Archive for February, 2011

My Addiction

Posted in TV on February 21, 2011 by penelopegeorge

I have a confession to make. I have an addiction. Not only do I have an addiction, but I have become the ultimate low-life; a pusher. I have gotten my husband addicted, too.

What is my drug of choice? It is “The Bachelor” on ABC.

Now I should point out that before this season, we never watched this show. This means I completely missed Brad’s last run, when he left not one, but two women at the end. Going into this season, I felt like I needed Cliff’s Notes on Brad.

Like all addicts, I didn’t plan on getting hooked. Really, I didn’t even plan on watching it. I stumbled upon the season’s premier whilst surfing the channel guide, desperate for something to record and watch after the kids were in bed. Nothing, and I mean nothing, on any of our fav channels, all of which are cable. And then I thought, “Hmmm…ya know, we never watch the network channels anymore. Wonder if they have anything good on”.

I am going to digress here, to whine and complain about the cable channels. See, hubby and I watch a bunch of those other reality shows, the ones that made us a little bit smarter in subjects we have no use for. If there’s an auction, ghost, conspiracy, or weird monsters…we were so there. Unfortunately, we only get these channels through Canadian cable stations, which purchase the episodes from their US counterparts. I know there are way more episodes than what we see, because right now we are in repeat hell. Not only are the same dozen or so shows cycled through, each one played a minimum of fifteen times throughout the week. One day hubby and I together were able to name all six “Conspiracy Theory” episodes and most of “Destination Truth” before we got bored.

And now, back to “The Bachelor”. I’m hooked. I can’t wait for the next episode. This is so not like me. Usually I don’t give a damn about anyone’s love life, including my own all too often. And it’s not like I know anyone on the show. The closest I come to personal investment is the bachelorette who looks a lot like a woman I know (Ashley Hebert will forever be known in this house as “the Mary Polly look-alike”). But I care about Brad. I care about the ladies. I have opinions on everyone, even though I KNOW it is all based on what the producer and director actually want us to think.

So we’ve been recording the show, every Monday night. I even double-check at least twice during the week to make sure it’s set to record, and I run down at 8:00 just in case the PVR has been shut off (thank-you, daughter). Yes, I’ve got it bad.

Still, I got to thinking about this formula for finding love. Take one very hot guy and twenty or so very hot women. Hot Women live together in a mansion, but in dorm-like conditions and ready to pack up and leave at any time. Hot Guy lives in another location. He doesn’t get to see who wakes up grumpy, who drinks too much coffee, or who leaves toothpaste in the sink for someone else to clean. These may seem minor, but if you have to live with this for the next thirty years? You can see my point.

So, Hot Guy can’t even see these women except for the dates. And let’s not make these dates just dinner-and-a-movie. No, that would be too ordinary. Let’s fly the group around the world so they can rappel down waterfalls. Or take them to Vegas so one of them can blow through $50,000 of someone else’s money (really not clear on whether that shopping spree came out of Brad’s pocket or the producer’s) and the rest can seethe in jealousy.

Next, every week Hot Guy has to eliminate Hot Women. He must base this decision mostly on how these women connected to him on their dates or, for the majority of the time, the little snatches of privacy they can steal with him. What a lot of pressure on these women! One random moment of insecurity or PMS, and they could be sent packing.

So, let’s see this formula for Perfect Mate: 1 Hot Guy + many, many Hot Women + isolation from support (let’s face it – in the real world, all the mothers and girlfriends of Hot Women would be telling them to dump his ass) + Cinderella dates + intense competition = HEA.

(That’s Happily Ever After, for those unfamiliar with romance novel lingo.)

If this really works, they should patent the process and sell spots on the Internet.