And, here we go again, my peeps…miss me?
I’ll be the first to admit, I needed this break. Between Sean and Catherine (who I am still really uncomfortable (grossed out) with, as a couple) – and the train-wreck that was Dez and Brooks – I mean Dez and Chris, I have been growing really tired of being utterly disappointed and in many cases genuinely physically nauseous at the outcomes of this show. It’s hard work doing the job of being embarrassed for people, when they don’t have the good sense to be embarrassed for themselves.
“Are you excited for Juan Pablo?” friends and my millions (tens) of fans would ask me, a glimmer of hope clinging to their eyes like a clump of mascara on a walk of shame, and I would sigh, take a moment, and answer honestly, despite the pain I knew I was causing.
“Not so much”, I would cautiously reply. “I just don’t think he’ll make that good of a Bachelor.”
Historically speaking, extraordinarily hot men, especially those heavily accented ones are there for decoration, right? We don’t need to know about their feelings. We don’t concern ourselves with matters of their interests. No. We just want to watch them curve their tanned arms upwards, tenderly cupping the faces of breathless bachelorettes before laying passionate kisses on them and call it a day. If there’s a brick wall to press them up against, all the better. Do we pour milk into our vintage ceramic pitcher and serve it to our friends for brunch? Of course not. We let it sit on our shelf, proudly wedged among other pastel earthenware treasures and leave it at that. See? Decoration.
But with the “Countdown to Juan Pablo” amuse-bouche Sunday night, I was very quickly jolted back to reality and it came to me like a friggin’ out of body experience. It doesn’t matter who the Bachelor is! These bitches be cray-cray and that’s all we need.
Even though the whole countdown business was a pure milking of a time-slot, much like the entire month of ‘Juan-uary’, with an onslaught of upcoming Bachelor-related specials (God give me strength), the episode ran smartly. They gave us a solid fifteen minutes to fall in love with the various sides (and angles) of Juan Pablo, and to let us into the world of him and Camila (whom I was beginning to worry was taking fashion cues from Shiloh Pitt, but all seems to have righted itself in that department.) We caught a glimpse of his family including the cousin with a wildly inappropriate crush on him (no shocker that I cried when his sister announced her pregnancy over Face time) and then we moved onto the good stuff – the ladies.
Between the Jesus-freak with the hoop earrings large enough to swing on, the numerous women referencing their bio clocks (um, did you not read Bachelor Auditions 101??? – whatever you do, don’t mention your eggs) – and of course, my favourite, the mail order Euro chick, chilling in the Jacuzzi with a litre full of wine, the smell of pickled herring wafting softly into my nostrils as she spread her legs in invitation. She might as well have been in an above-ground pool. Shocker that she didn’t make the cut.
What I thought was going to be a boring start had me typing so fast I couldn’t keep up. Lame-ass party tricks! Real Life Chiquita Banana strippers! The void-of-intonation cue card-reading 50 year old who ‘enjoys cooking various cuisines’! The virgin who decided to abandon that plan two weeks before the audition! Too. Many. Jokes. And don’t get me started on Lucinda – now affectionately known as Lucy or Kill Me Now, who calls herself a hippie, yet has a penchant for bacon. Something just doesn’t fit there. Much like a fist shouldn’t fit into a mouth.
And, let’s not forget what these girls were wearing when the producers or Chris Harrison ‘surprised’ them at home to hand out their roses and give them six seconds to pack up their prom dresses and head for LA. Really Elise? You usually wear a full cocktail frock and heels to hang out at home? And really, Christy? That skin tight yellow skirt, blue necklace and flowing white belly-baring tank (basically the outfit was sent from the planet of Adorable) just happened to be what you were chilling in at home? Who doesn’t change before they go to the airport?
But then, just as abruptly as I am changing tones right now, there was the tribute to Gia Allemand. If you’re like me, it probably took you by surprise and set you off into full blown tears. I am still shocked by Gia’s death and remember her in all her seasons so well. The girl you wanted to hate because she was so beautiful, but you just had to love. Even in the shallowest of locales – the Bachelor mansion – Gia was clearly a truly beautiful soul and, well, judging by those who were interviewed about her, grief has certainly not been kind. Seriously people. Before you get interviewed, find a mirror, or at the very least, a clean window to tidy yourself up in. Even a spoon can do the trick in desperate times.
So that was that. We got a good glimpse of life with Camila, Juan Pablo’s pit stains, a whole crap-load of crazy and a teaser for the season to come.
Then, the real deal. The ‘journey’ or ‘adventura’ begins. I really don’t know which one is worse. For starters, who cares if Juan Pablo is the ‘First Latino Bachelor’? Is that even a thing? Does it even deserve capital letters?
Before we take a deeper dive, I’d like to thank God for allowing us to witness the adorable photo shoot that kicked off the episode. Usually we just get the standard Bachelor climbing a hill, Bachelor working out, Bachelor showering, Bachelor in the Sun, Bachelor in the rain with kitschy umbrella, and Bachelor drinking coffee on a balcony. Don’t get me wrong – those were all there – even the dog on the boardwalk wanted to hump Juan Pablo’s leg – but this photo shoot was pretty effin’ adorable.
That said, after more long sequences reinforcing, that yes, Juan Pablo loves his daughter (who doesn’t love a heart drawn in the sand?), and yes, he lives a great life, and indeed, he is hot, we get to move on with our lives.
Sean’s visit kicked things off, with an advice session that wasn’t totally unreasonable. Don’t make out with girls in front of other girls. Good one. Humour their ridiculously embarrassing gimmicks for attention on the first night. Indeed. You sorta have to. Don’t convince yourself on night one that you know who you’re ending up with. Yup, I like that one too. Then again, he chose Catherine…so really, can I trust him? Even with the cute ‘when I’m not on Dancing with the Stars, we live real lives and spray our dog with tomato juice’ story, I’m still not buying the two of them.
Finally, it’s limo time and man, can that boy wear a suit well, even if he does wave like he’s waxing on and waxing off.
For the most part, I actually found the rounds with the limo to be pretty lame and I think that’s largely because half the girls didn’t even give him a chance to speak! The poor guy was trying desperately to get a word in, but you can’t compete with a bunch of Chatty Cathys dressed to the nines, fresh off the hamster wheel. You could actually see him giving up with at least half of them, as they finished their one-sided conversations, did their little demos and walked into the house without even waiting for him to speak.
And for those that stuck around – like Cassandra, the former NBA dancer/makeup artist – the awkward silences were just painful. I think I had a perma-cringe on for the entire limo portion of the night.
Of course, there were the expected gifts for Juan Pablo and Camila from a few of the ladies, and the usual requests for a dance, said in a coy, alluring voice.
Then there were the girls that fell into the ‘unique footwear’ category, like Valerie and her cowboy boots (nothing like dissecting your outfit for him instead of letting it speak for itself), Ali and her soccer cleats (this also falls into the ‘random display of athleticism’ category) and of course, Lucy, our ‘free spirit’ hippie who doesn’t wear shoes because…she’s gross? Oh well. Frolic, anyone?
Then there are the girls who showcase a bit of their professions in their intros, like Ashley, the gold star-awarding first grade teacher with the unfortunate obstacle of having all her features, including her hair on one side of her face or like Chelsie, the science teacher who was so focused on her carefully orchestrated experiment/chemistry situation that she didn’t even realize the poor guy had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Even though her whole intro was a bit of a hot mess, not to mention her statue of liberty gown (there’s at least one every season – I’m still shuddering over Dez’s premiere dress), I hypothesize (thank you grade seven science) that she will go far and I’ll let it go this time, because I actually do like her. And the girl’s from Ohio, people. I just drove through there to get home from Florida and the whole state looks like a giant, abandoned used tire warehouse. Throw the girl a bone.
We also had Nikki the pediatric nurse, who forced JP (I just can’t friggin type his name anymore, I’m sorry) to feel her up with a stethoscope (worked like a charm) and Lauren – not the secretly 50, left at the altar, bachelorette basket case, but the one who burned her glutes off trying to pedal what looked like a large storage unit through cobblestone in heels only to churn out a piece of music she composed with an awkward out of key moment, before she dashed into the house without even telling him her name. Incidentally, she also falls under the ‘make a memorable (embarrassing) entrance in something other than a limo’ category. Historic examples of this include skateboard, motorcycle, horse and of course, the invisible pedestal.
And then there’s the miscellaneous category, full of the real gems, like Chantal who in desperation for a common thread between her and Juan Pablo, pretended that the connection that would tie them for life was that their names were difficult to pronounce. Really? That’s what you got? And by the way. Chantal. Chantal. Chantal. It’s not exactly a challenge.
Or Clare, the cutie-patootie hairdresser who just had to go and pull the old baby bump trick. Clare, because I like you, and you made me cry because of your dad on the Countdown episode and you look adorable in an empire waist, we’ll let that one slide.
Almost as much as we’ll let it slide that Kelly – you know the one whose title is ‘dog lover’ – a close second behind ‘free spirit’ brings her pooch along who basically all but peed on JP to demonstrate its lack of interest. What a bitch. Get it?
Enough about the intros? Let’s move into the actual house then, shall we? Surprisingly, I think JP’s opening remarks and general cocktail party-hosting were my favourite of any season so far. Rather than the usual ‘thanks for coming along on my journey’ speech, he threw in a couple of nice one liners about being themselves and even admitted how creepy it was that all the girls were staring so intensely at him, their uterus’ (uteri?) throbbing to the beat of his iPod. When they weren’t attempting to consume him with their stares, it actually looked moderately fun!
As soon as the drinks were in hand, the crazy started to push its way out from the tangly mess of tacky décor. For starters…sigh…Amy. Dear, sweet, disturbing, Amy. Perhaps if you spent a little less time bringing yourself to orgasm by wiping your greasy hands on Juan Pablo’s (or any man’s for that matter) suit and massaging him, you might not be leaving empty handed, with only your lamé dress to absorb the essential oils on your hands.
And Lauren…poor Lauren…here is where it gets hard for me. Because she seems like a nice enough girl and on the one hand, I don’t know that I’d fare any better than her if my fiancée broke up with me while I was at work by phone. But on the other hand, get your shit together, girl. You’re about to implode! This is not the time or place to come to terms with a runaway groom and sporting a face like you’re holding in diarrhea is not doing you any good either. Help me help you, Sister. Or better yet, maybe take a trot on over to Lacy, and ask her if Cupid has anything a bit stronger than Red Hots in that little pill bottle. Clearly Juan Pablo doesn’t want her taking care of his special needs.
Bottom of the barrel for me? Lucy – who I already want to punch every time she twirls, skips, close-talks, calls herself a hippie or displays any part of her vile feet and Sharleen, Miss as-if-she-isn’t-going-to-bust-out-the-opera-STAT, with the most uncomfortable first impression rose distribution of all time. OF ALL TIME. I am deeply ashamed that this chick is the one Canadian who made it onto the show and I have a deep, lurking fear that she’ll be one of the ones who goes far. It’s not just her manly voice, or her supposed mundo, or the fact that she calls him SIR, it’s pretty much all of that, and then some. Please make her go away.
And my top picks so far? Actually, there are a bunch. I’m digging Renee, the single mom – even though I think a man calling you Mommy right out of the gate is not necessarily the best sign. Hope she doesn’t slip into the friend zone.
Andi, the gorgeous prosecutor who seems pretty chilled out, funny and may actually be nice (I mean she was happy Sharleen got the rose so clearly she’s into charity work). I’ll try to erase the memory of her courtroom drama scenes in the Countdown episode, which contained so much random legal jargon at such a slow pace, that I expected the reveal that we were actually watching some sort of porno where the passionate lawyer will stop at nothing to get justice for her clients even if it means fellating the judge.
Clare – the hairdresser who just seems really sweet and sincere and Chelsie, the science nerd with hints of funny in her also round out the girls on my list.
I’m not overly surprised by his picks – I think the rose ceremony was pretty uneventful except for the awesomeness that was Kylie stepping forward accidentally for a rose that wasn’t hers and being shot down when she asked if both she and Kat could stay. Seriously though? The girl is 23. Get the kid a Happy Meal and she’ll be over it in no time. Besides – She wore a pink dress with red hair. She’s got bigger problems to worry about.
And Maggie, nothing against you or your straight-out-of-a –movie accent, but this show is no place for a good little Christian. The less airtime we have to occupy watching you reveal your virginity to JP, the better. And look on the bright side – you got to fly in an airplane right? Praise Jesus! Now go on and git yourself a mint julep or something.
Goodbye to the rest of you and good luck perfecting your ugly-cries. At least Valerie – the over-confident personal trainer who horribly messed up her promise to file her nails down to scratch some eyes out on the Countdown show will be there to comfort you – according to her, ugly people need love too…
Till next week!
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