because of your feelings for Brad” he tells the ladies. Well, that and the carefully crafted regimen of alcohol, sleep deprivation, and psychological stress implemented by the shows puppeteers.
Emily, Shawntel, and Ashley H. covet their Safety Roses and the remaining five are doled out by the dolt in black.
4. Michelle (still too early to cut her loose. She’s too interesting)
5. Alli (her beaver teeth show that she’s grateful)
6. Britt (one more show to fill a dress, honey)
7. Jackie (This season’s final dress filler. She’s nice)
8. Chantal (her rosy cheeks and puffy eyes prove she’s cracking. She’ll hang on)
The mute Lisa gets booted and proceeds to haul ass out of the room. She was sweet but not aggressive enough to garner the attention she needed to get in order to be noticed. She left with her dignity in tact.
Marissa also gets the shoe to the rear end and cries about having so much to give. She’s attractive too and seemed normal and nice. She cries enough, but not too much. Nice run, Marissa. Again, she just wasn’t aggressive enough—or crazy enough—to win a rose.
Well, there you have it. With the Amazing count at a track-burning 65 and the Journey count at a steady 16, we head into Episode 6 where the respective herd gets thinned in Costa Rica and South Africa. Have a wonderful week. If you need me, I’ll be practicing being strong yet vulnerable as I contemplate each of my readers’ Love Languages. DP
Nice recap! I loved that Emily reminded Brad that he is a little older than she is and ended it with a nice southern "my dear." She schooled him and did it with grace and charm. Not fair. I laughed when Michelle mock-hanged herself with her long, long, long scarf. If only. It was nice to see some personality from Brad as he was laughing during/re-capping the date with Shawntel. A not so good part is the steady decline of our Host. Could he be more uninterested/checked out? Sad. Anyhoo, thanks for the laughs and have a great week!
ReplyDeleteCariss
This is my first I have read this season...can't wait to catch up! You forgot to mention the irony of having a Pretty Woman shopping spree when his therapist was the drummer for that band who had the "King of Wishful Thinking" song from Pretty Woman. Think he planned that date so he can re-vamp his music "career"?
ReplyDeletehi! love your blog....i'm confused; perhaps you can clarify this point....initially we were told emily's fiancee died in a plane crash, last nite we were told he died on the race track in vegas...which one is the real deal?? there is something a bit foul in denmark, methinks!
ReplyDeleteDP, so funny again this week! I LOVED the reference to the 5 love language book and the compund in Utah! Did you actually read the 5 love language book?? You seem like the type who would read it! Just sayin'.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Cariss, I loved the shot of Michelle hanging herself with her scarf, surprised you didn't comment on that more.
My question is why do they keep making the Bachelor(ette) keep people around they clearly do not care for or even want to date anymore? Why not just let them decide how many go at each rose ceremony. I know it's about the show and editing, but how boring. And last night I told my husband that he can say Emily is hot only becasue I think she is the whole package. Kim in Nevada
to just wondering -- they way i read it was that ricky crashed on the vegas track, which ended his racing career, but then he went into management. he died in a plane crash on his way to a race, but not as a driver. what i'm wondering is, emily was about 18 or so? she sports that HUGE pink wedding ring thing...how old was ricky?!
ReplyDeleteFirst off, thank you for the Shout Out! And the laughs today with the blog. All my office mates agree about Brad's military outfit and how dumb it looked. And I like that purple is the new flannel - so chic!
ReplyDeleteAnd everyone in the office and on radio agrees how mean whoever said lets put Emily on a race track and see what happens. So wrong, poor sweet Emily!
Lots of laughs this time thanks for your thoughts!
Keeping my chin up,
-Post It Girl
A couple things cracked me up, but mostly this line, "I suppose if the 2nd date would have been to a transgender doctor or a dentist office, Brad would have comforted Alli". Hysterical!
ReplyDeleteOh, and I went to Chico State. The mall there is pathetic. I am not much of a "mall gal", but it's one story, lots of empty spots where stores should be, and the stores that are there are all geared towards college students. I am sure Shawntel was a little bit overwhelmed. I like her, she does seem normal despite her profession. Someone has to be an embalmer, that's how I see it, more power to her! - Paula (Northern Ca)
I'm glad the Nascar track was healing for Emily, I truly am. Really. Please believe me when I say that. I had to laugh when you talked about Boring Brad (BB) rattling off the famous drivers and Ricky Bobby crashing - I'll see you in hell SG. That was horrible to put her in that situation and I think it was the first time BB showed emotion (you could tell he felt horrible about it) and it was sweet that he told her she didn't have to drive the car. I heart the way she says "Charlotte". I rewinded it twice on my DVR to hear her say it again - I'm strait, really, I truly am, unlike some camera guy who lingered a little too long for me on Brad's crotch, I mean him and the five-head holding hands right after their Vegas pinata show. (I didn't and still don't know how to spell day-beau? - you know what I mean).
ReplyDeleteThanks for the laughs and the visual of The Weatherman. I really love your wit. I do. Come here to me.
blondiejs, I think I'll stay here from you, but thanks for the comment. I think Brad was just as surprised as all of us when he found himself on the infield with Emily. That was brutal. DP
ReplyDeleteGood stuff, DP! I thought that “Let’s End Tonight with a Bang, it reads. Now we’re talking, I thought as I wondered why the Producers didn’t save that one for the Fantasy Suite dates." was a classic. Some guy, I agree with you 100%. As my uncle Oloff used to say, "Spare the rod, spoil the mouth" - MH
ReplyDeleteHilarious as always!!
ReplyDeleteYou're right btw, no snakes in Ireland. ;-)
I was actually pretty impressed with how Brad handled the whole race-car date after he found out about it. You could tell that he honestly felt like a jerk and wanted to help her however he could. It was sweet.
New Reader - first-time Commenter: Don't know why I so get and enjoy your sophomoric, male humor - especially since I am a mature female - but it totally slays me! It must be the tongue-in-cheekiness of it! Really love your "Love Language" and am fluent in it:) I'm just saying in...
ReplyDeleteLOL I agree with your comment about Britt. Just needs the plain cotton dress and ugly shoes. Oh and I have the perfect guy for Shantel. my sons best friend grew up in a funeral home also, they would be perfect for each other.
ReplyDeleteFrom an NBC Sports story:
ReplyDeleteHendrick Motorsports identified the dead as Ricky Hendrick, 24, Rick Hendrick’s son; John Hendrick, Rick Hendrick’s brother and president of Hendrick Motorsports; Kimberly and Jennifer Hendrick, John Hendrick’s 22-year-old twin daughters; Joe Jackson, an executive with DuPont; Jeff Turner, general manager of Hendrick Motorsports; Randy Dorton, 50, the team’s chief engine builder; Scott Lathram, 38, a pilot for NASCAR driver Tony Stewart; and pilots Richard Tracy, 51, of Charlotte, N.C., and Elizabeth Morrison, 31.
Ah, I was laughing so hard on the train reading your post that the woman next to me asked me what I was reading because whatever it was she has to read it...
ReplyDeleteI wish there was a bachelor ep every night just so I could read your amazing recaps
What a way to end a sh*tty day at work. You tickled my funny bone Some Guy. Much appreciated.
ReplyDeleteReading the post above..no wonder Emily seems so much older than she is. She lost not only her boyfriend but many people I am sure she cared deeply for. She is too good for this boring bloke.
Heretofore + Helen Keller = awesome
ReplyDelete"Brad escorts the women through the giant lobby of the hotel as they Ooooo and Ahhhh as if Brad was the freaking architect."
ReplyDeleteLots of enjoyable lines, but this was one no one has mentioned yet :)
Thanks for my SNOW DAY read!!! Hope your trip to the doctor was successful...and with a name like that, I don't know why it wouldn't be!
Michelle is the kind of girl that is a bunny boiler. The mean spirted crazy side of me hopes that he picked her and is now thinking of getting Dr Jamie to hook him up with Michael Douglas' character from Fatal Attraction so he can get some advice on what to do next. Can you imagine the fear??!! and the therapy needed???!! It would make an entire spin off show. Lets face it she could go all Lorena Bobbitt on his a$$ very very easily.
ReplyDeleteI saw an interview with him prior to the season stating and he said something about a great group of girls all on his level. Yeah, he's 38 and all are under 30 (and by under 30 I mean closer to 20 than 30) except that one chick who was a waitress and said "he has to pick me. I mean I QUIT my job and bought a new wardrobe."
I just started reading your blog this season - I'm a loyal ihategreenbeans reader - and I have to tell you that your reference to the Love Languages makes me love your blog even more than I already did. Thanks for helping us make fun of this wonderfully awful show we all love to hate.
ReplyDeleteDon't think St. Patrick LEAD the snakes out of Ireland. Too Pied-Piperish. He drove them out. In (i'm already cringing myself) a Dodge Viper.
ReplyDeleteI'll send myself into the corner for that.
Thanks for adding some fun to my furlough week! When I go back to work, I can read it there, just to punish them for reducing my income this week! Thanks for the pick-me-up on a kinda lousy week!
I always enjoy all your posts regardless of topic, but tihs time around I'm loving your bachelor recaps most especially. Lots of things make me laugh out loud! It's in inverse proportion to the interest of the show, this season is a bore and Brad I'm afraid is a bit of a dullard. Even Chris Harrison seems deflated - but you are in rare form. Your late night post-Lone Star musings have a free flow and a wild edge of humor that is very appealing. Thanks for the grand entertainment. Long may you wave!
ReplyDeleteclare, well excuuuuuuuse me. "Lead" "Drive" it's really a semantic distinction, isn't it? Anon, the next time I wave my flag pole, I'll think about you. rachel, thank you. the Helen Keller strategy seems to be effectvie for at least 4 shows. It worked for that mute on Ali's season, remember? I'm curious to see if future contestants develop it into a working option. DP
ReplyDelete"We wonder if her daughter has successfully loosened the dining room chair from outside her bedroom door and found a way to feed herself" Oh my word that's funny!
ReplyDeleteEvery time I look at Michelle my first thought is "what a bitch" and my second thought is "damn I feel sorry for her daughter".
Okay, which girlfriend made you read Chapman's Love Languages? You are quite possibly the only single man who's ever read that book.
You might actually now be considered a catch Some Guy. Since Emily will probably be the next Bachelorette, you better be signing up. Otherwise, you'll be kicking yourself watching her look hot on the Bachelorette next year while you sit on your lonely bar stool drinking your sad pathetic little twelve pack.
I found it humorous when Brad was listing the NASCAR drivers that he lead with Dale Earnhardt Jr, since Emily dated him also.
ReplyDeleteNow now lyndie22, easy on the "pathetic little 12 pack" smack. There's nothing pathetic about a tall, cold bottle of Lone Star Beer. As for the love languages, my sources are protected. Let's just say that I'm deeply in touch with my feminine side. If thats not apparent from the blog, nothing is. If my plan to stalk Emily in Charlotte doesn't pan out, I'll consider the long route. Thanks for caring. DP
ReplyDeleteGreat re-cap! Thank you for the Weatherman visual :)
ReplyDeleteHey Some Guy - Has anyone ever told you that you look like Chris Harrison? Are you two related. I think that both of you are hot.
ReplyDelete-Dana
Dana, uh, no. I've never been compared to Harrison. Perhaps it's the blue eyes, but I think that's about where it ends. I would, however, love to have his job; if for nothing else than to comfort Emily (and perhaps snag her phone number) when she gets sent packing. I appreciate the hot compliment. I'll take it where I can get it. Thanks for reading! DP
ReplyDeleteThank you for clarifying that you went with the 12-pack this week rather than the normal sixer. A few of your references and examples were out of left field, but it was one of my favorite posts thus far.
ReplyDeleteCan we stop the bus for a moment and address the nameless person who says that Emily dated Dale Jr? How do you know this? Is this something everyone but me knows?
As much as she bothers me, I think that Five (hundred) head is a better match for Brad. He's two years from 40 and a 24 year old "nanny" from Manhattan isn't really playing on the same field.
To Dana - I really don't get the DP/Harrison comparison (poet and didn't know it) either. Very funny, but not accurate. He's more like a cross between Elvis and James Dean. -MH
ReplyDeleteAfter a not so exhaustive search through Utah State Public Records, I am, unfortunately, able to confirm Michelle (Trollop) Cartwright Money did turn 30 on September 28. Her birth year: 1980. Fortunately for her daughter the father has joint custody, which we can only assume he found his child locked in her room when Michelle didn't meet him for the weekly hand-off at the McDonalds parking lot, since she was whoring it up in Hollywood. By-the-way, Michelle's driving record is a joke. Brad better buy her a bus pass or some walking shoes.
ReplyDeletejennygarcia53, Nice work. Horrifying, but nice. I love the McDonald's parking lot smack and your stalking ability seems second to none. I'm glad you're on my side. Bus pass. Solid. DP
ReplyDeleteMichelle Money is like a train wreck. I can't believe I am watching that carnage.
ReplyDeleteAs promised, "bonsoir" from France.
ReplyDelete