The Booze Hound looks REALLY HAPPY that this story was leaked.
I mean, this is hardly news at this point considering the story broke four days ago, but people keep telling me that I need to put up shorter blog posts, so here's a quick one about NBA All Star Carlos Boozer totally plowing Michelle, the weathered face lunatic from The Bachelor.
According to Life and Style Magazine (an actual magazine apparently!) Michelle and The Boozeinator had an affair in 2009 while Booze was still married, although Michelle implies that he deceived her into thinking he and his wife were separated, blah blah blah, like that even matters, he's a multi-millionaire athlete with thighs like a friggin' rhinoceros.
For my female readers out there who may not know Boozer, he's essentially an enormous power forward who is Duke educated, originally from Alaska and seriously has thighs like a friggin' rhino. He's a monster (thighs like what, what what) and an old school, lunch-pail type player who likes to barrel his way to the bucket (and as I type this I realize that no women out there know or care what I'm talking about, so just I understand that he probably really, REALLY had sex with Michelle).
Uhhhh, yup ... that's weathered faced Michelle with Steve Sanders.
Boozer is also infamous for allegedly giving his word to former Cavaliers owner (and BLIND MAN) Gordon Gund that he would sign a free agent contract with Cleveland in 2004, only to leverage that conversation into getting the Utah Jazz to offer him more money. Days later, The Booze Hound signed with Utah where he would later meet Michelle and BLOW HER MIND with his trademark blue-collar Alaskan sexual maneuvers.
Special thanks go out to my buddy Law for telling me about this story and also to new internet friend, Thad S. who linked to it in my comments section.
Let it be known that Thad S. also writes a really great food blog called Philly Phoodie you can find here. He recently recommended the cheeseburger (with anchovy mayo!) at a new gastro-pub, Kennett.
Possibly more mind blowing than sleeping with an Alaskan.
For the record, Law, his wife Chicken, and myself, all had THE BEST CHEESEBURGERS we've ever had last week at The Royal Tavern in South Philly, complete with bacon, smoked gouda, carmelized onions, chile mayonnaise and longhots. Law got his with extra longhots. I got mine with extra heartburn. Chicken got hers sans longhots and also refuses to read my blog because "The posts are way too long."
Also, my wife just told me that following Zumba class on Saturday morning, Chicken diagnosed herself with Plantar fasciitis and hasn't been able to walk for the past 36 hours.
Lastly, I totally realize that this "quick post" turned into another epic, long-winded, blabbapalooza from yours truly, so I sincerely apologize. I honestly can't ever shut up. I'm sorry.
Julianna Margulies going with the "butt-cutt" hairstyle.
The wife and I watched around eight minutes of tonight's SAG Awards before realizing that actors take themselves WAY TOO SERIOUSLY and need to RELAX.
After a really dumb opener where a bunch of actors kept talking about their "work" and their "craft," we turned off the television and decided to eat food. Probably the greatest decision we've ever made.
For the record, I don't know who this Julianna Margulies lady is but she seriously needs to check herself. Also, if you do a Google image search for "Julianna Margulies," you can totally find a picture of her va-jay-jay.
Here's a video from last year's award show of Drew Barrymore (who I actually like) being annoying.
It was very difficult to pay attention to Jersey Shore last night because there were so many other shows on that my wife and I wanted to watch, such as: The Beverly Hills Housewives Reunion, Lebron vs. The Knicks and anything else besides Jersey Shore. We seriously hate ourselves for watching MTV. Even just watching those commercials for Teen Mom and Skins are annoying enough to make us want to cut ourselves, but we fought through it and now here I am, blogging at 7am when I could be sleeping eating the rest of my leftover Italian hoagie from last night that was absolutely bonkers.
Equally as distracting last night was the fact that the top of my Orville Redenbacher air popper popcorn machine blew off in mid-pop and mid-episode sending kernels (both popped and unpopped) blasting all over our kitchen. I'm not kidding, I was watching The Situation offer sweatpants to a girl and then BOOM! I look up and there's popcorn exploding all over the place. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever witnessed popcorn explode all over the place, but it's a very mild, yet violent explosion, that gets more explosive with every pop, because each kernel pops into the air and just hangs there, kind of like a kid on a trampoline, just elevating and then staring at you, before returning to earth and having sixteen other kernels explode all over the place. Plus, the sound of popcorn kernels exploding exacerbates the chaos as does the sound of your wife cackling like a lunatic while you try to pull the plug on the Rendenbacher Popper while covering your eyes so as not to catch a kernel in the neck.
Obviously, I quelled the madness and returned to the couch, just in time to see Ronald and Sammi go into a level 9 meltdown freak-out. But before I get into Ronnie and Sam and try to make sense of their relationship, there is one other aspect of the show that has been puzzling me and I feel must be explored.
If you've never seen popcorn fireworks, you gotta get one of these. Oh, also, it kinda makes the popcorn taste like cardboard and I'd recommend goggles and/or a snorkel.
The Aforementioned Move When The Situation Offers Sweatpants to Every Chick He Brings Home. I mean, I understand the move: get the girls into some lounge wear so they can loosen up, hang out and eventually smash.
Did I really just use the word "smash"? I really did, didn't I? Strange because before Jersey Shore, the word "smash" had a totally different connotation in my vernacular. My friends and I have always used the term to describe situations like, "Aw man, that Arby's roast beef sandwich really isn't sitting too well in my stomach, I gotta get home to take a smash," or "Yo, did I ever tell you about the time when I had to take a smash at Veteran's Stadium? It was crazy!" But I guess times have changed.
Anyway, I understand the motivation behind the sweatpants move and I realize that I haven't brought a girl home who wasn't my wife in a LONG time, but isn't the time to capitalize on a potential smashing RIGHT when a girl walks in the door? Not before these women get their bearings and realize that having sex with a reality TV star on camera and contracting syphilis is probably NOT the best move for them and their future potential of smashing other people? Also, it seems like Sitch always finds a way to NOT have sex with these girls. My wife thinks that maybe The Situation has a sweatpants fetish, which is interesting and sort-of commendable.
If Sitch has a sweatpants fetish, would Zumba pants blow his mind?
Onto Sammi and Ronald, whose relationship has reached trainwreck status, alongside such notorious relationships as Sid and Nancy, Ike and Tina, and me and Arby's. After last night's sure break-up and reconciliation, I'm still trying to put together what even happened. So let's break-it break-it down.
1. Sammi gets drunk and pissed off at Ronald for talking to chicks at the bar, frustrating Ronald McDonns because he was innocently chatting with "the mother of Mike's baby." Ronnie is so incensed that he offers to show Sammi the mother's c-section as proof (you can't make this stuff up) and Sammi apologizes saying she thought "it looked like someone else."
2. Back at the ranch, a much more intoxicated Sammi continues to give Ronald a guilt trip for flirting with other chicks, further incensing Ron despite the fact that just months ago, Ronald was repeatedly triple kissing other girls and cannot be trusted.
3. Sammi threatens to leave the house and McDonald calls her bluff, goes into a roid-rage, chucks all of her clothes around the room and tells her to pack up and go.
4. Sammi returns with a peace offering (a slice of pizza) that Ron-Bon DECLINES, stating that he'd rather have an apology or a protein shake. First of all, I'm not sure what Sammi should have been apologizing for; yeah, she was drunk and can't trust him, but she shouldn't!! Also, it doesn't matter how frustrated I get with my wife, if she were to offer me a slice of pizza, I'm accepting that slice! Even if she were like:
"Hey Ev, here's a slice of pizza. I'm sorry you caught me getting triple teamed by every one of your best friends. It's just that they're much hotter than you and more endowed and well, anyway, here's a slice."
I'd have to take that slice.
I'd have to take that slice!
Also, that pizza last night looked REALLY GOOD.
Like, REALLY GOOD!
I didn't make this, but it's kinda funny, right? I'm not even sure if I understand it.
Back to the recap:
5. Sammi starts to clean up her room while Ronald goes downstairs and befriends JWoww, Sammi's arch enemy, who essentially attempts to convince Ron to dump the broad and get her out of the house.
6. The Situation, always the instigator, lets Sammi know that Ronald and JWoww are talking, enraging Sammi and leading to a right cross to the jaw of Ronald's and a full throttle level sixteen freak-out including a call to Mommy to get her outta there.
7. Sammi apologizes to McDonald for the punch, Ronnie cries like a guy on steroids who can't control his emotions and is eventually led back into the bedroom by Sam. By the way, a BRILLIANT move by Sammi. When a dude is vulnerable, just invite him inside to a bedroom where women can control everything.
8. Sammi and Ron-Bon reconcile, my wife and I barf all over the place, but it is revealed that The Situation has been in the room the entire time, providing us with one of the greatest moments in television history.
And now, here I am, still blogging about two people who I couldN'T CARE LESS about instead of eating a perfectly GREAT Italian hoagie.
This game was amazing.
I'm not even sure how to respond to Sam and Ron. Are we really destined to watch more of this relationship play out the rest of this season? I don't even like Ronald, but am DYING for him to get rid of Sammi just so he can go on a gorilla rampage and tear some isht up!
Also, they're not even the worst couple on this show, JWoww and her ex-boyfriend Tom were MUCH WORSE. That guy was such a drip, whining about her not calling him every night. Never being happy about anything. STEALING money from Paypal? I have like, eight dollars in my Paypal account and yet this is where JWoww kept her entire fortune?
I'm getting frustrated just thinking about this nonsense. I need to go finish that hoagie. And clean up around 37 unpopped kernels that are still sprinkled around our kitchen floor.
Thanks a lot Orville!
By the way, Orville?
WHAT A NAME!
If Orville were to have ever been drafted in the NBA, what would his draft suit have looked like? A question that will never be answered, but will forever be asked.
I'm guessing that my wife would see Vanessa's scepter as a potential weapon.
So after last week's Miss America post, a few people kindly linked to my blog on a Miss America message board, leading to literally thousands of hits and a few other realizations and results, such as:
1. Apparently there are Miss America message boards.
2. Apparently A LOT of people read them.
3. Including this lady, Miss Louisiana Watermelon Festival, who along with some other pageant-folk are now following TV My Wife Watches. I couldn't be more excited to welcome these lovely ladies to TV My Wife Watches, but it must also be stated that:
4. MY WIFE IS A TERRIFYING HUMAN BEING.
She will seriously gut any person, watermelon festival winner or not, who glances in my direction. One time when we were out to dinner, a waitress laughed a little too hard at one of my jokes and almost got shanked. My wife had her butter knife gripped up and ready to slice, but took a deep breath and realized her French Onion soup was on the way.
Regardless, welcome to the blog blog all of you wonderful Miss America fans! Thanks for reading, thanks for being beautiful, thanks for eating watermelon, and maybe now I'll stay in the room when my (BEAUTIFUL) wife puts on Toddlers and Tiaras.
I am blown away by the amount of blankets being used on the current season of The Bach. They're everywhere. Outside one-on-one time at the cocktail hour, blankets. Lunch date at the vineyard, blankets. Hey, I just climbed down a skyscraper with a crazy person, you know what I need? A blanket. Now don't get me wrong, I love blankets, I love pigs in a blanket, I love pigs without blankets, I love pigs, I seriously love pigs, they're amazing, but this show is taking it to another level. At one point, the crazy dentist who's not actually a dentist got out of the hot tub and wrapped herself in a blanket. The she went and sat down with two girls who were wrapped in blankets. I just need someone on the show to acknowledge this. Just for one of the girls to give a confessional to the camera and say:
"Look, I'm here for the right reasons and it's very difficult to compete with twenty other girls in the house and it's very important for me to get some one-on-one time and oh, by the way, I have never, EVER, lived in a house with so many blankets. This is incredible. Thank you ABC for revolutionizing the way I think about sitting on couches and building a nest for myself."
Other notes:
Apparently that linguistics class I took at the University of Maryland taught me nothing, because I have no idea how to pronounce the name, "Chantal." Looking at it, I'd go with "Shahn Tall", as in, "Swan Tall," but everyone on the show says, "Shann Tell" as in "Can Tell." Is Chantal sure she's pronouncing her name correctly? Also, are you aware that the "stuff" in Double Stuf Oreos is spelled with one "f"? Yeah, my wife and I now call them "Dooblay Stoofs." We're also referring to "group dates" as "groupers." It's just fun to say:
"Hey, did you get a one-on-one date or a grouper?"
"Oh, I got a grouper."
"Oh, you're going on a grouper?"
"Yeah, me and Chantelly Lace are going on a grouper. Hey, can I borrow a blanket?"
"No, I need seventeen blankets."
Nice grouper!
There was also a moment after Chantal's one-on-one date where she said she could potentially see herself as one day being "Chantal Womack" (orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Chantal Pickelsimer).
Thing I noticed about The Bachelor (the person, not the show) this week: Brad has an ENORMOUS Adam's Apple. Now, I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but it's a thing. It's a GIANT thing blasting out of his throat. I know that an Adam's Apple is a very masculine appendage and I've heard many women say they love a guy's sharp jawline, or strong neck, but I've never heard of a large Adam's Apple as being a bonus. For the record, I don't know if I've ever actually heard a woman say they like a strong neck, but if I were a woman, I think I'd like a strong neck.
While we're on the topic of necks and throats, it has always bothered me when people start choking and say, "Oh man, it went down the wrong pipe, it went down the wrong pipe." Uhhhhhh, there is no wrong pipe. There is no other pipe. Humans have one pipe. We are a one pipe species. The only way it would make sense would be if there was a human born with two necks. Like:
"Hey, you remember my cousin, Freddy?"
"Freddy, Freddy? No, I don't know him."
"Sure you do, my weird looking cousin who has two giant heads and two necks."
"Oh, Freddy, sure! The guy who's always choking!"
"Exactly!"
For the record, if there is anyone out there with two necks and/or throats and/or windpipes, I sincerely apologize. That is no way to live. I cannot imagine a life where one was constantly choking. I have choked once and it was TERRIFYING. I was driving home from New York on the New Jersey Turnpike and started choking because my one pipe malfunctioned and almost drove my car straight into the Vince Lombardi rest stop. When I got home, I wrapped myself in like, 37 blankets.
Evster's Note: According to reader "Gabulous" and any first grade Science textbook, it seems as if humans do in fact have two pipes, the esophagus and the trachea, and not one like I just stated. You can read more about Gabber's knowledge of Biology in the comments section. Regardless, Brad still has a giant lump in his throat and I still think Science is dumb.
Mr. Snake might have some trouble swallowing a grouper.
I also noticed that Brad LOVES thanking the girls for stuff. Thanks for being who you are. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Thanks for sticking your tongue down my throat and not getting weirded out by my giant Adam's Ap. I'm going to count how many "thanks" he dishes out next week. Setting the over-under at ten.
I also also noticed that on the way to Brad's one-on-one date with Michelle when they climbed down a skyscraper that he was NOT wearing a seatbelt. Kind of strange to cheat death that way?
Brad's therapist, Jaime: Hey man, how was that skyscraper date?
Brad: Ehhhhh, never actually got there. I choked on a couple of Dooblay Stoofs on the way there and wrecked ABC's Maserati. They got caught on my GIANT Adam's Ap, so we just stayed in and watched Intervention.
Also, Brad calls his therapist, Jaime?!?!?
Thing I noticed about The Bach (the person again, not the show) last week: Brad's handkissing is out of control. I counted at least four women whose hands he kissed last night. Also, Michelle, the crazy weathered faced and black eyed pea, RECIPROCATED with a handkiss of her own!
Michelle is completely out of her mind. My buddy Law thinks she's funny and is doing everything tongue in cheek and I will admit that she has a sense of humor (not necessarily a good one, but still has one), but her freak-outs are too much too soon. My wife screamed at the television while she broke down about the fact that Brad is attracted to other types of girls. My wife's main argument was, "YOU DON'T KNOW HIM! MAKE SURE HE'S RIGHT FOR YOU!"
I think the lady in orange might be choking.
This came minutes after I screamed at the television, right before Chantal's one-on-one date:
Chantal: He's picking me up in a helicopter!
Me: NO HE'S NOT!!! ... ABC is! ... Brad had no input into the planning of this date! He would probably take you to Bennigans! ... Why aren't we watching Intervention?!?! ... I gotta see if Lorna makes it! ... There's no way Lorna makes it.
Ev's Bachelor Watching Tip of the Week: It's fine to flip channels during breaks from The Bachelor, but DO NOT flip to Intervention. It will suck you in. Last night, we made that crucial mistake and missed literally minutes of Bachelor action while watching an entire family ripped apart by a lady on crack (Lorna). When we returned to The Bach, it took us at least seventeen seconds to figure out what was going on.
Back to Michelle and Brad's skyscraper scaling, which was COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY. I wanted Brad to just say, "You know what, you're freaking out, this isn't fun, let's just go to Bennigan's." However, my wife the psychologist said what they did was called "traumatic bonding" and undoubtedly brought them closer together. What it also did was cause us to scream at the television once again when Brad and Michelle pulled off their death-defying skyscraping kiss. We were outraged.
Our next-door neighbor Bridget, who joined us last night, is also outraged that ABC no longer includes the women's ages next to their names. My wife said she read that ABC removed them because they thought it might be offensive to women, leading Bridget to say, "This whole show is offensive to women!" This then led my wife to suggest that we make a giant fantasy football-esque draft board on our wall with all of the women and their ages on it. That'd be awesome if Bridget's husband, Dan, decided to join us one night. "Oh hey Dan, didn't know you were coming over. Come here, I gotta show you my new set of tools and that? oh that's nothing, that's just my giant poster of all the bachelorettes and their ages. Hey, would you like a Fresca?"
Lastly, it was nice to see Chris Harrison stop by to pick up his paycheck at the end of the episode.
"Oh hey guys, what's going on? Just came here to grab my millions of dollars while you're all getting your hearts broken and freaking out. Oh by the way, Emily, next week we're gonna make you drive a racecar and yeah, I'm aware that your dead husband used to race cars and you're probably going to have a mental breakdown, but it was nice seeing you! Hey, also, can someone hose down this driveway for me? I gotta get outta here, the wife and I have tickets to see Train."
With loads of football on yesterday, I figured I'd butter up to the wife (also known as "The Czar" these days) in an attempt to regain control of my remote and my sanity. So while she slept in, I straightened up our changing room, aka our future baby's room?, aka our future ping pong room?, aka the place where I currently leave all my pants on the floor, and she woke up completely blown away and VERY agreeable. Mission accomplished! And thus, I was able to watch the first half of the Packers-Bears game before I fell asleep on the couch and woke up an hour later to find her asleep on the other couch hugging the remote control and muttering sweet nothings about Mike Tomlin's ridiculously strong jaw line.
I gotta say though, it is LUDICROUS that NFL players feel the need to play in short sleeves in freezing cold temperatures. Who are they trying to impress here? Is it intimidating to look across the line of scrimm and see a guy who's pretending not to be cold? Yesterday, I went out to pick up some pizza and seriously considered putting on two pairs of long underwear. The only reason I didn't was because I straightened up to the point where I no longer know where anything is. I mean, I get it, I get it, football players are tough, real men wear short sleeves, Big Ben wears gloves on both hands, but real men also wake up at 7am on Sunday mornings to fold laundry. Real men also get ridiculously excited when Real Housewives of Atlanta comes on. I know this because real men also get BAR MITZVAH'D and I did that back in 1990, LIKE A BOSS!
This guy doesn't need short-sleeves to impress. But he does need furry boots.
Well, last night, my wife's brother, Nick, who doesn't own a television and is currently in that mid-20's, "I care about stuff" phase of his life, joined us in the living room and watched Real Housewives of Atlanta for the first time. Not the best first impression by my girl, Nene, as she came off like a crazy person who might wear short sleeves in freezing cold temperatures. Nick did however get a warm, southern, Atlanta introduction to Cynthia's butt. She's got a donk! It also became apparent that Cynthia's fiance, Peter, seriously needs to straighten up his house. That lady is on the brink.
Any time that Phaedra came on the screen, Nick asked if she was drunk. And at one point, this conversation took place:
Nick: Who's that guy?
My wife and I in unison:Kim's wig stylist.
All in all, a pretty fantastic Sunday: some football, a nap, a giant black woman threatening to strangle and pop out a white lady's eyeballs out (and drown her in the ocean, AND drown her in the ocean) and one very happy wife who may or may not be a dictator.
Our day ended with this clear reminder that my wife and I are definitely not in that mid-20's "hey, there's important stuff out there in the world!" state of our lives.
Nick: Anyone excited for the President's State of the Union Address?
Hand on the belly, Randy, hand on the belly ... perfect!
I gotta admit, I was a little nervous when season 10 of American Idol started off with 60,000 people chanting, "Jersey! Jersey! Jersey!" but last night's premier was fantastic.
Obviously the most concerning issue going into last night was the likability of the new judges, J-Lo and Steven Tyler, and Idol's ability to overcome the loss of a British man who attempted to revolutionize the way American's look at buttons on shirts. But Steven Tyler was great (because quite frankly, he's out of his mind) and J-Lo is just so absolutely ridiculously beautiful and holy smokes is she amazing! was very sweet and kind and fun and proved to be more than just a pretty face and body and holy guacamole. J-Lo's New Yorker Puerto Rican twang also gives her some street cred and helps make up for the loss of Simon's British accent. Also, last night she actually said "oy" as in "oy-vey" as in "Oy-vey, I can't believe little Joshua is dating a shiksa. Is he serious? He can't be serious. Ugh, and this corned beef is terrible. And such small portions."
Oh, aren't you just ...
The highlight of the show for me (besides some almost, ALMOST, tear jerking storylines) was the Japanese dude who sang and danced to Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA," a song that I did not realize I liked so much. Seriously, it's an amazing song. I defy you, I DEFY YOU to listen to that song and not bob your head. (clip below)
And now for TV My Wife Watches confession #347:
I think I really really really like Miley Cyrus and everything she's doing. More than just that song, I also support Miley's recent appearances on TMZ, giving dude's lap dances and smoking bongs. I also kind of like her raspy voice, her clean hair and total obliviousness for what goes on in a normal person's life. I saw her on Regis and Kathie Lee a few months ago and was really impressed by her ability to look and sound exactly like my Aunt Maxine. I support you Miley Cyrus and I totally understand why people hate you.
Mr. Pickels doesn't look so great without that wet driveway, does he?
Yesterday, a story was broken that The Bachelor, Brad Womack, has a criminal record. Turns out, my wife's favorite tattooed beau-hunk was arrested in 1993 for forging a driver's license. He was also busted for public intoxication and for passing a bad check.
However, this is nothing, NOTHING compared to the story that broke along with his arrests that his given birth name is actually Stephen Bradley Pickelsimer. Obviously, none of us get to pick our birth names, so we can't hold Brad accountable, but this may further explain Brad's hatred of his father. It may also increase my wife's crush on Brad considering she LURVES pickles!
Mr. Pickels had to know this information would be found out at some point and my heart goes out to him on this matter. Lord knows that if I ever became famous, there would be a laundry list of secret sauce out there on me. For example, few people know that I was actually born with thirteen testicles.
Luckily for Brad, Pickelsimer is not the worst name of all time, but it certainly ranks right up there alongside Lipschutz, Glasscock and Jewbergstein.
Apologies go out to the late, great Professor Schlomo Jewbergstein, most well known for claiming to have coined the phrase, "coined the phrase."
Lots to discuss this week including the emergence of a clear cut villain (Michelle), more daddy issues (everybody) and the wettest driveway in the history of television. Seriously, did anyone notice that driveway? DRIPPING WET! I just checked the weather trend in LA Fitness for the last seven days and the temperatures were 83, 79, 82, 79, 75, 70, 65, with NO PRECIPITATION. Granted, this show was probably filmed months ago, but still, even if it did rain, wouldn't the driveway dry up during the day with temperatures in the mid-80's?! It's to the point where I spend most of the show looking for a hose. I'm gonna find you hose! I'm gonna find you!
Another creepy observation that I noticed about The Bachelor is how incredibly similar Brad and I look with our shirts off. I mean, with the exception of his giant muscles, enormous tattoo and lack of stray back hairs sticking out in every conceivable direction, it's like looking in a mirror! So weird!
A recurring theme throughout this season has been daddy issues, from both the girls and Brad. Brad has some abandonment issues regarding his pop and last night one girl revealed that her father was unfaithful, another that her dad did something else (I dunno, sold women's shoes?) and during their one-on-one date, the miniature Ashley shared that her father recently passed away from a brain aneurysm. Her favorite memory of her father was that the two of them used to belt out Seal's "Kiss From a Rose" together in the car. For the record, I've always liked that song, but my wife hates it for some reason. Daddy issues maybe?
Whatever, the bottom line is that these girls need to ...
CALM
DOWN.
Good for you, Seal. I'm honestly proud of you.
Every one of them is freaking out and crying and pouring their heart out to The Bach about how hard it is to compete with the other girls and how their dad was a bastard and how the driveway is always SO WET and they can slip and FALL at any moment! They need to just relax. As a man (hardly a man, but a man nonetheless, I WAS BAR MITZVAHED after all!), we gravitate towards women who don't lose their isht at the drop of a hat. We also like people who refrain from using phrases from 19 ought 6 like "drop of a hat."
More than anyone, this Michelle lady with the weathered face needs to check herself. She's throwing around age-old Bachelor phrases like, "None of these other girls are right for him," and completely freaking out when he spends time with the other chicks. Eventually, the other ladies will get into The Bach's ear about how insane she is and she'll self destruct. Or maybe she'll slip on a HAZARDOUS driveway! Or a really long hose that has failed to have been recoiled PROPERLY.
Unbelievably awkward television moment when Emily (the widowed southern belle whose fiance was killed in a plane crash) had to board THE SMALLEST PLANE EVER for her one-on-one date. And then later, it got even more uncomfortable when The Bach asked why her relationship didn't work out. However, I must say that this guy is GOOD. He handled the situation perfectly, got her to open up and made her feel proud of who she is. He even quickly deflected the conversation over to her daughter, knowing she would light up when speaking about her. If I were in that same position and a woman told me her fiance died in a tragic plane crash and she found out days later she was pregnant, I probably would've talked about Zumba or something. "Wow. Really? That's terrible. Hey, have you heard about Zumba? I hear it's fantastic. It's like aerobics, but it's also like dancing. It's called Zumba ... Zumba gunga la gunga ... Caddyshack ... nothin?"
This plane is perfectly safe, Emily ... It's perfectly safe!
Then again, this Brad fella is getting therapy whilst being on the show, which is a nice bonus. Whoever that doctor was who sat down with him this week was just weird, though. He talked more than any therapist I've ever met, and trust me, I've met A LOT of therapists. He did give some decent advice though. I wonder if this guy knows about sex therapy? Alan Thicke's son?
My wife's one piece of advice for any contestant on The Bach, "INVEST IN WATERPROOF MASCARA." When the waterworks start flowing and the mascara drips, these ladies look cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!
Thing to look for next week and beyond: I think "the hand kiss" might be Brad's move, much like the chin tap was patented by Jason Mesnick, Brad has been kissing a lot of hands so far, A LOT of hands. Me myself personally, my move was always the over-the-shirt-hooter-honk, also a good move.
Apologies to any women out there / former girlfriends / current wives who I may have accidentally punched in the face, neck, breast or chest area when going for the over-the-shirt-hooter-honk.
This is actually Joaquin Phoenix with the ladies and I'm not kidding.
Not sure what you guys did on Saturday night, but I'm guessing you didn't hang out with 53 beautiful** women in high heels and moderately flattering swimsuits!
** ehh.
Yep, while my friends were out at the local watering hole watching the Packers and the Falcons and eating 53 layers of nachos, the wife and I decided to stay in, order sushi and watch The Miss America Pageant, easily one of my wife's 53 favorite nights of the year.
The following is what transpired:
"I like things that are a grand spectacle and a big deal," my wife says when I ask her why she gets into it so much. Well, nothing says grand spectacle more than our co-hosts for the evening, Chris Harrison and Brooke Burke, who could easily win the competition if she wasn't 53 years over the age limit. "Also, growing up, my mom didn't encourage or support these type of things, in fact, quite the opposite, she was very against it and what it stands for." Ahhhhhhh, the truth comes out, childhood rebellion! ... Why stop at sushi? Let's break out some cocaine!
No need for cocaine while watching the opening number as the 53 (fifty-three?) contestants do a choreographed dance routine to that (AMAZING) song, "Dynamite", by Taio Cruz. It sort of looks like a giant Zumba class, which my wife actually did for the first time this morning at a place called Miss Patty's All-Star Dance Center (and I'm not kidding!). She also claimed, "It may have changed my life." If you haven't heard of Zumba, it's essentially the hottest aerobic fitness program ever (yes, hotter than both the Shake Weight AND Mousercise) and consists of very excitable women dancing like Colombian maniacs with or without the help of giant bags of cocaine. According to my wife, "Zumba teaches you how to use your butt as a weapon."
Even though no one ever actually watches videos on blogs, if you happen to click on this one, look for Peter Crouch in the back row totally doing Zumba. Also, for the record, my wife got very upset when I tried to put this video online and call it Zumba. It's not actually Zumba, it's just dancing. The second video below is TOTALLY Zumba.
Tonight's pageant is being brought to us by DSW or as my friend Gilwacki calls it, "Da Shoe Warehouse." Realizing we only call it "Da Shoe Warehouse," I ask my wife what the "D" actually stands for and we both agree that it's probably, "Discount." Regardless, we're amazed that DSDubbs has enough money to sponsor Miss America, which is either great news for them or terribly disappointing for the state of the pageant.
Okayyyyyyyyy, Chris Harrison lets us know that DSW actually stands for "DESIGNER" Shoe Warehouse, leading my wife and I to raise our eyebrows and let out a collective, "hmmmmm." I had no idea that DSW offered such high-end footwear, especially shoes made by my favorite single-named Italian shoe designer, "Rockport."
Miss Patty flanked by her all-star staff.
I ask my wife who are the perennial favorites and she says any girl from the southern states as well as Texas and California. When I ask her where the bowzers tend to come from, she lists Delaware, Maine, Idaho and Vermont. Personally, I am most excited for Miss Puerto Rico (one of the extra three of the fifty-three) and am hoping that maybe, just maybe, this is the year that my home state of Pennsylvania will be in the running. I gotta say, in my three plus decades of watching this thing, I don't ever remember Miss Keystone State making any noise whatsoever.
As the girls introduce themselves, a few stand out, including: Miss Arkansas (sort of black), Miss Idaho (wow, Idaho?), Miss Nebraska, Texas, Virginia and Miss U.S. Virgin Islands (the second of the mysterious extra three). There are also quite a few dobermans who must've qualified strictly on talent, including: Miss Maine (nice call by the wife), Georgia, D.C. (ahhhh, the last of the extra three) and Miss Delaware who is bald as isht and is totally wearing a wig! Apparently, she has the same disease as Charlie Villanueva, Alopecia, which makes you completely and totally hairless. That's too bad. We also have one contestant who falls into the category of "Jew," Miss Massachusetts, Something Rabinowitz, while it seems as if Vermont has chosen to enter a man into this year's competition.
Miss Delaware ... I kinda feel bad, but she is a TERRIBLE dancer.
Personally, I am very disappointed by both Miss Puerto Rico and Miss Pennsylvania, who makes a Hershey's chocolate reference in her lame-o introduction. Instantly, I receive a text from my friend Chicken, who refuses to read my blog because "it's just so long!" Chicken writes, "I totally thought she was gonna say she made her way to Vegas via the Hershey Highway." All of the intros are pretty standard, leading my wife and I to share what we would say if given the opportunity to represent our states.
Here's hers and proof that my wife takes Miss America way too seriously:
"From the Empire State: home of Niagara Falls, the Adirondacks and Lady Liberty herself, I'm Miss New York, Catherine Fergendergen!"
And mine:
"From the state where you can murder a dog or rape a chick in a bathroom and STILL make millions of dollars by throwing a football, I'm Miss Pennsylvania, Kevin Klonsky!"
And just like that, they narrow the fifty-three down to eleven, with two extra America's Choice votes and two more chosen by the contestants themselves. Among the fifteen semifinalists are our favorites Miss Texas, Arkansas (my personal fave), Virginia, Nebraska and a lady from Oklahoma named, "Emoly." Receiving one of America's votes is Miss Delaware aka the baldest lady I've ever seen. Miss Puerto Rico and Pennsylvania are rightly sent packing.
Friend, loyal reader and Miss Ocean City 2005, Aubre, chimes in on the DSW Message Hotline by texting, "I'm so glad one black girl and one racially ambiguous girl (Arkansas) made the top 11."
Minutes later, Aubre texts again, "I'm also so glad there's a gun right here to shoot myself with."
The semifinal cut-downs were made by tonight's esteemed panel of judges:
- The Red-headed Bette Midler wanna-be co-host of The View - Debbye Turner Bell: Miss America 1990 (notice the "y" in Debbye, possibly Welsh?) - Marc Cherry: creator of Desperate Housewives. Thanks for that one, buddy. - Tony, the guy who looks like a tomato salesman from Dancing With the Stars. - Marilu Henner - Dr. Taryn Rose: apparently a lady who makes really nice shoes (and a doctor! ... AND a doctor!) - "Country star," Mark Willis!
Marilu Henner can Zumba like your mum(ba).
As the contestants scramble backstage to change into their SWIMSUITS, Brooke Burke runs beside Sinead O'Connor and asks her a question as she tries to find her suit. Amazingly, Uncle Fester responds that she didn't hear the question and leaves Brooke unfulfilled.
All right, all right, enough with the bald jokes, right? The lady's bald, big deal. In some third-world countries, like Pennsylvania, bald chicks are not only accepted, but considered a delicacy. Meanwhile, the Packers just went up 21-14 and remind me that I don't even think Wisconsin even entered a lady in tonight's competition.
The swimsuit portion of the evening is pretty uneventful as every chick has a very fit and tone body. They're also all wearing essentially the same bathing suit. There is one lady however who REFUSES to take her hands off her hips, clearly trying to hide a few rolls. Poor lady. Be proud of your body! You're beautiful! Now I totally get what my mother-in-law is against. I imagine she'd also be against her son-in-law taking notes while watching the pageant, especially the notes that I took during the swimsuit portion:
Arizona - tits Washington - small titties
I text Chicken and Aubre for their thoughts, but Chicken tells me that she is now watching A League of Their Own while Aubre has ditched the pageant and headed out to a bar.
The eveningwear segment is slightly more exciting considering the girls get to be more selective with their outfits, but I write absolutely nothing down during this part of the show with the exception that the Packers are now up 28-14.
The talent show is next which will clearly separate the bald women from the hairy ones (I'm sorry, I really am).
Miss Nebraska (17 years old!) gets it poppin by playing the piano. She's actually very good, and I can tell because I took piano lessons from first grade to third grade and know exactly what a terrible piano player sounds like.
Miss Nebraska's posture is PERFECT!
A few contestants sing some crap songs while Emoly does some very strange ballet. Miss Delaware (still bald) proves to seriously be the worst dancer in the world, even worse than Miss Virginia who takes us back to 1995 with some riverdance. For the record, I actually like riverdance (and bald women).
But the night is stolen by Miss Arkansas (still my favorite!) who busts out a (wait for it, wait for it), VENTRILOQUIST ROUTINE, with two singing and YODELING puppets! At first, we're flabbergasted, but totally get into it, especially because it gives such a goofy spin to such a vanilla, proper, snoozefest of an evening.
You can still find 'em (the pants I mean).
Despite my love of Miss Arkansas and her ability to speak with her teeth clenched, I must say that I find the ancient art of ventriloquism to be pretty absurd. I mean, I love puppets as much as the next gay guy, but why is it necessary to keep one's mouth closed and try and dupe the audience? It's not like anyone is fooled into believing that the puppets are actually talking. What I mean is, there's never a moment during a ventriloquist's performance where the audience believes that a puppet is actually making noise. We know it's the human the entire time. A ventriloquist could accomplish his or her same act by simply saying the puppet's lines in just a different voice, using the full dexterity of his or her mouth. If a ventriloquist is interested in tricking his or her audience, maybe instead of puppets, there should be two or three humans up there, all with clenched teeth and closed mouths and it'd be up to the audience to decipher who is speaking at all times. But hey, that's just one person with a blog about ventriloquism's opinion.
Onto the final five and their final questions. We've got Miss Hawaii (totally overrated), Miss Washington (small titties, remember?), Miss Nebraska (17 year-old pianist), Miss Oklahoma (Emoly) and my girl Miss Arkansas (the racially ambiguous Ventriloquist Queen of Little Rock).
From L to R: Misses Hawaii (looks much hotter here than I remember), Washington (A cup), Nebraska (17), Emoly and Arkansas (ventriloquist of my dreams).
The questions are all dumb and the answers are even dumber and it comes down to the seventeen year old corn-fed Nebraskan and a woman who makes wooden dolls yodel.
Andddddddddddddd, the winner issssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ...........
.........
.........
Miss Nebraska, Teresa Scanlan!
The seventeen year old!
The Doogie Howser of pageants!
Young enough to consider Bieber!
Not a ventriloquist!
What a night! Discount Designer shoes, Colombian dancing, a bald lady, some yodeling puppets, a teenage victory and absolutely, positively no sign of Aaron Rodgers or me having male genitalia!
If I were to discuss all of Sammi's faults, this post might break the 5,000 word mark, so instead I will just focus on the three things that frustrated me most from last night's ep of Jersey Shore.
Numero Uno:Misuse of basic English phrases, specifically when Sammie said "I could care less," regarding missing Sunday's family dinner. Sammi, it's "I couldn't care less. I could-n't care less." If you could care less, that would imply that you actually care a little bit (probably true) and have room for caring even less. Whereas if you could-n't care less, then you'd be saying that there is no way that you could possibly care any less about the situation (the actual situation of dinner, not the person).
Also, as I re-read that last paragraph, I realized that I just wrote the last three sentences actually to Sammi, as if she were actually reading this, when clearly that's not happening. Not because my blog blog lives in internet obscurity and she'd never find it (in fact, do a Google Search for "Sammi Sweetheart pathetic drip of a person" and I bet this pops up), but because there's NO WAY that Sammi would read a blog that has this many words on a page. Geez, I have a friend, Rosa, who claims to be an intellectual, but just unsubscribed from TV My Wife Watches' email alerts because "there's just too much." Then don't read it Rosa! It's not like your inbox is full! Unless you use Hotmail circa 1998, then your inbox is DEFINITELY full.
The good-ole days. When a shirtless gorilla dined with his roommates.
Numero Dos:It doesn't really bother me that Sammi follows around her boyfriend like a beagle, she is certainly not the first clingy person to do that. In fact, I know many many Jewish men who follow their wives in the same way. However, it's the fact that she follows RONNIE! Ronnie is the guy she's clinging too! A guy who's family tree is two generations removed from Cro-Magnon. A guy who lifts things up and puts them down. A guy who is one roid rage away from playing quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers. I would totally understand if Sammi followed around her boyfriend if that boyfriend was sayyyyyy, George Clooney or Leonardo DiCaps, but no, it's friggin' Donkey Kong.
Sammi, you can do better. Once again, here I am talking to Sammi as if she's reading. Seriously, there are other men out there (who can also lift things up and put them down) who will treat you better. How bout Mario Lopez? Yeah, he might be is gay and yeah he sucks, but he (probably) won't roid-rage out on you and can at least read cue cards. Or how about Ben Roethlisberger? Or an actual gorilla? All upgrades from Ronald.
This is George Cloons. I'm dead serious.
Numero Tres: Last thing, very annoying that Sammi took her frustration out on Big Ron when clearly she's only upset because she has alienated herself from the girls and is no longer accepted by the crew. She can't keep going on like this. We simply can't watch this trainwreck much longer. It's just annoying. She needs to swallow her pride, apologize for being lame and hope for some sort of acceptance from the rest of the cast. If she doesn't, and Ronnie has to spend another night sulking with her, he may honestly choke her. Which would just be sad.
Such a shame that I choose to focus on Sammi when discussing a perfectly good TV show that has seen better days. Very similar to a teacher giving 75% of their attention to the kid who's shooting spit balls as opposed to the ones doing work. Then again, that kid doing work is such a dork. LIVE A LITTLE BUDDY! Geometry is dumb!
For the record, geometry is really dumb. Think about it, when's the last time you used the Pythagorean Theorem? No offense to Pythagoras, who probably treated his girlfriends very well, but his theorem can seriously suck my crank.
***** Evster's note: Earlier, when choosing to call Ronnie, "Donkey Kong," I actually Googled "famous apes" and found a list on Wikipeeds. They broke it down to ape actors, ape artists, scientific apes, zoo apes, circus apes, pet apes and APE POLITICIANS!!
This is hardly news or any type of groundbreaking revelation, but he is seriously so short. I've always known JD was short and I've always known that I didn't like him, but after last Sunday's episode in which Nene interviewed Captain Shortstack and he was curt and distant and annoying and short, he cemented himself as the preeminent DB in the hip-hop world (which is REALLY saying something).
I did a Google search for "How short is Jermaine Dupri?" and it yielded minimal results, so I reluctantly searched for "How tall is Jermaine Dupri?" and found out that he is 5'3'' (and a half). So I imagine he tells people he's 5'4''. I am 5'9'' and 7/8ths and obviously 5'10'' sounds SO MUCH better, but I tell people I'm 5'9'' because I like to hear people say, "No wayyyyy. You're at least 5'10''. You're AT LEAST 5'10''!"
Look at Muggsy up on Mike! I guarantee Muggs got a steal here (or at least prevented a bucket!).
The rest of the episode centered around Kandi and Kim's promo-tour and the continued acceptance that Kim gets from the African American culture (which is MIND BOGGLING). Kim performed her latest single, "The Ring Didn't Mean a Thing" to an audience of wildly excited and accepting black people, further proving that I don't understand anything in this world. I guess having talent or the ability to carry a tune doesn't really matter in the music biz and the only thing people truly care about is a person's likability. This explains the public's affection for such stars as Antoine Dodson, The Pants on the Ground Guy and Kim. Because despite all of Kim's faults, she is sort of intelligent and charismatic and has really big you-know-what-skis.
Peter (Cynthia's fiance) continues to be terribly unlikable as he and Cynthia sat down with a counselor (friend?!) for couples therapy. After some uncomfortable bickering, the counselor asked Peter and Cynthia to look into each others' eyes and tell their partner what they loved about them. It was at this moment that Peter proved his total lameness.
He told Cynthia (a supermodel who has probably been showered with superficial compliments regarding her beauty her entire life) that he loved "her nose, her lips, her eyes and her soul ...." essentially showing that he knew nothing about her and just thinks she's pretty. Cynthia responded by saying she needed to stop and pick up again at a later time. I really really hope they don't get married and after typing that last sentence I just realized how much of an ABSOLUTE DORK I am! ... Why do I care whether or not they get married?!?! ... I don't even know them!! ... When did I become so invested in this reality TV garbage?!?! ... What is WRONG with me? ... I couldn't start a blog called, Sports, Buffalo Wings and Stuff I Like To Do? ... I need to regain control of my remote and my life.
Worse than Peter and Cynthia? ... I'm not so sure!
Regardless, Peter and Cynthia's trainwreck of a relationship may lead to an upcoming post examining some of the worst couples currently on reality television.
"Examining?" ... "EXAMINING?!?!" ... Why do I feel the need to EXAMINE their relationships?!?! ... I'm not a sociologist ... I don't even really care! ... Man, somebody PLEASE punch me in the nuts ... PLEASE!!
Here are the worst couples on TV right now: - Sammi and Ronnie, Jersey Shore - Sammie puts women back 75 years. - Eric Williams and Jennifer, Basketball Wives - Pathetically hanging on to absolutely nothing. - The Beverly Hills Housewife with the Ridiculously Large Lips and her Drip of a Husband, Real HW of Beverly Hills - Dude is just a drip and has no ability to please his wife in the sack. - Peter and Cynthia, Real HW of Atlanta - Peter is just a jerk.
Jackée NEEDS her own show ... I'm looking at you, VH1!!
Lastly, on Watch What Happens: Live with Andy Cohen aka "The Man Who May Soon Run the Entire World", Andy had Jackée Harry on from 227. Now, I never watched 227 and didn't really know anything about Jackée before Sundee night, but let me just say that she is OUT OF HER MIND and I have NO IDEA how she has not worked since Two Two Sevvs. I'm guessing she was in a mental hospital for the last twenty-five years, but if there are any producers out there who want to co-produce a show with me and Jackée, HOLLER AT YOUR BOY!!
Obviously I love The Bachelor and clearly I have no problem with my wife putting it on every Monday night (even when the BCS National Championship game is on) but I must say, it is without a doubt, THE DUMBEST SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF TELEVISION.
I would say that I spend roughly 90% of my Monday nights curled up in the corner of the couch, cringing while watching the twenty girls fight over Brad. There will be at least three or four times during every episode where I legitimately yell at the television. Everything is so dramatic and SO SERIOUS and so dumb and I truly, truly hate myself for watching it. But I'm so invested. I'm SO invested. And I can't wait for next week's episode. God I hate myself. Everyone on the show acts SO DUMB. Like that one chick last night, she was acting so dumb! And that other chick, just freaking out and crying and acting so dumb? She was so dumb! This show is so stupid! I freaking love it! I also loved Oregon's neon socks last night! And their helmets! And what in the world does War Eagle mean?!?!
Neon Socks: Very Andre Agassi-ish.
Some thoughts on last night's ep:
The dentist ladywho went on the carnival one-on-one date and claims she's from Philly isn't really from Philly. She's from Maine. She's currently studying dentistry at Penn and so the show lists her as being from Philly. I guarantee you this drives people from Philly mad and they will make it their personal mission to clear up this confusion. I could see this conversation going on today at business meetings across the country:
Bob: Hey, how ya doing? My name's Bob.
Fred: Hey Bob, I'm Fred. Where ya from, Bob?
Bob: Oh, I'm from Philadelphia.
Fred: Really? Isn't that lady from ...
Bob: No, she's not from Philly. She's from Maine.
Fred: What?
Bob: She's just studying in Philly, she's not actually from there.
Fred: Oh, really? Cause the show lists her as ...
Bob: Look, she's not from Philly, dude. It's Maine. She's from friggin Maine. Look, I printed out this article of her being from Maine. Look at it. Say she's not from Philly. Say it. (Pulls out loaded gun.) Say it mother****er. Say it.
Fred: All right, chill. She's not from Philly. She's not from Philly.
Bob:(looks away, puts gun back in pants) You're goddamn right she's not.
This lady, guy, I honestly have no idea, but he/she can't be happy about The Dentist.
Also, during the carnival scene when the dentist from Maine was slamming the hammer thing, my buddy Law claimed that her nipple totally popped out of her dress. Obviously, I didn't believe him, but Law is an absolute sniper for this stuff and paused his TiVo (and he actually does have TiVo, not DVR, but TiVo) and sent me this picture of her purported nip.
You be the judge. Is that a nip? I think that's a nip.
From the department of male nips, during the scene when Brad and The Dentist (not actually a dentist) were bonding over their lack of fathers, my wife blurted out, "Take your shirt off." It was as if she had no control over her vocal chords or brain. She just blurted it out. When I looked over at her, she simply responded with, "What? Nothing."
The dumbest moment of the night occurred when Brad and Michelle The Crazy Manipulative Weathered Birthday Girl shared this gem of a conversation:
Michelle: What is your biggest fear?
Brad: Honestly? ... I don't wanna end up alone. I know that's cliche, but ...
Michelle: No (takes his hand), that's beautiful.
Really, Michelle? Cause I'm pretty sure that's both cliche and dumb. I once dated this French girl (like an actual French person) who was totally fine (and I mean "fine" as in "fine," not as in "super hot." Like seriously, she was just fine, like a bowl of oatmeal is just fine, like, "Hey, do you want some pancakes? Cause I was about to make pancakes?" ........ "No, I'm fine with this bowl of oatmeal. It's fine." ....... "Really? Cause I don't mind making pancakes." ....... "No seriously, this oatmeal is fine. It's fine." ........ ) ..... That's what this French girl was like. And even though she was French-French, like, actually French, she spoke perfect English, but there was still a bit of a language barrier and she would've been friggin' perfect for The Bachelor because she loved deep conversations. Well, we once had this heart to heart:
French Girl: What is your biggest fear?
Me: What? (oatmeal spilling out of the side of my mouth)
French Girl: Tell me your biggest fear? What scares you the most in this world? Tell me, Evan, tell me.
Me: Uhhhhh, wow. I dunno. Geez, I was just kinda eating oatmeal here. Wow. What a question. Ummm, I dunno, that's a really serious question. What's yours?
French Girl: Snakes.
Me:(eyebrows raised, mouth open ... long pause) Snakes?
French Girl: Yes, snakes.
Me:(absolutely f***ing silent)
French Girl: And AIDS.
Me: (suddenly realizing this relationship is going nowhere) Wow. Well, I guess a snake with AIDS would be the ultimate then, wouldn't it?
Ready for some oatmeal, Cream of Wheat.
Later during the cocktail hour, there was actually a nice moment / sweet conversation when Brad literally couldn't speak when talking with Emily The Absolutely Beautiful and Perfect Southern Belle Except For Her SEVERE Emotional Baggage. Brad told her, "When I talk to you, you make me lose words. I feel like an idiot," which was actually kind of sweet and I totally understand if any of my three male readers just barfed all over the place and vow to no longer read this blog.
Have you ever noticed how The Bachelorette Mansion's driveway is ALWAYS WET?!?! I'm pretty sure it never rains in LA Fitness and yet, the stones are always glistening. Does this add drama? Better cinematography? Look for this next week. They must have a hose somewhere. Who knew a hose was essential to reality TV?
Train?!?!? ... What? ... Train? ... Train? ... They're actually called, Train? ... A real band? ... Man, I hope they're not from Philadelphia ... Train? An actual band ... Train.
I was very pleased that Brad sent home those two nut-job drama queens who were crying ON DAY TWO (or week two, who knows with this show?). I seriously thought Brad might be a bit of a pushover after giving Michelle The Weathered Birthday Girl a rose on her birthday, but no! he sent Melissa and Raichel packing and rightly so! He doesn't need that stuff! Any chick who is crying this early is a blatant red flag. In fact, when Brad called Britt's name last and sent the crazy ones on their way, my wife and I legitimately high-fived. Like turned, extended our hands and had a moment. It was great. We actually shared a mome. Then we shared some oatmeal. Which was fine.
The show really is brilliant. Twenty women, all ready to get married and on the brink of losing their minds, fighting over one very good-looking tattooed man. What a brilliant concept. I'm so upset that I didn't think of it.
Thank Gawd she's gone.
I must say though, Keltie The Rockette's final confession to the camera when she broke down and labeled herself "the worst dater ever," was really sad. Despite the fact that she was terribly annoying, I really felt sorry for her and her realization that she will be alone for the rest of her life. Well, Keltie, if it's any consolation, at least you'll always have total control of your remote. I only saw the second half of the BCS Championship last night.*
* Not seeing the football game had nothing to do with the fact that my wife owns me controls the remote in our household. Even if she had been out, I would've been watching The Bach. Even when the show was over and I had the opportunity to watch the second half of the game, I fell asleep and probably saw a grand total of three plays. I did however see three women completely lose their isht last night on national television on what is clearly the worst greatest show in television history.
