I didn’t post last week. Here’s the thing. I got stomach flu. I had to fly to LA for surgery. I had work stuff. And on the happy front, we announced that we’re having a baby girl! So I was busy. I was busy writing down all the things I will strictly enforce on my future daughter.
I came to two things she can’t do: Take hard drugs or be a contestant on The Bachelor. Short of those two things, I promise to be reasonable. 38 year old prom date? Let’s discuss it. Parallel parked my future-Porsche over a fire hydrant. OK. Glad you weren’t hurt.
“I’m going on the Bachelor.” YOU ARE MOVING OUT I DON’T HAVE A DAUGHTER.
So, the hometowns were weird mainly because we all know by now Rachel is the new Bachelorette. So, we’re going to go thru the whole charade knowing one person is definitely not winning which is unacceptable in the Post-Game-Of-Thrones era where we’re accustomed to any character dying at any moment. The people who are all “is Jon Snow really dead” and want spoilers are a bad influence on the Bachelor. I want the thrill of soul-crushing rejection still viable in the final episode. I already know too much.
So a few quick thoughts.
Raven is kind of the best? I mean, she for sure voted for Trump and loves just saying, “Benghazi, ya’ll” in drunk political talks, but it’s almost forgivable because she loves her dad and her town and frankly, she’s the least of any of our problems. This is a girl who took Nick on some four-wheeling in a swamp Trump didn’t drain yet that seems filled with bacteria that make you sterile (probably good in this case). The sport was called turdjumpin’ or something like that, I don’t know. The whole erotic make out in standing fecal water is probably to Arkansas what the pottery scene in Ghost was like to all my mother’s friends.
I mean honestly. We have to root for a girl from Hoxie. The town has negative population growth (truth) and literally looks like a staircase leading to a door to GTFU.
Rachel’s date was a super fun quick visit to a “black church” that Nick was “totally comfortable” going to. Honestly, Nick is just as uncomfortable anywhere God is looking at him directly because at some point he has to ask God why it is that every woman he sleeps with turns to an ex-girlfriend. He’s always like WHY GOD WHY™. Mercifully, he didn’t do the “white-guy shuffle” to the beautiful church music going on in Dallas because I might have burned my eyes out with my wife’s curling iron.
The afternoon date was mainly about seeing how good looking Rachel’s family was, discussing how hard being an interracial couple is and Rachel’s white brother-in-law acting holier-than-thou like he invented marrying someone whose skin is a different color. If I am being honest, and my mom told me I should always be honest, this guy doesn’t care about anything beyond protecting his status as the white comic relief in the pretend Tyler Perry movie he thinks he’s living in. He doesn’t want Nick to show up and steal his white thunder. He’s found his niche, only it’s not a niche, it’s just being married to a human woman. It isn’t Tyler Perry’s I Can Be White All By Myself.
What struck me as interesting in this date, besides Nick’s “Dallas” outfit that’s best described as GUY WHO COLD CALLS YOUR AD AGENCY WITH A SOCIAL MEDIA PRODUCT WITH A DUMB NAME THAT YOU WON’T EVER BUY COUTURE™, was the constant debate over how Nick would handle an interracial relationship. While it’s a great point that even if the people in the relationship aren’t racist, the rest of the world can be.
There’s a really simple answer he could have dropped and shut the whole thing down. I’d have been, “My plan is to love your daughter and move her ass out of Dallas and immediately lower the racists-to-interracial-couple ratio. To quote Mayer Hawthorne, who is the Fernet of human beings in that he’s overly embraced in San Francisco, “Things ain’t gonna work out.”
Corinne’s date was weird. She just bought Nick a ton of clothes at one store that I’m pretty sure donated clothes for the cause. Then they went to her nice-view, but not-as-big-as-advertised condo where we got to watch them debate “how good this olive is” and also wonder what is going on with her mother’s face. She’s giving JoJo’s mother a run for her money as star of the next botched plastic surgery reality show. DON’T DO IT LADIES. AND IF YOU DO, FIND CHRISTIE BRINKLEY’S TEAM.
The truth is, I like Corinne now. She’s honest. She’s basic, she’s open about it, she doesn’t lie about who she is. Nick is the gay best friend she’s always wanted and he’s just not sure that’s who he is even if he really loved his 600 dollar sweatshirt. He looked amazing. Honestly, they could have a totally open relationship and probably function really well. I feel like they get each other. I feel like if Nick wants to take 20 topless Instagrams (we remember Nick) and make out with a girl and then a guy and then bring one of the two home, the worst Corinne says is “I’m tired, go play in the other room.” My wife just closed the browser. But she closed it knowing I’m right. 50 Shades of Nick.
Let’s see. The Canada date. There’s two things worth commenting on. The first is that even though the week before in Bimini Nick pretty much shut her down when she confessed her love, she woke up thinking, “this is fine.” Don’t do that.
The second is that her dad kept it super, super real. I respect when guys are like, “dude, I in no way respect this process that makes my human daughter a pawn.” I mean, I get not getting in the way or saying “if that’s what she wants I support it.” But Nick comes off like a two year old and then gets rejected by dad in a feeling he experiences every time he has to watch football in a group of men. He’s just not believable.
Anyway, they did the stupid “to be continued” thing again. Can we Make Bachelor Great Again? You can make America great again by checking out this app made by some awesome folks I’ve worked with.
Andi shows up because, frankly, she isn’t doing anything after she realized she has the worst taste in men and then America realized she’s about at interesting as waiting for your number to be called at the DMV. I don’t even know what they talked about. I don’t care. I don’t know why they are just drinking Bulleit Rye when there’s so many other options when you aren’t paying for booze yourself. I don’t know why they are staying in Brooklyn instead of downtown. I don’t know why we still have the electoral college. Honestly, Andi showing up just sent me off into a wistful state of reflecting on my past mistakes, how I might do better for my daughter, data science and automation and universal basic income. Hell, I even flossed to avoid listening to her talk about nothing while staring at her chicklet teeth.
We only got one fantasy suite. It was in Finland. Nick was wearing a turtleneck so audacious I didn’t know what to feel. And, he popped it. Like, he wore it not even turtle’d. I don’t know what was going on. I think it was his chastity turtle because pretty much he was covering as much of himself as possible to defend himself from Raven, who is the world’s most literal person. She was saying things like, “I am not sure how I feel about tonight because we are going to probably make sexual intercourse with his private parts and frankly I have not had an orgasm with my one previous sexual partner who I saw penetrating the vagina of a girl he cheated on me with and I should probably tell Nick all of this in extreme detail as if he was at a military briefing (unlike our President).”
BTW. Raven’s sweater was falling off making the editing of this show impossible. She’d go from fully clothed to pre-shower and back between cuts.
Oh. And Nick throws darts like mothers give high fives. It’s like he is going to scream “Ya!” after each throw. Like, “Mom, I aced my spelling test!” and she’s like, “Ya!” He throws darts like he is expecting his mother to take him for ice cream.
In any event, I’m ready for the fallout from this date and for an episode longer than 37 minutes of content.