Frogette’s Birth Story

19 Oct

Warning: discussion of womanly birthin’ stuff which some may find unappealing.  Don’t read if you can’t deal or otherwise prefer not to deal.  Additionally, this ended up being one zillion words long because as a birthing enthusiast, I just have to tell the story in excruciating detail.  I know fellow enthusiasts will appreciate it, but for others you might find this a giant festival of No1curr.  So don’t be like whine whine whine I can’t believe this woman made me read  5,000 words about her reproductive organs what a weirdo because you’ve been warned.  Make your own life choice.


Once upon a time it was January 2013 and I had Frogson.  It wasn’t traumatic or anything but it was a) sucky and b) long.  Like 26 hours long, and never with that BS mythical “early labor” thing I was promised in birth class– more like contractions that were strong from the start, never very far apart from each other, frequently two in a row– all of which dilated me from a 3 to a 4.5 in 11 hours.  YOU GO, CERVIX! Actually you don’t go.  You are pretty terrible as far as cervices are concerned.  You should probably just go and find a different pelvis to live in because things are just awkward between us now.

But blah blah blah that story’s been told.  All this to say that going into Frogette’s birth, I had very low expectations for my body’s ability to get things done in a timely manner, and I was trying to keep a really open mind. I visualized my ideal scenario of a natural, average length labor and successful birth– but I knew a lot of it was out of my control.  Maybe it would go the same as before, maybe it would go worse, maybe I would ask for the epidural again, maybe I’d have a csection– whatever.  It was cool.  I would accept any journey that led me to a healthy baby.

Anyway.  One thing Frogson’s birth did have going for it was that it started on its own and he was punctually born a day before his due date.  Second babies apparently are known for coming earlier, so I (and everyone, including the doctor) expected her to arrive by her due date.  I had been dilated since 37 weeks, having practice contractions every day since 37.5, and my mucus plug was long gone.  (They really need a cuter term for that.  I prefer baby cork.  Let’s make that happen.)  But at 39 weeks and 6 days I was still waiting.  I saw the doctor that day and she reevaluated and said OK OK if not by your due date then definitely in the next 2-3 days.  She swept my membranes which I am absolutely convinced is a giant conspiracy by Big Obstetrics.  I seriously think they reach up there and pretend to do something scientific when it’s just a huge act to give insanely impatient overdue women a false sense of control over the situation.

As an aside I’ll mention one other advantage going in. At this last appointment I was 3 centimeters and 80% effaced, which was slightly more than I was when I arrived at the hospital with Frogson following many hours of very painful contractions.  (I was 3/75% then).  This time, I had met that before the show even got started.  Sweet! I was trying not to get my hopes up, but this really did fill me with a lot of confidence.  Because of this, the doctor said she thought things would go fast once they got started, and told me not to worry about waiting for contractions to be a certain frequency– I should come in as soon as they felt intense.  I nodded compliantly but in my head I was thinking nope, this will never go quickly for me.  Let me introduce you to my cervix, Doctor Lady– its spirit animal is a garden snail.  Actually like a garden snail crossbred with a sloth and an Aldabra Tortoise.  Actually a garden snail crossbred with a really hungover sloth and an Aldabra Tortoise with a peg leg.  IT’S POKEY.

Anyway (←this is how I start all of my paragraphs because I missed “how to write transitions like an adult” day at 11th grade English and Composition), 2-3 days came and went and yep– still a big pregnant beluga with no end in sight.  Fig. A (she ended up being born about 17 hours later):

40 2

Every day I was walking laps around my neighborhood like an idiot and I decided I was going to stop trying.  The only home induction tactics that remained of any interest to me anyway were eggplant parm and pedicures.  The Saturday after her due date I treated myself to the latter.  I remember I could hardly drive that day– she was so low I couldn’t sit without splaying my legs out (attractive!), and she was so big I couldn’t lean over my belly to see into intersections.  I was just really ready.

The next morning I remember waking up to some painful moments in the 5:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. hours.  I know it must have been really mild because for the last week or so, any time I felt any little abdominal twinge overnight, I’d get all atwitter thinking maybe things were starting, and wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.  So I know it was pretty insignificant because I was only half aware and falling right back asleep.  At 6:45 a.m. I was awake and alert and definitely having some pain.  I wasn’t sure this was it, but this hurt more than the practice stuff and they were coming steadily so I was hopeful.

At 7:30, Jeff and Frogson were up.  Jeff’s family was driving in from about 2 hours away to be with Frogson when we went to the hospital.  I told Jeff to put them on alert but that they should NOT leave yet because even if it was happening, we were still probably 12 or 24 hours away from a baby.  (←I was in attendance for Foreshadowing Day…)

I’m amused now at my refusal to believe I was actually having her, considering I was already so dilated and three days past my due date! But I think one of the things that really mentally tripped me up with Frogson’s birth was how eager I was– like I kept thinking to myself This hurts a lot, I must be close! when this time I was kind of doing the opposite and telling myself This is easy, I’ll probably be at it for 15 more hours.  I really think this mentality serves a laboring person better.

I was also legitimately busy that morning because Jeff’s family was coming to stay.  I had been nesting with estrogen-fueled fury for weeks (“Jesus God who left this measuring spoon on the counter!!!!!! This is not Tony’s office at The Bing!!!! This is not a Chechnyan military camp!!!! This is a home where respectable people live!!!!111!!”) so the house was in decent shape, but I really wanted to do last minute stuff like give the bathroom counters one last wipe down, wash the sheets and towels, Windex the mirrors, blah blah.  (Because everyone knows all you have to do is floss one time after a Windexing and your mirror is back to being Detroit Flecks-of-Phlegm City.)  Actually this was another thing that made me angry at the end of my pregnancy– every night I was making sure everything was picked up and clean in case I went into labor.  So annoying! Gawd, I just wanted the option to be lazy again and go to bed with a filthy kitchen if I wanted! I excel at homemaking.

Anyway! I also excel at telling stories in a succinct way.  I know you all are like enough about WINDEX, woman, get on with it.  Okay okay okay.  So I was having contractions and cleaning stuff.  Contractin’ and cleanin’! I don’t think you could conjure up a more pathetically stereotyped image of womanhood than that! LOL sob.  Being in labor is a good time to wish you were a dude.

Frogson was running around doing 2.5-year-old stuff like refusing to put on clothes and putting stamps all over me.  It was funny later that I birthed with a dog stamp on my thigh and a bunch of stars on my hand which ended up with an IV over them.  The contractions weren’t going away so I told Jeff to get ready and take Chooch to my parents’ house, and to take Frogson over too and let him play a little and have breakfast. I wanted to finish stuff up at home, call the doctor, text a few of my friends, get a shower, maybe bounce on the birthing ball, and just spend some time relaxing and settling into the contractions.  I could write a story of equal length about how I thought this day would go…

So they headed off.  It was like 8:30 or so? I kept scurrying around doing random stuff.  I would breathe through a contraction and plan what needed done during the next break between them.  I thought about the doctor who was telling me to call when things were “intense”.  Were these intense? Nah, I thought, they had some power behind them but I guess I wouldn’t say intense.

Things changed quickly.  This will seem abrupt because it WAS abrupt– I don’t know what else to say except things just got really nuts, really fast.  Suddenly the stupid stuff I wanted to do around the house seemed really unimportant.  I kept getting hit with really strong contractions and I was incredibly confused by them, like I kept thinking WOW, that was a bad one! Weird!  Must be a fluke.  I’m sure it will go back to normal now.  But they just kept coming.

It was a little after 9:00; I texted Jeff.  I said his parents should leave.  I told him to come home and bring both my parents with him.  I didn’t know what was going on, but I felt like we needed all hands on deck.  Providence at its best that it was a Sunday and everyone was around.  Crap, I still hadn’t gotten around to calling the doctor.  I should do that.  Wait, they’ll ask me how far apart my contractions are.  I don’t know.  Let me time a few.


I will seriously crack up at this screen shot forever, because I still didn’t think anything of this.  No joke, I thought Hmm, that’s weird, they’re less than 3 minutes apart? Wait, but they’re shorter than a minute, that still means it’s early right? Yea I think so.  Nothing to worry about here.  

I called the doctor.  There were three doctors in my practice; of course it was the one guy I didn’t really know that well who was on call that day.  Blah.  He said come right to [hospital].  I said wait, we wanted to go to [other hospital where we were already registered and took the dumb class and knew all the right doors to go in and everything].  He said well I’m stuck here at [hospital] with another lady so if you want me you have to come here.  This threw me off a little because I didn’t know this was a possibility, that I could get bumped to a different hospital if another laboring chick beat me there.  This other hospital was further away, urban, and much more of a pain traffic-wise to get to.  I went along with it, reminding myself that I was OK with wherever my journey took me and I wasn’t going to let anything wreck my Bubble of Peace (a Hypnobabies visualization thing… shut up it works).

Jeff, Frogson, and my parents got back at about 9:45.  The wheels were pretty much off the wagon.  Again, I don’t know what else to say except that thirty minutes before, things were strong but manageable.  Now it was getting agonizing.  I had perched myself on the edge of our bed right in front of an open window with a fan in it– it was a gorgeous morning, the trees looked beautiful and the air felt so good– between contractions I remember thinking how wonderful it all was but then another would start and it would just rock my world.  And not in the feel good Michael Jackson kind of way, y’all.

I remember having the feeling Crap I really should be at a hospital right now.  I was worried things were suddenly this intense and Frogette hadn’t been monitored at all.  I tapped my belly and called her name and she responded immediately with a reassuring little kick.  I am so glad I remember that kick so well– her perfectly timed response as if she just knew my thoughts, and the last time I was consciously aware of one of her movements inside me.

Things were just overtaking me. I kept thinking everything would be fine if I just had 15 minutes to sit in front of this delightful fan, listen to my Hypnobabies, and just mentally get on top of everything.  But the instinct telling me to GTF to the hospital was stronger, and as soon as Jeff was back I said we needed to go now.

The idea of going from the bedroom to the car seemed unbearable.  Like someone could have said hey Sarah go swim across Lake Huron! Flap your arms and fly to outer space! It was that challenging. Any time I moved at all it would either start or intensify a contraction and I just wanted to stay put so badly.  They also were kind of a perma-contraction at this point.  It was just one big wave that would strengthen and weaken but rarely give an actual break.  I waited for as favorable of a moment as I could and then just bolted for the car.  On the way out I didn’t immediately see my flip flops and I was so crazed I thought well OK, no shoes then and this was a totally reasonable idea that I saw nothing wrong with.  I just HAD to get to the car so I could be sitting when the next one came.

Oh, the car ride. You guys I was just losing my mind.  I did not think the pain could get worse but it did and I was just screaming.  It was a scene.  Play O Fortuna in your mind as you picture it.  Maybe about halfway through the drive I had a very distinct feeling come over me.  The one feeling you DO NOT WANT TO FEEL when you are 9 months pregnant and barreling down a highway– the feeling of a baby head being right there and like it would maybe feel good to go ahead and push that out.  Here’s where a glimmer of hope and joy emerged from the pain.  Omigod, is this the urge to push that people describe? No, it can’t be.  Reel in your expectations.  You’re gonna show up there and be five centimeters dude.  But I had a feeling she was coming.  And honestly, the relief I felt at the possibility that this would be over so soon was greater than the fear of a car birth.

I also remember LOLing at myself that I didn’t want drugs to take this pain away– if we got there and I was anything short of a baby head being half out of me, I wanted every drug in that place and every other drug-dispensing place in the next ten counties over.  I know this is what women say when they transition, which I assume I was doing right there in the passenger seat of our Equinox.  Hashtag good times.

More driving, more screaming.  We got there and my mom ran in and brought a wheelchair out for me.  Again, moving my body three feet from the car door to a waiting wheel chair was too much of a physical feat to comprehend.  She is there gesturing at it like get in loser we’re going shopping and I’m just wailing NOPE NOPE NOPE I CAN’T I CAN’T I CAN’T.  There was seriously like a 45 second standoff here because I couldn’t bring myself to accomplish this task.

When I completed this incredible feat of strength, Jeff went to park the car and my mom was pushing my wild self through this random hospital.  I recall we came up behind two women and a little boy and I tore into another scream, causing all of them to startle and spin around.  Probably scarred that poor child.  Sorrs.

Next thing I know I was in one of those homey little birthing rooms.  Some nurses appeared, on my case to climb onto the bed.  DO YOU KNOW I JUST WENT FROM THE CAR TO A WHEELCHAIR? SORRY I’M DONE FOR THE DAY.  I was again repeating No I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.  Then the obstetrician is there, pushing the same agenda.  They’re all just on me like blah blah blah get on the bed, Sarah! Nonononocantcantcantcant.  Get on the bed please, Sarah. NO!!!!!! I CAN’T!!!!!! Another standoff.  I’m a little embarrassed thinking back on all of this but ultimately I have no shame.  Any of them would have been doing the same thing.  Everything happened so fast that the pain was just owning me and I was just… really shocked, overwhelmed, and not in control.

I did manage to haul my hysterical self into the bed.  As I did I felt my water break a little.  The doctor checked me and I was told there was in fact no cervix to check, just a baby head right there.  He hustled over to wash his hands and the nurses are getting stuff ready and telling me not to push.  LOL right OK.  I think I said OK but in my mind I was like you’re medical professionals and you can deal with it, you’re nuts if you think I’m prolonging this agony for one freaking second longer than I need to.  Because next thing I know I was pushing and yep, screaming.

Then I had another loud standoff with the obstetrician. The guy obviously had good intentions and was trying to get my attention so I could effectively push instead of just making noise, but I see now why people seek out the calming presence of female practitioners. He was just yelling back at me the whole time which I didn’t appreciate.  He also said at one point, “Sarah, there are things you can do to help me here!” and I was like HAHAHA ALRIGHT YEA DUDE tell me more about how I can help YOU do this. Here is mostly how our exchanges went:

Me:  WWwwwwrreeeeeaaaaaahhHHHHH!!! AaahhaaaaHHHAAGGGHHH!!! *bomb emoji* *revolver emoji* oooAAAAaaaaoooooEEEeeeee!!! *squinty eye sobbing emoji* *skull emoji* GGGGggAAAAAAhhhhhHHH!!!!!!!
Him: Sarah! [screaming continues] SARAH!!!!!! STOP SCREAMING!!! LISTEN TO ME!!!

Jeff does a brilliant reenactment of all of this (Frogson finds it utterly hilarious) so I’ve been told some of my other favorite lines were OWW! and STOP STOP STOP! and WHAT ARE YOU DOING! They were all just in my space and it was really distracting and annoying.  The doctor broke my water the rest of the way, they were trying to put in an IV which I thrashed my arm and pulled out… more good times.  Hashtag.

The doctor yelled at me to just be silent, hold my breath and push– this is the “purple pushing” that Big Midwifery will tell you is really bad– but I have to say, as soon as I shut up and did that, I felt her cruise on out.  I feel like for as momentous as this occasion was I should have more words here, but I don’t.  I pushed two times.  It was excruciating but over so quickly.  Out of nowhere a little baby was plopped down on my tummy.  I couldn’t believe it.  I just couldn’t.  I had dreamed forever of this moment, of reaching down and scooping up a deliciously gooey, vernixy little daughter.  But honestly I think all I did at first was STARE at her in UTTER SHOCK.  The one immediate thought I remember having was how TEENY TINY! she was.  I guess I was so used to hefting around a 30 pound toddler that I looked at her and thought she must be four or five pounds! Was there something wrong with her? There wasn’t.  She was in fact an 8 pound, 7 ounce beast!

So in the end I did give us the natural birth I so badly wanted to– but a big part of that desire was for me and baby to share this beautiful, peaceful experience together.  There was definitely nothing peaceful about her arrival.  Oops.  You know how natural birth proponents love to say how misrepresented birthing women are in movies and TV? I was one billion percent the hysterical stereotype from every terrible sitcom and romcom ever.  So it was not peaceful.  It was, however, amazing and hilarious and memorable and just very… full of life and joy.  I would not change anything.

The final math on everything was just nuts.  The hospital had my official admission time as 10:16; it was also 10:15 when Jeff had parked the car and was on his way in because he had called his parents and was able to check the time stamp.  So by the time he had made his way up and I got done yelling at people it was probably past 10:20? Frogette arrived Earthside at 10:28. I never even changed into a dang hospital gown.  Conveniently I was still in the attractive little maternity night gown/moo moo I arrived in, so all I had to do was whoop! up with the skirt, out with the baby.  OMFG.


I was tired, and unfortunately a little torn, and I had totally forgotten about all the gore that accompanies the aftermath… but I still felt like one zillion dollars afterwards.  As opposed to Frogson’s ordeal, when I hadn’t slept in 30 freaking hours and couldn’t walk and was cathetered and disoriented with a placenta still stuck inside me and felt like $1.08.  I say that just to laugh about, not to seriously complain, because no matter what happened, they both ended up here and healthy.  That is all I ever asked of God/The Universe.



This was about three weeks ago, so we’re still hard at work navigating our new life managing double the little people, which is many more stories in itself. But we figure it out more every day.  Today Frogette was snoozing on her Boppy Lounge and Frogson approached her.  Oh sweet pea don’t touch her, OK? She’s napping! He said he just wanted to give her a kiss.  I allowed that.  He kissed her, said I love you, and pulled her blanket up to her chin– exactly how I put him to bed.  My heart dissolved into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Fail at Blogging Like Becker

11 Oct

Hello again, my long-lost yet beloved blog.  *Runs up gives it WWII parade kiss* Sorry for all the neglect.  What can I say? Busy parenting, freelancing, picking stuff up off the floor (I spend approx. 87% of my day in this capacity), watching Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders Making The Team 10, eating cheese, etc.

I did have one piece of news to share:


Look! Baby feet! I grew those.  Also, birthed them.  A couple weeks ago.  A lot has changed since 2012 when I couldn’t go nine seconds without updating you with every detail about being pregnant.  Partly because I’ve struggled to find time (see litany of excuses above with a special emphasis on the cheese component), and partly because I’ve just found myself being a lot more protective of Frogson’s privacy since actually having him.

It’s not because I don’t think pregnancy blogging is awesome.  I read somewhere a criticism of it– that people who write about pregnancy and birth think they are the first person ever to do these things, blah blah.  I really disagree.  That’s exactly the cool thing about them– that they are the most boring, primal, been-done-a-million-times, total non-events– and at the same time, they’re absolute miracles of life and biology.

Do you know how brilliantly and intricately the human shoulder is designed? Google that crap, people.  We learned about it in Yoga school.  One of my classmates was pregnant at the time and I remember thinking WHOA, her body is building one of those, like, at this moment.  TRIPPY.

Anyway, to return to what I was trying to say before I veered off on Exit Infinity Towards Tangentville, I hope you will stick around because I’m making a renewed effort to write more.  It’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I get to torment the masses with my inane word vomit because the people who live with me are tired of hearing it– what’s not to like.

I will be starting with something I’m ABSURDLY EXCITED to write down– the birth story of our new little person.  (Henceforth, Frogette.  She’s a girl frog if you couldn’t tell from her neon pink stripey leggings that I’m a little jealous of her ability to pull off, not gonna lie).  Frogson’s birth story is one of my favorite things I’ve written down (freaking miserable as it was) and I still love re-reading it.  You can busy yourself with that in the meantime if you like.

Thanks for reading, friends.  Internet smooches to all of you.

The Hater’s Guide to Daniel Tiger

10 Jun

Sometime in the last few months my two-year-old broke up with Elmo.  It was ugly.  You should picture my child standing at his window, hurling Elmo’s possessions onto the street below.  JUST TAKE BABY DAVID AND GET OUT OF MY LIFE.  *Guitar smashes to the ground*

The new love of his life:


Yup.  Here is your own convenient guide to hating Daniel Tiger.

Daniel Tiger: Protagonist.  Interests: oatmeal, trolleys, general brattiness. Lacks coping skills and perpetually worked up over some first world preschool problem, i.e. needs a vaccination, misplaced his wristwatch, has to wait at a restaurant, or his boutique birthday cake– like not from Wal-Mart you guys but like from an actual bakery– gets smushed on the drive home.  All this whining while he lives in a beachfront property, enjoys an impeccably decorated room with an en-suite bathroom, and rests his spoiled little tiger head in a custom trolley bed that must have cost– well it’s unclear if U.S. dollars are traded in the Land of Make Believe but it looks effing expensive.  GET OVER IT, DANNY BOY.

Dad Tiger: Patriarch of the tiger family.  Interests: clock making, Polaroid photography, pantslessness, vegetable soup.  Seriously what is it about them and vegetable soup.  YOU’RE TIGERS.  You should be eating raw ham hocks, wayward livestock, and village orphans.  DISGRACEFUL.  Anyway.  I actually don’t hate Dad Tiger.  I have a crush on him and find his voice to be sexy AF.  This admission is about twelve kinds of disordered so let’s move along.

Mom Tiger.  Daniel’s mother.  Occupation: homemaker.  I hate Mom Tiger for two primary reasons: 1) Jealousy over her baller collection of Hawaiian shirts and 2) She is so effing sweet and calm even when her son is being obnoxious and bratty that it makes me feel like the biggest failure of a parent ever.

The other thing that grinds my gears is that even though Mom Tiger is presented as a stay-at-home mom, Dad Tiger is around an awful lot.  One episode focuses on Mom Tiger being sick and I got excited thinking what a brilliant lesson this actually was, like Daniel is home with Mom except she’s down and out so he has to find quiet activities and stuff. I’ve been there and my child could genuinely use this skill. (If I were scripting it, the episode’s signature jingle would be something like Your mom feels like trash and can’t move/how about you take a break from being a terror for five minutes and find a way to occupy yourself.)  Well, no, it must have been a Saturday or President’s Day at the Clock Tower or something because Dad Tiger is home so Daniel just pesters him instead for glue sticks and apple juice and his other whiny needs while Mom Tiger sleeps happily.  SUCK IT, MOM TIGER.  Last time I had the stomach flu I was desperately texting my spouse at freaking 6:30 p.m. please please please can you come home I’m sick and throwing up and Toddler is trying to pull the blinds down and throwing a soccer ball at the dog please I’ll never ask for anything ever again.

Katerina Kittycat: Friend and classmate of Daniel’s.  Daughter of Henrietta Pussycat.  Father: not in the picture.  Katerina and Henrietta are by far the most irritating parts of this entire show because they speak half English, half meowing cat.  It’s absolutely excruciating. Here’s an actual dialogue sample from Episode 107, original air date 10 September 2012, “Friends Help Each Other”:

Katerina: Hello, Daniel Tiger meow meow!
Henrietta: Meow meow Daniel Tiger, wonderful to see you, and [to camera] hello meow meow!
Katerina: Meow meow we’ll be upstairs, Mommy!
Henrietta: OK meow meow!

Basically they both need sent through the wood chipper.

O the Owl: Friend and classmate of Daniel’s.  Lives with his uncle (X the Owl) in the same tree as the Kittycats.  I’m always curious as to what led to X’s custody of O, because X has a distinct Southern accent and could be related to Foghorn Leghorn.  O has a Canadian accent.  Very strange.  Anyway, O fills the role of the neighborhood’s mal-adjusted kid.  Gets extremely worked up over minor life adversity, seeks comfort in predictability and rules.  O has actually remarked, “I love rules!” (Episode 128, 15 July 2013, “Safety Patrol”).  Pro-tip: if you are ever playing at O’s house and want to read a book, you MUST do so in his designated reading nest or he flies into a rage.  (Owl pun +100000).  Several of the neighborhood friends have learned this the hard way.  Chill, brah.  Things he also can’t handle: backwards day at school, camping, thunderstorms.  Honestly you feel for the little guy because I think his chronic and debilitating anxiety represents most of our childhoods a lot better than freaking Daniel and his nuclear ideal beachfront paradise.

Miss Elaina: Friend and classmate of Daniel’s.  Greets everyone with a “Hiya, toots!” and frequently declares favorable things or situations to be “boomerific” (?).  The etymology on both of these expressions is unclear. While Katerina Kittycat likes conventionally gendered female activities like ballet and tea parties (SOOOO OUT RIGHT NOW), Miss Elaina gets to be the cool progressive girl who likes robots and outer space stuff.  You know Miss Elaina’s mom must be all over Facebook like “EVERYONE EVERYONE look at me encouraging my daughter to do cool progressive stuff WE DON’T DO PRINCESSES IN THIS HOUSE everyone everyone worship me for what a politically en-vogue statement I can make through my child who is actually not an individual of her own just a vessel for displaying my own superiority.”  Ahem ahem it’s possible I let a little tangential social commentary slip there.  Moving along again.

Prince Wednesday.  Friend and classmate of Daniel’s.  Son of King Friday.  What’s the deal with the family structure of the royal family? Prince Wednesday is in preschool, his older brother Prince Tuesday is like 20, and their father King Friday is like 78.  Pretty sure Wednesday is the product of a third marriage.

This kid is, quite honestly, an entitled little douchebag.  Makes you want to pull that douchey little gold “W” belt off his idiotic purple pants.  He likes to remind everyone of his status by preceding every adjective with the adverb “royally.” I.e. being royally hungry, royally excited, royally tired.  As if that wasn’t bad enough he does so with this obnoxious little trill of the R sound.  It’s unbearable. ROYALLY STFU KID.  We get it, you’re loaded.  You live in the neighborhood castle while your poor classmates Katerina and O the Owl share an effing TREE like effing 1904 tenement dwellers so how about you exercise a little sensitivity.

Grandpere: Father of Dad Tiger and Daniel’s paternal grandfather.  French.  Smug.  Pursues several nautical hobbies.  Wears a pea coat and a tinted pince-nez.  The hating work just does itself.

The end.  Roll the “It’s Such a Good Feeling” song.

Baltimore and the Case for Compassion

27 Apr

I hate the news.  In the last few years I’ve stopped reading it or watching it.  I’m done.  It does nothing but depress me.  I know there are terrible, horrific things going on every day, in my town and in every corner of the globe.  Me being depressed about them doesn’t make anything better.  I feel a little guilty being the ostrich with its head in the sand, but I absolve myself by trying to offer up the same prayer every day: Please bring peace to everyone hurting or suffering today.  Boom.  All bases covered.

Anything big will make its way to me anyway.  I’d heard people talking about Baltimore within the last few days and today I managed to get caught up on what’s been going on.  Here’s another reason I hate the news: something notable happens and everyone flies off the handle and suddenly has a really strong opinion in one direction or the other.  That’s the thing– everyone seems to lose their ability to think in a balanced way, to consider possibilities outside their normal way of thinking– and everyone seems to come down strongly on either Team Police or Team Minority.  Everything on both sides just feeds into this ENDLESS cycle of conflict, hate, and intolerance.

I don’t know why I feel called to write about this.  One reason is purely selfish, that I am just SAD about this, just like I was sad about the Ferguson stuff back over Thanksgiving, and feel like maybe if one person reads this and unearths some compassion in their thinking that wasn’t there before, then I have in some teensy way contributed positively to everything.  (I am aware that this in itself is an obnoxious, privileged way of thinking.  OMG something horrible is happening! Let me say something *EnLiGhTeNeD* and *hEaL tHe wOrLd* by showing everyone how smart and contemplative I am!) I don’t know.  Whatever misguided intentions are motivating this, I want to write about it.

Here’s the thing.  What if we let go of our “side”? What if we just agreed that this is horrible, and tragic, and sad, for each and every person involved? BECAUSE IT EFFING IS.  It’s tragic that it’s Two Thousand Effing Fifteen and we haven’t figured out how to break the culture of violence and across-the-board HORROR that is inner city existence.  It’s tragic that people are volunteering to serve in law enforcement– volunteering for a job that puts their lives in daily danger– and being treated like murderous monsters.

No, nobody should break any law in the first place.  No, senseless violence and rioting is not EVER appropriate or justified.  No, looting is never OK.  Yes, police shouldn’t use more force than necessary in carrying out their jobs.  Yes, police should expect to be accountable and answer questions when force is used.  Yes, there should be humane expectations when force is required, and strict mechanisms in place to enforce those expectations.  ALL OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE AT THE SAME TIME.  There is not some rule that you only get to pick one thing.

It’s so easy to look at this footage and draw knee-jerk reactions.  I just did tonight.  Saw some dude climb on top of a police car and just start bouncing up and down on the roof.  Which honestly is probably one of the more benign things that’s going on right now.  I think the exact thought to go through my brain was: Oh my God, why do people think you can just… DO THAT?!  Like, in WHAT world?!

Then I realized, hey, I know exactly in what world people think they can do that.  It looks absolutely insane and incomprehensible and barbaric to me, because I came from a different world where people modeled respectable behavior and taught me right from wrong.  It can be said with certainty that I, Sarah Becker, Bachelor of Arts, Wearer of Pearl Earrings, Eater of Organic Produce, will live out the rest of my life without it ever crossing my mind to climb on top of a cop car and bounce around on it.  I can say with near certainty that my family, my children, my friends, and NOBODY I personally know will bounce up and down on a cop car in their lifetimes.

But what happens when you live in another kind of world, one that most of us can’t even begin to comprehend? The horrible, tragic, EFFING UNFAIR REALITY is that generations of children keep growing up in unthinkable conditions.  I want to cry thinking about this– that all these children, all these boys, are born into the world just like everyone else is.  Six or seven or eight pounds, umbilical cord stump, a little hat from the hospital.  They could grow into engineers or consultants or mechanics or attorneys or educators or plumbers or piano repairmen or just nice members of society– just like you, and just like the other adults you probably hang with, and just like your children probably will. They could– THEY COULD!– but they won’t.  Because the odds are already stacking against these babies the second they’re brought home, because they’re not going home to places like you and I brought our babies home to.

Many of them will spend their childhoods without any kind of stability or security.  Do you know what that does to a kid? Many of them won’t even have parents in the picture.  Many of them will start school already behind from not getting the attention and stimulation they needed as toddlers and preschoolers.  Many of them won’t have people who care if they go to school in the morning, or care what grades they bring home.  Many of them will spend their entire impressionable childhoods looking around their families and looking around their communities and finding NOT A SINGLE EXAMPLE of an adult who has an education, respects the law, shows up consistently at a job, and generally lives like a contributing member of society.  To circle back to the above analogy, just like I don’t know anybody who would jump on a cop car, this kid is looking around and can’t name anybody who would NOT jump on a cop car.

So what, what, WHAT do we expect when these babies grow up? How do we expect them to know the first thing about right and wrong when nobody ever taught them, or modeled it for them? You can hardly blame their parents because their parents were the same.  Next these young people will be parents themselves and what can we expect from their children? Nothing but the same.  IT’S EFFING TRAGIC.

Then here is where people say, Well I know of this person, or this story of a person, who grew up in horrible conditions and overcame incredible adversity and went to college and now is doing this terrific thing with their lives! If they can do it anyone can do it! As if everything is just that simple.  I actually hate this line of thinking.  Like taking an inspiration and just saying, well what’s wrong with everyone else, what’s their excuse.  When the takeaway here is that some people are incredibly blessed with resiliency and talent and intelligence, and thank God for that, and how tragic for the 98% of their peers who weren’t born with that innate strength and will never know those same successes.

And to revisit the question of expectations in the police’s defense.  These police officers are volunteering for incredibly dangerous and difficult jobs in these communities that are just nothing but violence and crime on a daily basis.  When entire communities are deciding to “take out” law enforcement, police officers are going to go about their jobs guided by fear and mistrust.  DUH.  They are going to assume ever hand going into a pocket is a weapon and not something innocuous.  They are going to assume the worst case about every situation and– perhaps– overuse force accordingly and accidentally.  How do we not expect this? How can we blame them? How can we say we’d do it any differently?

It’s like we dump police officers into these violent, unpredictable neighborhoods– give them a near impossible job of keeping the peace against all odds– and then expect them to respond PERFECTLY in every situation. To INSTANTLY size up situations perfectly, magically read minds and intentions, and respond with JUST the perfect amount of force.  We sit at our safe white collar jobs, or in our safe homes, or have safe little Facebook fights about how police officers SHOULD have done it all differently.  Armchair quarterback, hindsight is 20/20, EVERY stupid little adage applies here.

And here’s the thing– they do respond perfectly– police make thousands of arrests every day without incident– but it’s an effing dangerous business and the rare thing is going to go tragically wrong.  It’s tragic, but in communities full of violence and crime, how can we expect tragic things to NOT happen?

It’s tragic what happened to this Freddie individual.  And to the teenager in Ferguson, and to Trayvon Martin.  And to every other person I didn’t hear about on the news.  There’s not a “but” that follows that.  It’s tragic.  It’s also tragic that police officers lose their lives all the effing time in the line of duty– here, look— frequently at the hands of criminals, in DELIBERATE, not accidental acts.  It happens so often that it’s not even newsworthy like what’s happening in Baltimore.  They are mourned quietly.

It’s tragic.  All of it, for everyone involved, across the board, start to finish, A to Z.  Let us hope for peace for each and every person hurting and angering over this.

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Ain’t Too Much Sadder Than the Tears of a Clown: The Bachelor Recap, The Women Tell All

2 Mar

Oooh baby, the day is here.  Time for the Women Tell All special, which is totally the highlight of the season and do not lie to yourself you love it DO NOT LIE TO YOURSELF.

Our intrepid host Chris is back to hold our hands through this journey.  I love his adorable lil’ polka dot tie.  Chris and Chris hit the road to make extremely planned visits to Bachelor viewing parties across the nation (errrr I’m sorry I mean “crash” and “surprise” mmmm hmm yea eye roll).  I fast forward this part on the DVR.  Deal with it.

First commercial break.  Ugh my phone battery is low from playing solitaire all day so I have to go upstairs for the charger so I can take pictures of my TV which is SO much effort and apparently tonight I have problems with using run-on sentences as stylistic devices.  Deal with it.

Next my mom calls.  “Are you watching this?!” DUH MOM do you forget I am a PROFESHSHINOL BACHELOR BLOGGER? But I’m behind on the DVR so shhhh. “I haven’t watched it since that time I watched it with you.  I’m watching some awful woman [Kelsey] now.  They’re all nuts!” Mom I’m so sorry I brought this into your life.

OK next we’re off to a strong start as we begin Deathblow: Britt vs. Carly.  It’s hard to take sides on this because they’re both kind of terrible.  Britt cries like a fourteen-month-old; Carly I went from not liking, to liking, back to not liking because she just turned into an obsessed villain at the end.  I don’t know what else to summarize because they basically just fight like sixth graders.

Do you remember I was putting like cucumbers like on my eyes from my salad ’cause I had been crying so hard? –Britt

Here is a Britt visual.  Just stare at this for two hours and that was pretty much the experience of this program:


Jillian weighs in (she’s #teambritt).  Don’t know what else to say about this woman except that she’s scary aggressive and I will cherish forever the moment she went home in a blaze of humiliation.


Chris loses control (“Girls, hold on!”) and all twenty of them continue a cacophony of bickering as we slip gracefully into another commercial break.

Now we’re back with Kelsey.  Groan.  She begins by blowing her snot into Chris’ silk paisley pocket square.  That is a true story.  Don’t really know what else to say.  Broad’s crazy.  And brilliant, but in the craziest way possible.  I can’t believe this woman counsels people psychologically for a living.  Is there a licensing board or something I can contact about that?

How do you evaluate humanity? –Kelsey

Now it’s time for Ashley S., onion hunter.  Say what you want, she looks hot tonight in an Old Hollywood kind of way.  I love her white and silver chevron dress.  She gifts Chris an onion.  Absence has made my heart grow fonder; she is growing on me tonight.  Chris asks her about her conversations with cats.

It was not cats.  It was one cat.  It didn’t reply.  –Ashley S.

Chris asks that she consider joining them for Bachelor in Paradise.  Does anyone watch this program? I tried once.  It could not be stomached. There was just no way.  I feel like a person could catch STDs just watching it on TV.  Go make a Kickstarter and raise $300,000 for me and I will recap it for all of you.

Jade and her pair of fake boobers are up next.  Pretty uneventful. Jade was always in pretty close to Becca on the snooze-o-meter.  “Wants closure” blah blah blah.  Kaitlyn too is uneventful and has the same closure-seeking agenda.  Gals, this is hard to hear, but the answer is that Chris liked other chicks better than you.  Sorrs.  The other chicks are Becca the asexual fungus sucker fish and Whitney the Fertility Muppet who herself must be illegally sneaking Clomid shots from work because she’s so crazy desperate I have to just assume she is in a constant state of hyper-ovulation.  You lost to these individuals.  I would cry for myself too.

Here comes Chris! ::disco dancer emoji:: I swear I could write a whole case study on this man.  He officially bothers me now.  I loved him on Andi’s season, and he looks just like Bruce Springsteen that is to say SMOKIN’ HOT, but I actually now find him to be a really emotionally checked out dude.  What do you think? I’m fascinated.

Anyway he comes out and Britt is doing this sad puppy cry/clap that makes me LOL.  She goes to hug him and must have something on her hands because she gets crap all over the back of his suit coat.  What was that? I think it was from wiping her tears when she’s wearing so much freaking makeup.  Britt you’re from California you know how mudslides happen.  Does ABC cover dry cleaning when distraught floozies get gunk all over your nice farmer clothes? And/or when floozies blow nasal mucus into your pocket square?

The last few rejected chicks get turns confronting Chris and cry and “need answers” and Chris just kind of sits there with his eyes twitching and eeks out a few words (“UhhhhIdontknow Uhhhitsjustthat UhhhhhhHHhhhhhhH OK BYE”).  Really, he is a PRIZE.

At last we’re up to the blooper reel which made everything worth it.  In particular, the footage of Chris laughing juxtaposed with the dolphin squeaks made EVERY moment worth it.  Correction, the announcement that Chris Harrison wrote a romance novel (took me a few minutes to realize this was for real) made every moment worth it.  I will one million billion percent be reading this.

Next week is the three-hour finale.  I’m so exhausted thinking about it that instead of beginning to author this, I sit on the couch in an unproductive stupor not playing solitaire on my phone (JK playing solitaire on my phone) and having my mind blown by this cat on Youtube.  Bon soir, amigos.  See you next week. ::more disco dancer emojis::

Monkey, Will You Accept This Rose: The Bachelor Recap, Penultimate Edition

24 Feb

Firstly, sorry that I slacked off and didn’t do a recap last week.  Four hours of Bachelor between Sunday and Monday was just inhumane.  I felt like I had completed an Iron Man of The Bachelor and I was just too emotionally exhausted to revisit all the painful moments again.  I was like collapsed at the finish line and never wanted to type the letters B-R-I-T-T ever again.  Also don’t Google the naughty Jade pictures.  I went straight to Google Images thinking it would be like tee hee here I am in a swimsuit and instead was like OHGODOHGODOHGOD *throws phone across room* *runs to the emergency eye wash station in the chem classroom*

So, here we are this week.  The description from Direct TV: Chris and the remaining three women travel to Bali for overnight dates; Chris has a meltdown about the upcoming elimination; the final two women are revealed. Let’s do this, big boy.

Act 1: Kaitlyn

Chris shows up for their date in jewel tones and white sneakers.  They walk around the local Bali scene acting like idiot Westerners.  They go to a monkey park.  Technically they’re macaques but much like my two-year-old, Chris’ zoological wheelhouse is probably restricted to farm animals. I smile happily when he gets attacked and peed on by one:


Kaitlyn is drawing some kind of analogy about how the monkeys’ zeal for bananas is like her own quest for love.  Monkey analogies like 5 minutes in and I’m expected to last another hour and fifty five minutes? No sir.  NO SIR.

We’ve made it to the first commercial break.  Would you like to date our next bachelor or bachelorette? No.

We’re back just in time for Chris n’ Kait’s awkward dinner date.  Chris says she is shaking just like she was earlier.  I love that these people in their bizarre universe are planning to be formally engaged next week yet still are shaking with nerves in each other’s presence? In a normal relationship this is when you could, like, fart in front of your partner and it would not be a thing.  I’m going to keep watching this horrible program until the first on-screen fart.  This is my solemn vow.

Anyway, Kaitlyn recites the usual script about she is falling in love but scared and vulnerable and BLAH BLAH really I’ve heard this exact set of buzzwords at this exact moment like 1,486 times in this show.  In a development shocking to no one– recall Kaitlyn made her national television debut with jokes about walrus/seal sex– she chooses to forgo her individual room to stay with Chris in the fantasy suite.


EWWWWWWWWW back to the emergency eye wash station

Act Two: Whitney

I have to say, Whitney the Fertility Muppet has totally won me over.  She’s mature, she’s articulate, she has a job requiring intelligence, she always looks cute in her bright colors.  I still think she comes across a little desperate but really there’s only so much you can expect from these broads.  Whitney runs up to Chris and embraces him with the Obligatory Bachelor Reunion Leg Wrap™. They are going on a date on a… pirate ship I guess that is? OK.  They cruise around a little and then– again, has happened approx. one billion times on this show– hold hands and plunge into the water.  Blah blah. Back on deck Whitney apologizes for her TOTAL JERK of a sister who wouldn’t give Chris her marriage blessing the first hour she met him while he was still dating three other chicks.  Trifling saboteur!

They head off for the awkward dinner component of the date.  Whitney assures Chris she is ready to dump her life/job to become Arlington, Iowa’s 401st citizen, adding if she moved she would be immediately “ready to have babies.”  A grin sweeps across Chris’ face in the biggest display of emotion I’ve seen from him yet this episode.  Hoo boy.  Chris Harrison’s pimp note arrives and Whitney too will be joining our resident randy farmer in the fantasy suite.  She has a bubble bath drawn too but it’s just, like, plain water without multi-tonal rose petals. WHAT? This is supposed to be a FANTASY SUITE, PEOPLE, not some kind of depressing lair of reality. Good LUCK you two.

Act Three: Becca

Oh man.  Becca makes me want to quit my job blogging about this stupid show.  She’s so effing boring to watch.  Like, the woman would be just about as good of a partner as like a garden hose or ficus plant or a pet fish.  Not like an interesting pet fish but like the weird vacuum fish that blended into everything and just slowly sucked the fungus off the bottom.  She has this horrible monotone, rarely makes facial expressions, and seems not happy about anything.  Even last week when Chris went to her house, her family basically described her as some kind of strange hermaphrodite who didn’t really seem attracted to other humans.  Despite the two of them having zero chemistry at all, Chris digs her.  I don’t get it.

Anyway, Becca shows up today in her best Umbra shorts.


They go to some kind of temple to visit the village medicine man.  The village children are sticking their heads above the wall laughing and snickering.  Kids I’m RIGHT there with you my little friends.  The rest is predictably boring and awkward.  Becca accepts the fantasy suite invitation but because she’s a virgin I guess the tub is filled with ice cubes or something.  Finally she tells Chris there’s “something she needs to share” with him, something that’s “a big deal”.  She then awkwardly pauses for a long time as she struggles to spit it out, and Chris is so nervous you can hear him panting like an injured mammal into his mic.  I do kind of feel for him in this moment because we all know what she’s going to say, but the way she is drawing this out he’s got to think it’s something REALLY bad or awkward.  Chris I don’t know how to tell you this but I had gender reassignment surgery two weeks ago and I’m not medically cleared for intercourse.  Chris I don’t know how to tell you this but I did ten years for racketeering, migrant smuggling, and theft of motor vehicles.  Chris I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m your biological mother. 

We’re now an hour and fifteen minutes in.  Stay strong, sisters, STAY STRONG!

Act Four: Rejection

Chris’ balcony reflections and therapy session with Chris lead us to believe that Becca, her tan lines, and Umbra shorts are toast.  Schweet! It’s time for the rose ceremony.  It’s at another temple thing and Chris n’ Chris are wearing some kind of ceremonial garb that looks more like Saturday Night Fever II: Indonesian Nights.


Chris calls Becca aside for a private chat and I’m giddy.  The moment must be here!  (“You’re out! Finished at Faber! Expelled!”) But, in a plot twist that I don’t understand, she talks her way back in.  It’s unclear if Chris just wanted to have one more conversation with her to decide, or if he was trying to dump her and she really did change his mind.  Regardless, I’m unhappy.  Kaitlyn instead is chosen to go home.  Chris’ last gesture of chivalry is pulling open the sliding minivan door for her.  LOL.  Walruses worldwide honor her with a moment of silence.

Join me next week when all our favorite floozies reunite for the Women Tell All special!

Two Girls, One Cabana: The Bachelor Recap, Week 6

9 Feb

Act 1: Back on the Floor with Kelsey

When we last left off, Kelsey was having some kind of faux-mergency on some floor.  We resume our enjoyment of this.  Some Australian EMT is attending to her.  Like eleven seconds later she’s made a full recovery; she’s sitting up with an oxygen mask and back to stressing out about roses.  These women.  No words.  At any rate, it’s clear Kelsey has assumed the role of Chief Nutterbutter In Residence.

The girls are back to being upset about not having a cocktail hour.   Ashley I. blubbers, as Ashley I. will do.  Now we’re at the rose ceremony we were deprived of last week.  Does anyone see Jade shivering behind Kelsey? Going home are Samantha, no idea who this person is, and Mackenzie, mother to Kale and hero to alien abduction believers everywhere.  I accept the unfortunate reality that Kelsey and Ashley I. will remain a part of my life for at least one hundred twenty more minutes.

Act 2: Floozies Do Deadwood

The entourage packs up and heads for the Black Hills of South Dakota.  What the heck is going on with the travel schedule this year? Normally this is when they’d be in Bali or Prague or something.  Have there been Bachelor budget cuts? Hey whatever happened to that sponsorship with Suave where past Bachelorettes would appear in those ads getting their hair done and reading those awful scripts? Those were great!

Anyway, first things first, let’s all watch Chris wander around this new city and offer his expert insight.  He struts down the street and says he feels like a “tough guy” here in Deadwood.  Chea mmm hmm. Not twenty seconds later (literally) we see him in this state:


Wow.  Much tough.  So vintage bubble bath.  Wow.

Act 3: Becca’s Date

Becca, 25, chiropractic assistant, also a virgin apparently, is going on the week’s one-one-one date.  It’s so boring.  The only things she has going for her is that she’s super hot, dresses tastefully, and isn’t wholly repulsive.  That’s our standard for success on this show.  If you can manage to not be a wholly repulsive human being, then you have an edge on half the contestants. Sad.

Here is her promo from ABC to tell you what kind of intellectual capacity we’re working with here:


Meredith Grey.  Mmm hmm.  U R deep.

So blah blah they ride around on horses.  The saddles conveniently have little cameras affixed to them.  Later they sit by a campfire and roast vegetable kabobs.  Interesting culinary choice, producers.  HR Rep Chris is back asking about 5 year plans.  Becca says she want 5 kids.  LOLZ.  Becca, start with one and see if you’re still prancing around in those skinny jeans and booties and effortless beach waves.  I do get a lot of pleasure fast forwarding 10 years to Becca on the farm with 5 kids: JAYDEN JOLEEN JUNIE GET YERSELVES OUTTA BED! Them there cows ain’t gonna milk theySELVES!!! Jasper and Jayson git on up to the hen house and check the girls for impacted eggs! YA HEARD YER MAMA NOW GEET! [spits some Skoal] [scratches right butt cheek] [breaks neck of chicken to cook for breakfast]

Act 3: Group Date

About 6 girls show up for the group date and we find out they’re going to be writing and performing their own original country songs.  Celebrity mentors are Big and Rich.  This could be good.

They sit in a bar together and everyone sips beer and writes their songs in little notebooks.  Jade is having some kind of meltdown about how difficult this is.  She’s near tears.  This chick has zero ability to overcome life adversity.  Come to think of it, I think this is the person who told the story on the first night about how she cried about having difficulty finding a parking spot.  How is she still around?  Jade, dude, how difficult is this task? I will do it for you.  This goes to the tune of Bingo:

There was a farmer who had a dog and Chris-o was his name-o

Not so hard.  Next it’s time to hear the finished products performed.  Most of the girls take it too seriously and it’s uncomfortable to watch.  Carly is the only one with maybe enough talent (remember her occupation is cruise ship singer) to justify taking it seriously.  Happily it’s over and they all retreat to have cocktails together.

This part is always so boring.  Intrigue is added this time because Chris whisks away Britt (for an hour, we later find out) to go see Big and/or Rich perform, and to receive a rose in the process.  We notice Britt is wearing glittery leggings with giant holes in the thighs.  Good life choices as always.  When they return, the rest of the chicks are ragey at having been abandoned for so long.  Kind of understandable.  Chris is basically like, SORRS DEAL WITH IT and bounces.  I’m actually starting to think this guy’s kind of a douchebag.  A douchebag in sheep’s clothing.  What’s my farm pun count so far? Like 6? I’ll stop when I get to 80.

Act 4: The Main Event

Here comes the best part of the night.  We find out Ashley I. and Kelsey will be battling to the death in a two-on-one date.  For those unfamiliar with the show, two-on-one dates are Bachelor gold.  The dude takes two contestants out and eliminates one at the end of the night.  The upside of this is that we know one of these horrid women will be leaving us tonight. The downside is that we know one will be staying.  OR WILL THEY?

The girls and Chris fly in a helicopter to, I don’t know, like a stretch of desert plains or something.  It’s kind of creepy.  But it’s OK because there’s this awkward cabana waiting for them:


The rest of this plays out as expected.  Ashley throws Kelsey under the bus to Chris, Chris calls out Kelsey and throws Ashley under the bus, Ashley and Kelsey have a cat fight (“You and I both have our Masters and I have it from a good place.” –Ashley), and Ashley cries.  As Ashley is crying to Chris, he stops her and tells her he doesn’t see a future and she’s headed home.  Ashley goes out as expected, in a blaze of continued hysterics and stomping.

Here’s where it gets amazing.  Chris goes back to the Awkward Cabana and tells Kelsey that Ashley went home.  She assumes this means she has claimed victory.  Just as her crazy manipulative self reaches fever pitch (“Oh I’m sorry.  That’s hard.  That’s a loss.”) Chris tells her that– GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH!– she too is toast!

Now we witness possibly the most baller exit ever.  He leaves the two of them stranded in the desert to (presumably?) be picked up by some kind of ground vehicle, while he himself gets back into the helicopter.  Gets back into the helicopter WITH the unclaimed rose sitting next to him.  I have no words except HAHAHAHAHA OMG


OK, Kelsey is evil and nuts, but I do feel a little bad that she’s at home watching this part.  When the girls back at the hotel find out Kelsey is going home, they explode with joy.  “LET’S GET DRUNK!”–Kaitlyn

IMG_20150209_220807036_HDR IMG_20150209_220758653 IMG_20150209_220744997 IMG_20150209_220726907_HDR

Apparently next week is a two-day “television event” starting on Sunday.  I don’t know if I can stomach two nights of this.  Can I take a personal day?

Alligators, Dead Bodies, Who Knows: The Bachelor Recap, Week 5

3 Feb

Pour yourselves a glass of something strong cause the season is about to EXPLODE, Chris Harrison tells us.  Having just barely emerged on the other end without barfing up my dinner, I can confirm that it did indeed explode.  With about 800,000 joules worth of awkward and painful.

This week’s destination is Santa Fe.  “I’ve never been out of the country!” remarks Megan the makeup artist.

Act 1: Carly’s Date

Carly, the cruise ship singer who is somehow still here, is going with Chris to visit Tziporah Kingsbury, a love and intimacy mentor.  Excuse me I’m sorry I have to put that in mocking quotes.  I HAVE to or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.  “Love and intimacy mentor”.  Ahh that’s better thank you.  Let me first skip ahead and say if you haven’t watched the episode yet, you’ll want to just go ahead and fast forward this ENTIRE part.  Trust.


There’s lots of breathing, vocalizing, and generalized kookiness.  Things really start to get uncomfortable when Carly is instructed by Teriyaki  to blindfold Chris.  Then Carly’s told to, I don’t know, “explore their sensuality” or something by feeding him random fruit and nuts like some kind of poor pet parrot.


Do you remember when contestant Megan tried a much more hastily prepared and presented version of this earlier in the season? It’s at least less painful to watch than that was.


The fact that there’s enough blindfolded fruit eating sessions that we can compare them speaks to the degradation of this program.

Next Tzatziki puts them into this arrangement:


Want to fast forward want to fast forward want to fast forward want to fast forward want to fast forward

Next she has them ceremoniously strip layers of clothing to symbolize removing the masks that keep us from intimacy.



Finally– FINALLY– this segment ends.  The torment is lifted and we rejoice with sweet relief.  Carly n’ Chris go off and have dinner together.  She’s not horrible but she’s not my favorite.  On her offstage interviews she is crying with joy and saying how after all these years she’s finally in a “reciprocated relationship” and I feel like crying for her, but probably more like in the sad kind of way.

Act 2: Group Date and Related Nonsense 

A bunch of chicks are going white water rafting on the Rio Grande.  Megan, makeup artist but maybe less of a geography scholar, is concerned about what could be in the water: “alligators, dead bodies… who knows!”.  The girls get into the boats and blah blah they go on like a 30 second ride.  Jade is thrown from the boat and then once back ashore, confides that she has a medical condition making her extremities ultra-sensitive to cold and prone to immediate hypothermia.  No really this is a thing I stumbled on this Wikipedia page once.  Two separate girls allege she is faking it to get Chris attention.   Is there one person in this entire group who doesn’t have a heart made of bituminous coal, hard liquor, and eyelash glue? I think the answer is no.

After rafting they settle in for a group cocktail hour together.  Another Obligatory Bachelor Plot Twist is unveiled– we find out Jordan, the drunk twerking “student” eliminated on week 2, is back to beg for a second chance.  She bumbles her way through some degrading speech but Air Supply can summarize it just as well: Here I am/the one that you love/askin’ for another day.  Because Chris has a spine made of straw or hay or chicken feathers or some other soft thing you’d find on a farm, he says yes and invites her to join them for cocktails.  The girls have a collective conniption and one by one complain to Chris about how unfair it is, but add that they love him and are here for him and support him no matter what and love him, and nothing is changed about each of their desires to marry him at this exact second.  Ultimately Chris sees the error in his ways and decides to send Jordan on the road home.  She sobs and tells the camera it’s going to be a long drive back to Colorado tomorrow.  Girl, I’m sure there’s a Hardee’s on the way.  Put on some Taytay and let the pain wash through you with each french fry.

Act 3: Britt’s Date

Britt has been awarded the next one on one date, with an invitation that reads, Britt: The sky’s the limit! Love, Chris [heart dotting the i].  I think it was Ben Franklin or maybe Tony Danza who said the only certain things in life are death, taxes, Bachelor dates involving heights, and Bachelor contestants crying about how afraid of heights they are.  Take your cue, Britty…


She is freaking out and crying and saying that no, this isn’t just your normal heights aversion, it’s LITERALLY A PHOBIA.

The next day Chris comes into her room at 4:30 a.m. to surprise her and whisk her away for the date.  Britt is sleeping with full makeup on including bright magenta lipstick.  I have no words.  I guess she is mortified by the idea of the cameras catching her without makeup, but I think it’s about 1 kerjillion times more embarrassing to show the world how pathologically insecure you are that you’re fast asleep with a full face of makeup.  Contestant Carly confirms that Britt puts makeup on before she goes to bed “just in case.”  This chick is ill.  Chris remarks– his actual words– that she looks “just as beautiful first thing in the morning as she does all dolled up for a rose ceremony.  It’s incredible.”  No, it’s not incredible you idiot, it’s the work of several chemical compounds.


Off they go and Britt finds out they are going on a hot air balloon ride.  She says she was all scared going into this– LITERALLY A PHOBIA– but with Chris holding her hand, she feels all happy and warm and fuzzy and suddenly she’s not even bothered.  This is an abrupt recovery from her literally a phobia.  It’s a shame that scientists have squandered all these years developing treatments for phobias when a miraculous, phobia-curing farmer walked among us this whole time.
After they make out on the balloon for a while they go back to Chris’ room, make out some more, and Chris closes the door on the cameras.  Later Britt shares her account with the girls and reports they just ordered room service and “took a nap for like two hours.”  Ewwwwwwww.

Act 4: The Rose Ceremony That Never Was

Do we all remember Kelsey? She hasn’t gotten a ton of screen time beyond the first episode.  She was previously married but her husband passed away in May 2013.  She is worked up she hasn’t gotten the chance to tell Chris this intimate detail, and she barges into his hotel suite unexpectedly to do so.  Everything seems to go well, they make out, she says how the moment leading up to the kiss has been “building for weeks” and that they “just collide.”  Actually the two of them could not have less chemistry.  It’s painful.

Now, here’s where a scary transformation begins to unfold. I’ve always really liked Kelsey, but now a side-eye is starting to slowly appear on my face.  The girl is going from zero to NUTBUCKET at a remarkable pace.  She’s talking to the cameras offstage with this crazed, glassy look and saying “Isn’t my story amazing? Tragic, yes, but amazing.  I love my story.”  She says how privileged we all are that we get to watch her magnificent story.

OK, now– NOT TO JUDGE A PERSON’S GRIEF– but in discussions with my text advisory panel, there was agreement that this was an extremely creepy choice of words and demeanor.  Yes, there are gifts and growth that come from tragedy, but who uses the word “amazing” to describe losing their husband? Who says they “love” it? I sent out the same emoji like 20 times between right now and the end of the episode– the blue guy with the dropped jaw and the scared bead of sweat– so you’ll just imagine like 100 of those lined up and that’s the extent of my commentary.

Back at the house, Chris greets the girls for what would be the beginning of the cocktail hour.  Before he can get many words out, he starts crying and has to leave.  No joke.  This guy has been spending too many time with these insane floozies.  It’s like his moon cycle is beginning to sync itself with theirs. Life Counselor Chris Harrison comes to talk him down.

Before he left in tears, Chris had indirectly revealed that Kelsey paid an illegal visit to him that day.  Ashley I, who I’ve noticed flies into rages pretty easily, is summarily enraged by this.  “She had private time when I’ve not had any private time yet!” Umm, Ashley, what about the time when you barged into Chris’ tent in the middle of the night like a Grizzly in heat? I’m really starting to despise her.  I would almost rather have Ashley S. back than have to tolerate another week of Ashley I.  She’s insufferable.

Next, Chris Harrison goes back to the girls and reveals that there will be no cocktails, Chris’ mind is made up and they’ll go right to the ceremony.  This always sends the girls into a tizzy, as it means they’re deprived of one last Hail Mary opportunity to prove their love by physically thrusting themselves upon his person.

Next, we’re up to the moment they’ve been pimping all night in the previews, where we find that the news has sent Kelsey into such a downward spiral that she’s passed out on the floor making strange blubbering sounds and EMTs have come to attend to her. Between blubbers she says she’s just having a panic attack.  As the EMTs assess her, I’m thinking an efficient system for the future would be like some kind of Bachelor emergency alarm, or maybe like a Batman-esque light that’s projected into the sky (in the likeness of a rose of course).  And Chris Harrison would be all quick, to the emergency bunker! and conveniently furnish a dart gun full of Haloperidol.  Jeff is next to me pointing out that if they were to simply wave a rose in front of her face, she’d probably pop up immediately.

At any rate, we quickly cut to a To Be Continued and I guess we have to wait seven (7) more days to find out which floozies are going home.  This is not fair.  I sat through nasty chocolate strawberry feedings with the understanding I would be rewarded at the end with 1-2 individuals I’d never have to see again.  I DO NOT ACCEPT THIS ROSE.

I Hope That Resonates Within Your Mind Tonight: The Bachelor Recap, Week 4

27 Jan

We resume our collective Journey for Love© back at the mansion, where the girls are relaxing in sweatpants and awaiting Chris Harrison’s weekly update.  Chris makes his entrance and we find out this week’s plot twist is that Bachelor Chris’ three sisters have flown all the way in from AIIIIIIIIIIIWUHH and will be making the choice as to which floozie gets to go on the week’s only one-on-one date.

But first, our first group date…

Act 1: Lake Floozie

Sevnish girls load up in beachwear and drive off to a TBD surprise location.  They arrive and find out they’re at a lake.  Ashley I, the virgin non-journalist you hopefully remember, is a sight.  Her face contains about nine (9) ounces of makeup right now.  She’s dressed in a USA bikini and high-waisted, stone wash denim cutoffs.  ATTRACTIVE.  Looks like she was pulled from production of Behind the Belt: The Women of the WWF.


The girls splash in the lake blah blah.  Ashley I, virgin madonna, is taking her top off and jumping in the water while– simultaneously– literally— telling us in a voice over how shy she is and how hard it is for her to come out of her shell.  Kaitlyn one ups her by taking off her bottoms.  We’re off to a great start here.

Meanwhile, back at the house…

It’s like 2 in the afternoon and the girls have poured themselves glasses of wine and are busy chatting and filing their nails. Jillian is passed out face down at the pool with her trusty black box over her bottom.  The girls are chattering about when the sisters might arrive– “It could be any minute, we don’t know!”– when– WHAT DO YOU KNOW– the sisters ding dong the doorbell.

The sisters start conducting panel interviews with the five or so girls remaining at the house to figure out who will be awarded the date.  The girls are so nervous I actually do feel a little bad for them.  You can see Becca’s chest heaving up and down with nerves.  The sisters ask contestant Jade what she does, and Jade tells them she is a “model for like a website of clothing” but then says she has launched an organic makeup business.  I think this is actually pretty cool! Her tagline in her caption describes her as a “cosmetic developer” which I always thought meant, I don’t know, Mary Kay saleswoman… I wish she would have rocked “small business owner” or something instead.

The sisters enter executive session.  The girls are busy steaming artichokes when a card arrives with the sisters’ decision.  We find out it will indeed be Jade, cosmetic entrepreneur/model for like a website of clothing, who is going on a special CInderella-themed date with Chris.  “I’m ready to be a princess,” she says.  Knock yoself out kid.

One more trip back to the lake…

We find out we’re in for a long night ahead because the girls and Chris will be camping overnight at the lake.  First they have to put tents together, it’s a riot.  Go go bimbo engineers! By now night has fallen on a full moon, the campfire is raging, the tequila is flowing, and Ashley S. is doing some kind of tribal song.  Mackenzie is BACK on the subject of aliens and pondering what a great abduction site they’re at.

Ashley S. goes off with Chris and, I don’t know, the woman is not well.  I almost feel uncomfortable for being so entertained by her.  She is just kind of mumbling crazy things and I really appreciate that ABC has subtitled some of it this week…


The Ashleys switch, and Ashley I. goes off with Chris and blurts out assorted incoherencies. She had one great remark, and I spent like 10 minutes rewinding the DVR to make sure I transcribed this for you all with perfection:

You don’t even understand.  I don’t like guys very easily.  But like I have a freaking crush on you.  It’s like the second you come into the room I feel like I’m like in middle school and I like have a unibrow and a lunch box in my hand and I’m like oh my god, I was like, ooo like there’s a guy, like oh my god, but I feel like everything that’s going to come out of my mouth is like dumb and I’m shy… seriously like you don’t even know.

Umm, Ashley? Your fears about saying dumb things? It’s not entirely unfounded.  A bit later, she decides she really wants to tell Chris about being a virgin.  By now everyone has retreated to their tents and poor Chris is SLEEPING when she charges his tent like the effing Bastille and just starts yammering really vaguely.  The closest she gets to the point is saying she’s “inexperienced in every way possible.”  Ashley tells us in her offstage interview, “I feel really good.  His face seemed to me to make it seem like he got it.”  Chris tells us in his offstage interview, “I have no idea what she’s saying right now.”  LOL.  Ashley continues to tell us in a voice over that she’s “not a hookup girl” while this simultaneously appears on our screens:


This dame is full of paradoxes.

Act 2: Jade’s Date

We’re back at the house and we find out a “fairy godmother” is coming over to help Jade pick out outfits and jewelry and whatever for her Cinderella date.  In a Disney film, this is where a woodland creature with doe eyes would whistle a happy tune and lovingly tie your hair back with a ribbon, but this is The Bachelor so they sent this:


Jade goes off in a limo and we cut to Chris, who is excitedly waiting in a tuxedo to see who his sisters chose for him to go to the royal ball with or whatever.  Did I mention, this whole thing is acting as free promo for some new ABC Cinderella movie.  Chris says, “Tonight I’m a prince and I’m looking for my Cinderella.”  Chris, let me fix this for you: “Tonight I’m a paid employee of the American Broadcasting Company and I’m reading this off a cue card right now.”

Jade makes the obligatory grand, dramatic descent down the stairs as Chris waits at the bottom:


He’s smiling on the outside but inside you know he’s like, wait what’s your name again?

They go in and have dinner blah blah boring conversation.  There is actually an ice sculpture in the shape of a glass slipper.  I barfed up a little of the Chipotle burrito bol I just ate.

Back at the house, Ashley I. is acting INSANE levels of crazy and desperate.  Watch this show enough and you will become pretty steeled when it comes to displays of crazy/desperate, so this is bad.  She wishes she had tonight’s date so badly that she puts on full makeup and a gown she “specifically brought for a princess-themed date.”  She pours herself a drink and goes to console herself with corn on the cob.  There’s a farm joke here somewhere.  Searching… searching… searching… Like she’s saying, WHY BUY THE FARMER WHEN YOU CAN GET THE CORN FOR FREE! Meh I’ll just let this image speak for itself:


And oh my God what is that on the lower edge of the screen, like a sad, wilted rose? I think this is what my high school English teacher called SYMBOLIC IMAGERY bahahahaha I didn’t even notice it till now.

Act 3: Group Date That Ends in a Spectacular Way

Five or so other girls dress up in wedding gowns and go to do a muddy obstacle course thing.  Jillian, Crossfit bimbo, takes it really seriously and wins.  She states, “Apparently no one is competition for me.  They should’ve stayed on the plane, enjoyed the plane ride and the free SNACKS, it’s going to be the highlight of their day.  Without them I wouldn’t have looked so good so I’m not complaining.”  Jaw drop! She really did emphasize “snacks” in the most obnoxious way possible.  She is the worst.  JILLIAN YOU TRIPPED ON A RUG LIKE AN IDIOT.  NEVER FORGET.

Jillian is rewarded by getting to split off with Chris for a one-on-one date.  This is where things take a turn for the spectacular.  When Chris asks where she sees herself in five years, she basically says she doesn’t know and doesn’t believe in planning.  Which, admittedly, is a nice departure from: WHY, IN IOWA, BEARING YOUR CHILDREN AND FEEDING YOU FORKFULS OF CHERRY PIE, MY DESIROUS PET. Chris asks her other stuff and all Jillian wants to talk about is her fitness hobby and how in shape and fabulous and superior she is.  When it comes time to decide if she’ll receive a rose, he starts his usual monologue of platitudes to her, but as soon as that “but” escapes his lips I’m pumping my fist up in the air because he’s now telling her it’s not going to work, and she’s getting on the Airport Van of Rejection!


Awwwwwww boohoo boohoo boohoo someone got weejected by the bacheworrr WELL YOU CAN SUCK IT. I hope your kettle ball keeps you warm at night.

Act 4: Cocktail Party and Rose Time

We’re back to Ashley I. and her little virginity crisis.  She is freaking out because she’s sure she “clarified” to Chris that she was a virgin, but now she’s not sure he got it.  Ermm, Ashley, I would not say you clarified.  If you recall, you told Chris you were “inexperienced in every way possible.”  And when we’re talking about every way, that casts a pretty wide net.  We could take this to mean:

  • You are inexperienced playing the tuba
  • You are inexperienced installing industrial HVAC systems
  • You are inexperienced performing laparoscopic ventral hernia repair

You get the idea.  I don’t even understand why she feels it so necessary to go into this right now.  There’s like 12 girls still here and HELLO, do you not watch this show, nobody gets to home base until there’s three left.  Unless you’re Juan Pablo and get things started earlier (ayeayeaye).  Carly quips hilariously, “I actually did not know that Ashley was a virgin, because I’ve seen her making out with Chris like thirteen thousand times.  Her mouth is not a virgin.”  ZING! Maybe I like Carly after all.

Time for the roses.  Ashley S. goes home (yay!), so does Juelia (daww… I liked her), and some NFL cheerleader Nikki who I didn’t realize was still here.  Good game, good game.

On the Topic of Jillian’s Buttocks: The Bachelor Recap, Week 3

20 Jan

Oops, 24 hours late this week! News producer Jillian would be quick to point out that the story has probably passed me by.  My only excuse was that I thought this week was pretty much a snoozefest so I didn’t even end up with much in my snark notebook.  And now I have the added problem of my scrawled notes making less sense 24 hours later.  It’s making me recall fondly my workin’ days– I used to sometimes have to take minutes for meetings and calls and whatever. I noticed that if I walked back to my desk and immediately typed the handwritten notes, everything was so fresh in my mind that I could recall the entire meeting with precision.  Steve provided an update for PCBAs, indicating they had reached final negotiations with several vendors and that the outsourcing projects were on target.  They have put out RFQs for other BUs within CAS and should have an update between October 5-12.  But more often that not I’d put it off, as is my way, and by the time I sat down to do it nothing made any sense and my memory was gone.  UHHHHHHHHH Hi.  So.  Here’s what I know.  This person and maybe like twelveish other people came here last Wednesday I think it was.  Words were exchanged, as I recall.  Maybe like a Powerpoint or something? Unclear.  I remember a platter of sandwiches.  THANK YOU MEETING ADJOURNED RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED XOXOXO SARAH

Nevertheless– Open the snark floodgates!

Preface: How is Ashley S. Still Here

I’m giving this two weeks and then hurling the TV into the closest river if this woman is still around.  This week she seems to have cut herself some bangs, which I guess you can DIY when you’re a hairdresser as she is.  But WTF purpose does she think this serves, like it buys her a new identity and we forget everything we’ve witnessed? Like, she is Harrison Ford in The Fugitive? WE KNOW IT’S YOU ASHLEY.

Also FYI: Jimmy Kimmel is guest starring as the host this week.

Act 1: Kaitlyn’s Date

Hopefully we all remember Kaitlyn.  She’s the one whose first utterance to Chris was that he could “plow the [bleep] out of my field anytime”.  kL@s$y.  Kaitlyn’s outfit for her big date night: high-waisted sweat pants, ivory sports bra, Brawny man shirt.  Sure go with it.  Kaitlyn and Chris leave in the limousine, drink champagne, and chatter happily about what exotic destination they are likely off to. They keep going on about the “high ceilings” given as a clue in the date card.  What’s funny is the date card said “vaulted ceilings” but four letters is just a little more intellectually manageable for this crew.

Kaitlyn and Chris cannot hide the disgust and devastation on their faces when they find out they have been taken to Costco to buy provisions for a dinner with Jimmy Kimmel that night.  No joke they are really worked up they have to live like the rest of us for an hour.  Thank God there camera crew will be there to follow them around lest others confuse them for regular folks and not *~*ReALiTy TeLLYviSioN SuPaHsTahS*~*.  They mill around Costco acting like idiots and it’s boring.  Chris describes the date as “weird” and “not the most ideal”, but indicates they “made the best of it” while adding he “doesn’t know many girls who could handle a date like this.”  Wow, she “handled” walking around Costco for sixty minutes.  That’s the kind of natural talent you don’t see every day.

OK now they’re back at some random patio for the dinner with Jimmy Kimmel.  Insipid conversation is exchanged.  Chris is supposed to be grilling but it’s just like a George Foreman with a to-go tin full of chicken wings or something (?)


Date ends like most The Bachelor dates, with Kaitlyn and Chris making out in a hot tub with their respective glasses of liquor flanking them.  Your parents are proud.

Act 2: Farm-themed Group Date

Well it was only a matter of time before the farm-themed date happened.  The girls assemble and are made to run through an obstacle course involving corn husking, goat milking, pig wrestling, and tearing through a chicken coop to find hidden eggs.  The stuff involving the animals makes me ragey because these girls are CRAZED and are showing no gentleness to these poor animals.

Jillian, for the second time this episode and I believe third time this season, is wearing bottoms yet has a black censor box over her butt.  She is horrid.


Carly the cruise ship singer, who I also can’t believe is still here, wins.  She too is horrid.  Her maturity level is consistent with that of an 11-year-old.  As part of her victory package, she and Chris dress up to recreate the American Gothic painting.  Jimmy asks if they know what the painting is and I wish Chris hadn’t rushed in with the answer, because I would have loved to see Carly here…

The guy from the salad dressing? Something Newman?
Wait wait wait I know… Dwight Eisenhower.
Vin Diesel in like a Civil War movie or something?
Just take your rose and see yourself out.

The girls and Chris retreat for a group cocktail party.  More insipidness ensues.  The girls take turns hurling themselves at him.  Very uncomfortable to watch.  Very boring.

Anyone catch this terrifying facial expression by Makenzie though?


Yikes. Moving along…

Act 3: Whitney’s Date

Ahh, back with Whitney the fertility muppet, who WEEPS when she finds out she’s going on the next date.  Doesn’t seem like something that a desperate nutter butter would do.  Nope not at all.  Whitney is OK… style is decent (comparatively), maturity level seems fair (comparatively).  I can’t get over the voice though.  They go to, I don’t know, some dumb vineyard.  They decide to crash a wedding going on at the vineyard thing. I hope the producers gave this poor couple some kind of monetary reparation for letting this train wreck of a show into their wedding reception.  Since people recognize Chris they decide to lie and say filming is over and they’re engaged.  UMM…. yea… ZERO chance Whitney is crazy enough to actually continue to think of this as her reality.  Whitney says something like, “Imagine we do get engaged at the end of this, our first date will always be how we pretended to be engaged! Wouldn’t that be crazy! We’ll laugh about it forever LOL!” See, it’s starting already.  FARMER CHRIS, RUN.  Or leave on a tractor or a cantering horse or something agriculturey but GO DUDE.

Whitney closes by saying it’s “the beginning of a journey that will last a long time… a lifetime.”  Errrrrm yea or like 2-4 more weeks if you’re lucky.  Sorry.

Act 4: Pool Party and Rose Ceremony

Jimmy informs the girls that instead of the usual cocktail reception, they’ll do a pool party.  Ashley I, the eHow contributor and alleged virgin you may remember from last week, is distraught.  “I was so excited to do like my Kardashian look tonight, but I now I just have to look…” Words leave her and she trails off with frustrated eye rolls and hand gestures. EVERYONE PLEASE PRAY FOR HER.

The rest of the cocktail hour plays out amusingly.  Jillian, news producer/Crossfit idiot/rug tripper/she of the unclothed buttocks, plays the role of the cocktail party bully.  She holds Chris captive in a hot tub and won’t let other chicks approach them.  Ashley I. is more angered by this than her missed opportunity to try her Kardashian look.  She stomps away, is sobbing in her bikini, drops her cup, wildly spews nonsense to the camera… girl is a hot mess.  My little Direct TV descriptive blurb for this episode says “A bachelorette has a meltdown” so I think we’re up to that part.


“I don’t know I just feel like I was supposed to…”

CHHHRRRRRMMMPPHHHH [crying girl deep snotty inhale]


“I would have done… what…….” [collapses into hysterics]

Now… can I touch on this for a moment? As much as it pains me to analyze the juvenile back-and-forth between these morons, Jillian was being a jerk and I couldn’t believe Chris didn’t try to be a fair mediator.  He hasn’t spoken up during similar past scenarios either.  The dude needs to take some charge here.  Doesn’t he manage livestock for a living?

Off to the rose ceremony.  The rest of the people who haven’t picked up much screen time are going home.  I like this part of the season where we know everyone pretty well.

Jimmy does a pretend ride in the Airport Van of Rejection and mocks the women hilariously.  This part made it all worth it. See you next week, hopefully on time!


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