Hello, Readers. Wow. We have a lot to discuss, don’t we? In many ways I’m thrilled that I did not have time to write until well after the Kaitlyn’s “I Refuse to Be Slut Shamed” media tour that was in full effect on Tuesday morning.
Rule 1 in the “How Not to Be Slut Shamed Treatise” is likely “Don’t sleep with someone on a prime time national television show while 8 other guys that you’re dating are simultaneously crying into their beers about their feelings for you.”
Rule 2? “Leave your hot mic on the coffee table before dragging Nick and your whiskey-clouded judgment into the bedroom.
Rule 3? “Keep your legs crossed long enough for the camera crew and the fat guy with the boom mic to exit your private hotel suite.”
Rule 4? “Don’t drink whiskey while you’re in heat.”
You’re welcome. Love, Some Guy in Austin
Double standard or not, I think we’d all agree that she’s getting a bit of well-deserved criticism. Imagine how much fun I would have had if she’d worn the white jeans on that date.
Back to San Antonio.
Man, I can’t stand this cliff hanger thing. It’s such a non-sequitur from the softly lit lead-in with sweeping views of the mansion and Harrison’s “Tonight . . . on The Bachelorette” that allows us to settle in to our favorite spot on the couch in order to watch the carnage.
It’s like waking up drunk in a strange place with last night’s clothes stuck to your body and trying to piece the previous evening’s events together while simultaneously praying your keys are still in your pocket.
|My birds left my elbows.|
At least they have the courtesy to rehash the essential details for us. “Oh yea. Ian was getting ready to put her and her bathroom sense of humor in their place,” I said aloud.
Incidentally, remind me to tell y’all the story when the off season rolls around about me scaling down the side of a three-story building hungover and in last night’s clothes in order to escape a guy twice my size when I was in college.
Nick and his pretentious bowtie are “concerned” that Ian is going to be mean to Kaitlyn.
Nick-tionary: con·cerned (pronounced “kənˈsərnd”) Hopeful that whatever Ian says leaves her vulnerable enough for me to swoop in and get in her Canadian pants. See also, opportunist, manipulator, and slimebag.
Alright. The Ian thing.
I think we all had mixed feelings when watching this guy go off on Kaitlyn and her artificially tumescent and permanently puckered lips. I won’t rehash the litany of things that Ian believed made Kaitlyn a peasant beneath his royal feet. Let me go on the record as saying that I personally don’t give a sh*t about any Ivy League school or any learning institution with the word “academy” in it. Ian demonstrated why.
The arrogance, elitism, and, frankly, delusion dripping from his rapidly receding hairline were nauseating to hear. Well, they would have been had I not been giggling like Kaitlyn after hearing a fart joke when he was itemizing his list of complaints about 6 inches from her flabbergasted face. If you listened closely enough, it was in alphabetical order.
|My lip implants are totally deep.|
Ian punctuates the entire thing by calling her a “surface level” person. In hindsight, that was pretty accurate. After all, in a matter of hours she’d be level on the surface of her mattress with Nick on top of her.
Most people are too polite to be honest. Ian, on the other hand, was too honest to be polite. The only thing deep about him at that moment was the pile of sh*t he'd gotten himself into with Kaitlyn. He’s done.
Fake Gosling worries a little but unfortunately not enough to beat Nick to the lobby couch with his metaphorical dustpan and broom in hand to sweep up the shards of emotional glass around Kaitlyn’s delicate psyche thereby laying (no pun intended) the groundwork for sweeping away her delicate unmentionables after priming the pump with some fermented rye later in the week. I’ll give the guy credit. He was efficient and focused. Say what you want about the goal, he knew what he was doing.
By the way, as further evidence that neither Princeton nor Deerfield Academy made a bit of difference beyond giving Ian a falsely inflated view of himself in comparison to the rest of the serfs on the estate let’s explore how Ian plans to enlighten us all.
He’s “so deep” and “so intellectual” that his biggest desire is . . .
a. to use his innumerable gifts to travel to the U.N. and speak about the horrors of inequality;
b. to open a rehab facility in his home town in order to intellectually and physically rehabilitate victims of horrific accidents like the one he suffered;
c. to become a monk like the Dali Lama in order to enlighten us all with the wisdom espoused by Princeton professors that would otherwise be unavailable to the proletariat population; or
d. sign up for the exact same position he just obliterated Kaitlyn for choosing.
If you answered “d”, you’re not surprised. What an idiot. He wants to be The Bachelor? Apparently, they don’t read Goethe or Marlowe in his fancy schools. Fleiss would make a perfect Mephistopheles, tempting Ian to forgo his divine knowledge in exchange for poontanging around the mansion with 25 nubile, semi-inebriateed, attention-hungry, surface-level hotties who can't recognize deep intellect vying for his attention.
Frankly, that sounds more fun than reading Goethe and it certainly sounds like more fun than going to Princeton. Good luck securing that gig, Ian. And good luck with your intellectual super powers. You’ll marry a woman as humorless and conceited as yourself.
Oh, and if you’re so averse to fart and poop jokes, please steer clear of William Shakespeare, Geoffrey Chaucer, James Joyce, W. H. Auden, Jon Kennedy Toole, and Phillip Roth. I realize that list is woefully incomplete. I went to the surface level University of Texas and not Princeton.
Nick, Ben H., and Fake Gosling have roses. Fake Gosling finally gets the courage to go talk to Kaitlyn but is repelled when he walks in on a Nick make out session. That sucks. Literally.
Kaitlyn broods in the upper lounge as the ABC Editing Team begins to set up the impending bang. “Intimacy” is an important part of a relationship she tells us. Presumably, by “relationship” she meant “first date.”
Kaitlyn shows up in the lobby to discuss the Ian Incident with the rest of the dudes. Gasp! He was honest with you? That son of a . . . !
Harrison shows up on cue in purple and pink with champagne flute and butter knife in hand. It’s elimination time.
With the understanding that the vast majority of my readership is not from Texas I will limit my comments on the wisdom of having a rose ceremony on the front steps of The Alamo.
First, it was not “Texas’ Last Stand.” Open a book. Second, The Alamo is actually a tomb. The bones of several of the fighters who died there are literally buried in the floor of the building with a plaque marking the actual spot where they were discovered. Pick any memorial and ask yourself if a reality show rose ceremony would be appropriate in front of it. Lastly, I was glad to hear Harrison at least acknowledge that it’s an important place for those of us from Texas. For the record, the shot looked great.
Kaitlyn tries to sound deep and intellectual. She doesn’t.
Chris the Dentist
J.J. (how is this guy still around)
Joe Dirt (still my favorite)
Ben Z. (he’s petered out over the last 2 episodes)
Tanner (too normal for her)
Ian (he took a surface level flight home)
Joshua (Still Nick obsessed and he should have fixed his haircut)
We’re headed to Dublin, Ireland. Shhh, don’t tell Joshua. He’s crying in Alamo Plaza. Fix your hair, dude.
Kaitlyn arrives in Ireland and wanders around in her infinity scarf while her predictable voice over christens Ireland as yet another “perfect place to fall in love.” She uses the term “Bucket List,” twice. Sigh, so surface level. She’s searching for the luck of the Irish . . . or more likely something that rhymes with “luck.”
Joe Dirt takes a break from the fleece zip-up hoodie party the guys are having to tell us that there are a couple guys Kaitlyn is ready to “go a lot further with.” Again, props to the guy in the editing booth who put that little gem together.
Kaitlyn shows up and in front of the 8 remaining dudes announces that she’s going on a one-on-one date with Nick. So much for “caring about everyone’s feelings.” Fake Gosling begins to crack like the Liberty Bell and Tanner starts to accept the unfortunate fact that he’s boring.
In the meantime, Nick puts on the tightest green pants he can find and compliments them with a Member’s Only leather jacket. He announces, “it looks like I just got lucky in Dublin.” Well, not yet, Nick. Patience is a virtue. It’s also a good name for a stripper, but that’s neither here nor there.
She and Nick walk together in the park and Kaitlyn again makes us wonder why she has birds tattooed on her arms when she’s apparently terrified of them. Well, she’s terrified of pigeons anyway. We’d later learn that she was perfectly fine with cocks.
|Allow me to Cock-a-doodle-Do You|
In this season’s version of the mocking the local culture date, Nick and Kaitlyn fake Riverdance in the park before going trinket shopping and reliving Arie’s famous sucking face in a urine-soaked alley move. It was at this point it became abundantly clear to us all that the Kaitlyn pump had been primed. It was-in a word-ON.
And what better place to have dinner for two people well on their way to violating every rule in Genesis through Revelations than an ornate Catholic Church? Now I know why they didn’t use the Alamo for the Rose Ceremony: that wouldn’t have been disrespectful enough.
To be fair, Nick was respectful enough to wear his Elks Lodge plaid jacket and had the courtesy to leave his antler hat outside. Kaitlyn dressed for easy access and an anticipated leg wrap/hug and kiss move. Jillian used to do that too. Must be a Canadian thing.
|This is a Canadian Mating Signal|
After continuously fondling one another for the better part of the evening Kaitlyn lets Nick know he’s going to get the Date Rose . . . for starters.
Good Lord. The way his hands were moving he might was well have been juggling. Ignoring the fact that there is no Forego the Foreplay card tucked into an envelope with the Get Out of Judgment Free Card signed by Chris Harrison, Kaitlyn invites Nick back to her room. I believe they call that behavior “Flagging” or “Presenting” in the animal kingdom. Nick predictably agrees.
The remaining dudes sit around, oblivious to Nick’s cherry picking, and do some math in the living room. Knock knock.
Group Date Card a/k/a The Sloppy Seconds Date
Tanner, Ben Z., Fake Gosling, Jared, Ben H., and Chris.
J.J. and Joe Dirt get 2 on 1 date.
Again, brilliant editing of Jared and Fake Gosling’s emotion-filled chat over their concerns about Kaitlyn’s well-being while Nick simultaneously closed the deal. How do you think that little vignette is going to play on the Men Tell All?
Nick and Kaitlyn retire to the bedroom after starting their engines on the couch. In the absence of anything to film, the camera crew resorts to capturing various phallic symbols around the property as the sound guy giggles his headphones off. From the sound of things, it was apparent that Nick got a good look at Kaitlyn’s surface level.
In case I haven’t already, let me be clear. If Kaitlyn wants to get hammered like used sheet metal in a junkyard by a guy she barely knows—or any other guy for that matter—that’s her 29-year old prerogative. My problem is not with the flippant coitus.
The bigger issue is her glaring lack of consideration for the feelings of the other guys kicking it stoically around the suite matched only by her even more glaring lack of consideration for her own self-respect.
Turning the little black button on the battery pack attached to the microphone in her underwear to the “off” position before tossing it on the floor and respectfully asking the camera crew to leave the room before throwing her hoo ha at Nick at light speed would have at least provided her deniability.
Had she done either of those things what happened with Nick would have been impossible to prove—which leads me to my next point.
Let’s not give her too much credit for being “honest” about The Big Bang.
Speaking of Stoic men, Marcus Aurelius wrote, “of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself? What is its nature?” Put another way, it’s not being “honest” if you have no way of lying about it, Kaitlyn.
Marcus Aurelius also wrote, “we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.” Apparently, that’s not always true. I’ll give her credit for owning the behavior.
Still without anything to film, the crew creatively captures the birds and bees bustling around the freshly hatched morning of regret. Through a fog of post-whiskey over indulgence, Kaitlyn fakes like she regrets anything but her hangover on her balcony. She thinks a lot about Nick (or something that rhymes with Nick).
Nick walks in the garden in last night’s clothes amongst the neatly trimmed bushes while undoubtedly thinking about one other neatly trimmed bush he’d recently seen.
Nick recounts the rated G version of his date to Joe Dirt (I like him) letting him know they stayed up really late and “talked” and Joe responds, “the same thing happened to Shawn.” Well, not really the SAME thing, but still.
Nick-tionary: talk (pronounced “tôk”) To get lucky in Ireland. See also bang, pork, and do.
Group Date. Enough false regret over the intentionally planned sex encounter with Nick. After all, Kaitlyn has a date to get ready for. She washes the Nick off of her.
Harrison—not one to pass on a kickass free trip-shows up and lets the dudes know they are there for a traditional Irish wake. “What are they burying, her dignity?” I asked between Lone Star sips.
Kaitlyn takes her place lying down in a coffin so the guys can bid her farewell. That was the second time in less than 12 hours that she spent a date lying on her back. For her sake I hope it wasn’t also the second time in less than 12 hours that someone thought she was acting like a corpse.
I’ll spare all of us a second look at the spontaneous toasts. That date was really mean to Ben Z. who held it together nicely in spite of the fact that his mother recently passed away.
Guinness Brewery for the big cocktail party.
Little disclosed fact: Some Guy likes Guinness more than he likes Lone Star. You read that correctly. It’s like drinking a Snickers bar.
Mount St. Shawn starts to swell, well on its way to a full blown eruption. Was is just me or did any of you also get the feeling that he either knew something that wasn’t disclosed or that the footage was taken out of chronological order? If I’m wrong on both guesses, that volcano is going to make Mount St. Helens look like a pimple when he finds out that Nick has already taken a trip down into the San Andreas Fault.
Wow. Necrophilia jokes and geologically based sexual innuendos inside of 5 paragraphs. Sometimes I amaze myself.
SGIA Dictionary: Innuendo (pronounced “in-you-end-oh”) An Italian suppository.
Date Rose. Jared gets the Date Rose in spite of Fake Gosling’s crying and Ben Z.’s heartfelt toast.
Not satisfied with thumbing her nose at the Alamo and the Catholic Church in one episode, Kaitlyn takes Jared to see The Cranberries perform in another church. The Cranberries? I guess Jeffrey Osborn didn’t want to make the trip.
And again, like a Cormac McCarthy novel, the episode ends with more questions than were answered. We’ll have to wait and see if J.J. can outwit Joe Dirt on the two-on-one date next week. Frankly, whoever gets sent home is the winner if you ask me.
Brady and Britt update. She loves the duplicity implied by wearing a wool hat with a sundress and Brady is still wearing his black Bieber jeans when he meets mom. They may be made for each other.
Well, there it is. Stay tuned next week as the fallout of the Big Bang continues to unfold. Enjoy the rest of your week. In the meantime, if you need me I’ll be shopping for some tight green khakis and some whiskey. DP