Big news here, guys. It’s official. I’m blown away by “The Bachelorette.”
I’ve watched a lot of shows, from MacGyver to Gossip Girl, but I don’t think I’ve ever been as shocked by a show as I am by “The Bachelorette.” To summarize:
Hot 26-year old brunette wants to get married and start having kids ASAP. (“Hey, Life? This is Fun. Just wanted to say it was nice knowing you, and good luck with everything.”) She’s in a rush, so she doesn’t want to go through the normal channels (e.g. dirty bars, temp jobs, eHarmony, “mishaps” with GHB, etc.), so she goes on a nationally televised program pitting 25 men against one another to win her heart through contests and tests of commitment like “opening up.” Oh, and did I mention she’s hot?
I have many complaints about the show (number one being that she kicking and punching amongst the bachelors is not allowed), but overall, in a deeply philosophical and life-redefering way, my qualm is this: That out one side of her mouth, all DeAnna does is talk about finding true love and spending her life with someone and making that magical connection that only soul mates can share, and out of the other side of her vagina she’s decided that the pool from which she will find this soul mate is a subset of twenty-five studly men. That’s it. Twenty-five. When you consider how many men there are in the world, doesn’t twenty-five seems like a small percentage? Especially when you’re a hot brunette who can basically break up relationships at will and shop for boyfriends like XBOX games at Toys R’ Us?
Now here’s something that might surprise you. Fundamentally, I think this is a sound premise. In fact, it’s something I’ve thought for a long time now. In college, I called it the “Packed Elevator” theory, the premise being that if I was on my way to class in an elevator packed full of girls, there is a very good chance that I could have a long, happy relationship (or a drawn out, cat and mouse game of who cheated on who the most) with at least one of them. No need to accidentally trip over each other in the cafeteria only to find out that we’re both English majors who secretly (shh, it’s so embarrassing!) like that song from the Volkswagen commercial. Just a simple, “Oh, you’re going to six too? We should have sex and ruin each other’s lives.”
But here’s DeAnna going on and on about once in a lifetime opportunities to find the soul mate of her dreams, when really she has just as much of a chance of finding her future husband at the local grocery store. (Or, more appropriately, the local gym. I haven’t seen that many six packs since my last trip to the beer distributor. AM I RIGHT?) And what really sticks in my craw is the sincerity of the show: that we’re supposed to believe that while DeAnna will only find one soul mate from the crop of twenty-five, that all twenty-five of those guys think she is their soul mate. I would do the math on that to prove how ridiculous it is, but I don’t think that that’s what math is used for anyway.
Listen, I’m not saying that the “natural” order the male/female mating game isn’t without its flaws. Girls go on four bad dates a week, guys sleep with their housekeepers – heck, I even have a friend who dated a girl solely because she worked at a chocolate shop. But the point is, the way they do it on “The Bachelorette” doesn’t work. You can’t just go kissing every guy who says you look “wow” in a cocktail dress and find “a connection” while enjoying extravagant meals in private mausoleums or whatever the hell they do. Bottom line – it just doesn’t work.
That’s right, tonight is THE BIG NIGHT. It’s down to three bachelors, and tonight they may or may not (at the discretion of DeAnna’s hooha) be presented with what I affectionately refer to as a “Bang Card.” Basically, a Bang Card is an invitation to
learn more about their special relationship by spend the night with do DeAnna in her “fantasy suite” in the
Needless to say, I think this is a brilliant turn of events. I can’t tell you how many times in my life (four) I could have used such a clear-cut signal as a piece of paper (which could considered a written contract and used as evidence in a court of law) that a girl wanted to get it on. No more of this, “She touched my hand when she laughed” or “She ordered dessert, so she owes me anyway.” Just a black and white token of intentions. It doesn’t even matter what’s written inside. It could be a drawing of a bear cub sliding down a rainbow. The deal’s done.
The only question I have left, then, is this: If you were DeAnna’s father watching tonight’s episode, how many bottles of Jim Beam would you drink:
d) a gun