While I don’t watch a lot of TV because I sadly don’t have enough time (ggrrr journalism), one show that can really entertain me for hours is The Bachelorette. Since I also have a love for anything on Lifetime or chick flicks overflowing with estrogen, this doesn’t come as a huge surprise.
There is something that my feminist side really likes about the Bachelorette. I mean she has her own man harem. Isn’t that a lovely turn of events? The whole thing seems very girl power to me. What is more liberating and empowering than a dozen boys with nice pecks getting drunk and fighting over you?
This week Ali, this season’s bachelorette, and the gang were in Turkey and she found out that one of the contestants, Justin “Rated R” Rego, had not one but two girlfriends in his homeland of Canada. Gasp! Oh well, Ali has a zillion other guys to choose from. But even more fun than watching the show was talking about it at work today. Here are some of the choice tidbits of our conversation:
Washington Life Ali (not to be confused with the bachelorette of course): “You know people are calling her the ‘fat-chelorette.’ She’s gained a little weight being on the show. Course no surprise there, all they do is drink.”
Kevin: “Do they all have to get tested before going on the show?”
Ali: “On the new one they do. They don’t want any Hep B in the house.”
Kevin: “Ahhh, I suppose a hepatitis outbreak would be bad for the network. I hear 40 percent of Americans have that H disease.”
Ali: “Whatever, my favorite is Roberto.”
Me: “No! Chris L! The sensitive gardner who lost his mother.
Kevin: “What’s the name of that annoying one? You know, the weather midget.”
And all this joyful banter while we are on deadline. Only the Bachelorette could inspire us so!
Tis a tough life being the Bachelorette, always having to put your clothes back on and all.
Here is Ali with my favorite contestant, Chris L, a sensitive landscaper from Cape Cod.
On this high holy day of thank-yous, I figured you can’t thank someone more important than God. Yeah, I mean, thanks to the pilgrims and Indians for the whole Thanksgiving thing, but this year, even though I’m not what you’d call a religious person, I wanted to thank God because despite some really awful things happening, we have a healthy little baby and the love of our family and friends. All joking aside, we are very lucky.
The last time I sent a direct message to God was before my friend’s wedding this summer when the priest invited the wedding party to go to confession. I went, but it was annoying because instead of just letting us confess our sins the usual way, like, kind of in a stream of consciousness, the priest asked us pointed questions. This was frustrating because I really had specific things I wanted to get off my chest.
This is how it went:
“Have you lied?” Yes, of course.
“Have you had impure thoughts?” Oh yeah.
“Have you stolen?” Yes, if wireless counts.
“Have you gone to church?” Oh hell no.
“Have you had premarital sex?” This one confused me because I wasn’t sure if he meant now or when I was a teenager. I said no because any sex I have is marital and I figured there is a statute of limitations on anything bad I did over five years ago. He gave me a look like, “Sure, lady.”
And then the kicker:
“Have you masturbated?” Uh, seriously? An old guy asking this? Ew.
So instead of being happy I got all my sins off my chest, I just kept thinking how perverted the priest was. (I asked the other bridesmaids and he blindsided everyone with that little doozy by the way, so at least his creepiness wasn’t just reserved for me).
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