Friday, March 27, 2009

That’s the Ticket: Part 2

So as the officer is walking back to my car empty handed I am thinking two things:

1. If he asks you to step out of the car, whatever you do DON’T CRY; and
2. It’s 2009 you can cry if you want to.

He approaches the open driver-side window.

Officer: (looking at my expired New York state license) “So you live in New York?”
Me: “No, I live in Miami now. For the past year.”
Officer: “Okay, I see. Sorry I misunderstood you there.”

Huh? “Sorry”? “Misunderstood me”? I feel a window open, like perhaps if I reply with, “Why would I live in that union state. Did you hear they still think they won the war of northern aggression?” maybe we would have a good laugh and he would welcome me to Miami with a gentle tap on the car door and a warning to drive slower next time.

Officer: “Okay, now since your drivers license is expired I can’t let you drive home, so you’re going to have to get someone to pick you up.”

“Of course,” I respond, as though we are talking about someone else – some dimwitted jerk who got caught speeding with an expired license.

Officer: “Go ahead and call someone, I’ll be right back with your tickets.”

Plural. Ballsack. But no time to worry about that. Instead I begin plotting how I will explain to Brooke that she has to take a 20-minute taxi ride to come pick me up because I’m not allowed to drive myself home. I consider starting with a joke, like “Did you hear about the new restaurant on the moon? The food’s great but there’s no atmosphere! So I got pulled over and need you to come get me.”

I dial her number. Voicemail. Fuck me. Dial again. More voicemail. Here come those tears.

I continue this process for about ten minutes while the officer is back in his car dealing with, I imagine, all the writers’ cramps from my litany of offenses. Still unable to get through to Brooke, the officer again returns to my car.

Officer: “Somebody coming to get you?”
Me: “I tried calling my girlfriend but she hasn’t picked up. She’s the only person I know in Miami. .”
Officer: (stone face)

This isn’t true, of course. I know lots of people in Miami. Just not people that I would be comfortable with asking for a ride home because I broke the law. As I begin to wonder if it’s even possible to make new close friends after college – not just the type that you watch the game with, but ones who would bail you out of jail, and how the recently released movie I Love You, Man coincidentally deals exactly with this topic, the officer interrupts me with, “You can pull into this mall parking lot here and wait for her to get here.” He then sorts through the paperwork, handing me two tickets (one requiring a court appearance, bringing back bad memories of wearing a ties and being laughed at by hardened criminals) and no less than five additional pieces of literature explaining what needed to be done.

So with the officer still in his car behind me, I gingerly pull up the 200 feet and into the parking lot. I swing into a spot and begin calling Brooke again. Nothing. At this point, I figure the best thing to do would be to drink. So I take my literature with me into a little French restaurant in the mall and sit at the bar. The eastern European-looking woman tending bar asks me what I’ll have. I order a beer and settle in with my documentation to go over my options (bend over and take it by mail, bend over and take it by phone, or hang tight and we’ll let you know when you can come down here in person to bend over and take it). The look on my face – a flushed combination of disappointment and self-loathing – must have given something away, because the bartender asked if everything was alright.

“Yes,” I respond, taking a swig of beer. “It’s just that my girlfriend won’t call me back.” This must have come out way more depressing than I had intended, because she then tilts her head to the side and replies with tenderness in her eyes, “Sometimes you just have to move on.”

A few minutes later, I finally get through to Brooke and explain the situation.

Brooke: “Is the officer gone?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Brooke: “So just drive home.”
Me: “That’s a great idea. Then if the police officer is waiting at the entrance of the mall and he catches me I’LL BE ARRESTED. I can’t go to prison. I don’t even smoke.”
Brooke: “Fine, I’ll be right there. But you’re taking me to dinner.”
Me: “As long as you drive . . .”

After hanging up the phone, I down one more beer and tip the bartender nicely, thinking she’s right: Sometimes you just have to move on.*

__________________________________
* But not before blogging about it.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

That’s the Ticket: Interlude


I am not happy about this.

A couple of things before getting to part two:

• I forgot one instance of being pulled over, probably because I blocked it from my memory due to all the emotional trauma. (The subconscious is clever like that.)

It was the summer of 2002 and I drove up to Maine with my then girlfriend to meet her parents for the first time. The second night there, my ex and I were driving back from her friend’s house when I was pulled over on a small, backwoods street. The officer made me do a sobriety test, and while I had no trouble touching various parts of my body and walking straight (I’d been doing it for years), I did stumble a bit on the backwards alphabet, though in fairness to me the helpful song doesn’t work in reverse. (My joke of, “I was an English major, I should know this,” probably didn’t help either.)

After that, he took me into the front seat of his patrol car and closed the doors. I sat there for a few minutes staring straight ahead while he wrote something down in a pad.

Officer: “So you’re from New York.”
Me: “Yes.”
Officer: “What are you doing in Maine?”
Me: “Meeting my girlfriend’s parents for the first time.”
Officer: (long, low whistle) “They’re not going to like this story, are they.”
Me: “No.”
Officer: “I remember the first time I met me wife’s parents. They hated me. All her daddy wanted to do was drink beer and watch sports, but I was a hunter. I liked the wilderness. So I married her anyway.”
Me: (internally) If he gives me a five-minute head start, I think I can lose him in the woods. The girl will slow me down; I’ll have to leave her behind, which is a shame because things were going so well.
Officer: “Are you going to speed in Maine anymore?”
Me: “No.”
Officer: “Okay. Go on now.”

He didn’t even give me a ticket, and to this day my ex still believes that I performed a sex act on him in that car. All in all, it was an experience almost as traumatic as . . .

• . . . getting my Florida drivers license yesterday. While the sadness of becoming an official Florida resident became all the more real, surprisingly the actual process at the DMV was painless. They even let you make an appointment in advance, as though you’re seeing a doctor or getting a haircut. And while I was being helped by The Standard Older Gentleman Who Has Trouble Working The New Technology (he typed with his middle finger, it was adorable), the entertainment was provided by The Standard Older Gentleman Who Is Actually a Douche being helped at the counter next to me. He was carrying a briefcase and wearing a red polo shirt tucked into khaki pants with a matching red cardigan draped over his shoulders presumably in case he got cold, or a tennis match broke out.

Woman: “May I help you?”
Guy: (plops briefcase down on counter) “John C. Smith! I have an appointment!”
Woman: “What can I d-”
Guy: “I’m a movie producer from Los Angeles! I recently moved to Fisher Island. We’re filming a movie here in Mia-“
Woman: “Are you renewing a license?”
Guy: “No, I live on Fisher Island and need to drive to the movie set to che-”
Woman: “So you need a new license?
Guy: “Yes.”

Here it’s important to note that Fisher Island has the highest-income per capita in America, and can be reached only by private ferry or helicopter. It’s also important to note that of course this guy’s name isn’t John C. Smith, meaning he used an alias for an appointment AT THE DMV.

The douchery went on for a solid fifteen minutes as he made a big scene out of not having all the documents he needed to obtain a license, though this didn’t stop him from pulling cards out of his wallet saying, “Can I use my bank card from Fisher Island? Or my American Express? Or my access card to the club at Fisher Island?”

Your fucking access card to the club?! What are you backing it up with, your membership certificate from The Cabbage Patch Kid adoption agency?

Needless to say, I hated this guy. I hated him so much that I came home and immediately tried to find him online. I searched through all the movies currently being filmed in Miami. There’s only three: Immigration Tango, The Bait, and D4.

Immigration Tango doesn’t even have an IMDb page and The Bait is produced by a guy named Dariusz Zawiślak – clearly not out d-bag. Then there’s D4, which I can’t find out much about except that it doesn’t stand for The Mighty Ducks 4 (sadly). If anyone has an IMDb Pro account, let me know so I can stalk this guy further. Everyone needs a mission in life, and now that Obama seems to have America under control mine is to find out this guy’s real identity and sully his good name with Photoshop, or perhaps a forged fan letter to Miley Cyrus.

In the meantime, the woman helping him at the DMV got started with a burn of her own.

Guy: “Fine, I’ll make another appointment and come back next Wednesday.”
Woman: “I’ll remember you.”

Touché, douché!

Monday, March 23, 2009

That’s the Ticket: Part 1

While I’ve always enjoyed driving, I can’t say that I love the driving culture. Coming from New York City where drivers licenses are used primarily to gain entrance to bars, pick up tickets at will call and travel within U.S. borders, I never gave much thought to what their primary purpose actually is. Until, of course, I needed to use mine for said primary purpose.
____________________________________

Last Friday, noon. Fifteen miles from home. Hungry.

I’m driving down a relatively major road in a relatively wealthy neighborhood thinking about what I am going to have for lunch when I get home. Suddenly, I see a police car in my rear view mirror. Sirens go on. Asshole tightens. Hunger stops. Immediately.

I start pulling over to the right, but there’s no shoulder. Up ahead is a on-ramp to a major highway, meaning my options are limited to stopping traffic or appearing to evade arrest. All this takes place at a stop light, with me at the head of the line and the cop directly behind me. Lights flashing. Yeah, I get it.

The light changes and a few yards up ahead I spot a bus stop. I pull in. A group of people are sitting on a bench waiting for the bus. I can’t tell if they’re shaking their heads because of the cop behind me or because I’m blocking their access to oncoming buses. Either way, I'm the asshole.

In my rearview mirror, I watch the cop exit his car and approach mine. Here is where I flash back to all the times I have gotten pulled over in the past:

Spring, 1997: I’ve only had my license for a few months when I’m stopped for doing 70 in a 55 on the east end of Long Island. After pulling over, I turn on NPR thinking the officer may consider me sophisticated and let me off with a warning. The officer asks where I am headed and I tell him the doctor. It’s the truth, and I hope it will score some sympathy points as well. He gives me a ticket and I have to appear before a judge. I wear a tie, and the other people waiting in the courtroom laugh at me. Clearly it’s not their first time in traffic court.

Summer, 1998: After a fight with my girlfriend, I get pulled over driving stupidly fast on the highway at night. I use a PBA card given to me by one of the ferry captains with whom I worked to get out of a ticket. The police officer confirms the information and before sending me on my way says, “You’d better buy your friend a steak dinner.” I am shamed into driving safely for years, until . . .

Spring, 2001: On our way home from spring break in New Orleans, my friends and I are pulled over while driving two cars through Alabama. We are ticketed with “driving too close to one another” on a highway. Not wanting to end up like Ralph Macchio in My Cousin Vinny, we apologize and move on.

More than anything, though, right now I am picturing all the times I have watched people get pulled over in movies. Not having a run in with the law in eight years kind of removes my consciousness from the situation. Is there something I’m supposed to do now? There was that episode of Friends where Rachel talked her way out of the ticket. Advisable?

Officer: “May I see your license, registration, and insurance card?”

This throws me, because on TV it’s always “License and registration, please.” I open the glove compartment very slowly, fearing he may think I am going for a weapon. Not knowing exactly what all these documents look like, I pull everything out and start going through it.

While I’m doing this, the officer is slyly scoping out the back seat. Suddenly I am irrationally afraid that I have something incriminating back there, like a gun or a kidnapped baby. Without turning to look, I run through a mental checklist: purple umbrella stolen from a fashion show, random items of clothing, sawdust from a trip to Home Depot, magazines, and a wine tote, all of which in my mind come together to cast overwhelming suspicion on me. Clearly I am a dangerous bank robber with a body in the trunk. This isn’t going well.

But wait, there’s more! Just about now I remember something: My driver’s license is expired.

[Cue losing sound from any major game show.]

Flashback to November, 2002: “Wow, this thing expires in 2009. That’s so far off!”
Flashback to November, 2008: “Ugh, I have to get a Florida license now?
Flashback to February, 2009: “I should find the local DM . . . hey, Friday Night Lights is on!”
Flashback to five seconds ago: “Fuck.”

The officer takes all my documentation just as a bus is pulling up.

Me: “Is it OK to be stopped here?”

(silence)

Officer: “I’ll be right back.”

Here’s the part where you are left alone to think about all the things you should have done differently.

After renewing my license, Brooke and I went out for ice cream. I had a strawberry shake and she had a cone. That night we made love while it rained. The next day, I went out for a drive with the windows open. As the sunshine poured in, I maintained the speed limit.

Ten minutes pass of me sitting in silence (I fear that turning on the radio may look like I’m planning an escape) thinking about how this never would have happened on the subway, where you literally have to reach third base with someone against their will to get in trouble.

Finally, I see the officer exit his car again. Except he isn’t carrying anything. Not my license, not a ticket. Nothing. This can’t be good.

(Stay tuned for Part 2, wherein I give my dignity a swirly in the toilet before accidentally hitting on a foreign cocktail waitress.)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

How to Parent in Miami

Scene: My family and I are sitting by the pool at my apartment building. It is time for my one-year old nephew Ronan to eat.

Mom: “I have to go upstairs and warm Ronan’s bottle.”
Me: “Just warm it in the hot tub.”

Mom cocks head. Looks incredulous. Takes bottle over to hot tub and dips it in. Comes back two minutes later.

Me: “That’s how we do shit here.”

Monday, March 16, 2009

Cocktails & Dreams

• Brooke and I watched Cocktail this weekend as part of our ongoing effort to find out which classic films stand the test of time and which don’t. Sadly, nearly every movie made in the 80’s doesn’t hold up, but in particular this one. It’s not just that the clothes and dialogue are ridiculous; the plot is bizarre. I’ll suspend my disbelief to buy that Cruise learns to be the best bartender in America in a few short weeks, long enough to fall in love with a women after a one-night stand and have his heart so thoroughly broken by his boss that he needs to escape to Jamaica for THREE YEARS. But when his former best friend/bar manager of a few weeks tracks him down in Jamaica and ruins a second relationship of his, and then kills himself, prompting Cruise to reexamine life and marry his ex-girlfriend (of four days) who’s pregnant with his baby, I’ve gotta be like WHAT HAPPENED TO THE TIME/SPACE CONTINUUM?

Oh and this:

That’s awesome. NOW WHERE’S MY VODKA TONIC ASSHOLE.

• The best part of watching it was seeing a commercial for this original reality TV show airing on a channel named TV Land. It’s called “The Cougar” and I’m not gonna lie, I peed my pants a little while watching the commercial.

The voiceover at 2:24 SLAYS me. “Only one young man will prove himself worthy to be with the cougar forever . . .” “Forever” = until the Botox stops taking.

Better Show Idea: Twenty men vie for the affection of an actual cougar.

Dude 1: “She took me back to her cave tonight.”
Dude 2: “Dude!”
Dude 1: “We killed a deer together.”
Dude 2: “I’m so jealous.”

• Speaking of crazy moms, mine’s coming to town. Along with the rest of the family. So I’ll either be very light on posting this week (what else is new, dick?) or I’ll have an entertaining Griswoldesque story to tell every day. Like how they mistakenly plunked in the wrong address in their GPS when coming to our apartment, and my sister called from the ghetto like, “Um, which one of these cute little houses with the metal bars on the windows do you live in?”

• Also, I watched Wall-E last night. And while I wouldn’t recommend it as a kid’s movie (I had to pause and ask Brooke what was going on several times), I will say that the resemblance between Wall-E and Puppy is astounding.

Brooke says she doesn’t see it, but I claim she’s just not looking hard enough with her heart.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Important Vagina Update!

I get home from my meeting and read Dan’s post.

Brooke: “Monkey butt.” [What!? Like you don’t have weird names for your boyfriend?] “I just read your post. Do you think women compare the color of stuff coming out of their hoo-has with the color grid to determine whether of not they have a yeast infection?”

Dan: “Yes.”

Brooke: “Really?” [Takes a bite of his fajita.]

Dan: “What else could it be?”

Brooke: “The strip tests the PH levels of your special place and turns a dark green if you have a yeast infection.”

Dan: “Oh, that makes so much more sense.”

Brooke: “Please tell the folks on your blog that you don’t think ladies have weird multicolored goop coming out of their parts.”

Dan: “I just thought you were really healthy.”

Here’s Something That Ruined My Lunch

Because Brooke and I both work from home, making the most of our alone time is a key component to the relationship. So when Brooke goes out for a work meeting I go into full carpe diem man mode, a.k.a. SportsCenter mode, a.k.a. sometimes watching reruns of “One Tree Hill” on the Soap Network mode. (Don’t judge, Puppy likes them.)

So today, Brooke left around 12:30. I immediately cracked a beer, warmed up some leftover steak fajita, and sat down on the couch. I turned on SportsCenter and Puppy went into the bedroom, so then I put on “One Tree Hill” and he came back and jumped up on the couch with me. (Seriously, he loves Sophia Bush.)

Then right before I took my first bite of fajita, this commercial came on.

video

THAT GREEN?! Ladies, I love you and all of your womanly charms. But if you’ve got Sherwood Forest coming out of your hoo-ha, I think it’s safe to say that the time for screening kits of well past. Please go to a doctor and stop ruining my lunch.

P.S. This is what I get for watching the Soap Network.

P.P.S. What color on there isn’t a yeast infection?

P.P.S. Nevermind, I don’t want to know.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Melissa Rycroft Isn’t On Facebook*

Don’t ask me why I Facebooked Melissa Rycroft from The Bachelor (unless you want to hear some half-baked excuse about how she owes me $20 from an underground Texas Hold ‘Em game, and not the real reason which is that I need her to know that MY HEART IS WITH HER), but I had a spare second in between my morning yoga and my lunchtime Van Damme motivational movie clip time, so I did. And low and behold, there she was:

Of course I added her as a friend, because I’ve watched her so much on TV why wouldn’t we be friends? I know she had a breast reduction for Christ’s sake. That’s the kind of shit you only share with close friends (and America).

So I sent her a friend request with the note:

Sorry about Jason. NOT. Dude’s a loser. I would have signed up for The Bachelorette if it was you. I mean, Gillian’s cool, but “again” doesn’t rhyme with “rain” you know?

Clearly she was digging my vibe, because she friended me ASAP. But when I started looking over her profile, it seemed suspicious. First, there’s this note in the sidebar:

That’s SO not Melissa! Then there’s her photos section:

That it? Just those three pictures? No candids from the show? No funny high school photos? No Ty?

What sealed it though was the e-mail attached to the account: cheesewizzz1@gmail.com. I’m sure Melissa likes processed cheese snacks just as much as the next Texas cheerleader (she’s crazy like that!), but enough to make it her e-mail address? I just don’t buy it.

Luckily, though, lots of people do. And they went out of their way to show their support to Melissa by posting on her wall. These are a few of the best messages, if by best you mean crazy.


You can just tell that Jorge is an animal in the sack.


Yes, God and ABC network put you through this voluntary participation reality show to make you stronger. It’s like the time He made me sleep with those two Russians so I would learn that love has no boundaries.


Classic neg right there. Someone’s been watching The Pick Up Artist.


”. . . an insignificant flea who’s gone like a bad dream” is the douchebag.


Q: What’s the one thing you don’t want to bring up when talking to a girl for the first time?
A: AIDS.
Second A: Setting her on fire.


I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO EMPHASIZE SO I DO IT “EVERYWHERE”.


”The?” That’s the correction you want to make to that sentence?


”but not real family. Like family you can doink. Like those fake aunts who are really just friends of your parents.”


”Who the hello” is an instant classic. I can’t wait for someone to piss me off so I can scream in their face, “Who the hello do you think you are!”


I believe Michael Scott said it best . . .


Yes. That’s exactly the right plan. Don’t fall in love and marry someone else. Wait fourteen years until Ty is legal, and then seduce him, get him to propose to you (preferably on a reality TV show), and exact your final revenge on Jason.

___________________________________
* I promise this will be my last mention of The Bachelor. Unless I spot one of them in person and then I’ll write 1,500 words on how seeing them makes me a better person. Or until the new season starts. Basically, The Bachelor will be the end of this blog.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Five Reasons Why Not Drinking is the Worst

Five days ago, while sipping Bloody Marys, Brooke posed the question “Do you think we drink too much?”

I looked around, and seeing that I wasn’t in a gutter or my mom’s bedroom stealing money from her purse, I answered, “No.” Apparently, I didn’t say it convincingly enough (Was it the vodka dribbling off my chin?), so Brooke issued a challenge: To not have a single alcoholic drink for an entire week, the thought being that this would make us better people.

So here we are, 7,200 minutes later. (I like to think of it in terms of minutes, because it only takes me a minute to open a bottle of wine or pour a cold beer or mix a martini, meaning that literarily any minute now I could have a drink, and the only thing stopping me is the constant force of a mighty and terribly impressive willpower.) Are we better people for it? No. Are we worse people? Not really. But is life worse? Absolutely. Here’s why:

1. It’s not as fun. As many of you know, last night was the second part of “The Bachelor After the Final Rose” special, starring Jason “Whoops, Did I Say Melissa I Meant Molly” Mesnick and Molly “24 Going On 35 Face” Malaney. Normally when Brooke and I sit down to watch The Bachelor with a bottle of wine, we’re totally like Thelma and Louise (I’m Louise), synchronized periods and everything. But last night, we almost forgot to TiVo it. And then when we went back to watch it, we fast-forwarded through at least three quarters of it because it was “boring.” BORING? It’s whores and misogynists and child abuse and temptation and double crossing and IT’S ALL REAL. But most of all it’s meant to be watched drunk.

2. No reward at the end of the workday. According to my father, a hard day’s work is its own reward. DING DONG. Maybe for my dad who builds houses it is. Maybe when he’s done with a hard day’s work and he steps back and there’s a goddamn house in front of him, where a family will live and children will play and grow up to be doctors and astronauts – sure, maybe that’s its own reward. But when you make knock knock boob jokes all day the only reward that’s its own reward is scotch.

3. I’m less cool. Do you know when I was at my least cool? When I was twelve. Is it a coincidence that I also wasn’t drinking when I was twelve? I don’t think so. It is empirically true that drinking makes ordinary things more cool. Imagine going to a cocktail party without the cocktails? What would your excuse be when you forced yourself on the coat girl, that a metal beam fell on your head on the way to the party? That sort of date rape only works in cartoons.

4. You do fewer crazy things.

That bird is totally drunk! And look at how happy he is.

5. It’s not worth it. The following part will be written by my liver.

Yo, I’m Dan’s liver. So da past five days, it’s been like, “Where’s da hooch?” You know, like those old commercials. “Where’s da beef?!” I got a job hea, you know? What am I opposed ta do wit no hooch? Sit hea wit my thumb up my ass? I ain’t even got an ass! Or a thumb! I’m a liver! Anyway, like that black guy in that Tom Cruise movie said: Help me help you.

Apparently my liver is extremely Italian. Nevertheless, it raises some good points. God gave us a liver for a reason. Not using it is like putting your kid up for adoption just because it’s bad at math. But maybe it’s good at science! But probably not because they’re very connected.

BONUS REASON. I can’t write metaphors sober.

One Reason Why Not Drinking May Be Awesome Though If You Believe Everything Europe Says.

Monday, March 2, 2009

The Bachelor Season Finale Live Blog

7:55 p.m. Dan: I should preface this whole post by saying that Brooke and I haven’t had a drink in three days. As an experiment, we decided to go on the wagon for a week. You know, to see if we feel stronger, healthier, more cognizant, less sexually adventurous, blah, blah, blah. So far all it has done is made us cranky. When we were making dinner, I asked Brooke what else she wanted on her salad and she said, “Vodka.”

8:00 p.m. Dan: Here we go with the requisite “45 minute recap of things you’ve already watched plus a 45 minute preview of things you will see soon.” For the record, my choice is Melissa. Brooke is for Gillian. She refuses to accept her dismissal.

8:01 p.m. Brooke: “Join us as Jason plans for the most important moment of his life." Apparently, picking a girlfriend on TV tops the birth of his son.

8:02 p.m. Brooke: They brought Ty to New Zealand. WTF? That's a long plane ride for me, and I'm a grown up – on qualuudes.
Dan: I’m putting it out there – Jason loves his son too much.

8:04 p.m. Dan: Why does everyone run into each other’s arms on this show? I like to picture an assistant producer standing off camera like, “Okay, get ready to run in 3, 2, 1 – go! Run to him!”

8:06 p.m. Dan: “Can we see who gets it in the hole first?” ZING?
Brooke: “Look at me! I'm good with kids! I talk in a happy voice! This is what I'm like all the time!" Melissa gives women a bad name. I will break her.

8:08 p.m. Brooke: Oh shit. A lamb. Now I'm really moved. Seriously, no sarcasm. I love lamb.
Dan: I’ll give Melissa this – she’s good with on-the-spot jokes.

8:12 p.m. Our friend Allison via IM: Are they having lamb for dinner?

8:14 p.m. Brooke: Ugh, again making a big deal about Jason never having met Melissa's family. Whatever. If I had kept Dan away from my family, we'd be married by now. Point: Melissa.
Dan: In what world is it more weird that a girl’s parents don’t want to go on television to vet the future husband she met on a reality TV show?

8:17 p.m. Dan: Whoa! Melissa gets the first DeAnna comparison, though oddly no one has yet pointed out that she’s DeAnna Light.

8:20 p.m. Brooke: One day, Jason will look like his dad. You heard it here first.

8:21 p.m. Dan: Melissa rocked that family visit. But it if were me, I would have sealed it with a handjob. Over the pants is fine. It’s the thought that counts.

8:28 p.m. Brooke: The best Molly ever looked was the morning after the sleepover when she wasn't covered in gobs of eye makeup.

8:29 Dan: Uh oh. It looks like Ty went autistic at the sight of Molly. Then he clearly tried to throw the frisbee in her face.

Brooke: Not weird for a kid at all. Here's another woman holding Daddy's hand. Totally unfair to go second.

8:31 p.m. Brooke: They make it as though having kids is all running on the beach and playing gold instead of changing diapers and listening to them cry.

Dan: And then growing up to hate you even though you worked so hard on a reality TV show to find them a mom.

8:37 Dan: Where is Ty during these family meetings? Off set with the interns? He’s going to start thinking Daddy’s getting him a new mom, plus a few aunts and uncles, and one grandpa who looks at him kind of funny.

8:39 Dan: Wait, Molly. NO ONE would be surprised that you met your husband by beating out 20 other women on a television show? Like, in your high school yearbook people wrote, “Good luck falling in love once reality TV takes really takes off!”

8:40 p.m. Brooke: Molly says to Dad and bro, "I already had my wild party time. Wild." Dad and bro: picturing her naked.

8:42 p.m. Dan: Jason’s sister is a poor woman’s Ari Gold’s wife.

8:43 p.m. Brooke: A career?! One of these girls mentions their career?! Give the girl a freakin' medal.

8:45 p.m. Brooke: HOLY SHIT. Is this happening? Did the mom just say Molly's career was a deterrent. What year is this?
Dan: 1950 – that’s the twist ending!

8:47 p.m. Dan: I think Molly puts out more than Melissa.

8:48: OMG. They just show Jason and Melissa in bed together naked! What year is this?

Dan: I stand corrected.

8:51 p.m. Brooke: It's the Bachelor: The Messy Ponytail Edition. Girls, try another hair style.

8:52 p.m. Brooke: What you don't know during Melissa's call with her mom – no one's on the other end.

8:53 p.m. Dan: Brooke always says that she doesn’t want to have girl babies. I think this show is why.

8:57 p.m. Dan: I’m convinced Melissa used to be fat.
Our friend Allison via IM: Melissa didn't used to be fat, but Molly will be.

8:59 p.m. Dan: “Melissa, I’ve never felt this way (under breath) since yesterday with Molly.”

9:00 p.m. Brooke: They weren't naked in the coming attractions. Melissa was just wearing a tube top. Much more embarrassing.
Dan: Though Molly seems ready to give “110%” of herself to him. That apparently means sex with oil.

9:04 p.m. Dan: Those rainy season travel discounts really backfired.

9:06 p.m. Dan: So. Many. Crotch shots.

9:08 p.m. Dan: Brooke has taken a break for snacks. Meanwhile, Molly is like the perfect amount of whore. She’s a tough competitor.

9:09 p.m. Brooke: Vomit. Did she really make him a fairy tale book. I am embarrassed for her. Is she going to sign his yearbook, too?

(equally embarrassed for her)

9:16 p.m. Dan: They need to make a show out of Jason and the winner watching the finale together where he repeatedly says, “I’m in love with two women.” I wouldn’t be surprised if he was rubbing genitals with both of them right up to the proposal.

9:18 p.m. Dan: Jason to Melissa, “What are you doing in New Zealand?” Like it’s a huge coincidence?

9:20 p.m. Dan: DeAnna still has the signature head bob while talking. The extra 15 pounds are new, though.
Brooke: Who dressed DeAnna? Ann Taylor.
Dan: How long before DeAnna does an STD med commercial. Two months?

9:21 p.m. Brooke: Wow. An honest moment. Jason looks really stunned that Deanna wants to be with him. I didn't see this coming. I wonder how much the producers paid her.

9:24 p.m. Brooke: Armpit hair commercial! Armpit hair commercial! I feel like I'm the only one seeing this.

9:28 p.m. Brooke: Thank goodness they are showing the montages of Melissa and Molly. I had forgot all about them.

9.30 p.m. Dan: “What ring represents them?” Fantastic. Buying a ring that works for both girls is just solid game planning.

9:31 p.m. Dan: “Molly is like oxygen.” Oxygen is tough to beat.

9:33 p.m. Brooke: Just a thought, if you're not sure which woman you want to propose to, perhaps you're not ready to get married.

9:34 p.m. Dan: Rumor has it that all the good shit goes down after 10:00 p.m. on “After the Rose.” Rumor also has it that I am losing masculinity by the second!

9:35 p.m. Brooke: Why are they both dressed for prom?
Dan: And Melissa suddenly looks Latina.

9:38 p.m. Dan: My official bet is in – it’s Melissa. Brooke refuses to make a bet because “they’re trying to trick us!” Brooke hates being tricked.

9:40 p.m. Brooke: It's happening! It's happening!
Our friend Allison via IM: Whose limo will arrive first!?!?!?!? Who is in that car!??! . . . Molly!!!
Dan: It’s never the first one!

9:42 p.m. Brooke: I take it back. I want Molly! Molly. (I always root for the underdog.)
Dan: She’s got “those eyes,” which are apparently stronger than real eyes.

9:43 p.m. Brooke: He's such a weakling. Man up, Jason.
Dan: Listen Molly, you oiled him up. You did all you could. Bow out gracefully.

9:45 p.m. Dan: That is a really long, awkward walk to the car. I would have been like, “It’s right over there. (Pointing.) The black one.”

9:47 p.m. Brooke: Seriously, wuss boy, crying! You're on TV.
9:47:30 p.m. Brooke: Oh, he's actually making crying sounds too. Pathetic.

9:48 p.m. Dan: OK, Molly’s claims that Jason is going to learn the hard way that he made a mistake are borderline threats. Hmm, I do like a girl with spunk . . .

9:50 p.m. Brooke: Something dramatic better happen. This is not "the most dramatic rose ceremony ever."

9:57 p.m. Dan: Chris Harrison, nice poker face on the walk over to Jason.

9:59 p.m. Dan: This is exactly how I want my proposal to go. Exactly. Right down to the part where I offer her a rose at the end, just to remind her that this whole thing was a game.

10:03 p.m. Brooke: "All of America just watched Jason propose?" I hope some people are watching C-SPAN.
Dan: Just a nice, intimate affair. No one in the audience; 20 million viewers at home.

10:04 p.m. Brooke: He's going to cry again!

10:05 p.m. Dan: Wait, is he going to break up with Melissa on national television? Like on Jerry Springer?

10:06 p.m. Dan: I’M HYPERVENTILATING JUST LIKE THEY SAID I WOULD.

10:06 p.m. Dan: This is almost too sad to live blog. Almost.

10.08 p.m. Brooke: I have a thing for Chris Harrison.

10:09 p.m. Dan: Shit, fan. Fan, shit.

10:15 p.m. Brooke: In front of Chris?! He's going to do it with Chris sitting right there?
Dan: Chris is nothing if not professional.

10:16 p.m. Dan: All they’re doing is setting up Melissa to be the ultimate Bachelorette. And she’s gonna hand out bang cards left and right. And they’re gonna have Jason’s picture on them. And he’ll be being humped by a mule.

10:19 p.m. Brooke: She just called him a bastard under her breath. Finally, some fight out of Melissa. This chick is growing on me.

10:20 p.m. Dan: Chris Harrison: “Emotions are running hot. Let’s take a break for a word from our sponsors.”

10:22 p.m. Dan: The set is like the most awkward place for a break-up ever. And I once broke up with a girl in Taco Bell.

10:24 p.m. Dan: Rumor has it that this was a set up. (No kidding.) Jason wanted Molly from day one, but producers made him pick Melissa and then break up with her. She was just a pawn in their ratings game. Somebody get Obama on the phone, because that’s some shady shit.

10:25 p.m. Brooke: I can't believe he just did that to her. It was actually cruel. He could have at least called her the day before, given her a heads up.

10:28 p.m. Dan: To Melissa’s credit, she handled that really well. I’ve dated girls who would have set me on fire with one of those candles if I pulled a stunt like that.

10:29 p.m. Dan: Hug him, Chris. You know you want to.

10:35 p.m. Brooke: Finally! She's wearing her hair down. She must seen how junky that side ponytail looked.
Dan: Yeah nice headband, home wrecker.

10:40 p.m. Brooke: I think she already knows. She's saying EXACTLY what you would say if you knew. "He's an incredible guy." "I hope every day he’ll change his mind." And, keeping it classy: "Melissa is an amazing girl."

10:43 p.m. Dan: They really dropped the ball on this one. Who is actually happy for Jason and Molly that they ended up together? It’s like being happy for Keyser Soze.
Brooke: It's not about people being happy for them. It's about ratings.
Dan: It’s about love, damnit, and they’re toying with it. (I’ve gone full gay.)

10:46 p.m. Dan: Ugh, Molly and Jason are reuniting now. I hope she tells him she gave him HIV.

10:47 p.m. Brooke: I mean, wouldn't she ask why there was no audience? She totally knows.

10:51 p.m. Dan: This is going to make it really complicated when people at cocktail parties ask “How’d you meet?”

10:58 p.m. Brooke: Ugh. They kiss. C'mon.
Dan: Melissa’s butt spot on the couch is still warm!
Brooke: Ugh. Tongue.

11:00 p.m. Dan: But I will hand it to them. It was the most dramatic rose ceremony ever.

“Hello, Is This The Methadone Clinic? I’d Like To Make A Reservation.” UPDATE!

They were in on it together, and now the gold is all theirs!

Before you decide not to watch the season finale of The Bachelor tonight, do me a quick favor: Pull down your pants, find some sort of torquing device (a ruler, a desk lamp, etc.) and get your friggin' head out of your ass.

I know this isn’t a popular opinion amongst educated people, or hip young kids, or grown-ups with adult values, or minorities struggling against class oppression, or the elderly, but for a particular subset of people who think that love means putting out slowly and believe that once you open a bottle of wine you have to finish the whole thing because “it will go bad”, this is going to be a monumental occurrence. I mean, no less than the New York Times endorses it!

[creator and producer of “The Bachelor”] Mike Fleiss promises that the finale will leave fans hyperventilating. “It’s insane, honestly,” he said. “It’s Chayefsky-esque,” he added, referring to the screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky. “The last hour is pure ‘Network.’ ”

“I don’t mean it’s like his writing,” Mr. Fleiss said. “I mean in the freakishness of it.”

GRAB YOUR INHALERS, PEOPLE. Brooke and I are so excited that we plan on live blogging it together. No actually live, of course, because that would require we tear ourselves away from the action. But I promise you that if Deanna tells Jason that she wants him back, Brooke will unleash a string of incriminations on here tomorrow that, in most public settings, would be in violation of the first amendment.

UPDATE: Brooke’s made the call – we’re going full blogtard. The Bachelor season finale live blog will start here just before 8:00. We’ll post updates in bunches as often as possible, though I’m warning you now there is no telling how the excessive glee will affect my ability to type.