So I got sucked into watching this season's Bachelor premiere episode, and I have to say that the newest guy, British import Matt Grant, is really easy on the eyes. I'm not a big English gentleman fan, and the accent doesn't do it for me. British men have always struck me as a bit foppish and pasty, and that goes double for Colin Firth. Sorry, girls! But this guy, with his manners and height (6 feet, 5 inches), puts William and Harry Windsor to shame. And that's saying a lot, because they bleed royal blue and have Diana's genes.
Anyway, the girls, as always, leave much to be desired. In the first place, what kind of self-respecting woman living in 2008, past the third wave of feminism, has to go on a national television show to find her husband? Not the kind of woman I want to befriend, but I'm still more than happy to talk about her.
First, the producers of the show must secretly pay some of the girls to act goofy and stupid, a la Stacey, who proceeded to drink herself into a stupor, only after stuffing her panties in Matt's pocket. She's supposed to be a "graduate student," but I went to grad. school, and honey, let me tell you, nobody looked like that! I know, because I was the one wearing the most makeup, and a bra.
And then there's the weird red-headed girl who plays the clarinet, because nothing says sexy like sucking on a reed. She reminds me of this family of girls that went to my childhood church, who wore homemade clothes and gave themselves perms on the weekends, right after they puffy-painted sweatshirts and pencil holders. They were my metric of weirdness, or "backwards" as my mom called them, and my sisters and I would reference them when trying on new outfits or hairstyles. "Does this make me look like a G---?" we'd ask each other. Clarinet girl is definitely a G---.
Speaking of church, I couldn't help but notice that one woman is a youth pastor and one, who fancies a bite of aluminum every now and then, is in church marketing, whatever that means. Ladies, I know people say Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, but she was probably just possessed by a little old spirit or two. What is your excuse?
While we're on the topic of whores, what is with all the blush? It looks like some of the women got punched in the face (maybe they did), with all the bronzer abounding. Less is more, ladies, especially when paired with really bad extensions and dresses straight from the set of Dancing With the Stars. I never saw so much glitter in all my life, and I live in Texas!
And what's with the lawyer wearing the garden party dress? Did she not get the memo that it was a cocktail party? She looked like she was on her way to church, right after she gave Matt a hug with her spindly little arms. I am so sick of seeing jagged collarbones, and someone is going to put an eye out with those things one of these days. The hiccup girl who got the first impression rose was also way too skinny, in that Skeletor-meets-Terri Hatcher-or-Courtney Cox kind of way. Gross!
This wouldn't be my blog without a snide political comment, so let's dissect the former Bush aide. She explained to Matt that Karl Rove, her boss, was "Bush's brain," right after saying that England was really political and that she loves, loves, loves George Bushy. Girl, let me nip this in the bud right now (even if you didn't get picked). First, England hates our prez, and second, "Bush's brain" is not a compliment in any sense of the phrase. Needless to say, Miss Former Bush Aide went home empty-handed.
I thought the event planner (notice how I forget their names) was truly beautiful, but her personality wasn't great and she tried to pick a fight with Stacey. My favorite was the girl with two sisters who described herself as shy and introverted. She seemed to have some class, which isn't saying much in a room filled with trash, but at least she didn't say nasty things to the camera. Girls, you know Matt is watching, so at least pretend to like each other.
And for next week, it only gets worse, as the token African-American girl picks a fight with everyone else in the house. Heads will roll, of that I am sure.
And I, for one, will be watching.