What a day. I have been calling it “Week Juan” for ages. I call the one-on-one dates “Juan on Juans” and now finally, we are calling everything Juan. It’s Juanderful. I Juan to hug somebody. I just Juan somebody to love.
So, hola! We’re back.
And is there anything dumber than every girl saying “hola” to Juan as they arrive? I know everyjuan thinks this is super exotic, but with 37 million Spanish speakers in the US, hell, over half of Los Angeles is Spanish speaking, “hola” is about as exotic as knowing how not to stumble ordering a venti nonfat misto at Starbucks. You aren’t pronouncing vichyssoise correctly at a brasserie in Paris. Stop looking so proud. Imagine if one said “hello” in that Agador voice from the Birdcage when Gene Hackman comes over before Calista Flockhart died of not eating.
Wait, she’s still alive? No…
OK! It’s been a long offseason and it’s nice to be back chained to this effing computer each Monday until football starts again. It’s not, but at least I get an influx of good looking people who send me pictures (which I’ll post) of their viewing parties and flattering signs. That’s good for my confidence, especially up here in PDX where it’s cold and rainy right now.
It’s the first week, which means I am not going to bother knowing any of these peoples names. I mean, when you go to dinner, do you learn the names of everyone eating around you? No. They’re mostly going home at different times and in the end it’s just the ones who stay to last call that deserve nicknames. For the most part.
So bear with me in the beginning. We’ll tighten it up.
Juan’s intro had plenty half naked beach running, because that’s the point. And then we got to learn about his made up job, basically a fluffer to athletes who speak Spanish. Given the reaction to the women in the room I was watching with, he should just charge junahundred dollars an hour to hang out and he’d be fine.
BUT THEN WHEN WOULD HE HAVE TIME FOR VICKY CHRISTINA BARCELONA CAMILA VALENTINO GALAVIS?!?!?!
Actually, Juan is a likable guy from the way he pronounces “Bah Chay Lore” to the fact that he seems to actually love his daughter and family, so much so he brought along his padres to the Bach Casa to watch his daughter, assuring she would grow up normally and that I wouldn’t have to endure the poor man’s bearskin rug in front of the fire date for 18th season in a row, ABC you cheap bastards.
I mean, the more I saw Juan with his daughter, the more I am convinced Lady Veneers (Emily Maynard) thought her daughter was a hand bag. Hey Maynard, way to stick it out with One Direction (Jef with one F). None of us saw that coming. Oh shit, I can’t see my keyboard I rolled my eyes so far back in my head they’re stuck.
But really, what were the odds One Direction the band would out perform their relationship. That math makes my head hurt. I’m done.
There was a reprise of a newish Bachelor tradition of bringing the last Bachelor in for advice, which meant my birthday wish of never seeing Sean Lowe again wasn’t granted. Fuck that kid in Liar Liar. Why do his birthday wishes come true?
Anyway, Sean has been really annoying on instagram leading up to his wedding. I hate that this show gives people the self-importance to start dressing like assholes (Sean, you never wore all-over print button ups when you were just a virgin in Dallas) and doing constant media appearances. I managed to find love without a reality show. A lot of you did too. Basically, Sean, after your wedding, I don’t wanna see you. No one else does unless it’s in the snow.
I mean the only advice you could really give Juan is how to turn your skin darker than your hair. You’d be the shittiest X Man of them all. They’d call you Thermometer and if it got cold, the other X Men would know because you’d turn into a grey-haired troll doll.
Juan then asked him advice on kissing and I was disappointed that he lied. If Sean was being honest, he’d have just said “pretend she’s got food in her mouth and try to lick it out”.
I just got queasy. Get married and leave, Sean. Fade to black.
They did some previews of girls and most of them seemed okay. The single mom who throws a football better than either of the QBs in last night’s BCS Championship definitely gets the first nickname: Jennifer Maniston. She was pretty likable, but there’s a chance she’s taking HGH, but I don’t think this is like major league baseball. I think you can roid. You can certainly get breast implants. I say “play ball”. Or “pelota”. So exotic. [fart noise]
There was CSI: Juan’s Crotch, an attractive young assistant DA who is tough enough to hang with the boys. She’s good looking and smart and will make your life hell. Can’t wait for her series on ABC. Not sold on her winning, but Juan should definitely say his employment status in this country isn’t exactly “street legal”. If she doesn’t arrest him, she might contend because she is hot.
Then there was the girl who cried the entire episode who I know we’ll see on all kinds of Bachelor reunion montages as if any of us remember she was even here. She already had her wedding dress after six weeks and admitted that on television. Stress has caused her teeth to seem like they are actively trying to get out of her face and she’s broken out big time because she is bugging out.
There was Old Man Torture, the surgically enhanced owner of an elderly home in which she wears revealing tank tops and ushers old men around from bed to bed. I mean, put me in a room with old guys when I’m there. Let me watch baseball. The last thing I want is some hot rod, beach bod reminding me it would take an injection of rocket fuel directly into my junk to have sex ever again while she gives me sponge baths and talks about her boyfriend who probably rides MotoX in the Florida panhandle.
Just shoot me. That’s not my game. That’s old man torture. Leave old men alone.
There was the girl from Sacramento who is disqualified because Sacramento. I’m sorry her dad died, but not as sorry as I am for Juan if she shows him the DVD her father made for her future husband. I am guessing he didn’t make that for a man on a reality show and he definitely didn’t want that on national television, but being that cocaine cowboy Chris Harrison is running the show, I think that dying man won’t get his wish.
At the mansion, Chris Harrison was wearing the same clothes as the night before (I know they shot the same day) and it reminded me how MESSED UP that preview was. The Gia part. They do this montage with people who were on the Bachelor for four episodes. I mean, one of the people was literally sent home night one. At the end of the tribute, they say for more information (like on suicide prevention) go to ABC.com. I did and was not surprised you had to click on BACHELOR and then on GIA’S STORY before finding any advice.
So, to clarify: The show used your grief over a reality star hanging herself to get more clicks to their site to increase ad revenue. If you tease help for suicide prevention and list ABC.com, HAVE THE DECENCY TO HAVE A HOTLINE ON THE HOMEPAGE.
Hunger Games, bitch.
Chris Harrison told Juan that there were 27 girls this year, not 25 because of the incredible demand to date him. In television, this translates to “there are two producers’ daughters that demanded to be on the show to meet you and this is their way of making up for the fact that they missed a lot of birthdays and divorced mom”. I mean, incredible demand lead to 2 more contestants? Not 5? 10? Can I hear 15? NOT SOLD.
The limo scenes are such a cluster, but I remember a few things besides the fake boob parade.
The one girl in the gold glitter dress I swear looked just like Miss Piggy. It’s crazy when you call someone a puppet pig and it’s not because they are fat. I mean, this is totally avoidable and she decided to dress like she was about to sing Rainbow Connection with Kermit. You never expect the Muppets.
The soccer thing was cute, the piano thing was not.
The girl with the stethoscope who is a pediatric nurse is a Taylor Swift song waiting to happen. She’s too nice, too cute and all that to survive in the meat grinder that is the Bach Mansion.
My main takeaway was that Juan’s reactions (due to limited English and the fact that all of America wants to sleep with him) are identical to the reactions your parents make when you show them how to do things on their iPhones. It’s like “oooOOOohhh” and a little dance. So now I know the language barrier is like seeing FaceTime for the first time.
One girl from Georgia sounded just like Eastbound and Down. If she lives, she is called that. I won’t remember her until she talks again. The first night is just like the running of the bulls if the bulls had extensions and were in wholesale prom dresses.
Let’s talk about the girl in the pink dress and pink lipstick and pink nails with the bright red hair. She comes in dressed like she’s waiting for Mario to save her from Bowser and then spends the rest of the episode shocked she’s not reeling Juan Pablo in. She should move to New York and play Mario against Luigi and date whoever likes her best. Both of those guys literally quest through magical kingdoms and fight turtle-backed death lizards for her hand. Juan Pablo needs subtitles to order an omelette.
I dug how Juan was drinking scotch but then drinking water. It’s better than watching Sean Lowe drink Bud Light like a ponzi. I mean, really. Unless Sean Lowe is inverting his skin and hair, I am not interested.
Juan also had lipstick on his cheek the entire time and no one seemed to care, I think someone is going to end up pregnant this season.
In the end, Princess Daisy and Week One Meltdown Clone went home along with a bunch of people I didn’t realize were there and let’s speed this up. It gets more fun when I get to know the women more.
No nickname for Juan yet. Need to leave you Juanting more.
Juan to follow me on social media? Check out the links below and see you Tuesday. We’re just getting started. Share with your friends. I like the attention.