This is what I heard at my workplace Monday when I mentioned I was writing about The Bachelor: “Like Jesse Palmer can’t get a date.” There is some truth to that statement.
I mean, he’s a freaking professional football player. He’s cute; he is undoubtedly in great physical shape, and probably makes a salary many times more substantial than any of us could even dream. Unless he’s secretly a cross dresser, a serial killer or a collector of antique, creepy dolls, there is no reason why he should need help finding a woman.
Sure, that stupid clich? – about extremely rich or beautiful people not being able to find someone genuine – applies here, I guess.
But that’s tired. I’m sick of hearing that sob story. Take your “extremely good luck is actually a misfortune” crap and throw it in the garbage. Because that’s exactly what it is.
I ended up watching a two-hour episode of the new Bachelor last week because I was trying to procrastinate. It was really working.
I sat on the couch, put my feet on the coffee table, slumped down in my seat – the stage was certainly set. And because I couldn’t find my remote to change the channel, I was stuck.
I haven’t watched the show since its debut. It’s kind of boring and extremely cheesy, and the bachelors are never that good-looking.
Take Bob Guiney, for example. He was, and still is, such a cheesehead. He picked the ice princess over the girl next door.
He has a CD and an autobiography. The CD is, of course, a solo project. A fan who reviewed the album on Amazon.com had this to say: “Way to go Guys you did it again!!!!!”
I’m sorry, but the chance of me taking this person seriously – all subject matter aside – dropped significantly after the second exclamation point.
And for the book – someone tell me, please. I dare you to try to make a believable explanation of why someone who has only been on one reality show thinks the world needs to know his life story.
Guiney is even pictured on the cover of the text, hand on chin, in the most ridiculous little “aw shucks” pose, ever.
Excuse me while I barf.
But oh, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say that I was certainly interested in the show last week. I think the overload of teaser commercials did it.
Here’s an example:
“The very first rose ceremony takes a STARTLING turn when Jesse makes a TERRIBLE mistake. Can he recover? DON’T MISS this special episode of The Bachelor.”
That doesn’t look as good in print as it sounded on TV. I guess you have to imagine it read by an extremely over-dramatic, furrowed-brow announcer with a pouty lip and a bad tie.
For those of you who didn’t see the show (and good Lord, I hope it’s a ton of you), the big mistake was that Jesse mixed up a girl’s name with another girl.
Maybe that has something to do with the fact that he’s from Canada.
Or maybe, if we want to get a little serious here, it’s a reflection of the underlying problem of the show.
Forget Trista and Ryan: there’s no way you can build a lifelong relationship with someone you’ve gone on nationally televised dates with.
Especially if that person is someone you selected from a bevy of Barbie-doll beauties who are all cat-fighting for your attention.
Sorry guys, but that simply isn’t reality. I know you all want to think it works that way, but um, no.
You should have seen the look on the slighted girl’s face. It was awful.
But she’ll be fine. I heard someone just offered her a book deal.
Emily Hughes is lifestyles editor. Her column appears on Wednesdays.