Look! A new TV show to review! Hooray!

I think True Blood is one of the best shows on TV...I mean, it's HBO. HBO is allowed to get away with stuff that the regular networks can't (Game of Thrones, anyone? Holy moly.) And they certainly push it to the limit on True Blood - all of the gore, violence, and sex (::ahem::)...whoa. But the sensational stuff aside, at its core, True Blood is a sharp, biting (pun intended!) social satire woven into a compelling storyline with memorable characters. It's not for everyone, but it definitely is for me.

Interestingly, I hated the first three episodes of season one. Hated them. Was totally turned off by everything - the deep South location, the annoying gap between Anna Paquin's front teeth, the fact that the vampires were mean, and not nice, Twilight-like vampires. But I gave it a little time and now I'm totally hooked. Hell, I was Sookie for Halloween last year. (Brian was a member of the Fellowship of the Sun church, and Scotty was a vampire. Please overlook all of the weird Freudian interpretations; it was more about finding costumes that fit (Scotty) and were agreeable and low-maintenance (Brian).)

I will forever credit Eric the Vampire with getting me through the last few months of pregnancy. Sunday nights were about the only thing I looked forward to, especially near the end, and when we paired Lucille's BBQ with our viewing, suddenly, a tradition was born. So there I sat,  in the middle of the summer of 2009, stuffing my face with pulled pork and sweet corn while watching Sookie avoid death for the 100th time.  I'm a firm believer Scotty was as big as he was when he was born as a result of our new tradition. And all that pulled pork.

And season four kicked off this past Sunday! Rejoice, True Blood is back! There is a whole cast of new characters, including a witch's coven that just moved into the neighborhood, as well as 12 months and 2 weeks of Sookie's life that needs explaining. Apparently, when she went to the Fairy world (after finding out she's part fairy, making her understand why she's so delicious to vampires; fairy blood just tastes better. It's like the McDonald's Coke of blood types, I guess), time took on a different quality. While she was only there for a few minutes, a year of her life went by. And in that, Jason her brother, sold her house, Bill became King of Louisiana, and Tara is now Tony. (more on that later.) Sam is still grouchy, Arlene is still a little neurotic, especially when it comes to her new baby, and Layfayette is still dating Jesus (Hey-Zeus, the nurse from the assisted living facility, not the Savior of the world, for all of your non-True Blood fans.)

I think I probably did myself a major disservice by reading all of the Sookie Stackhouse books in the off-season, since I kept repeating, "That's not in the book. That's not the way it happened in the book. That person didn't do [blah, blah, blah] in the books."  Part of the reason seasons 1-3 were so, well, delicious, is because I didn't know what was going to happen. And now I do, and am kind of irritated that the TV show is not following the books. But interestingly, I will say, I enjoy the show a lot more than the books, a feat that rarely happens.

I'd like to credit Eric the Vampire for that, aka Alexander Skaarsgard.

Anywho, enough of that, let's get to the good stuff. Episode one was rather...um, underwhelming? It's kind of like the show had to completely reboot itself from season three, in an effort to make up for Sookie's time travels. Jason is still caring for the little werepanthers in Hot Shot, but they don't seem to like him since they just locked him in a freezer (very similar to the one I bought from Sears in January.) Tara, still distraught over the whole Franklin mess, has reinvented herself as a lesbian cage fighter that goes by the name of Tony. As I looked at Brian with very, very, very wide eyes, he simply shrugged and said, "No better way to spice up a series than the use of lesbian cage fighters."

Hmph. And there you have it.

Layfayette is still struggling to accept the fact that he may be magical, and so rather unwillingly goes to a seance at a local shop. Marnie, the owner, is the leader and the ragtag group surrounding her, seating rather uncomfortably on their floor pillows, seems believable. Holly is there, the waitress that tried to help Arlene last season. Another woman, one with glasses, is clearly not who she says she is, since the scene ends with her trotting over to the King of Louisana's house, ready to share info. But behind the desk is...Bill. When did he become King?

And coven, with Layfayette's rather unexpected help, manages to bring Marnie's dead parrot back to life for just a few moments before it crashes to the floor again. This proves to be the catalyst for all of the major drama in season 4, since as Bill puts it...if witches can manipulate the dead, they can control vampires. Scandal! Looks like our favorite Undeads are no longer top of the food chain.

And perhaps most startling is that Eric is the new owner of Sookie's house, meanly she cannot banish him from her abode. Bummer, Sookie. Looks like it's either time to find new digs or give in to the giant Nordic vamp. (I vote for the second.) And fans of the books will note, since we're officially up to book 4, things do change between Bill, Sookie, and Eric. It should be interesting to see how Alan Ball does this. Shower scene, anyone?

Overall, it was a solid episode. Kind of heavy on explaining, a little light on blood, but the drama is definitely building. Considering book 4 was probably my favorite book in the series, I've got my fingers crossed for a great season.

What did you think? Thoughts?

I wasn't going to review tonight's episode of Ashley and her suitors, but then I received several very nice messages encouraging me to do so. And I thought...why not? What else would I be doing? It's 8 o'clock on a Monday night and I could either sit here and cry or I could grab the Ipad, turn the channel to ABC, and watch Ashley cry.

I chose the latter. And cry, she did.

So, here we go.

Bentley, Bentley, Bentley.

Ashley wasn't even safe on the other side of the world from this dirt bag.

Clearly, ABC productions saw fit to fly this dude half way across the planet in an effort to continue wreaking emotional havoc on our dear Bachelorette. Probably out of fear that this was the most boring season ever, they needed to stir the pot with one, large, Utah-dwelling villain. Lots of folks on Facebook had been questioning what Ashley sees/saw in him, and I was thinking about that, too. As I pondered why Bentley had no qualms about flying like, 20+ hours to Hong Kong to continue messing with a girl's head, a light bulb went off in my head.

This isn't about Bentley. This is about Ashley.

More specifically, this is about the Smart Girl's Achilles Heel.

Ashley is a victim of her own success. More specifically, her history of success.

Bear with me on this -- okay, what do we know about Ashley? She's small, cute - but not pretty in the way, say, Emily is, but cute - and she's an overachiever. She's from a small town, moved away from there to make it in a big city, and will soon be Dr. Ashley Herbert.  She's a perfectionist and a self-described "type A personality." She hates to be wrong. She prides herself on her ability to do things right, and the ability to wrap them up appropriately.

Which is the one thing Bentley wouldn't give her: a period at the end of that sentence, instead of his stupid "dot dot dot." (It's called an elliptical, Bentley.)

See, and this is exactly where Bentley struck: in the "closure" section of her brain. He knew she was a Smart Girl, a girl who prides herself on her ability to make people well/happy/safe, and he intentionally left her hanging. Now, for some other women, this would be no big deal. They would move on without another though. But Smart Girls like to dot their 'i's and cross their 't's and the idea of a guy leaving because of...?...is too much to bear (also see: Jillian and Ed). Ashley is nothing if not logical, and the "what if?" he left her with was too much to take. His departure weighed on Ashley more than their relationship ever did. Yes, she thought it was because she was falling for him (and maybe she was; he certainly was telling her what she wanted to hear), but it's more for the fact that Smart Girls often want exactly what they can't have. Mainly because 99% of the time, they are able to get what they want, 'cause they are smart. That remaining 1%, however, is enough to keep a Smart Girl up at night.

I know this because I am one. (well, most of the time. Not the Cool Girl, not the Trendy Girl, and certainly not the Fun Girl. I'm not the life of the party, but if you need something to get done, I'm usually fairly handy. And reliable.) And I know a lot of other very Smart Girls, since we run in packs, and I've watched all of us have that one guy, that one jerk that was intentionally messing with us, and we knew it wasn't good, but our own pride prevented us from letting go. Because we like things to be neat and clean and tidy in the end.  And when it's not...well, we become neurotic and self-sabotaging.

Which is exactly what Ashley was doing.

I'm not going to give Bentley a lot of credit for knowingly and willfully crafting the one response that would make Ashley go crazy, but he did. In his small, pea-sized brain, he hit the nail on the head. But then during their last meeting, he slipped up - he said it was over. And just like that, the light went on behind Ashley's eyes like fireworks. Because she is a Smart Girl. She figured out his game, got her closure and immediately exited the premise without so much as a look back. I did love the terse, "Just wanted a vacay?" slam she offered before she departed. Ah, now we have a Sassy Smart Girl. You go, girl. Ask Brian - I was literally cheering from the couch.

And then she completely self-imploded at the cocktail party, but that's a whole 'nother conversation.

I will say this - I love JP. LOVE him. I don't know where he came from other than the one one-on-one date where she wore her classes (Smart Girls are often nerdy, too. ::ahem::) and he was really sweet and patient with her. But this date? Wow. Love him. The train ride, the champagne on the rooftop. Even JP jumping to her defense at the cocktail party when all of the other men got upset with her confession. If you watch his face during the champagne toast at the very end, he never takes his eyes off of her. He's into her, almost as though he is going to physically come to her defense. As I remarked to Brian, "He going to like, protect her from wolves and stuff."

I think he's a man in love.

::sigh::

As for the others? Was Ames really wearing two collared-shirts at the group date? Why does everyone hate Ryan? Are Constantine and Ben brothers? How fun was Ashley's make-up brush in the shot of her putting make-up on, complete with that gross pink lipgloss? (the 80s are back, folks.) Dislike on the lipgloss, major like for the brush. (It's a "highlighter brush," as I learned at Target this morning). Farewell, Mickey, ye of the bad table manners. And Blake, pin-striped suit dentist, we hardly knew you. I'm banking on a Ben/Constantine v. JP finale, with JP taking home the final rose.

Thoughts?

Twenty days ago, my plane touched down in Chicago.

Fifteen days ago, I hugged my dad good-bye, told him I loved him, and told him to "fight the good fight."

Fourteen days ago, he entered the ICU due to high blood sugar and vomiting.

Eleven days ago, he passed away peacefully at the age of 60.

Seven days ago, my mom, sister and I attended my dad's wake and met with all of the people who's lives had been touched by my dad. It was beyond humbling, to say the least. I don't know when a child gets a chance to see their parent in a different light, except in this type of situation, and it was so wonderful to meet the people he worked with, hear stories about my dad as a supervisor, or a friend, or a cousin. The man I called "Dad" wore many hats and he wore them all well.

And six days ago, I eulogized my dad at his funeral. Below is the transcript of what I wrote. I'm publishing it for two reasons: 1.) My heart is not in writing right now, and I think this sums up what I feel right now, and 2.) because of the ending. If you'd like to do what I suggest, please let me know. I know my family would appreciate it.

                                                ***********************

On behalf of my family, I’d like to thank all of you for being here today.

Last week, I started to get really sad. Knowing how sick my dad was, I realized it was unlikely he was ever going to see the Cubs win a World’s Series in his lifetime.

And then, I realized that is probably true for all of us.

(note: okay, so this was supposed to be a joke. However, essentially no one laughed. I personally still think this is funny - mainly since the Cubs are going to be terrible for a long, long time - but according to Brian, my official eulogy commentator, he felt no one really laughed because they weren't expecting something humorous. So either, in my first attempt at stand-up, I bombed. In a Catholic Church. Good times.)

My dad was many things – an avid Cubs fan. Mostly a Bears fan. An occasional Colts fan. Before he retired he was a supervisor, a co-worker, a mentor, and an occasional pain in the butt. After he retired, he was a golfer, a napper, a world traveler, and still, the occasional pain in the butt. He was a husband, a father, and most recently, a grandfather. He was a perfectionist, a fair man, a humble man, a proud man and loyal to the core. You always knew where you stood with my dad.

My dad was a proud, quiet man. He was a perfectionist to the end, and if you had the honor of calling him a co-worker, you know what I mean. He knew how to get things done, and they had to be right. He instilled this belief in my sister and I at a young age, and to do this day, I can still his hear voice in my head: “Measure twice, cut once.” But what he was really saying was, “Use caution. Be thoughtful. Do it right.”

My dad didn’t like to make a big deal out of his accomplishments. He was probably the handiest guy I’ve ever known. He literally hand-crafted softball trophies from the machine shop he worked at, with precision and skill. He built desks for my sister and myself growing up to make sure we had the necessary tools to succeed in school. He whittled pens for us and even built our kitchen table. Most recently, he took great pride in building beautiful wooden toys for his grandsons.  He was amazing, gifted, and incredibly talented. We used to joke with him that his mustache always had a constant dusting of sawdust in it. But I can tell you, I can’t smell sawdust without thinking of my father.

One of my favorite stories about my dad’s abilities came when my parents were building their current home. He had grown accustomed to going to the lot after work to check out that day’s work. One night, as he was repairing some dry wall in a closet, another workman stumbled upon him. He looked at my dad and smiled and said, “You still here? Yeah, I know – from what I hear, the owner is a real task master. You better do that right.” My dad just smiled and nodded. His expectations of others were well known.

My dad was the hardest working man I know, and he provided for his family. He often worked double shifts, and yet remained one of the most generous people I know. I remember when I was in 6th grade and still riding on my pink Huffy bike. I had just been to the park and was mercilessly teased by the other kids for my bike, just as kids are prone to do. When I came home crying, my mom shrugged and said to let it roll off my back. Not my dad, though. He didn’t want me to feel badly, and so on his suggestion, we went out that night and bought a sleek black ten-speed. Those kids in the park never said a word to me again, and I know my dad was pleased. While he was gruff on the outside, it pained him to know one of his girls was hurting. He wanted the best for us and was so proud to be able to provide.

But probably most of all, my dad was a loyal man. He was loyal to those he loved.  I don’t know many things for sure, but I know this: he loved my mom. A lot. And without fail. Their 37-plus year marriage is a testament to loyalty. It’s a marriage many aspire to but few meet. Christmases at our house always ended the same way: a special gift for my mom, usually hidden, and often times, jewelry. I’m not sure who was happier – my mom receiving the beautiful gifts, or my dad, for having selected something he knew she would love. It was sweet and touching.

Over the last few days, many people have asked me what they can do to help. I thought about this and came up with an answer. So listen closely. First, I’d like you to go home today and turn on the Cubs game. Open a beverage of your choice, preferably an MGD, because it’s cold-filtered and everything else would give him a head-ache. And then I want you think about the man that was my dad. Think really hard. And come up with a favorite or memorable story about him. And when you’re ready – whether it be in a few hours or a few months, I’d like you to share that memory with my mom, and perhaps my sister and I.  Because if you believe like I do, that the best way to honor a person is to remember them, than share that memory. And that way, my dad lives forever, both in our minds and in our hearts.

Thank you.

                                                ***********************

It's been eleven days since my dad passed, and I still can't believe it.

I don't get it. I can't get it. My mind will not process this. It just won't. I feel like I've unwillingly and unhappily joined a club I don't want to be a member of - the "I've Lost a Parent" Club.

I want to resign my membership.

My dad continues to rest comfortably. My mom hasn't left his side.

Thank you to everyone who left a comment or said a silent prayer for us. I can't tell you how much it means to know other people are thinking warm thoughts for our family during this situation. It really is grace to watch others offer support, kind words, or a happy memory of my dad. I had to laugh when I read Liz and Sherri's comments. I had totally forgotten about the scrunchie tree he made all of my roommates in college (which is essentially a long, tapered piece of wood with a base, so we could keep our scrunchies nice and organized. I told you he was handy). Smiling is hard at times like these, and I truly believe people live on when memories are shared, so thank you.

Speaking of smiling, I'm starting to realize that this subject elicits a different reaction from different people. I'd say for about 99% of the population, the reaction is appropriate: condolences, empathy, a squeeze on the shoulder or a big hug. But for some other people, I just look at them like, "Really? Did that seriously just come out of your mouth?"

Best example so far is Ray the Trainer. He's the guy that does the boot camp class at the gym. About a month ago, I caught up with him after class and asked if he does private training. He does. I only wanted to see him for three sessions, just to get some new ideas and workout tips, and while the man is clearly a genius at fitness (7 Iron-men and counting), he has about three brain cells when it comes to the rest of life. And possesses the empathy of ceramic tile.

So yesterday, I wasn't even sure I should go to the gym. I was crying in the car - which turned into yelling at myself in the car - which I'm sure spooked the drivers next to me. (You know how it is: "Stop crying! Pull it together! You are acting like a crazy person! ::sniff, sniff, wail.:: Baw-haaa!" [that was me crying. I am like, the ugliest of ugly criers.]) So I walked on the treadmill for 20 minutes and felt like crap, all the time wondering how I was going to make it through a full workout. When I saw Ray, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Chicago! How did you do on your diet?" I looked at him strangely and said, "Fine...in fact, I've lost weight. I just have no appetite right now." He nodded. "How's your dad?" he asked, remembering the reason I cancelled last week.

I teared up for the 300th time that day. "Terminal," I told him mournfully. "He's in hospice." He looked at me with confusion and was silent for several moments. He finally said, "So, wow. Yeah. He's like,  gonna die, huh?"

I'm sure I gave him the weirdest look. I managed to spit out, "Yes. He's dying. That's what hospice is," before we started step-ups. He then proceeded to ask me "What in the world is wrong with him?" ("Colon/liver cancer"I replied tersely), was he just not on top of his health (actually, he was very cognizant of his health), and why was there grass falling out of my sneakers? I told him about mowing the lawn, and he then asked me why my dad didn't mow the lawn. Between push-ups, he informed me about his dislike of funerals ("too sad") and the creepy factor of open caskets ("I've seen too many zombie movies.")

I just about exploded. It was like someone had handed this guy a book called, "How to Say Exactly the Wrong Thing When Losing a Loved One" and he was following it to the letter. But then I realized the stupidity of this whole conversation - he just didn't know. My anger simmered and I realized that it was kind of refreshing to not be getting "that look" or told I was going to be okay. Being pitied feels like crap. And thankfully, Ray probably doesn't know how to spell 'pity,' let alone its definition, so there was no worry of that here. He didn't even alter the amount of weight he had me lifting. After awhile, I found myself concentrating more on getting through the mountain climbers and up-downs than on my family situation, which was 1700 miles away and completely out of my control.

I left the gym feeling like a new person. I had smiled - sincerely - for the first time in a long time. I had been successfully able to take my mind off of everything for a solid 45 minutes, and had some nice endorphins coursing through the blood stream. Overall, it was a great relief. So thank you, three-brain-cell Ray. Your ignorance was not only refreshing, but surprisingly therapeutic. And it made for a little dose of unexpected humor.

                                            **********************

We leave on Sunday morning for Indiana. Blog will be dark for awhile.

Peace out. 

So...my dad is sick.

Like, really sick.

Sick as in...not going to get better.

Other working titles for this entry included "Shaking My Fists at the Universe," "Unfair," and "In Shock." Because that's what I'm in - shock. He was diagnosed with colon cancer on May 3rd. My sister and I found out about it on May 18th. They did additional testing and found that the cancer had spread to his liver. He started chemo a few weeks ago but the disease was already too advanced. 

And now, as I type this, he is in hospice care. No further treatment, no further intervention. It may be a few hours, a few days, or a few weeks.

And then...that's it.

I could expound on the fact that I am royally pissed off at the higher powers. I could talk about last week, and the endless hours spend in the hospital, the amount of tears shed, or the feeling of your heart breaking into two. But instead, I'm not going to talk about the end. That's just one part of the story. I'm going to talk about my dad - my dad before May 3rd - and what I want the world to know about him.

This is him:

Isn't he cute? This was taken at his surprise retirement party at my sister's house in 2008.

What do you want to know about my dad? Well, here are a few things:

My dad was my softball coach. I can't tell you how many hours I spent fielding ground balls with my father behind the plate. Or hearing, "You throw like a girl!" (to which I always whined back, "But I am a girl!") He used to come home from work, eat a quick dinner, and then load up the car with equipment to spend the next two hours dealing with 15 10-year old girls. I mean, who would sign up for that? But he did. Summer after summer, cold spring after cold, chilly, rainy spring. I never knew where my cleats were and couldn't find matching socks if it killed me, but there was my dad: dressed in his coach's outfit, hat rim appropriately bent, with his aviator sunglasses on, waiting for me.

My dad is the handiest guy I know. He has entire workshop in the basement and I always thought he could literally fix or create anything. He built our kitchen table. He built beautiful toys for Ben and Scotty, including a ride-on car (with a sticker on the side that reads "Bear's Trucking, Las Vegas, NV." License plate: 818-2009) and a fully-detailed wooden train with 5 separate train cars. He and I built the deck to our second house, when we still lived in Illinois, during one spring break in high school. In the pouring rain (why does it seem always be raining in the Midwest?), we dragged the lumber, cut the boards (okay, he cut them, I measured. I am a wimp with power tools) and nailed it together. It was a pretty awesome deck, if I do say.

Despite his tough exterior, he is a big softie. I'm sure he hoped for a boy, but instead, got two very girly-girls. (As evidenced by the two stories above, our gender clearly did not deter him from putting us to work.) Whenever my parents would come to visit when I was in college, my dad was notorious for giving me a quick hug and then slipping me $20, just when my mom wouldn't be able to see. "Get yourself something to eat," he'd say gruffly, although I think we both knew the money was going to pay for more fun things, like beer.  The coolness factor of this move cannot go unnoticed. But that was him - he was a cool guy.

My dad loved his grandsons. (okay, now I'm crying.) He loved them like only a grandpa could. He held Scotty when he was just weeks old. 

He was there to celebrate Scotty's first birthday a few weeks early. (They were in Minnesota on the boys' actual birthday.)

On our trip back to Indiana for Christmas when the boys were about four months old, my dad draped Scotty in a Bear's jersey the moment Brian walked out the door. (I'm sure Brian's Green Bay radar went off in his head like a siren.) As we sat watching the game on Monday night, my dad frequently lifted Scotty up and waved his little arm. When I asked him what he was doing, my dad looked at me like I was dumb, and replied, "Teaching him how to say, 'Beer here!'"

Oh. I would have never guessed.

I don't know what's going to happen next. I do, however, that my dad is loved. A lot. By me, by his grandsons, by my sister and my mom and all of our family and friends, and that's what counts. I also know he's the best guy I know.

Love you, Dad.

Well hello there.

Wondering where I was?

Yeah, me too.

So last week was a somewhat unexpected jaunt to the Midwest. I flew out Tuesday night for the Hoosier state and returned back in Vegas last night (after what can only be described as The Longest Day of Traveling Ever. You know you are in an airport too long when you start to make friends. Which I did.)

Anyways, while I'm not going to disclose the reasons for the trip, I will share with you some of the more colorful details:

-- I left a gloriously sunny 85-degree day in Vegas to find myself in 103 heat index weather. What? After sweltering for two days and watching my normally-straight hair curl into weird peaks and valleys of frizz, the temp then plummeted fifty degrees. It was 60 and chilly for the rest of the trip. My verdict: the weather in the Midwest is weeeee-ird.

-- Speaking of weather, the world's loudest thunder storm hit on Wednesday night. I'm talking boom, crash, the-house-is-going-to-fall down-thunder. I felt like I was eight again and seriously considered sleeping in my closet. (it just felt safer). Instead, I tucked my blanket around my chin and burrowed in. Scary stuff.

-- All of that water flooded most of the rural roads my parents live by. On my way out of their subdivision, I encountered a giant lake in the middle of the street. I'm happy to say all of Southern Nevada's Flood Control commercials popped into my brain at that moment ("Turn Around - Don't Drown!") and I promptly took another way out. Sadly, this added about 35 minutes to my trip, but hey, at least I didn't stall the car.

-- I saw a deer. Scared the life out of me.

-- In a matter of 90 minutes while mowing my parents' gigantic lawn, I managed to spray myself with dog mace (thought it was bug spray), see a snake, and be a delicious host for mosquitoes. I feel lucky on that last one - while I walked away with only a few bites, my very-Irish sister (read: pale skin + red hair + sweet blood = the Joel Robuchon of bug dining) suffered more bites than we could count. And in her typical ultra-sensitive skin manner, her bites immediately flared up to the size of half dollars.

-- When I told my mom I saw a snake, her first comment was, "You didn't hurt it, did you?" (I knew she was going to come back with some variation of "Did you bring him over so I could see?" "Was he cute?" or "Is he okay?" This is just my mother.) I was just trying to get my heart rate down to its normal level and my mother is concerned I'm not being a gracious host to the slithering creature.

And finally, I just have to share this last story, since I think it describes my mom to a T...(sorry, Mom, but it's too cute not to share.)

About two weeks ago, a terribly storm ripped through their area. My mom was at church when it hit, and it was so bad the priest let everyone leave early. She was anxious to get home to my dad, but found tree branches and roads washed out with each new direction she turned down. She finally was able to cut through several different roads, but as she was driving in the rain, winds, and thunder, she noticed a giant snapping turtle stranded in the middle of the road. Instead of just gunning the car home and getting out of the storm (like 99% of us would have done), she stops the car, gets out, and grabs the turtle by the back of his shell. He's craning around to bite her and she's yelling, "I'm trying to save your life!" She managed to drag him back into the swamp safely, get back in the car, and then went on her way.

Honestly? How can you not love a person who would do that? As she said with a shrug as she retold the tale, "You know...they are all of God's creatures."

Aw.

Love you, Mom and Dad.

I'm back! Whew.

Where were we? The weird mask/dancing date. And Bentley.

Ew.

So after their performance, Ashley covers up her midriff (finally!) and immediately takes West aside for a little one-on-one time, only to find out that his first wife died tragically several years ago. I thought Ashley's response was great - she was supportive, empathetic, and respectful. As bubbly as she is, she is starting to grow on me, I'll admit. She's not quite as sarcastic and witty as Jillian, but she's definitely more interesting than Ali. So props, Ashley. Keep up the good work.

Having disclosed his tale of woe, West seemed to feel that he was obligated to receive the rose. Instead however, Ashley gave it to scummy Bentley. Why? Because he was playing games with her. I just love how a girlfriend warned her about this guy, she decided to ignore that warning, and now that he's messing with her, she's all into him. Honey, I said some nice things about you in the previous paragraph. However, pull it together! Ash, my dear, listen to your friends. Don't think you're going to "change" him. If he's acting like this now, RUN! I mean, seriously. It's like the oldest trick in the book.

::sigh::

I'm surprised Bentley didn't mash up the rose or something after Ashley gave it to him (when she wasn't looking, natch.) He just looks like he couldn't care less. I hope he goes home next week. Cad. He's like the Utah version of Tucker Max. Blech.

Okay, now to the coin flip - perhaps the producers were watching The Dark Knight, but it was an inspired date idea. Poor, sweet JP had to stay home while Mickey was free to pick his teeth in Vegas. Anyone else catch that? As they sat there debating the rose after dinner, Mickey was just going to town with his tongue in his gums. Ick. If I were Ashley, I would have probably withheld the rose for that very reason. So maybe I do have a list for guys - never wear light socks with dark trousers and please keep the teeth picking to a minimum. I'm very happy to say Brian does neither of those things. Thank you, pumpkin.

Despite this gross display of manners (did Ashley not have floss in her purse? She's a dentist, for crying out loud), Mickey still got the rose. Once they returned back to the mansion, however, JP got a very nice little smooch from Ashley, which brightened his whole day.

Okay, let's talk about Jeff, the masked guy.

It wasn't until this episode did I notice the material of the mask...what is that thing made of, exactly? It looks like foam. Cheap foam. Which made me think...where does one buy a mask, especially when one is going to be on national television? You'd think you'd probably splurge a little and get an nice mask - costume store variety, perhaps - that is made from good quality products. Or even upgrade a bit and make it fancy - silk, sequins (maybe not if you are a guy), some kind of metal (ooh, that's manly). But Jeff? Cheap foam? Did you grab the mask from some old Halloween costume? Really?

And then, does he shave in that thing? Does he shower? They showed him lying by the pool which made me wonder...mask tan lines? This could be a gimmick that never lets go, especially if you are going to have tan lines on your face. Jeff came thisclose to taking the stupid thing off, but he and Ashley were interrupted by another dude. Thanks, producers. You can string us along for another week. Hopefully he'll keep vacuuming in his mask. (loved the end credits!)

Anyways, the boys that made the cut are: West, Brian P, Ben Z, Constantine, Bentley (vomit), Nick, William, Mickey, Ames, Lucas, Jeff the Masked Guy, JP, Chris, Ben F (the winemaker) and Blake.

I couldn't tell you who my favorite is, since those names now mean nothing to me. It's been 48 hours since viewing the show, and I've already forgotten them. Whoops.

Getting cut? Matt the Mama's boy (good job, Ashley!), Stephen the hairstylist, and someone named Ryan M.

Hopefully next week the pack will continue to distinguish itself. In the meantime, share your thoughts and comments here!

I'd like to think that Vegas was the other woman in tonight's episode.

I couldn't believe that producers let Ashley - and the guys - hit that well again. I mean, it was just last season that Brad and Shawntel were flitting about on top of CityCenter. But the crew was back for more good Vegas-loving, and I'd like to think they got their fill.

So when the episode started and Ashley and William were at the Bellagio, I almost threw something at the TV. Mainly because my first thought was, "Why do I always miss the tapings? Why am I never in the right spot at the right time? I want to be on TV, too!"

And then the answer came to me - because I'm not enjoying the flowers in the Conservatory at the Bellagio; I am fighting with my child in the dark recesses of Shark Reef.

But when they showed Ashley and Mickey (later in the episode) at Mandalay Bay - AND THEN SHARK REEF - I almost fell off the couch. Okay, I guess I don't get to complain anymore.

(Just FYI: that sting ray tank they were sitting in front of is directly behind the jellyfish tank where Scotty's epic meltdown occurred. And those chairs and nice stemware are not there normally, although it would have been nice if we had been at Shark Reef the day that they filmed. Scotty would have barreled into their beautiful, nicely-set table and probably hit Mickey with the stroller. I'm sure Ashley is great with kids - she's so freaking animated - so I would have let the happy couple baby-sit while I enjoyed a glass of wine amid the sting rays. Sounds like a little slice of heaven, no?)

Okay, back to the episode.

William and Ashley went on what can only be described as the most awkward date ever. I mean, what if she didn't give him a rose at the end? They almost - jokingly - got married. (also, do they understand you need a marriage license to make it legal? Just saying the vows does not count.) But then it was all good after they rowed out to dinner in the middle of the Bellagio fountains and chatted about broken relationships with their fathers. Even as a hardened Vegas local, I will admit, that dinner looked really cool. And being so close to the water when the music began - I'd pay money for that.

(Sweetie, are you reading this? My birthday is coming up...)

Ashley gave William a rose, but I'm not so sure he's a front runner. When he was with the other guys, he was being a big dork. And, Ashley likes 'em well-educated. Will's "cellular phone services" job is probably working the counter at the local Verizon store, which does not bode well for over-achiever Ashley. So Will, enjoy your spot in the sun. It's temporary at best.

Ashley then went on to meet twelve other guys on what can only be described at the geekiest, most-cringe-inducing date ever. And not to play the card again, but as a hardened Vegas local...who are the Jaberwookzies? (Or however you spell it?) I have never heard of this show, yet Ashley called them "America's favorite dance crew." Was this another reality show? I have no idea. They haven't been on Sesame Street, I can tell you that.

So the 12 guys had to don these creepy white masks and make up a dance. Ugh. I have this strange social reaction that doesn't allow me to witness other people's humiliation without taking some of it on myself, so I was practically crawling out of my skin watching these dudes act like very sober idiots. Ashley didn't notice, as she was too busy admiring her taunt tummy in whatever reflection she could find (not really - I just made that up), but honestly, if you haven't seen this part of the show yet, just fast forward through it. You can thank me later.

Bentley was part of the dance crew that won. (of course he was...). I've officially upgraded him from "general cad" to "potential serial killer" based on the way he 1.) wore the mask and 2.) discussed his lack of feelings for Ashley so openly to the camera. Really dude? I mean, you are forsaking time with your daughter so you can tell America how little you are into the Bachelorette? If you thought it was going to be Emily, then why not just turn around and go home, instead of prolonging this horrible torture. And kissing her in front of the fire like that? Oh wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. And not to mention, I think he does go home next week, if the previews are accurate.

With that in mind, I hate to say this but...the rest of the review will be posted tomorrow. (sorry!) But since we love cliffhangers, let me leave you with this...Mickey picks his teeth! JP goes from zero to hero! And...will Jeff finally remove his mask? Better than that, I'm going to extrapolate on how a person chooses a mask to wear on national television...because Jeff clearly picked his up at the Dollar Store.

See you all tomorrow for part 2!