The tragic results of peroxide poisoning

Time for my biannual blog post!

This time, I'd like to discuss a topic I know is near and dear to many of your hearts- television's most popular show about true love, "The Bachelor." Known for providing an opportunity for soul mates to connect with one another, this television mainstay has become a part of America's collective romantic being. "The Bachelor" is where men- good, strong men with big muscles, little body hair, and a penchant for nicknames (Matt! Andy! Charlie!)- can meet their all-American lady-friend-for-life. The bachelor is given a beautiful home, an unlimited budget to wine and dine their lady of the hour, and, if you are this season's bachelor, the talent from God to wave with both hands and wink at the same time (oh, Jake. Swoon.).

The catch?

The women vying for the man's love are certifiable batshit loons.

There are two types of crazy broads on this show: the women who sob uncontrollably to the camera after getting kicked off on Week 2, or the women who stick around until the bitter end, convinced that over the course of 12 weeks of taping a show, with television cameras following them, no connection to the outside world, and copious amounts of liquor, that they have found the love of their life? I must confess that I am partial to the former type of crazies. As her mascara outlines the Nile-sized rivers of tears flowing from each eye, she wails to the camera about missing out on the chance to meet her husband. She knows in heart of hearts that they are meant to be together. Unfortunately, he cannot see the magic. All he sees are the big boobs of the girl who is more likely to put out, and thus, earned a rose to stay on the show. There goes my husband, she wails between sobs. Maybe next season, Sad Crazy Girl.

The second kind of nutcase, the one who sticks around and accepts an engagement ring and pledge of eternal love from this charming suitor, is not nearly as much fun to observe. However, I give credit where credit is due, and props to the lady from Planet Romantic Delusions for making some good tv, too.

I get it. Love is hard. Finding love is hard. Anyone who has ever dated knows what a clusterfucky meatmarket it is out there. And, after many bad dating experiences, assuming television can only increase your chances to find love is not a hard mental bridge to cross. It can't get much worse than it already is, right? Wrong! It can get worse! Let's say you manage to beat the odds and end up on the show. My guess is that you are not going to make it until the end (just a hunch). And then what? You are forever immortalized in the annals of reality tv as the person some other person chose NOT to love. That cannot and will not leave you feeling okay about your life. You will end up in the back of a limo on your way to being unceremoniously dumped at the airport, booger-ing all over yourself and wailing about lost love.

But, I guess if you are a certain kind of crazy (see above), it all makes sense.