That's probably what our newest Bachelorette trilled to her friends earlier this year. She somehow managed to convince production to transplant the entire franchise on the other side of the country...and I'm kind of proud of her. Nothing against Nevada's neighbor, but it's nice to see things taken out of LA for a bit. Let's go, Charlotte!
And for a second, I thought maybe not only had they moved production to a different city, but a different year as well...like, 1984? Between the boom box and Jef's haircut that was reminsceint of Anthony Michael Hall's "the Geek" from "Sixteen Candles," I had to check my calendar to ensure we were safely in 2012. But then again, I'm not even sure these folks acknowledge the irony of their actions: the median age for both Emily and her bachelors is 27, meaning they would have been in utero or not yet conceived when John Hughes' classic hit the big screen. God I feel old.
Thankfully, Emily seems pretty grounded. Yes, she has a dramatic story. She has a sweet little girl that I like to call Ricky Bobby and a very cool make-up storage case in her bathroom. (Container Store, perhaps? Thanks for pointing that out, Nieva!) And she likes to wear pink - lots of pink - and brush the "sugar bugs" out of Ricky Bobby's teeth at night. The think I like the least about Emily is how she gets her 7-year old daughter to bed at 7:30pm, when that is the time we are starting bubble tub for our two-year old. Really, Emily? Can you write a parenting book after you find your Prince Charming? Us sad sacks are really in need of your wisdom.
They were kind enough to skip the Brad-Womack-part of the story fairly quickly - Brad's a cad, blah, blah. But as for her future suitors? Let's just say I wrote the word "douchebag" no less than 11 times in my notes. Has reality TV jumped the shark? Are these really the best guys ABC could find? And let's face it - Emily is gorgeous. There is no question about that. She possesses just enough Southern sass to make her interesting, while her outside is darn near flawless. She looks like a walking, talking Barbie doll. And Brian, my trusty Bachelor/ette sidekick (clearly he forgot his New Year's resolution - shh!), provided a very helpful deciphering of Guy Code to help me better understand the contestants motivations.
For example: when they say, "She's so genuine," it means, she's so hot.
- She's so down-to-earth: she's smoking hot
- She's so funny! = she is the hottest girl that has ever spoken to me
- I really feel a bond with her = I want to touch her boobies
Thank you, Brian, for your indispensible help, and proving once again, men are a very, very complicated species.
Okay, on to the dudes. Some stand-outs? The guy that did the jig coming out of the limo (Joe) made me laugh, though I wrote "douchebag" next to his name. Arie is smokin' hot, though ABC really had to play the race driver card? Really? He was nice to let her know early on, and you could tell she was surprised. I hope these two are able to work through whatever weird feelings that might bring up, because I like him and dub him a front-runner.
Aaron the bio teacher had a cheesy line, but I liked him. Be sure to not confuse Alejandro with Alessandro; one is from Brazil, the other is from Colombia (I'm already lost). Boombox guy (Magic Mike) lost me with that green shirt and the strange dance moves were horrifying. (she has a child! Some respect, please!) Dear Charlie has a traumatic brain injury from a fall off of a balcony, but he has the world's cutest bull dog (aside from Teddy Bullfeathers) and I give him a cautious thumbs-up. Ryan, the sports trainer, also appears competent with caring for animals AND children, so he gets a thumbs up as well.
Kalon. Oh, Kalon. Where do we begin? Next to his name, I had written: CHRISTIAN GREY. CHARLIE TANGO. BDSM. DOUCHEBAG!
I hope he proves me wrong. Helicopter, my butt. Pffft.
There's a dude in the mix named John but claims his friends call him Wolf. (Run, Emily, run!) Travis saw fit to cart around an ostrich egg for the entire night, proving his ability to care for Emily and Ricky Bobby AND pass a high school health class. (who had to do that? I went to Catholic high school so we just pretended babies came from storks. There was no advanced planning). I was praying that egg would break half-way through the night, just so Travis could come up with just another dumb line ("Life is messy...and sometimes you get scrambled up! You will always eat a good breakfast if you pick me!") to tell Emily.
In the end, though, it was David-tuck-your-shirt-in, Jackson the two-thumbed fitness model, Lerone the sole African-American in the group (nice try, ABC), Randy-the-creepy-grandmother, Jacques Cousteau, I mean, Jean-Paul, and Brent, the dad of six (SIX!) kids, who were sent home. They cried, they lamented, they showed their abs. And Lerone's exit interview was strangely absent. Boo, ABC. Boo.
My early predictions? Arie, just because he has nice eyes. Doug, he-of-the-first-impression-rose, and Jef that has some legs. I'm curious to know who calls Ricky Bobby "baggage." And finally, I really, really want to know...now that Chris Harrison is single, is he next in line to be the Bachelor? Could we be so lucky??