The Bachelor, Week 2: Sun’s Out, Boob’s Out

Instead of a timely recap of The Bachelor, I thought it would be more beneficial to “refresh your memory” as we’re now less than 24 hours from Episode 3. Also I found Episode 2 a little ho-hum.

Emphasis on the ho! Heya!

No really, with the exception of the Slutty Little Train that Could and Would and Does Every Freakin’ Chance She Gets it really was kind of blah. Thank God producers we have one very big, shiny, precious exception: Platinum Vagine (henceforth known as PV.) Every rose has it’s horny thorn and this girl is the biggest prick. Because of that, let’s just focus on her boobs antics this week, okay?

One of the best things about The Bachelor is how well it captures real life. You got a group of girls–now roommates–each suffering from their own fresh breed of daddy/abandonment/low self-esteem issues, hanging out in their PJ’s, tousled hair extensions and the morning sun rising behind them. As they sip champagne, they discuss their STRONG FEELINGS for the guy they met face-to-face nine hours ago.

But, Shelly, you say. Don’t be such a cynic! You’re all bitter because you have a day job and you wasted all that time getting to know your husband before getting hitched. Also, you’re OLD!

But they don’t even know this guy! Well, except for the HPV-Walking persona he crafted on television. He’s gross! Even other drunk, gross guys don’t like him!

Aw, come on, Shelly! Watching someone court and subsequently get dumped by THREE Bachelorettes on TV totally counts! Besides, haven’t you heard the old adage about “a person who is nice to you but rude to the girls who dumped him at the altar isn’t really a nice person”? Or something?

Oh fine. Ever hear the old adage that says, “no matter how shitty a person you are, there will still be at least 30 people who want to date you?”

But back to PV.

Sister hives. Ick.
Sister wives, sister hives. Ick. Amirite? Image courtesy of Instagram

She, along with a bevy of other women, were invited on the first group date of the season. 

Always a bridesmaid” the card Chris Harrison dropped off said.

“I’ve never been a bridesmaid,” PV said.

No shit? Could it be because most bridesmaids are friends of the bride and most brides don’t want to give their guests gonorrhea as a party favor.

The photoshoot, helmed by Tom Sellback’s super flamboyant, starving, sun damaged estranged brother, was a big blur of bare midriffs and booty shorts, but thankfully no sharks masquerading as dolphins. Nick fully believed one of those bags of saline would become the fourth woman to reject him on national television. PV was convinced it would be her because she was first to kiss Nick and the first name on the date card so clearly she’s number one.

“It’s better than being number 2,” she said. “Or going number 2.”

Umm, no it’s not. Maybe try adding some fiber to your next fuzzy navel, ‘k?

The photoshoot required girls to dress as various brides: 80’s, shotgun, beachy, traditional, dumb ho who met her husband on a reality TV show. PV gets the “slutty slutty bimbo” theme requiring a skimpy white bikini, but immedately gets pissed when she sees the “Adam and Eve” bride. The only thing covering that bitch’s upper half was some jenky hair extensions and Jergen’s Natural Glow lotion. Come on! Clearly “topless bride” was PV’s jam. 

Oh man, I hope this glue is dry. Image courtesy of Refinery29
Oh man, I hope this glue is dry. Image courtesy of Refinery29

Each girl took the “opp” in “photo opp” and used their session to ram their tongues down Nick’s throat. The others looked on and giggled, totally forgetting they were also dating this ass-clown. Well, all of them except for our little minx, PV who was uterly grossed out. Fortunately she does her best scheming when repulsed.

Everyone knows wearing a wet, white bikini sized for a baby guinea pig is too modest, not-to-mention inappropriate for snatching a husband out from 44 desperate, well-manicured, claws. Therefore, PV jumped in the pool, ripped off her top, and smeared her dumb, wet boobs all over Nick’s manscaped chest. He was all, “Whoa, wow, what is happening? Too fast, too fast, girl! Just kidding. Let’s get a room!” and she was all like, “Grab my dirty pillows and strike a groom-like pose!”

Afterwards, PV marveled at their connection and never once assumed their “sexual chemistry” had anything to do with waving her naked, man-made tatas in a straight man’s face. She was super proud of herself for being “daring” enough to take off her clothes unlike those silly puritans who only claim they want a husband. WHY ARE THEY MAKING AMERICA WAIT TO SEE THEM TOPLESS? What are their dads going to talk about at the office tomorrow? This is why they’re all single.

In her confessional, PV gushed over the awesomeness of the afternoon!

“NIck held my boobs today! HELD MY BOOBS!”

Cover my boobs with your hands! My dad's golf buddies are watching for goodness sake!
Cover my boobs with your hands! GRAB THEM! Don’t embarrass me in front of my dad’s golf buddies! Image courtesy of Elite Daily

Later, on a rooftop overlooking LA, the other girls sipped white wine while Nick had more private time with PV’s boobs. He told her she’s sexy and he loved her initiative. She BEAMED! BEAMED I tell you! She showed her appreciation by riding him like a commuter train in rush hour and eating his face.

PV returned to the other girls merely to rub in how fantastic her and Nick are getting on and how brave and bold and beautiful she was for going topless today. In her absence, Nick fills the time with gothy God-lover Raven who expressed concern. She gave up playing Gothy Mary for her church’s live nativity scene to meet a husband on on a game show and wants to know if Nick really has potential.

“Look,” she said. “I like you and I’m not calling you an asshole, but I am attracted to assholes because they just speak their minds and they’re open and I really like you.”

See, PV? This girl is eating enough fiber because clearly she understands assholes.

Sharky McDolphinhead tried to get some one-on-one time with Nick, but PV wasn’t playing.

“Go find a nice tuna net to curl up in, would you?” she said, taking ANOTHER turn with Nick.

Ooooh, girls don’t like girls who interrupt private time so they can get ANOTHER ROUND of private time!

When PV returned from her co-opted second make-out session she feigned concern because her nipple might have been “out.” Oh dear. Not the same nipple that was just floating in the pool along with your other nipple, two areolas, and two fake boobies BECAUSE YOU RIPPED OFF YOUR BIKINI TOP LIKE IT WAS COVERED IN FLAMING ZOMBIE FIRE ANTS. The horror!

No one responded, which immediately raised PV’s incredibly empathetic and intuitive hackles. 

“If you can’t handle being interrupted, then why did you come here?”


I mean, duh? Image courtesy of MonsterGif

Image courtesy of MonsterGIF

But was she done? Oh hell no! You don’t walk around with a platinum vagine and not feel obligated to shove that shit in some two-bit bachelor’s face. Once again she interrupted someone else’s one-on-one time and sent a sad, willess, dummy with manners back to the open bar. Boobs or no boobs, this girl was annoying as streaky self-tanner! No eff’ing way can Nick think this is cool, right? I mean, this is her third interruption! Even if he has no standards, thinks initiative = ripping off your top, and is a total asshat NO WAY IS HE INTO HER!

But the third interrupted casualty wouldn’t go down so easily. She returned to finish her conversation and sent PV straight into a tizzy. You DO NOT interrupt an interrupter! Re-interrupting is RUDE!

After yelling about and at the re-interrupter, PV made sure there were no hard feelings.

PV: “You’re okay right? No hard feelings?

Girl She Interrupted 2x: “Yeah.”

PV: “You’re fine?

Girl She Interrupted 2x: “Yes. Fine.”

PV: Are you sure you’re fine? Because I’m not getting a sense that you’re fine.

Girl She Interrupted 2x: “I AM FINE.”

PV: “Oh really? You’re fine? Really, bitch? You wanna see fine? LOOK AT MY BOOBS! NICK’S HANDPRINTS ARE STILL ON THEM! I’LL NEVER WASH THEM AGAIN!

And because I’m a total expert on this show and fluent in reading douchebaggery, Nick gave PV the damn date rose ensuring her safety for the week. Really, Nick?! I DON’T KNOW YOU AT ALL AND I HATE YOU MORE THAN EVER!

Other non-PV related shit that happened:

  • A helicopter date, a dead finance story, more contrived sympathy leading to the doling out of a one-on-one date rose.
  • Second group date gave girls the opportunity to break up with Nick as part of an interactive exhibit. Nick suffered PTSD.
  • Jaimi once dated a girl.
  • Nick and the chick he hooked up with at a wedding had it out. He wasn’t convinced her motives were pure and she had a hard time coming up with a reason for being there other than, “I like wearing bathing suits on national TV!” He asked why she didn’t just get his number from their mutual friend to which she replied, “I don’t like phone conversations and auditioning, getting cast, quitting my job, and leaving everything behind was so much easier.” Totally realistic story aside, Nick believed she was just a fame whore and asked her to leave and please never wear those booty skorts again. Skorts, dammit!
  • Nick had to explain to the other girls why there would be one less box of tampons under the sink at Bachelor Mansion and oh btw, him and Liz once got shit-faced at a wedding and had sex in a hotel hallway. MIND. BLOWN.
  • Sharky celebrated the one year anniversary of her boob job by sharing two nipple-adored cupcakes with Nick. I like her!

The episode ended there! But previews showed lots of shocking, mocking, and PV cock-blocking, as well as bikini-clad girls ugly crying in bathrooms.

Can’t. Freakin’. Wait.


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The Bachelor, Week 1: Whores Galores

I only feel slightly bad for using the word, “whores” but hello! We’re talking about The Bachelor here! Not Uniceff Goodwill Ambassadors.

Now that you’ve read all of those timely recaps, how about one that’s 2 days post-mortem? Great! Let’s go!

Season 21 kicked off with the standard gratuitous topless shot of our reformed bad boy, super jerk bachelor, Nick out for a jog in <<insert major metropolitan city.>> Because ABC really wants women to like this guy, they treated us to an additional six seconds of Nick undressing and hopping into a steamy shower while a rather generously-sized black box covered his private parts. I mean, it was a really large black box. Like thigh-to-navel black box. I’m pretty sure Nick doesn’t need a black box quite that large to cover his privates but whatevs. Probably had that worked into his contract.

Because this is Nick’s FOURTH time looking for love on national television, it is important to relive all of his super humiliating alter dumpings and general douche-baggery. See, women hated him because he’s an STD personified and men hate him because women still want to sleep with him. Whatevs again. Nick then tries to explain away all of his bad body language with things like, “When I sit like this I’m not really bored!” or “My face always looks like a cat’s asshole! I can’t help it!” Really he’s a super nice guy who just happens to look like a bag of dicks.

So, umm, we racked our brains and think we came up with a really good catch phrase for this season."
So, umm, we racked our brains and think we came up with a really good catch phrase for this season.” – Love, the ABC Marketing Team

We get it. You’re the new bachelor. We’re supposed to like you and want you to get engaged so 4 days later you can tell Us Weekly you amicably ended things after lugging your college mattress all the way to her hometown and wish nothing but the best for each other. Get on with it!

Next, we saw previous Bachelors Sean Lowe, Ben Higgins, and Chris Soules join Nick to talk about how much they hate him and hope this is the last god damn time he uses The Bachelor platform to find a wife. They also gave him advice.

“Do not open your mouth when you kiss any of those women! That’s totally gross!” said Bachelor Ben.

“Just pick the most boring girl that doesn’t warrant any airtime so people will think you accidentally fell in love with a PA or crew medic or something,” said Bachelor Sean.

“Don’t believe a girl who says she’ll move to a farm in remote Iowa. She won’t. Apparently that’s kind of a deal-breaker. Whatevs,” said Bachelor Chris.

Finally it was everyone’s favorite part– watching the parade of sequins and thong underwear exit a limo. This time the Universe brought 30 desperate fame-whores women to Bachelor Mansion to bed, and hopefully wed the most desperate fame-whore of all.

Whose going home with cold sores and a case of pancreatitis? At least 80% of these women:

Danielle C.: A giant pair of boobs who apparently owns 3 nail salons. Not sure what her face looked like or really even if she had one. Did I say giant boobs?

Elizabeth: Umm, she does something in marketing?

Rachel: Pretty. Smart. Attorney. Seems like the kind of woman you’d want your single guy friend to bring to your dinner party. But alas, she’s African American so, well, you know how it goes. Don’t get attached.

Christen: Some idiot who hid behind a yellow fan, did an awkward short-lived flamenco interpretive dance, and got all star struck when she came to fan to face with Nick. Chris Harrison maybe warrants this sort of behavior, but Nick?

Taylor: Mental Health Professional who has been studying Nick for the last four years. Tells him all of her friends absolutely despise him, but she doesn’t believe all the horrible, venomous crap they’ve been spewing and is totally sure they’ll come around when he proposes.

Kristina: Former Russian orphan turned dental hygienist.

Angela: A model, because of course.

Lauren: Acknowledges the unfortunate pronunciation of Nick’s last name (Viall = Vile) and said she felt his pain because her last name is “Hussy.” “Together we would be a disgusting slut,” she said. I can’t help but like this girl.

Michelle: Owns a food truck or something.

Dominique: She’s a restaurant server. Not a waitress, okay?

Ida Marie: Despite his bad boy image, she totally trusted Nick and to prove it did a trust fall. Cool! What’s your game plan for your first date, Ida Marie? A Myers Briggs test?

Sylvia: From Alaska. Gave Nick an eskimo kiss.

Sara: Ran up to Nick because he’s always the runner up. Get it? Get it?

Jasmine G.: ?

Hailey: “What does a girl who wears underwear say?” I don’t know. “I don’t know either.” Ooooooh!

Astrid: From Sweden! Also the name of my first ever D&D character!

Liz: A doula who slept with Nick at the wedding of former Bachelor couple, Jade and Tanner. Seems pretty proud of the fact, but isn’t sure if Nick will remember her. Say whatthef?!

Corinne: Resident big time slutty villain. Works for “multimillion dollar” family business. Has her own personal nanny. For her. Spoiler Alert: This is the bimbo with the platinum vagine.

Vanessa: Special Ed Teacher. Beautiful. Multilingual. By far the best quality girl on the show who will inevitably wind up ugly crying in a hot tub and not understanding how she ended up being the girl who ugly cries in the hot tub. Shame.

Danielle M.: Made Nick lick homemade maple syrup off her finger. Sticky and sweet just like her.

Raven: A holy Wednesday Adams. Where she’s from (somewhere down south) they “go mudding and read their bibles.” Oh girl, welcome to the mansion. You’ll totally fit right in.

Jaime: She has balls! On her nose ring! Super classy.

Briana: A stethoscope-yielding nurse who checked Nick’s heart rate. If you’re doing nurse stereotypes, why not do the slutty nurse thing? Know your audience, Briana!

Susannah: Gave Nick a beard massage and I’m still not sure why.

Josephine: Another nurse! Brought a book with a hot dog inside and proclaimed Nick to be a “wiener in her book.” Because that wasn’t horrible enough, she made him take a bite of said wiener and vomit in the bushes.

Brittany: And another nurse! This one goes with the pop proctology exam! Hey Brittany, do you know how to pump a stomach or dislodge a warm, undercooked hot dog from an airway? Because if so, you’re needed in the bushes.

Jasmine: Flight attendant.

Whitney: Pilates instructor. Because flight attendant wasn’t cliche enough.

Lacey: Rides in on a camel because she knew Nick liked “a good hump.” Remarkably all the other women are jealous because they didn’t think of this grand entrance.

Alexis: Resident endearing psychopath who is obsessed with dolphins so she shows up in a shark costume. No one is jealous of this entrance.

"They call me Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, because I flipped my lid!"
“They call me Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, because I flipped my lid!”

The night in a nutshell? Here you go:

Jasmine, the flight attendant is the first to cry. 98% of the women wore a red dresses.  Alexis is absolutely convinced she’s a dolphin even though she’s clearly dressed in a shark costume

What? You've never seen a dolphin in a shark costume before?
What? You’ve never seen a dolphin in a shark costume before?

Corrine wanted to kiss Nick during the 27 seconds they spoke so she interrupted someone else’s 26 seconds to lay one on him. In addition, she gave Nick a bag of tokens to cash in whenever he feels like it. Tokens include things like “non-consentual make out session,” “Have my nanny make us dinner,” and “Free upgrade to platinum status.” Kristina the Russian orphan caved very, very quickly under the unbearable weight of bronzing cream and double-sided tape. Lots of crying under the unflattering light held by a gaffer’s assistant.

In maybe the biggest twist in Bachelor history, Nick gave the first impression rose to Rachel– the very cool, beautiful, personable African American woman who has no shot of winning. Maybe the rose knew it because it was saddest, limpest, most passed over grocery store rose in the show’s history. Come on, ABC! Keep those roses in a vase, or at least wrapped in a wet paper towel until showtime!

In the end, eight hearts were broken as Nick bid a fond “dodged that bullet!” to: Susannah, Briana, Olivia, Angela, Lauren, Michelle, Jasmine B., and Ida Marie.

Somewhere in a California mansion, Alexis still thinks she’s a dolphin even though she was very freakin’ clearly dressed like a shark.

I’m already ooking forward to next week!

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Platinum Vagine

Vagine? WTF, Shelly?

Oh wait, must be a new season of The Bachelor is starting!

It is! How did you know?!

Oh right, platinum vagine.


Can't put my pants on until the anti-itch cream dries.
Can’t put my pants on until the anti-itch cream dries.

This season we see 3 time loser Nick Viall take another chardonnay soaked shot at love. That’s right, this guy has been a contestant on 2 seasons of The Bachelorette and 1 season of my new favorite show, Bachelor in Paradise. As a contestant he was the runner-up on both seasons. Ouch. That’s gotta hurt. Both times? And no Steve Harvey to announce you’re the winner anyway? Pretty sure he swore, with tears streaming down his face, in the backseat of TWO different SUVs en route to TWO different airports that he would never try to find love on a TV game show again, but alas. He ended up in Paradise where he had a fake love affair with some chick named Jenn who didn’t stand a chance. Day 2 of filming, Nick must have discovered a message in a bottle from the producers letting him know to use the hotel laundry service, pick up a few more white billowy shirts from the hotel gift shop, and maybe start doing a few push-ups while waiting for craft services to refill the waffle bar, because he wasn’t going home for a while. There really is no other way to explain how Nick, the seriously gross, ick-inducing, walking ad for the HPV vaccine, suddenly became the laid back, endearing, chill big brother’s cool friend in Paradise. Clearly there was some brand repair going on there.

And it worked.

I’m actually pretty excited for this season. But then again, I’m always excited for The Bachelor so, well, there you go.

Today while watching the preview special (because YES, every season IS different and therefore warrants a PREVIEW of what’s in store!) Quinn saw Bachelor Mansion and declared it a haunted house.

“With lots of monsters!” he said.

Wow! Great foresight, kid! The ladies haven’t even moved in yet.

The preview was a bunch of the same ol’ same ol’–  blurred butt cheeks, exotic locations, screaming chicks jumping off a yacht in skimpy bikinis, and lots of ugly crying. And we also got a sneak peak at the this seasons villain– some blonde chick whose sole purpose is to “explore Nick sexually” and proclaimed her, “heart is gold but her vagine is platinum.”

Have fun at work tomorrow, blonde chick’s mom and dad!

Can you spot the platinum vagine?
Can you spot the platinum vagine?
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I Got the Moves, Baby

They say a little boy’s first love is his mother.

Not true in our case. My son fell in love with the blonde nurse in the hospital seconds after he was born. And then he fell for my blonde co-worker. Oh, and then there’s Ingrid, his adorable blonde classmate.

I’m a brunette in case you forgot.

But I’m right up there in his affections.

Or at least parts of me are.

Last night Quinn and I were playing his version of volleyball. He stands on one side of the room, I sit on my ass about 6 feet away. He tells me I’m “the net” and I toss a rubber ball to him. He tries to hit it back. I catch it and “serve” it to him. This goes on until he says he wants to be “the net” and switches sides with me. (I’m still not sure what it means to be “the net” as it appears to be very similar to “not being the net” and also nothing like a real net.)

I don’t suck at this game and it’s one of the few non-violent games he’s into lately so I readily play whenever he asks. Plus I enjoy sitting down.

Last night while tossing the old rubber ball back and forth we had this conversation:

QUINN: You’ve got some moves!

ME: (Grateful he noticed!) You like my moves? Why thank you!

QUINN: No, your boobs! I like your boobs!

ME: Oh. Umm.


ME: Oh my god… BART!

People, this is a kid who was so breast-feeding challenged he literally cried at the site of my boobs. And now he wants to marry them? Umm, no. They have feelings, kid. They remember. Show some remorse for goodness sake.

I can not take my future. Can’t we go back to the “penis and butthole” days? (Great name for a tavern, no? Or maybe some buddy cops?)

If you’re looking for me I’ll be the one wearing 4 sports bras and a suit of armor.

I feel ya, Mrs. Ebert.
I feel ya, Mrs. Ebert.
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How to Name a Hallmark Channel Holiday Movie

Now that you know how to write a Hallmark Channel Holiday movie, you will need a snappy title.

The title is VERY important as many people who tune into the Hallmark Channel during the holidays are very likely to judge your movie based on this. Oh, we’ll still watch your movie. Just with a preconceived opinion, which will either be validated in the first three minutes or pushed aside in favor of an even better opinion.

Even though your Hallmark Channel Holiday movie is already a hit, a title is still important. Picture the ad in Us Weekly with the two romantic stars of your movie framed out in the silhouette of a heart or Christmas ornament, eyes gazing upwards as puffs of fake snow fall on the shoulders of their emerald green peacoats as they dot fresh baked gingerbread cookies with plump, sugary gumdrops. 

Next decide which shade of red and green you want your romantic leads to wear. Turtlenecks, cowl necks, scarves, aforementioned peacoats, and mock turtlenecks are strongly encouraged. 

Now picture your title underneath that very special image. Scrawling it in icing or Christmas lights and bracketed with sprigs of holly is a nice touch, but not necessary.

Christmas may never be as perfect as the curls in my hair, but dammit! I look good in red!
Christmas may never be as perfect as the curls in my hair, but dammit! I look good in red!

Feeling pressure? Don’t! My foolproof system will have you knocking out heartwarming titles faster than a coked up elf stuffs sugar plums. Simply select one word from each column below and sprinkle in a few ornamental prepositions as needed like cranberries in the punch bowl and wa-lah! 4.7 million viewers!

Will it be A Family Holiday? Or Merry Marry Mix-Up? Does it matter? They’re both instant classics!

Column A:


Column B:


Column C:

North Pole

A Jingle Wonderland? Snowy Mistletoe Happiness? See? They practically write themselves!

The only thing "cookie cutter" here is my curls! All the Hallmark leading ladies have them!
The only thing “cookie cutter” here is my curls! When you blow your budget on fake Christmas cookies, there’s only room for one hair stylist on the payroll. 
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Fall in Love with Your TV Again

Ah, the magic of fall…

Time for nesting and nestling in with friends old and new. But especially new because let’s face it–some of the old ones are getting a bit played out.

It’s when I don my best leisurewear and kick back on the sofa with my new friends and demand entertainment.

Tell me your vapid tales of one-night stands and surprise pregnancies!

Spin me a yarn about how hard it is to make friends when you’re famous and a millionaire in the second largest U.S. city!

Plan me the most complicated DIY dinner party and invite lots of celebrity potheads! Yes! BRING ME THE GREEN FIENDS!

Dance, TV, Dance!
Dance, TV, Dance!

Fall television is no joke, people. I mean Entertainment Weekly dedicates a whole issue to it.  Everyone’s got an opinion on who the growers and soon-to-be no showers will be. Who’s going to make it? Who will be dumped before your DVR even learns their names? Which shows is Kris Jenner executive producing and therefore dooming civilization to eternal syndication long after the shark has been jumped?

I can’t get enough of this. This must be how fantasy sports players feel right before the draft.

Not sure where to look for a DVR download? Sure, you could go to E! News if you want a comprehensive round-up of the new shows. (And maybe answer a poll about which new cast member has the dumbest hair.) Or visit my virtual soulmate, The Ashley if you only care about the important stuff like reality TV. If you’re suffering from childhood abandonment issues which have resulted in an inability to develop long-term meaningful relationships and don’t want to waste time getting attached to a show that’ll get cut quicker than Taylor dumped rehab-bound Selena, you should go with the experts and see which shows have the best odds of being renewed.  And yes, real-live experts are spending time thinking about this stuff, which delights me to no end. I guess you could say Fall TV is like betting on the Super Bowl for lazy, judgey couch potatoes. Or maybe more like putting a wager on how long it will take to sing the national anthem during the Super Bowl. Whatevs. It’s cool.

Of course if you’re really serious about your TV watching and want to narrow it down to the best of the best, you could go with your most trusted source– me!

I ask you: have I ever let you down? Have IHave I?

Ladies and gentlemen, get your sweats and start your DVRs and tell your real friends you’ll see them in the Spring. You’re going to be very busy.

What's in those brownies, Martha? (Credit: VH1)
What’s in those brownies, Martha? (Credit: VH1)

Martha and Snoop’s Potluck Dinner Party: Not a joke, people. Executive produced by bunny kisses and unicorn dreams, this is exactly why we have televisions. The Mother of DIY Living and the Doggfather of ganga and random political endorsements are joining forces to bring us the most anticipated show of the season. In this glorious new series, the unlikely duo hosts dinner parties for celebrity friends. Who knew you could roll a joint with hospital corners? Oh yes, definitely a good thing.

Hollywood & Football: Is this how the NFL is trying to reach more women? Fine. You had me at Hollywood & Football. Here we’ll follow six LA Rams and their significant others as they make the incredibly hard transition from life in the middle of America to life on the West-coast of America. How will they speak the language? Will they understand currency conversions? Will they have to eat kale?! This terrifying unscripted docu-series (READ: Not a reality show!) takes us behind the scenes of rich, pretty people trying to find their way off the 405 and into the nearest Ralph’s Grocery.

"So I'm thinking, I know a thing or two about being a bear. I could teach you all about this hibernation thing. And how to get yer face unstuck out of a pot of hunny." (Credit: Discovery Press)
“So I’m thinking, I know a thing or two about being a bear. I could teach you all about this hibernation thing. And how to get yer face unstuck out of a pot of hunny.” (Credit: Discovery Press)

Project Grizzly: Aw man, this is gonna be tearjerker. After bear trainer Jeff Watson realizes it’s not cool to keep bears as pets, he decides to set them free. Only problem, his big ass bears have been living like parakeets and don’t really know the first thing about being bears in the wild. So teach them he must. Yes, that’s right. A man teaches bears how to be bears. Who doesn’t love a make-over show?

Leave it to Lifetime TELEVISION FOR WOMEN to come out with not one, but TWO quality new shows I will surely be binge-watching with my mommy. Thank you, Lifetime TELEVISION FOR WOMEN! I can always count on you for some good old-fashioned female bonding.

Lifetime describes these two new shows as, “documenting the action-packed journey of what happens when a woman becomes unexpectedly pregnant.”

Why yes, Lifetime TELEVISION FOR WOMEN. Spot on! I would also describe pregnancy–unexpected or otherwise–as “action-packed.” I remember my own action-packed pregnancy having to remember to take all those extra vitamins and get out of bed to pee in the middle of the night– in the dark! Bart was all like, “Slow your roll, Mario. That bathroom ain’t going nowhere!” Lifetime TELEVISION FOR WOMEN really gets women.

But I digress.

First we have 30-Something Grandma and yep, that title is really letting it all hang out there. Need I say more? Nope, but I will. 30-Something Grandma is a docu-series (READ AGAIN: Not a reality show!) following three moms and their teenage daughters who are about to become first-time mommies themselves. Spoiler alert! One grandma has to postpone a trip to Mexico. Save the drama for teenaged mamas’ mamas!

"If I wanted to have a gosh darn grand baby, I'd just have it myself!" (Credit:
“Ma! Stop crying! I’m gonna get my license in five months and you can totally stop having to come to these stupid appointments with me!” (Credit:

Knocked Up is all class, baby. This series follows the journey of three once carefree, single ladies who were having a grand ol’ time being unattached and irresponsible until “one night of fun” finds them up the duff.  Spoiler Alert! They all have to make lifestyle changes!

And speaking of "lifestyle changes," can we discuss your bra choices?"
“So we’re going to create a mold of your giant pregnant belly and create your new bra cups with it. Because, girl, “lifestyle changes,” means “be gone with those slutty A-cup underwires.” (Credit:

Window Warriors: I love Carson Kressley so if he’s going to sign up to judge a two-bit, over-done, no-one-cares reality show, it’s my job to watch it. Especially when it’s none of those things! Excuse me while I continue counting down the seconds. This competition show pits the, “country’s most talented window merchandising designers” against one another to create elaborate window displays. Yep, window displays. Expect lots of product placement and manufactured drama.

Scandal Made Me Famous: Nope, sorry, this is not the unauthorized Kerry Washington biography. She was totally famous before that Scandal. This is real scandal. Like murdering-your-children or cutting-off-your-husband’s-private-parts scandal. You know, heart-warming stuff like that. Relive the tales that turned the likes of Lorena Bobbitt and Amy Fisher into pithy New York Post headlines. This is the stuff sick days were made of. Start practicing your fake cough now.

Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath: For fear David Miscaviage will pop a cap into my Direct TV satellite dish, all I will say about this show is, “YES, Leah, Yes!”

Totally hired for our skillz, dude.
Totally hired for our skillz, dude and not because we all wear the same size pants. (Credit: Bravo)

Timber Creek Lodge: Thank you, Bravo. In the vein of Ladies of London and Southern Charm, this is another notch in the “Please God don’t let anyone know I’m watching this” belt. Beautiful settings, slutty, gorgeous staffers, and spoiled, over-the-top clients make this basically Below Deck in a ski chalet. And yes, we do need more Below Deck.

Ghosts in the Hood: These real-life ghostbusters investigate paranormal activity in LA neighborhoods other ghost hunting teams won’t touch. Why? I dunno know. Because ghosts aren’t real? Pa’shaw! This squad of ghosties includes a “verified medium,” a technician, and a comedian so you know they’re LA legit. Woooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhh!

The BachelorDoesn’t matter the time of year, it’s always Bachelor season as far as I’m concerned. Yes, ladies and gentleman, it’s true. The only man who has appeared on The Bachelor franchise more than Chris Harrison himself gets another shot at love. Can I get bro hug and a spray tan for Nick Viall?

"I can't possibly button my fly until I've had at least 3 cups of coffee." (Credit: The
“I can’t possibly button my fly until I’ve had at least 3 cups of coffee.” (Credit: The

They made us love him on BiP as he worked hard to shirk his loser in love reputation and became a charming, endearing, almost rational romantic sage. He was kind to the dumb twins, stood up to that enormous asshat, Josh who bested him yet again for a female’s attention, and tried really hard to pretend he didn’t know he was going to the be the next Bachelor and fake some chemistry with that Jenn girl. This season promises lots of tears and emotional breakdowns–from Nick himself. I’m already glued to my TV.

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Join My Tribe



What is with those guys?

One day they’re all Learny McLearnerson and the next they’re like thumb-sucking, bed-wetting nubes. Okay, they’re kind of like that all the time but still.

Having spent considerable time with a toddler, I have discovered 6 things they just don’t understand. Check out my post on Tribe Magazine today and help a toddler reach ultimate enlightenment today.

Also, Tribe Magazine is awesome and I’m super excited to be published there!

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No One Loves Chachi

Who's got 2 thumbs, no life, and the ire of every woman everywhere? This numb nut!
Who’s got 2 thumbs, no life, and the ire of every woman everywhere? This numb nut!

I know, we’re all sick of hearing about this election. Is it over already? (And depending on who wins, it may truly be over, but I digress. Sort of.)

While Michelle Obama’s popularity is finally catching up to that of her biceps,  others aren’t faring so well. I would be hard-pressed to vote for the Biggest Futhermucker of this election season what with so many great candidates. I mean, there’s the obvious choice. And then there’s the second obvious choice. And then there’s the “yep, yep, for sure, of course” choice. But then there’s the one dude that has nothing to do with nothing and can’t seem to go away. He really, really wants to win this election.

So let’s let him.

When I grow up, I want to be like The Fonz. And also a sexist, woman-hating assclown.
When I grow up, I want to be like The Fonz. And also a sexist, woman-hating assclown.

It’s Chachi, ladies and gentlemen!


Oh, you know! Fonzie’s annoying little cousin who hunted poor Joanie like a drug-sniffing dog at Burning Man and later became a sweater vest-wearing manny for the Pembroke family and BFFs with the doofus from Eight is Enough.

Yes, that guy! I know, right?

So maybe you missed Chachi’s big debut at the RNC and you’re wondering what the hell this D-list D-bag has to do with the election. He’s a big Trump supporter as it turns out and he’s not afraid to show it. Good thing too, because outside of his fame-whorey children and a sour, sullen, clearly blackmailed and tortured Ted Cruz, The Donald didn’t have many people willing to take the microphone for him. But not Chachi. Oh no, not him. Chachi was all like, “YES I WILL SPEAK ON YOUR BEHALF! Finally someone who will free me from the shackles of civility, common sense, intelligence, dignity, and fear of getting shanked in the throat by a band of pesky feminists. I mean, ew! Don’t you have something to shave or something?”

Oh, Chachi…

So Chachi got up on stage and said some stupid shit and was probably hoping it would all lead to a walk on role in the seventh Baywatch sequel or a turn on Dancing with the Stars but instead everyone was all, “OMG did you freakin see Chachi on stage? WTF is that guy doing there? Is he also one of The Donald’s children? Give us Tiffany Trump. Next!”

But man, Chachi really loves The Donald and D-list fame, so he’s willing to go to bat for both. And clearly The Donald will take anything he can get.

I’m not going to rehash the disgusting conversation between disgusting Billy Bush and The Donald where The Big D declared his wealth and power and orange skin and yellow cotton candy hair piece granted him full visitation rights over a woman’s body. Does she want to be touched groped by The Donald? Who freakin’ cares! Money! Power! Spray tan!

But I will rehash Chachi’s remarks on the above topic because considering the source, you may have missed it. Even though almost everyone seems to have come out against The Donald’s comments including real, honest to god athletes who spend quite a bit of time in locker rooms and unequivocally state that is not in fact what men talk about, Chachi has decided to come to The Donald’s defense once again and set the record straight. This time blasting women for having the gall to be “offended.”

“I like Trump because Trump is not a politician. He talks like a guy, and ladies out there, this is what guys talk about when you’re not around. So if you’re offended by it, grow up, OK?” – Chachi

Okay, genius. There’s a lot of gold in them hills. Let’s mine it, shall we?

So let me get this straight. You like Trump because he’s not a politician. You like a man running for the highest elected office in the nation because he’s not a politician. M’kay. That’s on par with liking a pair of pants because they’re shoes. I actually don’t mind my elected officials being, you know, versed in politics.

He talks like a guy. No, douche-nugget. He talks like an entitled, misogynistic, selfish, narcissist pig. (Sorry, pigs.) Even the worst guys I know don’t talk like that.

Grow up. You want me to grow up? Really, Chachi? You think immaturity is what makes, “grab them by the p*ssy offensive? You think it’s naive to be horrified by someone bragging about sexual assault? I’m a “them,” Chachi. And I’m sorry but I would be offended if someone felt they could just reach on over and have a little tug. I don’t it when people take food off my plate, Chachi so yeah, I’d probably be offended.

But wait, that’s not all! In closing he had this to say:

“And by the way, this is what you guys talk about over white wine when you have your brunches. This is the way the world works. It’s not a big thing.” – Also Chachi

Okay, assface, nope. It is a big thing. It’s called “rape culture.” Google it. I’m not denying my “guys” (READ: girls) don’t talk about sex. Of course we do. Men do too. No one is denying that, assnut! The problem isn’t sex. It’s sexual assault. To most people, there is a difference. Maybe not to you, Chachi and that’s pretty obvious. It’s also pretty, damn sad.

…over white wine when you have your brunches… Oh for christ’s sake, man, I can’t take it.  White wine at my brunches? You really have no clue at all about women, do you? Mimosas, you turd! Or maybe a French 75. White wine is for lunch!

This is the way the world works. I’m sorry to say, Chachi, but this is not in fact how the world works. Or rather, not how it should work. It’s the world you want to live in. It’s the culture you want to foster. But sorry, nope. No eff’ing way. No world where my son grows up will “work like this” and I’m not alone. It takes a village. Not a village idiot.

It’s not a big thing. No? It’s not, Chachi? Good eff’ing luck out there. Please do us a favor and go back to filling out your Celebrity Rehab application or signing head shots for “Has-Been Asshats Con 2017.” You’re not doing anyone, except maybe Hilary, any favors. I hate to break it to you (lies. I would love to), but no one loves you anymore.  And I assure you, you are not in charge.

I'm such an asshole, I just want to punch myself in the face!
I’m such an asshole, I just want to punch myself in the face!
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Dude, There’s No Crying in Paradise!

Uh, yeah there is. If you’re Evan. Or Carly’s mouth if the poor thing was unfortunate enough to have lip-locked with this bozo.

I’m all caught up now. Just in time for tonight’s episode. Bart and I split a bottle of wine and watched every second of Bachelor in Paradise on the DVR. It may have been the wine talking, but Bart said he enjoyed it. It was like an anthropological social experiment. Like watching real life, hyper-speed dating only without anything remotely close to real life. The less wine in the bottle, the more he liked it so yeah…might have been the wine talking.

But come on? What’s not to like? You have this guy, Evan, an “erectile dysfunction specialist” who’s a single dad who left his kids twice to seek love on TV.  After Evan and Carly kissed (because they were the only two not kissing someone and the producers made them) she went back to her room and threw up in her minibar (which I’m assuming was empty due to her uncontrollable urge to burn away the sting of a floppy-tongued, spit-soaked smooch)  and he went back to his room and dreamed of all the horrible things his children would one day scream at the woman WHO IS NOT THEIR REAL MOM! Oh, and he stroked his dad bod. Gently. Soft dad bod caresses from a soft dad. As one does in paradise. Remember?


Awesome. Now that we had that little refresher.

Some other shit happened, mostly to Evan.

After he flitted all over the island looking for Carly and she ran out of hiding places, she came to the very adult conclusion to dump his sad ass. He handled it really well.

What's the use of a grown man sleeping on a toddler bed if he can't find someone to share it with!
What’s the use of a grown man sleeping on a toddler bed if he can’t find someone to share it with!


Carly was very concerned about his well-being so naturally she asked the always empathetic (emphasis on pathetic) Daniel if he was doing ok. Daniel didn’t understand the question.

So by "okay" she means...bananas! Yum! Bananas sound good, ay?
So by “okay” she means…bananas! Yum! Bananas make me laugh, ay?

Aw, no worries, Daniel. Paradise was well aware of how Dr. Flacido Domingo was doing.

He totally rallied, don’t worry. He mustered up enough strength to keep his whispy, pencil thin goatee looking extra pre-pubuscent and gave his pores a nice soaking with some Sea Breeze astringent and hot, salty tears.

And then he was all like, “F it! I’m in paradise, bitches! And by “bitches” I mean you, face towel!” And the face towel was all like, “Oh, no you didn’t just throw me!” and totally threw it back. “OUCH, face towel!” Evan wailed. And cried. Again.

Paradise it not for pussies.

And speaking of pussies, Nick is all upset because the guy who bested him for a short-term, highly-publisized engagement and subsequent break up to Bachelorette Andi showed up and stole his girl AGAIN! Come on, Nick! How many times can you be humiliated on one television franchise?! Even Tom must have told Jerry to suck it eventually. And he was getting paid for that frying-pan-over-the-head shit!

What else happened?

  • There was a weird clown. I think. Maybe I dreamed that.
  • The men all appear to have slightly deformed nipples.
  • One of the twins got drunk on half a beer and cried because she really, really wanted the other girls to braid her hair.
  • There were about seventeen empty cabanas on the beach, but three couples decided to make-out on the same one. Because this is paradise?

I think some roses were handed out. Someone might have gone home? Or maybe not yet? Hmm…I can’t remember. Might be the wine talking.

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Bachelor in Paradise: Now with 11.11% More Lip Filler!

I could only stand 1:26 minutes of Bachelor in Paradise tonight and that’s a real problem, friends. It’s a double episode week. That’s FOUR hours of quality television I’m woefully behind on. You don’t just go binge-watching half-naked, drunk strangers get bit by crabs while they poop their pants and make-out in hot tubs. You’ve got to train for this stuff, people. This ain’t House of Cards or Orange is the New Black. This is paradise, baby. Novices, go home.

Fortunately, I am the Simone Biles of reality TV watching and therefore don’t need to watch full episodes to recap them.  I can zero right in on the nugget that boils down the essence and makes TV, great TV.

Read on and be amazed.

First, some highlights:

  • Chad actually left paradise. We were mislead into thinking he would return and incite panic and fear in Evan and his red t-shirt collection, but alas. Blink and you almost miss him shoving bologna slices and shots of Fireball into his meat hole while lamenting his future in the back of the reject Escalade. “What am I going to do now?” He questioned. “I can’t be the Bachelor now. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!”
  • New girl showed up and packed a steamer truck of crazy. I guess you can just drop into paradise whenever you feel like it? I remember Leah from Ben’s season. She was quiet and unassuming until she wasn’t. Then she was bat shit crazy and let loose a monsoon of delusion she was clearly harboring for at least 6, possibly 7, past lives. It was awesome.
  • Leah was sad to hear Chad got the boot seconds before she got there. She was sure they’d be a match because they both like protein and she spent the last few months injecting the same fillers found in his lunch meat into her lips. Who needs dumb, old pheromones?
  • Twins were not impressed with Leah’s new lips.
Guess who we are? Leah! Get it? Our lips are all big and our faces are all dumb looking?
Guess who we are? Leah! Get it? Our lips are all big and our faces are all dumb looking?
  • Carly ran out of guys so she had to hang out with Evan. She said she wanted a man to act like a man so he put his head on her shoulder and sighed. You know, like a man.
  • Carly and Evan kissed. She declared said kiss to be the grossest, most disgusting thing to happen in paradise since Chad’s 1st Annual Crab & Crap show.
  • Evan was instantly in love and spent the rest of the night gently caressing his tummy and dreaming about cake tasting and pleated tuxedo shirts. You know, like a man.
Alone on my scratchy wool blanket-covered cot, gently stroking my dad bod, three-four nanny cams hidden around the room. Ooooooh, Paradise...
Alone on my scratchy wool blanket-covered cot, gently stroking my dad bod, three to four nanny cams hidden around the room. Ooooooh, Paradise…
  • Roses were handed out.
  • A couple of crabs humped.
When in Rome...
When in Rome…

That’s all fine and good, but here’s the real essence-capturing nugget. I call this moment, “When Crazy Met Stupid.”

In a desperate attempt to garner a rose, Crazy Train Leah and dumb, misogynist Canadian Daniel had a lovely, little chat that went something like this:

So like, do onions make themselves cry? Because that would like suck and be like sad and stuff, ay?
So like, do onions make themselves cry? Because that would like suck and be like sad and stuff, ay?

Crazy: I don’t want people to think–

Dumb: That you’re some crazy girl?

Crazy: I’m not crazy. I’m very normal. I have lots of layers.

Dumb: Like an onion.

Crazy: Yeah.

Dumb: Are you going to make me cry?

Crazy: (Emphatically) No.

Dumb: Okay, so not like an onion.

Crazy: I have layers like an onion, but I might cry because I’m the onion. (SUBTEXT: STFU, Daniel and get a clue! This is about ME. It will always be about me! Give me your eff’ing rose so I can shove it up your dumb, maple syrup loving ass!)

Dumb: So you’re like an orange… with one layer.

Crazy ponders this.

So I'm like an orange? Hmm...all this time I'm thinking onion. Maybe that's my problem...
Oh GOD. Maybe I am like an orange? Hmm…all this time I’m thinking onion. Maybe that’s my problem…

And… scene.

  • Crazy Leah and Jubilee were dismissed.
  • They cried in the back of black SUVs. Again.

There. Now you’re caught up on the first hour and twenty-six minutes of Monday’s episode and only had to shed .000000000000078 of brain matter to grasp it.

Only two hours and thirty-six minutes left in Paradise for this week. Belly up to the bar, but for the love of god don’t eat the free pretzels and wash your hands after touching everything!

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