Friday, March 18, 2011

the bachelor: lessons learned.

Praise the Lord for a two month break from the gut-wrenching agony that is this poor example of quality television known as "The Bachelor."

I definitely need to spend the next two months gearing up for the nails-on-the-chalkboard-like dentist, also known as Ashley H., who is our next Bachelorette.

Anyway. After finally viewing the "After the Rose" epi, I experienced zero shock and very little heartache. I didn't lose any sleep, nor did I experience any nausea. And, I hate that. Maybe I'm too realistic to truly believe this bullshit show could actually provide somebody with a healthy relationship/marriage or maybe I'm cynical and jealous.

However, there is a small part of me that holds on to the dream each season. The dream that two, would be strangers, could come together under the umbrella of cameras, producers and editing to find bliss. I hold on to that dream because if that could happen, then maybe there's a shot for me, too. Maybe one day soon I'll be strolling casually down the adult beverage aisle at Kroger and meet my match for life. ( I should try a different Kroger though seeing as how all the men that shop at my neighborhood Kroger are also hoping to meet the man of their dreams.)

So, what did we learn this season?
Or, what didn't we learn?

For sure, we learned where Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Costa Rica, Anguilla, New York City and South Africa are on a map. We also got the bonus information of knowing that southern Maine and South Africa are like, really far apart.

We learned that therapy not only opens you up emotionally, it also makes it hard to function normally without said therapist while on a reality television show.

We learned that "Kiss from a Rose" is just as bad now as it was in 1992.

We learned that you can give yourself a black eye and have zero recollection of the event.

We learned that men like pastels, too.

We learned that sometimes "giving back" actually means filming fake commercials that involve kissing.

We learned that each and every date (ever) should end in a hot tub. And there should be champagne.

We learned that money can't buy you class (Channy).

We learned that the phrase "second chance" could actually mean the 2,345th chance.

We learned that helicopters are typical. And expected.

Obviously, the list could go on, but I think it's time that we closed the book on Bach Brad. I have a strong feeling he's about to go through hell trying to get his lil' Barbie doll to actually like him. She seemed to really be giving him the cold shoulder the other night. I felt extremely awkward watching it. It was like watching people you kind of know and don't necessarily hate self-destruct at a junior high dance. The pettiness, the weirdness, the chaperone, the other gUrl...think about it. That's exactly what it was like. You want it to work, but you're thinking, "You're in junior high. This will never last." Except it's, "You met on a television show and 20 other women were involved. This will never last."

Here's hoping if Brad ever gets to be that "not-a-step-father" type of father to Lil' Ricki, he'll work on giving her a more suitable name to go by. Otherwise, she's screwed for life. Throw the gUrl a bone.

Cheers to giving someone your forever.
Or whatever.

1 comment:

Robin said...

Hey! Stopped by to say hi, your friend (and mine actually) Meagan Reans told me about you and your bliggedy blog. The only thing I like about the Bach is making fun of the people on there. And I like that a lot.

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