I have overcome my grievous illness to blog for all of you.
(not really. The cold medicine I took today, combined with 20+ hours of sleep, has provided me nothing short of a miraculous recovery. Well, that and the healing properties that are found in Jason's Deli's chicken pot pie soup. Num.)
Back to "The Bachelor." Ahem...
The Bachelor: Breakin' All the Rules
The Bachelor: When Group Dates Become Group Therapy
and
The Bachelor: The Thrilla in Anguilla
(the last one is my favorite)
Okay, so before I begin to discuss this week's episode, one that involved lots of ugly tears from Chantal O and more "special" time for Emily (who I desperately want to call Madison...she looks like a Madison, no?), I first need to tell you a story about this past Saturday. See, I volunteered for a Junior League event that involved making Valentine's Day cards for a retirement home. We had to churn out 250 cards in about 3 hours, and there were three separate tables of women working with construction paper, doilies, stickers, tissues paper, etc. You know, your standard Valentine-card-making-fare. Anywho, about two cards in, out of no where, Deana (who as at my table) all of a sudden holds up her beautiful card and declares it a tribute to "English wedding hats." WHAT? Brilliant. Just brilliant.
At that moment, the standard of quality cards at our table was just raised about six notches.
I found my shoulders hunch a little lower, my gaze shift, and my concentration sharpen. I began glancing at other people's card and start to compare...how did mine match up? Better? Worse? Needs improvement?
I put my game face on.
In short, I got competitive.
And I pulled out all the stops. I began constructing 3-D rose bouquets out of red tissue paper. I used the fancy scissors. I even created and dedicated one card to the Cubist movement. (I so wish I was kidding...)
And so I sat at the table, laboriously, for hours, making these damn cards. The other two tables were drinking champagne, slapping a couple of stickers on a slice of construction paper and calling it a day, but I wouldn't let anything go out without some serious thought, craft or wit. I was exhausted (and covered in glue) by the time I got home. (and sick, as I found out later.)
And why? FOR NO REASON. There was no prize. No award. Nothing. Not even an acknowledgment. And yet, it hits on an age-old phenomenon...people can just get competitive for the sake of well, competition.
And when the ladies of the Bachelor sat there and listened to Chris Harrison read them the rules for this week's dates, that very thought crossed my mind. Because what is the prize here? If Brad is as big of a d-bag as USWeekly wants us to believe (read: huge), then they are just wanting to win for the glory of winning. There is no end, no prize, no finish line. It's just a bunch of glue-covered Valentines on a Saturday afternoon.
::sigh::
I'm just going to skip over Emily's date, since it was on an "island" (read: sandbar) and Brad got all serious, telling her he was giving her a rose. She flashed her pearly whites, sipped wine from a gigantic glass, and batted her eyelashes. Brad is smitten, clearly, though Emily's not sure if he should meet little Ricky Bobby. (in the previews...cat's out of the bag. She gives in.)
Then Brad and Shawntel N. go for a date with the locals. It was weird, needless to say, and I wonder what poor PA had the unfortunate task of asking every single Anguillan on the island to sign a release. The two dined among goats (a clear highlight of the date...who knew baby goats were so darn cute?) and then Brad arranged for a special serenade by the #1 recording artist on the island...who to us, is virtually unknown. Okay, make that "completely unknown." I didn't even know who the guys were who played with Bob Dylan at the Grammy's, so I'm not exactly your go-to source for music related questions. They kissed, stood where the producers told them to stand, and drank the requisite beer out of bottles. ::yawn::
Back to the dates...Brad then took out Britt, who had clearly been on some kind of hunger strike until she landed a one-on-one date. I mean, c'mon Britt, eat a sandwich already. That girl was nothing but skin and bones, and I'm very hesitant to even say anything about it. If she does have a problem (as she is clearly significantly below a healthy body weight), then she needs to seek treatment. I didn't mean to, but the therapist hat came on during their date, and several times she referenced "having control" over things in her life, pricking my interest. I hate to get nit-picky, but this screams "eating disorder," or at the very least, disordered eating. It's never about food, it's about control...or attempting to find control in a disordered world. I really do hope everything is okay with Britt, but it's not like she was horribly traumatized by Brad sending her off on some dingy with a random man in the middle of the night, because the "spark" wasn't there. Um...okay. Best wishes, Britt. Doughnuts are good...seriously.
And then, the group date from Hell. What was Brad thinking? If anything, I think this points out that he has no flipping idea what women want. I mean, let's wake them up at 2am, tell them they are posing in swimsuits with no advance warning, and oh, by the way, you are also doing it in front of your competition. And this is "every girl's dream"? I would require at least three months warning for this type of date, and he gave them all of three seconds. I bet all of them were cursing all of the carbonated beverages they may have consumed recently. (read: bloat).
Not surprisingly, it turned into ugliness on the beach. Chantal and Ashley decided to take their tops off, so not to be out-done, Michelle made out with him in the surf, With Chantal and Ashley watching. This then evoked all kinds of unpleasant emotion, including each of them bemoaning to Brad about how maybe they shouldn't be here anymore, and left a very bewildered Brad to wonder how the heck he landed up sh*t creek. He then clearly tried to feed the women some kind of green beverage, which I believe to be absinthe, which worked on Ashley, since she got all glass-eyed and giggly (but it also might have been because he gave her the rose.) Chantal was left to weep uncontrollably in her red lace bikini and Michelle glowered to the camera. Fun.
Finally (finally! I felt like 6 days had gone by since Emily-Madison's date), it was time for the cocktail party/rose ceremony. Except there was no rose ceremony! Breakin' the Rules Brad told a surprised Chris Harrison that he had already made up his mind, so there is no need for any more pretension. Um, okay. He does know show he's on, right? But anyways, he ended up leaving Michelle behind. She played the victim right up to the limo, refusing to talk to him, and then displayed some kind of arrested development by promptly curling up in the fetal position in the backseat having lost the powers of speech. God speed, Michelle. God speed.
The ladies left for the home town dates are: Ashley, Chantal, Shawntel, and Emily-Madison. I kind of wish Brad had taken Michelle to the home town date phase, since you totally know she has a weird uncle who practices taxidermy in the basement or some crazy aunt who hasn't taken off her wedding dress in 30 years. But it looks pretty milquetoast from here, so let's hope little Ricky Bobby kicks Brad in the shins, just to the keep the drama up.
Thoughts? Concerns? Questions?
this review was brought you courtesy of Walgreen's Cold Multi-Symptom Relief, nighttime. Now pseudoephedrine free!
(not really. The cold medicine I took today, combined with 20+ hours of sleep, has provided me nothing short of a miraculous recovery. Well, that and the healing properties that are found in Jason's Deli's chicken pot pie soup. Num.)
Back to "The Bachelor." Ahem...
The Bachelor: Breakin' All the Rules
The Bachelor: When Group Dates Become Group Therapy
and
The Bachelor: The Thrilla in Anguilla
(the last one is my favorite)
Okay, so before I begin to discuss this week's episode, one that involved lots of ugly tears from Chantal O and more "special" time for Emily (who I desperately want to call Madison...she looks like a Madison, no?), I first need to tell you a story about this past Saturday. See, I volunteered for a Junior League event that involved making Valentine's Day cards for a retirement home. We had to churn out 250 cards in about 3 hours, and there were three separate tables of women working with construction paper, doilies, stickers, tissues paper, etc. You know, your standard Valentine-card-making-fare. Anywho, about two cards in, out of no where, Deana (who as at my table) all of a sudden holds up her beautiful card and declares it a tribute to "English wedding hats." WHAT? Brilliant. Just brilliant.
At that moment, the standard of quality cards at our table was just raised about six notches.
I found my shoulders hunch a little lower, my gaze shift, and my concentration sharpen. I began glancing at other people's card and start to compare...how did mine match up? Better? Worse? Needs improvement?
I put my game face on.
In short, I got competitive.
And I pulled out all the stops. I began constructing 3-D rose bouquets out of red tissue paper. I used the fancy scissors. I even created and dedicated one card to the Cubist movement. (I so wish I was kidding...)
And so I sat at the table, laboriously, for hours, making these damn cards. The other two tables were drinking champagne, slapping a couple of stickers on a slice of construction paper and calling it a day, but I wouldn't let anything go out without some serious thought, craft or wit. I was exhausted (and covered in glue) by the time I got home. (and sick, as I found out later.)
And why? FOR NO REASON. There was no prize. No award. Nothing. Not even an acknowledgment. And yet, it hits on an age-old phenomenon...people can just get competitive for the sake of well, competition.
And when the ladies of the Bachelor sat there and listened to Chris Harrison read them the rules for this week's dates, that very thought crossed my mind. Because what is the prize here? If Brad is as big of a d-bag as USWeekly wants us to believe (read: huge), then they are just wanting to win for the glory of winning. There is no end, no prize, no finish line. It's just a bunch of glue-covered Valentines on a Saturday afternoon.
::sigh::
I'm just going to skip over Emily's date, since it was on an "island" (read: sandbar) and Brad got all serious, telling her he was giving her a rose. She flashed her pearly whites, sipped wine from a gigantic glass, and batted her eyelashes. Brad is smitten, clearly, though Emily's not sure if he should meet little Ricky Bobby. (in the previews...cat's out of the bag. She gives in.)
Then Brad and Shawntel N. go for a date with the locals. It was weird, needless to say, and I wonder what poor PA had the unfortunate task of asking every single Anguillan on the island to sign a release. The two dined among goats (a clear highlight of the date...who knew baby goats were so darn cute?) and then Brad arranged for a special serenade by the #1 recording artist on the island...who to us, is virtually unknown. Okay, make that "completely unknown." I didn't even know who the guys were who played with Bob Dylan at the Grammy's, so I'm not exactly your go-to source for music related questions. They kissed, stood where the producers told them to stand, and drank the requisite beer out of bottles. ::yawn::
Back to the dates...Brad then took out Britt, who had clearly been on some kind of hunger strike until she landed a one-on-one date. I mean, c'mon Britt, eat a sandwich already. That girl was nothing but skin and bones, and I'm very hesitant to even say anything about it. If she does have a problem (as she is clearly significantly below a healthy body weight), then she needs to seek treatment. I didn't mean to, but the therapist hat came on during their date, and several times she referenced "having control" over things in her life, pricking my interest. I hate to get nit-picky, but this screams "eating disorder," or at the very least, disordered eating. It's never about food, it's about control...or attempting to find control in a disordered world. I really do hope everything is okay with Britt, but it's not like she was horribly traumatized by Brad sending her off on some dingy with a random man in the middle of the night, because the "spark" wasn't there. Um...okay. Best wishes, Britt. Doughnuts are good...seriously.
And then, the group date from Hell. What was Brad thinking? If anything, I think this points out that he has no flipping idea what women want. I mean, let's wake them up at 2am, tell them they are posing in swimsuits with no advance warning, and oh, by the way, you are also doing it in front of your competition. And this is "every girl's dream"? I would require at least three months warning for this type of date, and he gave them all of three seconds. I bet all of them were cursing all of the carbonated beverages they may have consumed recently. (read: bloat).
Not surprisingly, it turned into ugliness on the beach. Chantal and Ashley decided to take their tops off, so not to be out-done, Michelle made out with him in the surf, With Chantal and Ashley watching. This then evoked all kinds of unpleasant emotion, including each of them bemoaning to Brad about how maybe they shouldn't be here anymore, and left a very bewildered Brad to wonder how the heck he landed up sh*t creek. He then clearly tried to feed the women some kind of green beverage, which I believe to be absinthe, which worked on Ashley, since she got all glass-eyed and giggly (but it also might have been because he gave her the rose.) Chantal was left to weep uncontrollably in her red lace bikini and Michelle glowered to the camera. Fun.
Finally (finally! I felt like 6 days had gone by since Emily-Madison's date), it was time for the cocktail party/rose ceremony. Except there was no rose ceremony! Breakin' the Rules Brad told a surprised Chris Harrison that he had already made up his mind, so there is no need for any more pretension. Um, okay. He does know show he's on, right? But anyways, he ended up leaving Michelle behind. She played the victim right up to the limo, refusing to talk to him, and then displayed some kind of arrested development by promptly curling up in the fetal position in the backseat having lost the powers of speech. God speed, Michelle. God speed.
The ladies left for the home town dates are: Ashley, Chantal, Shawntel, and Emily-Madison. I kind of wish Brad had taken Michelle to the home town date phase, since you totally know she has a weird uncle who practices taxidermy in the basement or some crazy aunt who hasn't taken off her wedding dress in 30 years. But it looks pretty milquetoast from here, so let's hope little Ricky Bobby kicks Brad in the shins, just to the keep the drama up.
Thoughts? Concerns? Questions?
this review was brought you courtesy of Walgreen's Cold Multi-Symptom Relief, nighttime. Now pseudoephedrine free!
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