Chris Episode 9: I Can Bali Wait to Hin-Do You

Amazing Count 113

Journey Count 24

Hello, Readers.  Welcome back to this week’s installment.  Some Guy is fresh of an exhausting trip to New Orleans.  I got home on Sunday.   My BAC is almost below the legal limit.  Ooof.  It’s Fantasy Week or, as I refer to it, Get Out of Jail Free Week.  

Yes, it’s that time of season.  It’s time for our Bachelor to travel to the “perfect place to fall in love,” grab a catamaran (or its equivalent) ride before anchoring and jumping into the crystal blue ocean with an “amazing woman”, and then mull around the tropical island paradise belittling the local culture all in the name of getting to an outdoor, tiki-lit dinner, pounding some wine, and foregoing the foreplay for a few one night stands in the Fantasy Suite.

I know.  That paragraph is as boring and predictable Monday’s episode.  Well, that is until I tell you that I wrote it on Sunday night.   It’s like I’m psychic or something. 

I think he bangs them all.

Sigh . . .

Chris shows up for his 3-minute standard intro in Bali, which, of course, is part of the Poontang  Archipelago.   He broods.  He reflects.  He pontificates.  He strolls.  He changes pastel colored shirts 8 times.  At first I thought that was just a cleverly edited montage hastily thrown together over the course of a few days in order to adequately capture our conflicted Bachelor’s feelings. 

However, after watching the episode it was clear that Chris needed a shirt change every 10 minutes.  The guy sweats like a whore in church, for crying out loud.  I wondered if he either had diabetes (probably Type II if appearance is any indication) or he was related to Roberto.  By the current geographic rationale, the Chance of Falling in Love is directly proportionate to the Relative Humidity.  

There’s bound to be a perfect place to fall in love where the relative humidity isn’t 100%.  Hey, ABC, how about relocating the big finale somewhere not between the Equator and the Tropic of Capricorn?  Nabokov wrote of Humbert’s Lolita, “nymphets do not occur in polar regions.”  I suppose that’s as good an answer as any.   

Kaitlyn Date. 

Date one.  We learn that she and Chris are in for some sacred temple touring and some fun with banana hungry monkeys.   Being the lead off batter in Fantasy Suite dates is like being the top 2X6 in the lumber pile meant for the backyard deck:  you’ll definitely be the first to get laid down, screwed, and stepped on. 

I'm falling in love with this board. 

Speaking of banana hungry monkeys, Kaitlyn steps off the lumber pile in her pink shorts and artfully executes the first Jump, Wrap, and Hug greeting of the episode.  You have to love a lady, don’t you?  Honestly, the only time I ever see that in “real” life is when a five-year old girl sees her father headed toward her at the Baggage Claim in the airport after he’s been gone for the week.   

Sure, you can’t kiss in the sacred Balinese temple but, apparently, you can throw yourself crotch-first at the dude you’re sharing with two other women just a stone’s throw from the aforementioned sacred temple.  She rode him like a plastic horse in front of the grocery store.

Ride me like a Bachelor in Bali

The date didn’t hold much mystery.  It was pretty much the same date as the Love Guru Date with Carly.  Well, if you substitute simulated fornication for actual fornication.  They talked a lot about nothing, watched the monkeys imitate Kaitlyn and kissed a safe distance from the temple amongst the smell of rotting bananas and monkey feces before foregoing the foreplay and heading to the Fantasy Suite for a sweaty romp in the malaria-proof bed.  Perfect place, indeed.

I will say this about Kaitlyn.  I thought she looked as pretty as she’s looked all season and she did actually back off the funny girl routine and let her guard down.  Chris’ “I’m falling in love with you too” and “I can see a life with you in Iowa” comments throughout the date didn’t help it when the inevitability of her departure became apparent to her at the Rose Ceremony.   The hurt in her face when he chose Becca over her was genuine and the regret was evident.  For what it’s worth, she has my vote for the next Bachelorette.  

In the meantime, Whitney was in her hotel room with a bottle of Chardonnay getting hammered while Chris was out getting nailed. 

Whitney Date. 

First of all, she’s not attractive.  Second of all, she walks like a man.  Whitney meets Chris with her own version of the Jump, Wrap, and Hug and Chris greets her with yet another version of the same outfit he’s been wearing all episode.  I began to wonder if the shorts were reversible.  He was likely wearing Garanimals for sweaty farmers.  It was at this time I realized that she has no upper lip either.  Perhaps fate does exist. 

Whitney, not one to waste time, harkens back to last week’s open wound by mentioning her bitchy sister’s refusal to bless her potential engagement, iffy move to Iowa, as-yet-to-be-determined wedding date, and her non-existent children.  

Of course, all of this was offset by the new ABC cameraman who apparently also moonlights as the resident voyeur.  I thought I was being forced to watch another ultrasound this show.  If Whitney’s gynecologist would have seen that video, he would have undoubtedly exclaimed, “even I haven’t seen that angle before.”  Good Lord.  ABC should have saved the plane fare and the hotel room and just had Whitney hold the camera between her knees the entire date.  If you looked close enough you could see what she had for breakfast.

Boat ride on a fake pirate ship.  Blah, blah, blah . . . beautiful place to fall in love . . . she’s sure . . . she’s ready . . . she won’t shut up.  I wished he would have battened down her hatches.  Whitney was also orange.  Really orange.  Like the sun orange.  Apparently, they sell bronzer in Bali.  There’s no way that she used less than the 3 ounce tube she’d be allowed to take on the plane.  She looked like a basketball.  When she jumped off the boat the Indian Ocean almost turned into the Red Sea. 

Note to you ladies, spray tans and bronzers are the female versions of the toupee or the comb over.  It’s patently obvious.  Tans are like heels.  At some point they quickly graduate from tasteful to ridiculous.  Subtlety is an art.  Trashiness is an affliction.  Less is more.  No guy wants to look at you across the fake pirate ship and wonder if you’ve developed a liver problem from eating some kind of Balinese blowfish.  A healthy tan is attractive.  Jaundice is a serious medical condition.

Chris and Whitney enjoy a lovely outdoor dinner while the Fantasy Suite staff changes the sheets and flips the mattress.  Whitney listens to Chris’ Arlington, Iowa speech.  "Can you handle it," he wonders aloud.  In exchange, she gives him the “I want kids right away” speech.  

Wow. 

Moving from a town of several million to a town of less than 500 and popping out a couple of kids on the pasture is not a good idea.  There’s no Curves or spray tan place in Arlington, Iowa and there’s no one who is going to watch the kid all day while you put on your Lululemon gear and pretend to go to yoga before heading to Starbucks with a friend to bitch about your husband.  How long do you think before the “I told you” call from her bitchy sister gets made? 

They forgo the foreplay and head to the Fantasy Suite.  I can only imagine how orange those sheets looked the next morning.  They likely looked like a pornographic version of the Shroud of Turin.

    

Becca Date. 

“Yea, we know she’s a virgin,” I said into my Lone Star as Becca’s voiceover failed to make me ignore her silky shirt/Dolphin shorts combo.  What was that?

I'm a virgin. 

Look, she’s a bit dry but I’ve liked her all season. She’s been consistently nice, non-controversial, modest, and she hasn’t complained once.  Did I mention she’s a virgin?  She and Chris don sarongs and get some advice from the resident soothsayer who can evidently predict the future of their relationship but not the presence of Becca’s virginity.  Que sarong sarong, I suppose.        

After toweling off, Chris meets Becca for dinner. She’s very (and understandably) trepidatious about moving to Iowa.  Ironically, Becca had the most realistic take on the move to Iowa and a relationship with Chris.  Sadly, Chris had the least enthusiastic reaction.  

I thought she was articulate and incredibly spot on when she said things like, “I have strong feelings and I love where were going” but I’m not about to move to a town of 500 people until I’m sure.  Sadly, all he wanted to hear was “I’ll throw all caution to the wind for an opportunity to be an Iowa housewife in an isolated corn field.”   

Finally, Becca drops “I’m a virgin.  You know, a real one, not the Ashley I. kind of virgin."  The look on his face was priceless.  You could almost hear his brain screaming, “another one?”  I was waiting for him to respond,  “It’s ok, I’m a little sore from the last two nights.”  

Sadly, he sputtered and spit like an old outboard motor trying to answer her "striking" revelation in a politically correct way.  He actually gained some traction (eventually) and made her feel like a decent person rather than Quasimodo about having other interests beyond her vagina.  

 

Since when is being a virgin before marriage equivalent to leprosy?  She’s like the reverse Hester Prynne.  “A pure hand needs no glove to cover it,” wrote Hawthorne in The Scarlet Letter.  I wonder what it says about our culture today that perhaps it does. 

"She’d better keep that virgin thing quiet or she might end up getting kidnapped by the Balinese natives and thrown into a volcano," I said to Mrs. SGIA.  Like Chris, she wasn't listening either.  Becca walks on the beach away from nearby volcanoes. 

Chris is confused.  Chris ponders and cries.  “Where the hell is Harrison!?!?” I exclaimed.  

Harrison, fresh off some parasailing and fruity cocktails with Neil Lane, shows up in the Lair of Seclusion.  He bro hugs it out with Chris over a pair of untouched glasses of tea with some bendy straws.  He stirs the pot. 

Chris:              Help me.

OHCH:           Tough week.  Becca told you she’s a virgin.

Chris:              Yea.  She did.

OHCH:           If you send her home, you mind if I make a run at it? 

Chris:              Well, I . . .

OHCH:           You’ve got a tough day ahead of you.  I’m going to                         the limbo contest.  I’m out. 

Samuan Tiga Temple Rose Ceremony. 

After martial arts practice with Harrison, everyone shows up for the rose ceremony in their martial arts outfits.  Kaitlyn sports newly colored hair compliments of the ABC Pre-Bachelorette Makeover Crew, Whitney sports her Bitchy Resting Face, and Becca Sports the only thing that at this point separates her from the other two after the Fantasy Suite Dates:  her dignity.   

I want to make many young Iowans with you.

That's Vivien Leigh, by the way. 

Chris pulls Becca away for a “why don’t you love me like the others do” talk.  She holds the line but balks enough to tip the balance between her and Kaitlyn.  He walks back in the ceremony with Becca after Kaitlyn and Whitney have written her off.  I was waiting for one of them to exclaim, "Oh no you tai kwon don't!"  No luck.    

Kaitlyn faces the inevitability of her fate.  Both Whitney and Becca made an effort to grab her hand and hug her after the elimination.  I’ll give Kaitlyn a pass for not reciprocating.  She looked pretty humiliated and even said as much as she got into the “let’s drive around the island for three hours and talk about how miserable you are” limo.  Based on her the forced conversation with Chris she had to be wondering if slapping was permitted in the temple.  

Note to Chris:  When you dump a girl after you’ve told her you’re falling in love with her, sworn you could see a life with her, gotten her commitment to move to Bum F*ck, Iowa, and then capped it all off with a big bang in the Fantasy Suite she likely gave up out of a sense of obligation and a sign of her true commitment, please don’t tell her things to make yourself feel better.  

Be a man and just let her go.  Deal with your end of it on your own rather than putting it on her shoulders.  In short, if a rooster crows  three times that’s probably a sign to shut up. 

Whitney vs. Becca in the big finale. 

Gone:  Kaitlyn 

She’d be a good Bachelorette.  Better than Britt.

That elimination had to sting, but she'll be over it by the Women Tell All.  They always are.  Hey, Kaitlyn, your fellow Canadian, Wayne Gretzky, once said “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”  Keep shooting.  You’ll score eventually.  That seemed to work out pretty well for Wayne.  

Look at his wife.  

I love Canadians.

. . . and his daughter. 

I love Some Guy in Austin

No wonder they call him The Great One.  

Women Tell All next week, folks.  Personally, that’s my least favorite show of the season.  In fact, I hate it.  I haven’t decided if I’ll recap it, but I’ll definitely post something Bachelor related.  Perhaps a Man’s Point of View or a Some Guy Tells All.  Let me know your thoughts and I’ll do my best to deliver.  Take care of yourselves.  In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be sweating and crying in my judo outfit.  DP