Let’s just get this out of the way…
As my husband and I sat down to watch T.V. on the night of March 25, 2002, we had no idea that what we were about to witness would change our lives. I’ll admit it and refuse to be ashamed by it.
Change. Our. Lives.
Remember this guy?
The polished yet incredibly dull management consultant Alex Michel, or as he’ll sadly – or fantastically? – be known for the rest of his life – The Bachelor #1. (And if anyone would like to get me a t-shirt with the above picture on it, you will definitely be my favorite).
We were mesmerized.
Over the next 3 months Bachelor watching in our house became intense. We’d clear our Monday night schedules, fix appetizers, jump into our jammies, throw the 10 month old screaming into the crib (she was fine), pop the cork on a bottle of wine and travel with Alex on his journey of hookups, heartaches and hopefully – ultimately – true love. We had so much top-notch advice and superbly keen and hilarious observations that we seriously toyed with the idea of video taping ourselves after each episode in our p.j.’s and with our glasses of wine or Appletinis kind of like a “Watch What Happens Live” circa 2002. Should’ve. We’d totally be famous now (and can I please say that my love for my husband grew exponentially that first season?).
Can you go back and imagine, my true Bachelor friends, what those first episodes unveiled for us?? Our Bachelor virgin ears were hearing things (from the always fabulous Bachelor pimp Chris Harrison) like, “…ladies, this is the final rose tonight. Alex, when you’re ready” and “…ladies, take a moment and say your goodbyes” for the very first time.
We were wide eyed innocents the first time we experienced the whole fantasy date card moment and were more than a little bit shocked when we heard, “….if you choose to forego your individual rooms for the night, use this key to stay in our fantasy suite”.
AND THEN HE GAVE THE SAME CARD TO THE OTHER 2 GIRLS!!
(I need to say that in 10 years the grossness of that situation never goes without a variety of inappropriate and lewd comments from us – to the delight of our 16 year old who now has joined our little viewing party – that usually always include a reference from my teenage-brained husband about residue &/or sloppy seconds. Sorry girls, he’s mine).
And can I just say that if I was girl #1, besides thanking my lucky stars for that draw, I might be inclined to place a um, “mark” of some sort, somewhere um, out of sight, just to mess with the other girls.
But back to season 1…
So by the time Alex picked this disaster
and we’d watched poor Trista sobbing in the limo, we knew we had never witnessed a more fantastic display of idiocy, humiliation and train-wreckery (it’s my blog…I can make words up).
It was beyond BRILLIANT.
The past 10 years have given us countless memorably fabulous moments-
we actually have documented
on the cork from the fine bottle of wine we opened for the finale. Stop laughing.
I’ll admit, Jake had me at hello
until he turned into a sociopath.
You’d think that the whole Pavelka disaster would’ve taught me not to trust a smooth Texan accent, piercing blue eyes and a strong chiseled jawline.
And then along came
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
(and of course, poor pitifully tragic Emily)
And I’d be remiss not to mention the unbelievably fabulous ending where this
ended like this
which then ended like this
and also ended like this
That’s right, honey. Nothing says “I’m so embarrassed to have been publicly humiliated on live national t.v.” like shaking your money-makers in a barbie dress in front of millions.
And being completely awesome.
There were so many
unremarkable moments that my brain will explode if I try to rehash them. The fact that none of these Bachelors found a wife (and no – Mesnick and Molly do not count) is of no consequence to us. We aren’t in it for the win (ahem…Vienna/Courtney) – we are in it for the journey.
And for some reason The Bachelorette just never gives us the same rush/high/thrill that The Bachelor drug does. We’ve watched maybe 1/2 of them. There’s just something so much more satisfying about 25 women crying and drinking and pouting and drinking and crying and yelling and pouting than seeing 25 men do the same. That’s not normal. Unless you are at a fraternity party when the keg runs dry.
Which brings me to Bachelor Ben, or as I like to refer to him
Worst. Bachelor. Ever.
I’m disappointed in you Mike Fleiss. You really picked a dud. I’m so bored with this season that I may not watch next time.
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