Instead of actually working at work, I chose a slightly better use of my time: creating a blog for my thoughts about The Bachelor (“TB”). Now, some of you may be thinking, “Why are you watching TB when you’re so manly and rugged and not gay?” Trust me, I get that a lot. I am manly and rugged and not gay. Those where my thoughts too when I was roped into watching the first episode approximately halfway into this season. Let me give you the rundown.
Myself and my roommates (there are 5 of us total) and one friend in particular (who will be known in this space by his alias “Birdman”) were watching a basketball game on a Monday night. We have two TVs in our apartment, and one of them was on ABC, on mute. As we were focused on the game, TB came on. I proposed that we change the channel, because TB is dumb and for girls. Birdman implored us to watch, saying that this season was “actually pretty good.”
Whatever. Leave it on. Some (most) of the girls are babes.
In my first ever TB experience, which
I guess obviously led to me writing a blog about it, there was no sound. Unnecessary. We made up our own dialogue. As you can imagine, since we are a bunch of gross frat guys, most of the dialogue focused on penises. All fun and games until someone starts crying, which in the case of TB, was almost immediate.
What this girl was crying about, none of us really knew. I assumed they were all PMS-ing at the same time, because I think women do that when they live together? Maybe? I don’t even really remember the girl’s name who was crying, but I think it was the “VIP cocktail waitress” from Charlotte. This sucks because I’m from Charlotte, and there’s nothing that makes my hometown look worse on national TV than a “VIP cocktail waitress” crying hysterically about some minor inconvenience. Maybe the Charlotte Bobcats.
I actually remember now, she was crying because she was being an absolute bitch to everyone, and the other girls were mad at her about it. I think some of the other girls may have cried too. Delightful.
This reminded me a lot of this one time when I was in elementary school and I turned the lights off in the boys bathroom while everyone was in there. Some kids cried. I got in trouble. Then I cried. Seemed like a good plan, because I figured if I was crying I would be safe from the wrath of Mrs. Lathrop. Unfortunately, that is the flawed logic of an 8-year old, and you can be sure that I DID NOT get my check mark for the day.
I figured she was using the same strategy, and I guess this is the kind of foresight and life planning that lands you as a “VIP Cocktail Waitress” as a 30+ year old woman. Does that mean stripper? Escort? I bet she just made that title up for her TB application.
Or she’s a stripper.
This, loyal reader(s?) is why I’m going to watch this show. This catty bitch deserves to get laughed at by all of America, and cotdangdernit I’m an American!