Lee Ann? More like Le AntiChrist... Run, Bob, Run!!!
Thursday, October 16, 2003
10/16/2003 09:58:00 AM
Apparently for a time there I was in the running for "most popular blog whose blogger never blogs," I had no idea but am left both amused and humbled. This comes courtesy of a yet again redesigned Ward (I liked the last iteration better too) where I’m also called fat and ignorant. If this was my MTV Video Diary this is where I’d say, "You think you know, but you have no idea…" That’s alright, if it makes Ryan feel better to think we have more things in common, I’m cool wit it. Besides, my ire is directed elsewhere today as I’ve got bigger ‘fishes’ to fry----namely at pathetic good-looking single chicks.
Assuming you didn’t spend your evening like Tony (where Britney has been unceremoniously replaced with Cobain) or Hose watching the end of the Cubs’ 2003 implosion, then I’ll bet you were enjoying yet another episode of The Bachelor---because really there was nothing else on, well besides Fraternity and Sorority Life which I chose to RePlay. Can someone tell me why they’re still using the same tired, cheezy theme music instead of Missy Elliot’s "Get Yor Freak On"?
This week Bob had to make 4 cuts, and he and we finally saw some true colors displayed. Of the 10 remaining girls (Antoinette, Brooke, Estella, Jenny, Karin, Kelly Jo, Lee Ann, Mary, Misty and Meredith) it was obvious that Meredith’d be sticking around as Bob couldn’t exactly give her the boot one day after she lost her grandma and decided to stay on the show and miss the funeral. You also had to feel pretty good about Kelly Jo. Though always cute and sometimes obnoxious, she’s from Bob’s home state of Michigan, an advantage none of her competitors has.
Which leaves us with 8, and just enough for Bob to make a couple of mistakes. The entire house hates Lee Ann, except for Karin, and though winning a one-one-one date by default when voted 'Least Compatible’ by her housemates, she’s morphing in to Psycho Girlfriend before our eyes. Is it just me or does she look like a poor man’s Katie Holmes, without the surprisingly righteous rack? Sadly, Bob doesn’t see it that way. Nevermind that she pouted and whined leading up to the rose ceremony ("I could have any guy I want" and "I’m too good for this shit"), um wasn’t this the same girl that told Mrs. Guinney (Bob’s mom) just how shy and introverted she was? Anyway, she effectively gave Bob an ultimatum (one of many I’m sure should she become the future Mrs. Ginney) to either keep her til the end or send her home right now. Since she did in fact get a rose, she’s now overly confident and will be even harder to bear with as she disapprovingly watches Bob continue to share his affections with others.
Long story short, Karin gets the boot by proving too high maintenance at the water park, Antoinette gets the heave-ho after never getting any real quality alone time, and Jenny is just plain robbed. Misty too I suppose since Bob seemed to like her, or at least when his tongue was down her throat he did, but Jenny was a good catch. Misty didn’t really do anything for me.
But here’s my real beef. This is the fifth season of the Bachelor. First there was ambiguously gay Alex, followed by aw-shucks Aaron, then seemingly normal Andrew, and finally Trista-The Bachelorette. Assuming either you apply, or someone else has signed you up for the show, you inevitably know the deal----25 people, competing for one significant other.
Then why praytell is Jenny telling us, "I don’t compete for guys. I’m just Jenny," after her dismissal. What? If you don’t compete for guys, then what the hell are you doing on a reality game show, the premise of which is to compete for a guy?
Misty whines, "It’s a crazy process, you never know what’s gonna happen," um, except when you do. Every week Bob is going to give out some roses, and some one-way tickets home----not that crazy when you really think about it.
I think both Bob and Lee Ann at different times claimed, "I didn’t sign up for this," right. As Camp Jim would say, "Cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it." Seriously, where do they find these people? If you’re going to put your heart on your sleeve and display it weekly to a nationally televised audience, at least have the good sense to know that you’re audience is watching, and continues to watch because they know exactly what you’ve gotten yourself in to and signed up for. It’s crushed dreams, broken hearts, cat fights, and if we’re all lucky more bikini shots, which is why we all tune in each and every Wednesday night.
Next week: Jamie tries not to have a panic attack during his prime time return, Estella’s ‘I’m so cute’ act wears thin, and Bob forgets Brooke even exists, leaving us with the Final Four, and of course two more sets of shattered dreams… Muhahahahaha!!!
Do the Right Thing
Monday, October 13, 2003
10/13/2003 01:40:00 PM
Up for a little role-playing? No, it’s not what you think----besides the CatWoman outfit is still at the dry cleaners, and I’m not sure it’d fit you anyway. I meant how bout I sit at your keyboard for a second for a quick out-of-body experience and unique blog review.
Ready? Let’s begin…
So, maybe 3rd Leg’s supposedly back and maybe he’s not. He’s posted twice in less than a week for the first time in seven freakin’ months. Big deal! Am I supposed to stop watching TRL to refreshen his link, UPS him my panties and throw a parade? Whatever…Besides what has he said in those two posts anyway? Nothin, that’s what. "I’m back, with a picture of Cash and a Wagon," big f-ing deal! The cat I used to read was a smack-talking, reality-TV-lovin’, skirt-chasin’, omniscient, hoops junkie with an ability to rhyme and drop a dime. A dude that was always looking for any excuse to post an R-rated image. And even though I’m not exactly sure what he looks like, I got the feeling he was good looking, no, I mean really good looking… I don’t think you understand-----we’re talking like a straight off the runway badboy that my man doesn’t even want me being in a room he’s been in and previously vacated. But, I digress. Do something already, say anything. Move me, make me not want to go a day without visiting. Leave me texting my friends to say, "Girl, did you read what that fool was sayin’ today? Damn!" I know you back, but I want you BACK. Ya heard? Now, want to know what I’m wearing big boy?…
Um, that played out a little differently than I’d imagined, and I’m not too proud to admit that it left me mildly aroused. But, I had no idea I’d make such an aggressive, insightful, intelligent female.
Of course the real lesson here is that we’re both on the same page. I should have more quickly realized that a kinder, gentler return just isn’t my style, and not what you’ve come looking for anyway. But rather than tell you what you should expect in the near future, let’s just quit messing around, drop the gloves and get right to it.
The Ward and I have had our differences, though in the past it was Greg and I that had the biggest falling out. Since that time we reconciled, and it appears as though he’s taken a sabbatical as well. Which leaves us with Ryan. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate on the Ward, even though one of those fools was supposed to design a banner for me, but bygones. The Ward remains one of like five individually operated blogs I read with some frequency, and it’s true, I dig the new design.
Wait for it…. BUT… you can not be a red-blooded, college-attendin’, unincarcerated, unmarried, non-virgin and recount a story in which you repeatedly passed up booty from attractive members of the opposite sex and think you’re gonna get anything that resembles peace, love and understanding from me. You need to be smacked, and if the line hasn’t begun to form, I’ll start warming up my hands Mr. Miyagi-style. Are you out of your freakin’ mind? SMACK. Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you boy! SMACK, SMACK!!! Don’t tear up on me either, or I’ll really give you something to cry about, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!!!
It’s like this dogg. Whether you’re in a relationship or not, there will be times in your life when special opportunities will arise. These opportunities are called Lasting Impressions you’ll cherish and regret if you pass up on ForEver, or the abbreviated name that the rest of us know it as---LIFE. You may not have been looking for these once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, and you assuredly won’t be prepared for them, but that’s not an excuse to run blindly towards the high and mighty road of self-control. Self-control don’t pay the bills. Self-control has no lap to sit his grandbabies on to tell them stories of his wild and crazy youth. Self-control’s role until you either hit your thirties or are engaged/married is to make sure you get your hands on a condom before exchanging bodily fluids, and then self-control takes a walk. And don’t give me any crap about how young and naieve these girls were. Freshmen need love too! I wouldn’t be as upset, except for the fact I get the feeling you’re proud of yourself and think you walked away doing the right thing. A right thing you did because you’re a nice guy.
Here’s where I’m afraid you and I will never agree, at least not without your possession of a crystal ball to know that this strange language I’m speaking is called da truth. Even though we’ve never met personally, I know you. I know you think you’re in love, and have already met the person you’ll grow old with. You have to know that the odds are against you. They’re even less in your favor with each time you disrespect L.I.F.E. Eventually, you’ll see that I was right, but until that day, at least stop going out and even introducing yourself to situations that involve alcohol and mildly attractive females with a penchant for flashing. It hurts too much. If every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings, then everytime you hide behind Self-Control, 3rd Leg loses a piece of his soul. Do you want that on your hands? Are you trying to hurt me?
Just understand I’m calling you and your situation out directly, and not taking any of it out of context. If you were a day removed from walking down the aisle, or were talking about Self-Control preventing you from a drunk-driving accident, then you’d be in the right, and I’d be the first guy to say, "Attaboy!" Until that day, Nice should remain only in your mind as a nice little place in Italy, not an intended state of perceived being.
That’s not the case here, and after you’ve had a little time to think about what you’ve done, I’ll be right here and ready to accept your apology on behalf of every loyal red-blooded, not-so-nice, unincarcerated, non-virgin reader of this site.
With that, I’d say I’m pretty much BACK…
10/13/2003 09:44:00 AM
We don’t need Quentin Tarantino to remind us how incredibly well Uma Thurman is aging. We don’t need him to throw an eye patch on Darryl Hannah attempting to hide us from the fact that the former mermaid is not faring nearly as well. The fast-talking, hard-drinking, former video store clerk obviously sold his soul in order to nail Mira Sorvino, make two outstanding movies (Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction) and a few alright ones (seen Four Rooms?), and now he’s had nearly six years to write, refine, cast and direct his latest epic. I’d like to think that any of us could do something great if we had the financial backing of a major studio and a deadline just over 2,190 days away.
In fact, I’m going to do just that, short of the studio financing. 2,190 days from now, I’m going to unveil something the likes of which have never been seen---just know that it will be most excellent, and it will only be presented in two parts….just like Kill Bill. I’m not exactly sure if it’s a screenplay, novel, invention, process, sexual position, water toy, or new and improved soft drink----just know that it’s big and it’s in the works and will be on your door step, in your mailbox, bedroom or at a theatre near you sometime around Fall 2009. Keep your debit card handy, because while it won’t come cheap, you’re not going to want to be the only kid on your block without one. Trust me. And then I’ll buy a kick ass car and live happily ever after. Until I get bored, try to cash in on my fame by producing three inferior products before taking a much deserved six-year vacation.