El Bache-LOR

A couple years ago, Dustin joined a Bachelor pool at work. That sounds wild, but let me clarify- he wasn't part of some Bradley Cooper, secret society of male debauchery. It was about THE Bachelor. The terrible "reality" show I force him to watch season after season. A few people talked at the beginning of the season, threw in $5 each, and submitted a bracket of predictions about the order in which that season's Chosen One would send home his harem- I mean- pool of potential wives. 

I, of course couldn't be left out of the fun, so I joined as well, and even after a terrible showing (not noteworthy enough to be actually last, but probably close) was hooked. When the next season rolled around and it didn't look like there was going to be an office league, we took matters into our own hands, and organized a competition...after all, the show must go on. Even (especially?) when that show is a petty small time gambling ring based on judging strangers on television. But let's face it- I was guaranteed to watch each season no matter what, at least this way I could rope some others into my addiction to trash TV and maybe even make a little cash. Because in the immortal words of my Grandfather, "Anything worth doing, is worth doing for money." (A sentiment that Bachelor contestants may have gotten confused with, "Anything worth doing, is worth doing half drunk and in front of millions waiting to mock you.")

And because we Bowdens know no other way, a quick $5 pick 'me has turned into quite the ordeal. We're now in our  3rd season managing this Tom (Dick and Harry) foolery, with no sign of slowing down. This season's bracket has over thirty participants- coworkers, family, friends of friends,...Turns out no one can resist the siren song of Made on TV love. Or the chance to win a quick $100 or so just by spotting levels of crazy in the eyes of 25 ladies' online headshots. 

But the real draw of this for us isn't in the money or the bragging rights (though Dustin is pretty impressive at the predictions- he's usually good for a second place finish) it's in the process. You see, this entire competition is a combo of social fun and extreme dorkiness- which is to say- right in our collective wheelhouse. Dustin gets to flex his Excel muscles, making an epic spreadsheet fill of dropdowns and automatic calculations. And I get to project my sarcastic ramblings to a group of like minded viewers with weekly recaps. Plus we host a viewing party each week to allow us to mock the entire thing in real time. I'm a firm believer that emotional train wrecks are meant to be enjoyed in the company of good friends.  

So I thought it would be fun to share this week's update here. I won't promise (or threaten?) I'll post these every week (no sense in bringing something heavy like "commitment" into the world of The Bachelor) but I thought it would be fun to share the snark occasionally. 

So are you watching? Do you love you some Juan Pabby? Do you hate Sharleen? Are you utterly positive that JP is going to end up marrying some backup correspondent from Entertainment Tonight versus one of these girls, rendering all of this drama moo? (It's like a cow's point. It's moo.) Good. We can be friends. (Best friends if you caught that Friends reference). 

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Grown Sexy. 

Can we just…marinate on that for a minute? (ew.)

ABC produced two hours of television last Sunday night, of which at least 52 minutes was discussion of this made up concept, between two "virgins" (I know, I know they're waiting until their wedding night to be together.  But where these two hooligans have been in the past was left intentionally fuzzy). Sean needed some help defining what exactly this (invented) term meant, and Catherine did her best to cobble together enough adjectives to stop his questioning. I, for one, wonder less what "Grown Sexy" refers to, and am more worried about the need for the "grown" qualification at all. What other type of Sexy is Catherine concerned might break out at her nuptials? Immature Sexy? Wee, Baby Sexy? #grosssexy

But as much as I make fun of this stuff, (which is so, so much), these Bachelor producers still know how to play my heart like a fiddle...somehow by the time they got to the vows, I had genuine, non-ironic tears in my eyes. And that's what keeps me coming back for more. The thought that somehow, 14 (or whatever) weeks of bikini-clad, wine-soaked, motive-questioning, vocabulary- stunted frivolity, will eventually miraculously transform into sweet, deep, real, elephant riding off into the Thai sunset love. Grown sexy love. Sponsored by Neil Lane. 

xoxo, 

Court

P.s. Oh yeah. There was also an episode this week with Juan Pablo. Though not the best, right? Maybe it turns out there is such a thing as too much fake rave dancing as a means of finding a wife? This show is constantly teaching me new things. 

But on the bright side, it did give us a whole 'nother host of Sexys to experience. Notably: 

Asian Foot Fish Sexy. 

Jealous (sososo jealous) Sexy. 

Faulty Role Model Logic Sexy. 

Seoul Spice Girls Sexy. 

I Just Threw Up in My Mouth but Will Still Totally Make Out With You Sexy. 

Awkward Opera Sexy. 

My Full Time Job is Dog Lover but My Part Time Job is Being a Sleepy-Eyed Catty B*, Sexy. 

I Don't Even Have a Kimono Sexy. 

And my personal favorite: 
Lying About Wanting Kids In Order To Get a Rose Sexy

Stay Classy, Bachelor Fans. See you in Vietnam.