See what I did with that title? It’s Latin and sexy. I bet you are in the mood now. The mood for a piece of plantain-wrapped salmon thrown in a pit of spider monkeys. Or like, the Bachelor.
For those not keeping up with my jetsetting lifestyle, I have been preparing for this season in my new home in Portland, Oregon. You have no idea the spread of locally-sourced charcuterie and Willamette Valley pinot that I drank as we watched Strawberry Lemonade’s journey for love begin.
I mean, I literally made a bourbon/earl grey/chanterelle mushroom ragout with ingredients found within eight blocks of my house on a guided “herb tour”, which are super hot in PDX right now. If you haven’t been here, don’t. You wouldn’t understand. Here’s something you might understand. I look fucking amazing in flannel and rain gear. You’d give me the rose. You are reading this. That’s giving me a rose.
Think about it. I moved to the Rose City because you guys give me so many roses. Still not convinced? Every morning I go to Multnomah Falls and bath myself in front of German tourists. Check their Yelp reviews. They like what they see.
Football has ended and shamelessly, the Bearfighter begins his hibernation ritual. It’s that awkwardest of awkward periods: between football and baseball where my only competitive sport is giving desperate women and men nicknames and casting stones upon them from my happy marriage and legion of super attractive readers of all sexes, races and religions.
So, without further adieu, let’s ruin Strawberry Lemonade’s life, just like he ruins womens’ lives by kissing them with more tongue than a deli meat counter.
QUICK TIME OUT. I was shocked to find out One Direction and Lady Veneers didn’t make it. Then I went outside and was shocked it was raining in Portland. Then some magicians entertained me in my living room with a wild light and sound show only for me to find out it was just “the television”.
I mean, no wonder Neil Lane is down to give out rings. He just gets them back in 6-12 weeks. I digress…
First off, HOLY SHIT OPENING MONTAGE. Not since Brad Wifebeater were we treated (or mistreated by) such a gratuitous amount of man knockers. Credit to Strawberry Lemonade for what must be a hellish routine of playing golf and lifting bibles, because homeboy is jacked up. That said, Chris Harrison had to be on so many mushrooms when he planned out Strawberry Lemonade’s work out routine. It was:
- Light 10 yard jog across awkwardly small backyard
- Turn purple under the sun and set a solid foundation for skin cancer (10 reps)
- Check out your arms while you use a Precor all-in-one weight lifting machine like the one in your parents garage (you heard me Mom).
Then the producers acknowledged my years of unlikely service to this shit show of a shitty show by having Strawberry Lemonade cut strawberries. And he cut them like a dude who sucks in bed. Who cuts them in the air like that? If you can’t figure out to put it on a cutting board, you probably can’t figure a lot of other shit out too.
Case and point, when Arie showed up dressed like a highlighter and taught him how to kiss. They drank light beer together and discussed how to make out with girls, which was tough. On the one hand Strawberry Lemonade needs help. I physically wanted to puke every time he made out with Emily last season. At the same time, Speed Racer was the second grossest kisser on earth. It was like going to rehab at Chris Harrison’s house.
Fair warning, I don’t give out nicknames all in the beginning. Nicknames are subject to change as these ass clowns screw up. That said, let’s talk about the hot girl who had six foster homes. We’ll call her Little Orphan Hottie and I suspect we’ll be seeing her around. If she starts putting out too much, she could end up Personal Whoreganizer, but I doubt it. Nothing like the Bachelor to make you deal with a woman who had a tough life and has supplemented that by becoming a personal organizer. Like, she couldn’t control who her parents were, but she can control the order of her blouses in her closet. I thought that was going to be the story intended to make us sad.
Chris Harrison wouldn’t leave it at that. Not after drinking a bottle of Robotussin.
Then we met a really nice graphic designer who only has one arm. I am just cringing at where this is going to go. I also cringed at her client call where she was like “this campaign is all about getting noticed… in culture” and on her monitor was like a poorly photoshopped glass of something clear. I’m glad Lemonade handled it well, she’s cute enough and far more normal than the vast majority of these failed strippers. Plus she works at a good agency in LA.
Strawberry Lemonade got dressed and made a critical “how to suit” mistake. When you are built like the Incredible Hulk about midway through your transition to a giant green muscle, DON’T WEAR A SKINNY TIE. Regular ties looks like skinny ties on big dudes. Ladies, you watch Mad Men. Do you really want a guy who can’t figure out how to look like he gets business done?
Somewhere in here, they cut to the limo arrival scene where I saw that they put a pound of silly puddy colored makeup on Strawberry Lemonade to he looks less, well, like a glass of strawberry lemonade. In no particular order because I hate the first couple weeks:
- Whackflip, who seems cool but earned the first “Bachelor Creepy Theme” by failing her second backflip in a full gown as she headed for Sean. Despite her Wide Hair Part, she was cute enough.
- The was Booze Ship Entertainer, the, uh, cruise ship singer who made the cardinal sin of singing on the Bachelor. She also made the cardinal sin of dressing like a character from a XXX rated Ice Capades. You know, Disney on ice except instead of the princess getting saved, the princess just gets down.
- There was the 50 Shades of Gray girl who, had she not drank her way off the show, I would have called her 50 Pills of E. You all miss out. Except some dude in Michigan who is going to get a whole lot of crazy. Maybe in a good way? Not sure.
- There was the one girl who looked like the mom of Modern Family (or the love interest from Happy Gilmore if you are old school) who just cried in a corner and let her boobs hang out. I’ll call her Double Dunphy. For now.
- There was Isla Hooter, but I don’t remember much about her except she looked like a not-as-cute Isla Fisher with, well. You get it.
There are some girls on the show that I have high hopes for. I think there is real nickname potential. The political consultant (keep it real, she makes copies for a living and if she didn’t, she will now that she was on the Bachelor, which sort of kills any career in politics). Seriously, you are better off doing cocaine on an airforce base than being on this show. Ask George W.
Then there was the return of Beyan, one of my personal favorites. That said, she has had the uppercase B in her nickname demoted to a lowercase one until she starts eating again. I feel like her and I are friends on Facebook. beyan, I really like you. You are cute, you have the good southern accent (not like Princess Jasmine who I had no idea what the fuck she was saying even when she was kicked off) and you deserve to find love. But you also deserve to find a sandwich.
You need to be healthy for when predictably you find a reason to leave the show and sign on as the Bachelorette. The only thing about that I really love is that it must mean you killed your parents, got them to chill the eff out or destroyed their television. In fairness, she’d make a great Bachelorette. She’s pretty funny. Like when she told The Wasted Veil she needed some water. That was the drunk woman in the fucking wedding dress.
Poor Strawberry Lemonade. We’ve all been there, fellas. Dancing with a hammered girl and doing anything to not line your face up with her because you fear she may vomit in your mouth. In my experience, only your wife, a stage five clinger and a girl so drunk she may projectile vomit Chardonnay into your mouth try that hard to kiss you and make you dance. Harrison paid Lemonade in heroin balloons to keep her on the show.
Divorce is a good look for Chris, who again owned in his gray suit. He even updated the show to fix the first episode. Giving out roses the whole time was huge because you didn’t suffer through that first rose ceremony where you are like “who the fuck are these people”. When he came in all classy clinking a fork he was using to cut up cocaine against his champagne flute, I was jacked up and ready for week two.
The montage showed me this season might be pretty good. Lemonade is so derped out that he won’t get in the way of the tenants of this show. I saw beach sluttiness. I saw shit tons of helicopters. There were mountain helicopters. Fucking ocean ones. There was rock climbing and people jumping off shit. That one girl pretends to break her neck. Wedding Planner (not sold on it) has her ex/current boyfriend show up and he fronts like he is going to hit Strawberry Lemonade. I don’t think Sean knows his way around a naked woman, but I am confident he could knock out a dude weighing in at 165.
I have high hopes for new nicknames, adventures and a lot of hungover Tuesdays at work rationalizing how on earth I keep doing this. Oh yeah, it’s for all of my attractive readers who have come out of hiding for the New Year.
As always, send me your pictures of how you celebrate the show and the blog and I will post them. Creativity counts. Just ask Whackflip. Don’t ask Booze Ship Entertainer.
Happy Bachelor. We’re just getting started.
Lastly, got a late submission from some fans in Salt Lake City. Linnea and Co, thanks for reading!
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