BACHELOR BRAD – EPISODE 1

So here I am again.  Promising myself I won’t get hooked this season, especially given the lame-ass circumstances of having repeat customer Brad Womack taking centre stage instead of at least giving us some fresh eye candy to make fun of.  Deciding, screw it, I’m not going to write anything this season, it’s for sure gonna suck, and I have better things to do with my time.

 But, alas.  Within minutes of the opening I find myself sucked in, a single tear cleaving to my eyelid as Brad struggles to explain how his three years of therapy, commitment issues, fear of abandonment and genuine determination to find love have brought him to this place…this place of tacky décor, where the driveway always looks wet even though it’s not raining, where the cameras open their shots on breasts and pecs and move out to reveal an actual human being, where adult women in boy shorts and soccer socks run free, where the secretly psycho can let their true colours shine on through, where the word awkward was invented. 

 I think back to the night Brad kicked Jenny and Deanna to the curb and I remind myself, ‘Wait!  Remember?  Deanna was gross.  You hated her!  Can you really blame those piercing eyes and sexy scruff for not wanting to share a lifetime with a woman who’s pronunciation of the word ‘heart’ is akin to Goofy’s laugh?’  And so, I too, am ready to forgive Brad, to offer him a second chance, to provide me with several weeks of entertainment, to shake my head in shame over the antics of the contestants, to fall in love with this show once again.  Who’s ready to see what’s hidden in Brad’s tiny little suitcase (what is this, the forties???)

 First off, I think we should all take note that this season has really tried to step up the diversity.  After all, there are blondes, brunettes, even a redhead!  And let’s not forget the girls with implants and real breasts.  How will all these cultures co-exist???

 Now, with thirty women to meet, the episode, as always, was a blur of too-much-bronzer, rhinestones and cleavage and/or uniboobs (sorry red-headed chick, I forgot your name but that red dress did you no favours).  So I’ll just focus on a few favourites.  After Chris Harrison moved out of the way (wearing yet another nightmare of a paisley tie), the party began.  Eventually I will learn all their names, but for now let’s call them all Chantal (cuz there apparently was more than one???  What are the chances???)

 New York Nanny – Obviously I bawled my eyes out during your introductory montage and obviously you’re adorable, so I was all too happy to watch you receive the first impression rose (that was the same girl, right?)

 Widow Barbie (sorry that’s mean…Event Planner Barbie?  Single Mom Barbie?) – Once again, cried a stupid amount for the first few minutes of the show.  Love that your daughter’s name is Ricki after your late fiancée.  You seem too nice to hang with lots of these bitches but it’ll be fun to watch.

 And speaking of single moms – are you kidding me?  Did anyone else hate themselves more than they ever thought possible when drop-dead gorgeous Michelle stepped out of the limo?  I think I gasped audibly.  Who else can pull off a leopard dress and four pounds of bronzer?  I’m sure Brad could have opened the limo door with his woody for the next chick after sending Michelle into the house to be loathed by every other contestant.

 And on the topic of single moms, I’m sorry, but I am going to have to call children’s aid.  Clearly both Michelle and Widow Barbie’s kids are severely neglected if their moms have time to look like that.  I barely have time to clean the puke off my shirt before I leave the house anyway and the only exercise I get is running up and down stairs to switch loads of laundry, and these women are specimens of physical perfection (fine it’s clear that Michelle has had help from a whole team of qualified doctors, but still…).  This is bullshit.   

 Manscaper – Thank you Jesus, this is now an official occupation.  Friggin’ love that she has chosen to specialize in this area that clearly needs attention, you know, like a doctor chooses cardiology…what I don’t love is that after Brad had the tiny patch removed from his arm we now know that he is morally opposed to grooming himself…interesting…hope you girls brought floss. 

 Can we talk about the elephant in the room here aka the effen VAMPIRE???  I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again.  I was bored by the over-rated idiocy of the Twilight series (barely finished the first one and never went back for more) and just don’t understand how so many grown women I know lost four nights of sleep reading all of them, but this has really gone too far.  What is up with this girl?  Are we supposed to be impressed by the fact that she met the Donald Trump of the vampire underworld?  Is she actually going to try to suck the blood of her cast-mates?  Is she hoping for a spinoff?  A dating show for vampires?  Actually I wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t too far away.  Gee, I wonder if the other girls will like and accept her or if there will be conflict in the house surrounding her.  Hmm…

 Jewish Jackie – Got nothing against you, I’m sure in a past life we went to camp together and all that, but really?  Did you have to be the one to sing?  I can’t decide what’s worse.  Being the girl who takes the singing seriously and busts out the opera on the first night while the other bachelorettes dangle over the balconies stifling their laughter, or claiming you can sing and then…well…sucking.  Hopefully your bubbly personality will help us forget the singing as soon as possible, but please don’t do it again.  Think of your people.  We’re counting on you to represent.

 And that’s pretty much it.  Clearly the ‘how can I make him remember our intro’ tactics didn’t work for all the girls.  Though the slap kicked ass, I must say I was pretty impressed with the material some of these girls dug deep for, such as ‘we might as well get this out of the way now…I can’t snap my fingers’ (I thought she was going to say something like I have syphilis).  Or, ‘I hope you don’t mind a girl who lives for sports’…um yes, he was actually hoping for a girl who makes her own pot pourri, you might as leave now.  Douche.  Or those hideous pink wedges.  Wow.  

 See you all at the next rose ceremony (btw has anyone else noticed how alarmingly small that rug is that separates the girls from Brad?)   From a design perspective it’s shamefully out of proportion.  K I’m done.

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