You know the drill. The ladies make asses of themselves (I’m looking at you, Courtney and Erika. Well, mainly Courtney because I can’t figure out how to look at Erika. It’s like having a staring contest with a squirrel) while Ben convinces himself that the pickins really aren’t that slim. Meanwhile, we sit back on our couches and thank god they were all willing to do this on national television.
7:21 p.m. And the countdown is on …
8:02 p.m. And 60 seconds in Courtney quotes one of the great literary minds of our generation: Charlie Sheen.
8:07 p.m. I’m just going to say what everybody is thinking: BOOBS!
8:13 p.m. Kacie, look, I like you and I think you’re probably the best girlfriend material but you are coming off like a possessive weirdo with a guy that in all likelihood has no idea how to spell your name.
8:15 p.m. As my buddy Reid points out, Ben loves “these down to earth dates.” You know, the kind where you go to a remote lake in a helicopter. Yeah. Right there with ya, Ben.
8:22 p.m. Loosen up, Rachel. You’re simply on a first date with Rafael Nadal while the women you’re living with all are trying to poison you.
8:23 p.m. Another thing Ben might notice on his group date with Courtney: That she’s the first “model” to ever sport a unibrow.
8:24 p.m. Random thought: You know, just once, I’d love it if the date card didn’t have some sort of vague double entendre and said, “Can’t wait to go skydiving, drink three bottles of wine, and then bang you in the fantasy suite. –Ben.”
8:32 p.m. Ben always says, “I’ve got a great date planned,” like he spent the earlier part of the day on the phone and the internet setting everything up.
8:38 p.m. “He’s a beauty.” Yep. Best looking 8 oz. bream I’ve ever seen.
8:39 p.m. COURTNEY: “I’m gonna name this fish ‘All The Other Girls Are Whores’.”
BEN: “That’s a great na… Wait. What?”
8:45 p.m. Have you ever noticed that people who say they “live life to the fullest” are typically dental hygienists? No? Yeah, me neither.
8:49 p.m. Wait. Who’s the dude in the hat?
8:56 p.m. Jennifer should totally pick something by Color Me Badd. They have the most romantic songs.
9:01 p.m. Apparently my son doesn’t realize the importance of “The Bachelor” because he won’t stop coughing. I hate to do this to all you loyal blog followers but I’m going to have to stop. For five minutes so I can put him out in the back yard.
9:07 p.m.Whew. Much better. OK let’s do this.
9:08 p.m. So I think the real question here is which guy will Courtney have sex with/kill first on “Bachelor Pad, Season 3″?
9:11 p.m. I thought Ben was afraid of heights. Or is that just in California?
9:13 p.m. One string? Are you sure Jennifer? Because to me it looked like three. And two cables the size of telephone poles.
9:21 p.m. Wait, so Blakely’s a stripper AND a hairdresser? So confused …
9:26 p.m. STAT OF THE DAY: “The Biggest Loser” has produced more successful marriages than “The Bachelor.”
9:37 p.m. Serious question: How many penises do you think Courtney has cut off in her lifetime?
9:39 p.m. Sorry. Penii.
9:47 p.m. Normally I’d be in favor of some good old fashioned Grecco Roman wrestling when two bachelorettes disagree but for some reason I’m afraid this time it might end in homicide. Or at the very least dismemberment. Courtney scares me.
9:53 p.m. CHRIS: “Ladies. There are roses on a plate. If you get one, that’s a good thing. If you don’t, that’s bad. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go stand just off camera until one is left to remind you that there is only one rose left. Good luck. Smiles at camera.”
DIRECTOR: (Off camera) “CUT! Goddamn it, Harrison! How hard is this?!”
9:57 p.m. Wow. Emily. Is. Lucky. If Ben hadn’t given her a rose I’m 100% sure Courtney would have blown her limo up.
9:58 p.m. And so concludes another two hours of my life wasted. And it was totally awesome. Let’s do it again next week. Until then, say your goodbyes and get the hell out of here.
9:59 p.m. BONUS POST: Wait. Is Ben a drug dealer now?
Tonight we check back in with Ben and The House of Crazy. The anticipation for episode No. 3 is killing me. So let’s get right to it …
8:00 p.m. Run Ben. RUN!
8:01 p.m. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that I love San Francisco seeing as I’m live blogging about “The Bachelor.”
8:05 p.m. Chris Harrison is apparently wearing his dad’s jacket.
8:07 p.m. Courtney is so nice. Wait. No. Stupid autocorrect. I meant to say such a bitch.
8:11 p.m. Every single “Bachelor” they have a woman do something they’re terrified of. You’d think they’d eventually wise up and when asked their biggest fears during the screening say, “Having sex with the Bachelor” or “Eating sushi and having a massage.”
8:19 p.m. Quick Bachelor-speak translation: “explore” = “touch her boobs.”
8:22 p.m. So … she didn’t really clarify how the relationship with her brother turned out.
8:23 p.m. Casey S. is flying under the radar. Just sayin’.
8:25 p.m. I wish for once the Bachelor would be like, “Let’s just see how the sex goes before we go crazy and start handing out roses.”
8:26 p.m. Random bachelorette overheard during firework sequence: “I’m so sad right now …”
8:31 p.m. It’s gonna be real awkward in this household when the mystery woman who shows up is my mom.
8:32 p.m. I can tell you, from personal experience, that snow skiing with your girlfriend is right up there with having a root canal. Good luck, Ben. Gonna be a blast.
8:33 p.m. Nobody dressed like that on our ski trip.
8:35 p.m. I’m pretty sure Lindzi spells her name with one too many z’s. Also: That she’s a dude.
8:36 p.m. If I gave my wife a necklace like that she’s laugh in my face.
8:37 p.m. My wife is so pissed that our CR-V doesn’t look like that. I, on the other hand, am pissed that my favorite show is being cheapened by product placement.
8:42 p.m. He was totally going for a hug and she turned it into a kiss.
8:46 p.m. Grandma is gonna be PISSED.
8:47 p.m. I like Blakely’s understated earrings.
8:48 p.m. HA! She didn’t like the necklace either.
8:56 p.m. LindZZZZZZZEEEEE better get her/his tuck on for a night of dancing on the steps of some building with lots of stairs. (Thanks previews.)
9:00 p.m. I always love the awkwardness when these kinda-relevant artists have to play for an audience of two who are more concerned with feeling each other up than listening to their music.
9:01 p.m. I’m totally applying for the next Bachelor. I feel fairly confident he’ll be giving me the final rose.
9:02 p.m. LindZZZEEEEE should totally try wearing eyeliner. Wait …
9:05 p.m. Bachelor-speak translation No. 2: “I’d like to get to know her on a deeper level” means “Just the tip won’t be enough with this highfalutin’ lady.”
9:07 p.m. Give it to Ben, he has apparently learned one song on the piano, “Here to last” by David Gray and it makes him look like a pimp. Guaranteed the guy can’t find middle C on a keyboard. (This is the equivalent of the guy who wears non-prescription glasses to look smarter or deeper. Also known as “me.”)
9:18 p.m. Please be Chantal. Please be Chantal … CRAP! Wrong Chantal. Damn it!!!
9:30 p.m. This is spectacular.
9:32 p.m. The only real question now is what kind of squirrel is Erika.
9:35 p.m. I love that the girls are all pissed about Chantal coming on the show like there is some sort of stringent screening process.
9:44 p.m. “What’s her butt.”
9:47 p.m. “Ladies, Ben, in case you’re fucking blind, this is the final rose tonight.”
9:48 p.m. If this whole “Bachelor” thing doesn’t work out for Ben I think he can always be an EMT. “Can we, uh, like, get some water in here?”
I found this gem on our living room console table, evidence of my wife’s neverending paranoid search for what’s the most likely thing to kill us in our house. What I love the most about this circa-1991 piece of creative wizardry is the seamless melding of a Foot Locker employee, a woman wearing a wooden hat, a Christmas tree, a sea of radioactive glop and a ball-fetching cow all while using the oft-underutilized pink and green palette.
Well played Living Lead Free Council. Well played.
So my latest amazing idea, which raises money for a worthwhile charity*, is to allow people to pay $350 for a day of my services. Simply write a check (in US dollars or Japanese yen equivalent) that clears and you’ll earn 8 hours of my time for the requested day, provided I’m not at Citadel Mall signing autographs. Want me to work a week at Waffle House? Call Wanda to set it up, hand me $1,750, and in no time you’ll be ordering as many scattered, smothered, and covered hashbrowns with a side of Belgian waffles as your immune system can handle before sumitting to diabetes. Prefer to see my cut your grass and clean your gutters? That can be arranged too. The only restriction to this whole pick a job for a day thing is it can’t endanger my life (and if it’s something like having me paint your house, obviously you get what you pay for). Now, in order for this to really work I think I need to get sponsors for large chunks of time (because one of the biggest monkey wrenches in this entire idea is that I have this pesky respectable job that tends to get in the way).
So the ball’s in your court, oh masochistic readers. Find somebody with money to burn and the desire to want to play real-life Sims, and shoot me an e-mail. Obviously I will request 2-3 weeks paid leave, and, if the job involves you asking me to walk up and down Spruill Avenue at ANY time of day, a full police escort.
Every now and then I watch my 50" HDTV with the DirecTV guide on so I can relate to poor people.about 1 week agofrom web
Watching this Portland-Atlanta game makes me long for the NBA lockout.about 1 week agofrom web
Somebody just told me the redhead and the goatee guy on "Suburbia" are father and daughter ... who apparently enjoy eye-effing each other.about 1 week agofrom web
If your idea of a good time is sending e-mail to a complete stranger, then by all means knock yourself out. Bryce can be reached at bryce@brycedonovan.com.
