Jersey.Girl.Genius

From Taiwan, With Like

It's been a while since my last Bachelorette post.  Why the hiatus, you ask?  I've found this season to be one of the most painful to date.  Cooking up recaps tends to bring it all back, like a bad case of PTSD.  I was waking up at night in a cold sweat, reaching for Bentley, wondering why his perfectly faded jeans and Abercrombie awesome retail boy flip flops weren't at the foot of my bed.  In the same dream, Ashley herself would appear.  She'd say something incoherent about Bentley, blah blah blah, more tears, something about just wanting to feel safe, secure and protected, blah blah blah, cry cry cry.  Then she'd get really close to my face and ask me if I've been flossing regularly.  I get the chills just thinking about it.

Now that Bentley is out of the picture (or, is he?) the boys have been having fun traversing Asia.  First Hong Kong and last night, Taiwan.  For Ames' sake, I'm just happy they didn't introduce another martial arts challenge.  Sweet, sensitive Ames.  I appreciate his fondness for words like fantastic, exuberant and charming.  I also appreciate his pink pants and his prep-school flannel wardrobe.  That awkward middle school photo made me like him even more.  That photo alone explained the need for veneers.  Ames belongs in a Folger's commercial, he doesn't belong in a fantasy suite.  He should be surprising his little sister with the complete works of Franz Kafka after returning home from a volunteer vacation in Costa Rica, where he'd been teaching under-served kids how to salsa dance and paint landscapes with watercolors.  Some men are just too cultured for The Bachelorette. 

 

Some men, on the other hand, need a bit of manscaping and some quality time with Clinton Kelly and Stacy London.  Let's take Constantine and Ben, for example.  Constantine is just a few wily brow hairs away from a full on unibrow. Ben, while I see him as one of the most genuine bachelors this season, needs a good haircut and a hot oil treatment.  What's the deal with grown men wearing winter wool hats in the middle of summer? That look says "I still think I'm 15.  And I may wind up working at a coffee shop until I'm 40."  Yes, I'm judging.  I like Ben.  But he seems young.  Too young for Ashley to take seriously.  Also - I don't think she feels as physically drawn to him as she does some of the other tools guys.

Speaking of tools, we need to discuss Ryan's departure.  Ryan the actor "solar panel salesman" from California.  Someone, somewhere, told him that his smile was his best asset.  It's apparent that he's never forgotten this comment.  Ashley wants to jump his bones about as much as she's interested in a new, tankless water heater.  He comes across as horrifically phony.  Every gesture and facial expression looked disingenuous and calculated.  Someone told Ryan what they thought he needed to do in order to be asked to return as the next Bachelor.  He read the handbook and he played his hand well.  I've seen posts on the message boards already, asking him to be the next Bach.  Is that all it takes?  An abundance of energy, a few phony tears and a "desire to love someone unconditionally?" He reminds me an awful lot of Jake Pavelka.  He reminds me a lot of Apple Pie a la Mode, too.  Looks good, but after a few bites, it's all a bit too sweet.  You're wondering why you went there.  You needed that apple pie about as much as you needed another thigh.

At this point in the game, it's too close to call.  While I had thought JP the obvious front runner, he may come to his senses and realize that she's "just not that into you," not enough to propose, anyway.  They may bring Ryan back in the Fiji episodes, just to create some more drama and a larger rallying cry for his return as the next Bachelor.  My prediction for the final two would have to be Ben and JP.  But at this point, I'm not seeing anyone acting like they've fallen in love. Lots of like, but no L-bomb.

One Big Gay and Seven Porcelain Veneers

I'm a few days behind with my Bachelorette recap for the (June 13th episode) and the guilts are starting to gnaw at me.   Let's cut right to the chase and talk about the bright spots from this week's rainy Thailand episode.

A lot of the Bachelorette-obsessed Twitter folk I follow started a "Bentley" drinking game.  Had I played along, I would have passed out before The Geico Caveman Ben F snuck in his first sloppy Cro-Magnum man kiss.  I would have missed the gay picnic with Ames and would have forgotten all about the "shocking preview" related to Bentley's inevitable return next week.  I counted more than 13 mentions of Bentley by Ashley in total.  That's a whole lot of tequila.  Twitterati, I have no idea how you kept up, unless you were doing shots of sparkling apple juice. 

My favorite date, by far, was Ashley's one-on-one picnic with Ames.  Like two girlfriends making God's Eyes at Jesus Camp, he felt they really bonded and had a lot in common.  Ashley remarked that she got to see Ames in a whole new light.  Is it just me, or was that light ever-so-gently muted by a blush chiffon scarf?  Ames belongs in Wham's Club Tropicana video, he does not belong in a seaside fishing village wearing Prada military button downs.  I know it's Don't Ask, Don't Tell, but his Prada told.  One obvious perk to dates with Ames.  Should the village lose electricity in the rainstorm, he could illuminate a few square miles with those choppers.  You'll never lose your way in the dark.

Looks like Bentley will be back next episode.  This Jersey Girl called it weeks back.  While I believe he's an actor who has been planted this season and scripted, I'm not 100% sure that Ashley is in on it.  If she wasn't prepped, it's a very cruel twist in a ploy for viewership.  While I agree that most of the men are complete duds this season, is a Bentley dupe the only answer?  Must we see him return to feign a change of heart, endure more of his private camera confessions, just to set Ashely up for the ultimate betrayal?  Certainly there are other things to keep us interested.  We haven't had a token zipline, building rappel or a bungee jump yet.  There's plenty of time left to swim with sharks.  The masked Jeff could return, this time wearing only a cape.  Yet at the rate we're going, we'll likely wind up with gay Ames (who will now be referred to solely as Games) and Bentley in the final two. 

I wonder if Games will reveal his sexuality at some point?  I think he'll make it as far as the Fantasy Suite date, where he'll confess his true affection for Chris Harrison.   Unable to avert his eyes from Harrison in a grass-woven sarong, spear fishing for carp, or while donning his suggestive banana hammock poolside, he'll say he needs to leave in order to pursue his true calling.  Cosmetic Dentistry.  In Games' ABC bio, he was asked what his most embarrassing moment was.  His answer?  Getting busted in boarding school for hooking up.  I wonder if he went to an all boys school?  Mmmm Hmmm.  I think he sings for The Warblers.

Bentley will make it all the way to the final days, mark my words, but not before Michelle Money is shipped to Thailand to intervene - revealing even more secret Bentley modus operandi.  What's the real scoop on Bentley?  Anyone who names their kid Cozy really likes a cold beer.  Maybe he's prone to drunken outbursts or contracted a raging case of Chlamydia from a Koala? All shall be revealed in time.

Small Boobs, Big Heart.

I watched yet another painful episode of The Bachelorette last night.  As predicted, there was a whole lot of crying, heartbreak and one tight camera shot of a melting, plastic Zorro mask.  Ashley falls hard, she's made this abundantly clear.  She also cries hard.  The ugly, can't catch your breath kind of cry.  Sometimes she cries in her bed under a purple comforter, in the wings of a theater, or while staring at Bentley's picture.  More often than not, she can be found crying on a douchebag's shoulder, or on a soft, manly flannel in front of a faux fireplace.  Bentley was "her guy" - and after just two short weeks of sitting on each  others laps, she had found true and everlasting love.

Bentley may be gone for now, but I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of him, his perfectly messy hair and his I know I'm sexy smirk.  He played the Wes card and played it well.  Given his villainous, raunchy confessions to the camera, he will absolutely be asked back for the next Bachelor Pad.  Bentley and Bachelor were made for each other.  Well played, Bentley from Utah.  You smell like an actor and you look like one too.

So? What did we learn last night? Let's recap, shall we?

William is a cell phone salesman who aspires to be a stand up comedian.  He also has a small weenie and it will be revealed in an upcoming episode involving a very euro Speedo.

Bentley has nice jeans, but could use a belt.

J.P. looks good in pajamas. He'd look even better out of them.

Ashley cried her eyebrows off and is in need of new glasses.

Ashley has three big insecurities and two of them were realized last night.  So what the hell is the third insecurity?  Don't leave me hanging, ABC.  The fact that some of the men made fun of her small boobs, while childish and deplorable, does not seem to be on her top three list.  Am I missing something?  She feared the guys would be disappointed that the Bachelorette wasn't Hot Emily or Hot Chantal.  (check) She also worried that some of the guys would turn around and leave the show, disappointed that she isn't Hot Emily or Hot Chantal. (check check).

So she isn't Hot Emily or Hot Chantal.  Less than 1% of the population looks like Emily.  Most of America thought Ashley would make an annoying, boring Bachelorette, and they were right.  But what I've learned from watching this show, season after season, is that the show is very rarely about the Bachelor or Bachelorette themselves - the show is all about the contestants.  Now that Bentley made such an early exit, ABC will have to cook up something extra scandalous to keep us interested.  What could that be?  Will Brad return?  Will Bentley realize he's made a mistake and ask to come back?  Will Ashley have to perform an emergency root canal on Chris Harrison?  Will Ryan P. turn on the charm and rev up the "here for the wrong reasons" chorus?  Whatever the next shocking twist, it's bound to create the perfect storm in Phuket.   Bring it on, Be-yatchelorette.  Bring it.

Ginny's Thoughts on The Bachelor Pad

I gave in.  I caved.  I watched the first episode of The Bachelor Pad on ABC.  All tolled - it's a complete slutty mess.  Think the most drama-filled episode of Bachelor meets "Survivor" & "Big Brother."  Then throw in more booze, more plastic surgery and a few guys who shave their chests and take roids.  It's really genius, actually.  Much more bang for the buck than a season-long investment of The Bachelor.  We're now bound to see many more fame whoreish-ness on The Bachelor and Bachelorette in seasons to come too.  Not only will peeps be cast through the lens of one show - but producers will now be asking themselves: should this woman end up on The Pad?  Bachelor Pad will become just like The Real World and some of the contenders will be like what's his name...  You know, the cute guy from the first season of Real World who wound up on every Real World sequel and special until he went MIA and postal looking a few years ago.  Eric Nies!

Ginny has been watching as well.  Please hit the play button below to hear what she has to say about hostess Melissa and the twisted & desperate Elizabeth.  My two cents: The Weatherman must not be a real Weatherman.  No one on TV gets this much time off, unless he's forecasting for Ben Franklin Middle School Pubic Access Television.

Enjoy Ginny.  Let me know what you think of the show!

Ginny on bachelor pad

One Mouth Harp and Seven Porcelain Veneers

Before we go any further, let me just say this.  I'm rooting for Crystal Bowersox to take home the Idol trophy.  Bigtime.  If anyone but Bowersox should win, then America is collectively tone deaf.  Either that, or boys with pretty hair trumps girls with dreadlocks. 

I love a good makeover story.  Who doesn't?  

 

Ginny Discusses The Bowersox Grin

Why not combine America's fascination with physical transformation (The Swan, Dr 90210, The Biggest Loser) and The American Dream ... and weave this into American Idol?  I could go for an entire makeover episode myself - and see far less of those redonkulously forced and horrible Ford commercials.  If Dr. 90210 wants to critique noses, asses, hairlines and teeth before we see Crystal talk about her Janis Joplin worship, I'm all for it.  He can start with recommending Simon Cowell receive a scalp transplant.  He has the weirdest hairline I've ever seen.  Part Howie Long, part Chia Pet, I think he'd be better off bald.  

Ginny thinks Bowersox needs to fix her teeth.  STAT.  But is paper really the answer?  How can you sing with paper in your mouth?  I'm puzzled by the suggestion but concur that anything is better than the dreaded blank hillbilly stare.  There's a hole in the bucket, dear liza, dear liza.  There's a hole in the bucket, dear liza a hole.

When Kate Gosselin Dances, Baby Jesus Cries

Ginny's predictions for this season's DWTS winner below.  She was 100% accurate on her Oscar predictions, so I tend to trust her expertise on this one.  What do you think? Do you agree with The Ginbomb?  Does Evan (the mongoose) Lysachek lack chemistry with his "female" and use too much hair gel?  Do tell.  We want to hear from you!

Mom on DWTS Winner                         

Take Your Mom To Work Day

I'm in NY and NJ again.  Back to the homeland!  When did it become July in April?  No one told me about this.  Fact:  No one likes a girl with a sweaty upper lip.  Mmmmm, sexy.  I'd like spring to return please.  The Polar Bears and I are a little put out.

I'm here to see a well-known CPG company to peddle my goods.  Added a few days tacked on at the end to spend some quality time with my fam, little bro, my sister-in-law and their adorable kidlets.   For the three of you who read this blog who don't know me in real life; I do have a day job.  I sell Facebook & mobile app development, strategy & sponsorships.  When not working from home, braless, sporting Nick Nolte on a bender hair, I can be found (showered & smashing) with my loyal sidekick (aka, business partner Chris) plotting to take over the world, one deal at a time. 

Traveling under my own steam, without the bankroll of a big corporate travel budget, can be highly entertaining.  Gone are the days of The Driskill Hotel (and their Gingersnap Pancakes, RIP) while staying in Austin for SXSWi. Until the new company is sustainable, I will crash in my 4 year-old-nephew's bunk bed in Carroll Gardens or at other gems like The Hampton Inn, Giants Stadium (which, incidentally, smells a lot like cow manure).  I prefer the bunk bed in Brooklyn.  A special shout out to Ikea, who has made a very sturdy piece of kid furniture, suitable for a 35-year old who is fond of penne ala vodka and the occasional rice krispy treat binge. The first time I climbed the bädd's mini ladder,  I was sure the entire thing would come tumbling down.  I'd land on top of the GeoTrax Village and the Pixar Cars collection.  Oofta.  I'm glad my brother is handy.

The Ginbomb drove me to the big meeting on Tuesday morning.  Picked me up in her green Subaru so I wouldn't have to rent a car, and off we went to Wheat Thin Falls.  There are several things I enjoy about bring your mom to work day. 

#1 - Howard Stern is on her satellite radio all day long.  While I cannot call myself a superfan, I do enjoy watching my mom get hysterical over the questions he asks his guests.  During our 40 minute ride, I learned far more about Tiger Woods' mistresses than I thought possible.  I also learned that my mom knows every character on his show.  She's like Rain Man when it comes to Howard Stern.  High Pitch Erik, Underdog Lady, Artie, Baba Booey.  Dear Artie: Ginny sincerely hopes you make a full recovery.  She's read your book and thinks you had a rough childhood.  He really doesn't hold back, that Howard.  On this particular episode, Howard kept asking Robin if she'd let Martina Navratilova perform various sexual acts on her.  I realize this is why it's become increasingly more difficult to shock and surprise the ginbomb.  She's heard it all. I actually think it's time for a new Howard Stern character: Jersey Ginny.

The man at the front desk at Snackville asked if my mom would be joining me in the meeting, and if so, he'd need her photo ID.  I was tempted to invite her in to observe, but then again, she had her NY Post and was eagerly awaiting the opening of the corporate store, where all niblets were 50% off.  This brings me to #2 on my list. 

Shopping for food at a deep discount with someone who lives for a good bargain. 

I felt like I was strolling Wonka's chocolate factory with Violet Beauregard.  The only hiccup, trying to calculate how long we could keep veggie burgers in suspended animation before they reached the point of no return.  Ginny thought it too risky and lamented the fact that we did not think to bring a cooler.  That's not normally at the top of my checklist before heading to the airport, but next time I promised we'd plan ahead.  Thank god for the non-perishables.  A few chocolate bars, crackers, snack bars, nuts and drink mixes later, Violet was in heaven.

My mom may not fully understand what I do for a living, but she does understand shopping and watching Dancing With The Stars together.  Every time Kate Gosselin dances, Baby Jesus cries.  Ginny's a woman who enjoys her perks (be it Wheat Thins for a dollar, a 50 cent pair of Coach butterscotch loafers or fair judging from Bruno).  While I'm making the transition from employee to business owner, I thought I'd miss some of the perks of corporate life, but I don't.  My last company didn't have a take your mom to work day.  I think they're missing out.  We could all benefit from a little drive-thru Dunkin Donuts, The NY Post at breakfast and a detailed sexual history of Tiger Woods' mistresses from time to time.  I won't lie.  It's always nice to hear (insert jersey accent here) you look dynamite in that suit.  Knock em' dead, kiddo.

Mom on Snack Shopping

Ginbomb's Thoughts on The Bachelor Finale

My mom left me a message this morning, expressing her deep disappointment in Jake's choice ...

Message can be heard at the link below.  I believe she says it all.  This clip is rated PG-13, due to mild language, strong New Jersey accent & utter disgust.  Mom Reacts To Jake's Pick

Why Old People Love Donny Osmond, Slankets & Other Mysteries

Donny Osmond and the elderly go together like summer sausage & cheese.  Like hair plugs and Elton John.  Like a bottle of Benefiber and a bottle of prune juice.  Maybe he reminds our seniors of a more fragile time - a less hectic, no hullabaloo geriatric time - when the variety show was king.  Flashback 1977.  Corporate America was smoking and drinking in the office and smacking its secretaries on the ass.  Studio 54 made hedonism a household word, Donna Summer was moaning her way to disco super-stardom and Donny Osmond was playing with skunks. That's right.  Skunks.  What else do Mormons do when called upon to entertain?  Aside from charm us with their recollection of biblical phrases and god's hatred of gays, that is. 

Long before the birth of the PETA movement and the invention of the opening monologue, there was this cornholio form of entertainment:

Just what is it about this guy that captivates the semi-senile?  His stellar jitterbug dance moves?  His full head of hair?  His ability to take a pie in the face?  No, I say.  Hogwash.  Truth be told, I think it's all about the coat.  You know ... the coat o' many colors, the technicolor dreamboat's dreamcoat.  Old people are frequently cold.  With poor circulation and chilly feet, the technicolor dreamcoat is an old lady's anodyne.  The elderly equate Donny with warmth, I say ... like a cup of earl gray tea on a cold winter's night.  And just as they respect his appreciation for fine fabrics and volumizing hair product, they all secretly long to purchase some version of the coat on QVC.  If only I had a technicolor slanket for sale, I'd be a gazillionairess.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn: Thoughts on the Bachelorette Finale

Spoiler Warning!  Do not read any further if you have TIVO'd the finale of The Bachelorette, have been avoiding People.com and do not yet know who Jillian chose to be her new man. There, I said it.  You've been warned.

Ed?  She picked Ed?  Short Shorts Snoozefest ED?  Now before all of the Ed lovers out there send me nasty messages, I don't think Ed is a bad guy.  He's just not someone I'd want to spend the next 70 years with.  (If I were a heterosexual Canadian Restaurant Designer looking for love, that is .... )

For starters, Ed's hyper-nasal Chicago accent drives me bonkers.  He's fond of the word AND, I counted 27 uses last night.   Half the time, I feel like I'm watching Norm from Cheers doing his Mike Ditka Superfan Skit of Da Bears.  Two words for you Ditka, Richie, Ed not sexy.

Uh, hey dare, Jilly.  And .... Wanna go take deez short shorts off and hop in da bed over dare? 

I'm starting my Team Reid t-shirt empire today.  First shirt will say:

Come Se Dice, What the F**k? 

Hoping Reid is the new Bach, but sources say this may not be true.  Check out Reality Steve for more drama filled-goss on the Snatch ending and the After The Final Rose show.  He thinks the entire process is controlled and edited by producers and I tend to believe he's right on.  So why do I watch, you ask?  If it's all fake and scripted and edited?  Because I like a good foot fetish sub-plot, I reckon.  Mango Mango, anyone?

Most telling tidbit from Reality Steve's blog is former Bach Brad Womack's email to a relative, post finale airing, about how everything he said on the show was edited to have a different meaning.  You can see that story here. 

Surprised she didn't take Reid, Kryptonite or Ed to Gray's Papaya (37th and 8th) and ask them to make their favorite hot dog before she settled on her one true love.  Ed's a closeted chili cheese guy with the occasional relish and raw onions.  I have a feeling she'll live to regret not putting her hot dog theory to the test with this one.  Where any of them Callahan's hot dog material, I wonder?

Paula Deen's Little Giracle

Thank god for Bravo TV.  I am so happy that Kathy Griffin's Life On The D List has finally returned for another fabulous season.  It felt like a big ol' gay Christmas morning in my house, watching Kathy Griffin, Miss Paula Deen and (her gay assistant) Brandon "Pour Me Another" Branch packed into a single episode.  Life doesn't get much better than this.  Feel free to skip to around 8:30 in the clip below, where you will see Paula's assistant Brandon on his sixth gin & tonic, in all of his faggy, deep-fried glory.

Is it wrong that I want to spoon Paula Deen?  I want to be her cabana boy.  I want to fetch her mint juleps and tell her when she needs to add more lard to her pecan pies.  *Sigh*  The way she flours naked chicken wings with her bare hands, unafraid of plunging those bejeweled fingers into a vat of Crisco.  Paula Deen is my kind of woman.  Hell, I'd even follow around her dogs, coming to the rescue of any "turd alert" emergencies in a matter of seconds.

Sure, Paula loves to laugh and she might even tuck her house guests into bed at night. But the real reason why I love Miss Deen? She just loves making meals that average 3,000 calories per serving. 

God bless your heart, my sweet southern princess.  If you were to whip me up a burger like the one below, complete with bacon and cheese, sandwiched between two sugar glazed donuts, I'd eat every single bite, y'all. 

The Bachelorette and Her Gay Minions

Took in yet another episode of The Bachelorette last night, which left me feeling a bit empty inside.  Kleenex really should be sponsoring this show, in tandem with Oscar Meyer.  Miss Jillian cries hard and she cries often.  Can you blame her?  The one and only guy who might not have been either gay and/or seeking a career in television has left the building.  Adios, EdTV, we will miss you, your fashion jeans and your sometimes awkwardly placed overly-gelled bangs.

It's a tragedy of epic proportions that Foot Fetish Boy is still alive and well, despite the fact that he's so homo, he's on fire.  I think I saw flames burst from his spock ears in one particular scene.  You know, the scene where he's wearing his gay belt and ankle socks, lounging on the couch next to the other gays.  I wonder if it's Tanner P who can't "perform" in the bedroom, when the fantasy suite cards are dealt?  Had there been a life-size pinup of Jake plastered to the bedroom wall, I think he would have done just fine.  Well done on the erectile dysfunction teaser, ABC.  You clever bastards.  Paving the way for Viagra product placement, perhaps?

Foot business aside, there are a few other lads who need to roll off the mountain, STAT.  Michael, break-dancer boy, is a 12-year old boy.  Someone needs to explain to him that he needn't be "on" all the time - and that it's extremely common for people to talk using their inside voices.  Is it just me, or is he always screaming and saying things like "Booya!" "Hellsssss Yeah" and "DOOOODE?"  Michael, my money's on you doing the worm on your way out next week.  Let's hope the camera doesn't catch you spooning Tanner before you leave.

Jesse seems like a good guy - and who doesn't want a Wine Maker in the family?  Hello, free wine?  Poor pinup Jake.  He's not getting any love, due to his utter perfectness-ess.  I hope they show him shirtless at least once more before he gets the boot.  Hey!  Even a Jersey Gay Genius likes a little chiseled ab work every now and again. 

I'm also a fan of Reid, he cleans up well - and he might be my dark-horse pick to make the final three.  Kryptonite has a shot as well, if he can tone down the homo and lose the douchey headgear.  My Magic 8 Ball says that Ed will suddenly re-appear before the finale, dragging his wilted rose back to the mansion.  He'll realize that a shot a true love trumps IT work, blah blah blah and then we'll have a Bachelorette "crisis" in the making, blah blah blah.  Enter more tears, more references to hot dog condiments and bad boys, more of Wes' bad tweed/acid washed suits and honky tonk twanging under the balcony.  I'm hoping Wes hits a sour note soon.  Helllls yeah!  Love don't come easy Wes, not when you're wearing a suit that belonged to one of the Backstreet Boys, circa 1997.

Some words of advice for the Bachelors moving forward: 

1)  Enough already with the "babe" this and "babe" that.  Jillian ain't yo' babe, honky.
2)  Please refrain from calling Jillian and the other women you've dated "girls" - unless you were under 18
3)  Keep your bromance spooning to yourselves
4)  Make sure you choose ketchup and mustard and avoid the raw onions and relish at all costs.

* I was granted permission to use the words faggy, homo and gay more than 12 times throughout this post by the Legion of Homo Minions that oversee the blogging stratosphere due to my own certified homo status.  No gays were harmed during this blog post.*

The Bachelorette, aka, Who Let The Fags Out?

On the off chance that you've been a) living under a rock or b) prefer reading a good book to reality tv, I thought you should know that Jillian Harris is the new Bachelorette this season.  She's also the Canuck talkin', hot dog toppin', boots wearin', country song lovin', midriff showin' girl who was handed the dreaded friend card in Kiwiland by the short and slimy Snatchelor last season.  I consider her the lucky one.

This time, it looks as though Jillian's been handed a crop of cauliflower-eared meatheads to choose from (save for a few diamonds in the rough) that will probably suffer the same fate.  Most intriguing, however; would be the staggering number of gays who turned up for the audition and actually wound up on the show.  Whatchyoutalkin' bout Willis?  My gaydar registered a 12 on a scale of 1-10 with some of these hunky fairies.  What's that you say Producers? Not enough straight guys with ripped abs showed up for the auditions?  I have a new hot dog theory.  This one's called ... who would you like to see holding a weiner.  Works like a charm.

A) Jillian half naked in the hot tub

or

B) Chris Harrison wearing nothing but house slippers and a thong

Did The Bachelorette hold casting calls in the same building as the Dancing With The Stars ass shaking, pro samba hopefuls?  Some of these guys look like they aspire to land recurring roles on General Hospital, with the bleached chops, faux hawks and Boflex bods to prove it.  Case in point, foot fetish boy, also known as Tanner P.

Tanner, I admire your drive to succeed and your willingness to let nothing come between you and your dream of uber-stardom.  But dragging your homo arse into the mansion, snuggling up next to breakdancer mike and then perving on Jillian's toes in the pool does not a soapy star make.  May you wake up tomorrow, surrounded by hammer toes and bunions. 

So far, my flame count has reached Defcon 4.  Sasha (the Ben Stiller look-alike), Fetish Boy, Breakdancer and Juan.  Once Jill decides to put my hot dog theory to the test, all will be revealed.  Until then, a song for Tanner P.

My weiner has a first name
It's P-E-R-V-Y
My weiner has a second name
It's Bunions Make Me Cry
I love the pedi every day
And if you ask me why I'll say ....
Cuz ...
I sure hope to run away
with
M - I - K - E any day.

Shagging With The Stars

I feel so geriatric these days. 

Just picked up my shiny new glasses (that I'm now required to wear at all times, not just when I feel like it) coupled with the fact that I'm actually watching and looking forward to Dancing With The Stars on a regular basis has really upped my senior citizen status.  The show should consider sponsorship by Benefiber or Metamucil next season, which would fit nicely with the core demographic I do believe.  Present company excluded, of course.

One of the celeb contestants on Stars has given me nightmares two weeks running, yet I keep coming back for more.  Last week I dreamed that I had a mouth full of caps, Steve O style, that fell out after I was asked to shimmy myself across a pit of hungry alligators, hanging upside down, rope between my knees.  I watched as the gators snapped up each giant pearly white, one by one and then woke up in a sweaty panic.  I've read a lot about "losing teeth" in dreams and it's normally thought to be stress related.  In my case, I believe it's a direct reflection of my inability to understand why anyone, even someone as devoid of brain cells as Steve O, would willingly opt for teeth the size of floor tiles.  He scares me.  More than a little.

This week, I decided to ignore the Steve O routine all-together, so as not to give my brain any fodder for REM sleep.  I'm now worried that I'll wind up in bed with Steve Wozniak instead.  He'll pick me up on his Segway for a hot date at Bob's Big Boy, long stem rose clenched between his teeth - and then force me to naked tango with him in the parking lot.  Poor Woz.  One day, the geeks shall inherit the earth.  Until then, the hot French guy from the Sex in the City movie has the world in the palm of his studly hands.  My money's on Gille to go all the way, with Melissa from The Bachelor giving him a good run for his money.  I continue to be impressed by Lil' Kim.  Mostly, I watch just to see how people will pronounce her name.  One minute, she's being called Kim, the next, someone's called her "Little" Kim.  I don't believe I've heard the proper use of the apostrophe once.  That would be Lil' Kim, Bruno.  Lil'.  As in NIL.  As in, she's had more than just a LIL' plastic surgery in order to achieve the Latoya Jackson look she's currently sporting.

Latoya:

Lil':

Toupee Spoiler Alert!

That's right, I can sniff them out and spot them from ten yards away.  No one is safe.  Want to know if someone's had "work" or is sporting a new nose?  You've come to the right place.

Dancing With The Stars is on as I type and a new toup has just come into view.  Hello, Dolly!

Meet Jonathan Roberts.  Jonathan is the 2008 "Smooth" Dance Champion and holds several impressive Latin dance titles.  He's also sporting one of the worst toups on primetime.  ABC, how can you let this happen?  His rug scores a -1 in my book.  Here's how you can spot a fake and endlessly impress loved ones with your toup-a-rific expertise:

1.  The crown doesn't match the coiffe. 
Look for discoloration between crown and top of head or an "unnatural" blending of layers

2.  Wigs don't move.  Ever.
This guy spins and flips all over the place and the sturdy toup doesn't budge.  Not even a sweaty breeze or faux-hand-through-hair move can make a single follicle blow in the wind.

3.  The Caesar cut is out.
I highly doubt Jonathan would willingly opt for this do.  I didn't even accept that it was ever "in" - but I do recall a few of these hair dont's floating around in the 90's. 

*Disclaimer on the Caesar*

Apparently the Caesar cut is kinda/sorta ok if you are a hot runway model walking for Versace at Fashion Week.

4.  A faux hair gap is present. I call this a "hair balcony."

If you look closely (put the Tivo on pause and stare at Jonathan's head during judging) then you'll notice that the front of his faux hair fringe isn't touching the top of his head.  It juts out, leaving a noticeable toup gap between faux wig and tippy top of forehead.  Another known offender sporting a hair balcony would be Clinton Kelly from What Not To Wear.  A bit harder to detect due to the fact that he often chooses to style his wig into a faggy faux hawk, you'll have to trust me on this one.   I know something Clinton shouldn't wear ... and it's not in his closet.

Bald is beautiful.  Embrace that shiny head, lads.  Free your wig and the bliss will follow.

The Hot Dog Theory Spreads Like Buttah

I'm not surprised, in the least, that Bachelor alum Jillian is setting up shop with a new website - and most likely - shiny new publisher in tow - to help jaded women everywhere find the right man.  Getting the friend card was the best thing that could have happened to Jillian.  She had the best edit on The Bachelor this season and looks damn good in that purple flannel.  She emerged smelling like roses, despite the fact that she didn't end up with the last one.

When films like He's Just Not That Into You are filling theaters, Jillian's timing couldn't be better.  This is exactly what women are looking for.  Sassy short-hand based on a mystery pork by-product that will predict the future.  Jillian's hot dog theory will send women to the concession stands in droves.  I can picture it now:

The stealth stalking at half-time, the hiding behind the Costco-sized ketchup barrels, the waiting in cat-pounce-stance to claw at the mustard guy ...

So what's the dish on the hot dog theory, you ask?  Your topping, if you sport a twig and berries that is, says a whole lot about you.  Here's my own interpretation of the shortcut-to-man-bliss, otherwise known as the Jersey Girl Genius Hot Dog Theory.

Sauerkraut:

Your dream guy is not a sauerkraut guy.  Sauerkraut is a loner, a rebel.  He is a walking contradiction, a rare bird amongst condiments.  Known to spend hours sculpting his fine, GQ physique, he might not wash his underwear more than once a month.  Prone to poor hygiene and lack of ambition, Kraut may also be found starting home brew projects he is unlikely to finish and collects glass bongs from frequent "business trips" to Tijuana.  You might have had a one night stand with a few Krauts back in college.  That one time on the foosball table in the Frat house was especially memorable.  But when daylight shines on this wiener, he'll show his true colors.  When push comes to shove, he can't tell the difference between tuna and chicken and thinks a hymen is a trophy given out to college football stars.  Ouch.

Chili Cheese:

CC is a risk taker who wants the best of both worlds - to have his snack and eat it too - and might be too commitment phobic for most woman.  A glutton at heart, CC thinks that life should be lived without regret, which explains the unfortunate man boobs and protruding pot belly.   (I would place Jason Mesnick in the chili cheese category and think his selection of mustard on the show was an attempt to throw Jillian off the scent.) 

A bit of a slob, you'll find discarded fast food wrappers in the back seat of his car, along with a well worn DVD box set of South Park, Seasons 1-11.  The most chivalrous of all the condiments, this character trait is often misinterpreted as marriage material.  Sneaky and calculating, he'll hold the door for you so that he can check out your ass while he decided if he wants to "tap it" after dinner.  CC is a social beast with scores of unemployed, male besties.  Don't be surprised if he skips out on dinner with your parents in order to attend a Wii Bowling tournament at his buddy's house, where you'll find he's been drinking malt liquor out of the dog dish.

Raw Onions:

Clearly, Mr. Raw Onions is a boastful extrovert who isn't getting much action.  He can often be found with his mullet against the glass at hockey games, yelling insults at the refs and starting fights with rival fans.  Not to be confused with Kraut, Onions is an intellectual giant.  Some might peg him a diamond in the rough, but it will take a special woman to tame this shrew.  He's passionate about many things, like gambling, NASCAR and fishing for catfish with his bare hands.  He'll do anything twice.  When it comes to romance, Onions is more reserved.  He'll wait until he's put away a 12-pack before approaching you and when he does, sit back and watch the magic happen.  He might say things like "you look kind of pretty when I close one eye" and "are you down with having a threesome with my cousin over there ..."  Onion emits a feral animal-esc odor when he's on the prowl that can be detected by all females within a 50 mile radius.  He's easy to avoid unless you have a bad head cold.

Jillian is one whip smart Canuck.  I smell a book deal and a lucrative sponsorship with Oscar Mayer on the horizon.  I've already said that I'd buy whatever she's peddling - and with a personality that charismatic - I'd even consider a box of Jillian Sham Wows.  Cosmetics, OB Tampons, Victoria's Secret Bras, Heinz Ketchup, Ball Park Franks.  The woman can do no wrong, so I wrote this little ditty in her honor. 

Goes a little something like this ...

My hot dog had a first name

It's J-A-S-O-N

My hot dog had a second name it's

15 Minutes of FAME

I am so glad

I did not rub

His wee wil-ly in the hot, hot tub ....

Cuz ....

Jason Mesnick did away with

M-E-L-I-S-S-A

The Snatchelor Finale!

Tonight's the night!!!

Jason Mesnick, Sleepless in Seattle Single Dad of The Year, will finally propose tonight on ABC's The Bachelor. He might just propose TWICE.  It's anyone's guess.   I'm embarrassed to say that I've been completely hooked since Jillian *insert charming Canadian accent here* entered the scene, talkin' (bout) hot dogs and Canadian Bacon and the Ukrainian men her grandmother would like her to marry.  Lost a wee bit of respect for the shirtless wonder when he sent Jill packing.  She was looking oh so adorable and poised in her auf'd interview with Ellen, however; if you care to drool. Looking like a sexy vixen on TV is always the best revenge.

Will tonight's proposal stick? 

Reality Steve released a video earlier this month, suggesting that the scripted and mucho pre-meditated series has Mesnick choose Melissa in the finale, only to dump her on live TV for Molly at the "After The Final Rose" taping.  Say it ain't so, Joe!  Are we being set up?  If the Steve spoiler is true, America will surely feel so horribly for a heart-broken Melissa that she'll become the next Bachelorette, making it the highest rated Bach in history, right?

Not so fast, Steve-O.

So many theories, so little time.  I have some theories of my own as to why tonight will be the MOST DRAMATIC ENDING IN BACHELOR HISTORY.  In no particular order, here's what I'm sniffing:

• Jason reveals he has a va-jay jay, is interested in tandem naked bunjee jumping with Chris Harrison, thinking about a future stint on Rock of Love Bus 2

• Jason picks Melissa, then picks Molly, then picks his Speedo out of his ass while spotted on vacation with Ricky Martin in Miami.  Ty and the twins get along famously.

• Jason proposes to Melissa then realizes he still loves his ex-wife who realizes she's in love with Jillian and wants to open a hot dog shop with her.  Aren't we all in love with Jillian?  Fess up now kids.

           

• Jason decided to move to Vail, become a firefighter and live a polyamorous life with Trista and Ryan

Whatever the outcome, I'll be TWITTERING like a tweet-crazed fool tonight, logging my snarky commentary via my live twitter feed here.  I hope you can join me on the twitterati.  It's so much more fun that way.

*clink clink of champagne glass*

-JGG

Bachelor Jason Mesnick Listens To Puff Tent, Ignores Reason

This season of The Bachelor has been pretty darn tootin'.   We're talking formulaic reality show genius that had me wondering if some of the women had been screened for prior stalking convictions and/or clandestine stints in the loony bin.  With the departure of all the crazies (Shannon, Nikki, Megan, Raquel and wannabe American Idol hopeful Lauren) the season became far less painful to take in.  Far less cringing on my part, much less of my imaginary poisonous blow dart antics whenever Shannon came on screen.  I found myself getting sucked in and even went out on a limb to pick my Best in Show to go all the way.  The lovely Jillian Harris. 

I was completely shocked by Jason's decision to keep Molly and Melissa and to let Jillian go on Monday night.  In fact, I'm still cursing Mesnick for his short-sightedness and his unfortunate looking Sam the Eagle muppet profile. 

Judging from my need to post about the crushing rose ceremony in Kiwiland, I'm clearly not over it.   Jason, you fool!  You bloody idiot!  Jillian was by far the coolest, cutest, smartest, funniest, most down to earth woman in Bachelor history.  She puts Blinky (DeAnna) to shame.  Do you really want to live the rest of your life with someone who, and I quote, refuses to date anyone her parents don't like?  I got over that one when I was about 13.  While Molly has nice eyes, she also has refined acting chops and The Snatchelor is falling for her "it's hard to open up" routine hook, line and STINKER.  Melissa, on the other hand, is sweet.  Sweet like cotton candy.  I don't know if you've ever tried to eat an entire wand of cotton candy in one sitting, but after a while, it's just too much sugar.  I find myself putting down the cotton candy and reaching for the hot dog.  In the end, my money's on Melissa.  But whether or not it will stick is anyone's guess.

Speaking of the hot dog, I loved Jillian's Hot Dog Theory.  What would Jillian say about me, I wonder?  I'm a ketchup girl.  Always have been.  And I like to put my ketchup on in a swirly zig zag pattern, like so:

 

More important than the actual dog condiments, in my opinion, is how one handles the dreaded hot dog burp.  I had the unfortunate experience of sitting next to a gentleman at a basketball game who had downed two dogs during a single free throw.  What transpired was nothing less than horrific.  I was downwind and had to move my seat.  But I digress.

Jillian, I bet Jason has nasty hot dog burps.  In fact, I'd place him at 5 grodies on a scale of 1 to 5.  5 being "move your seat" bad.  Who wants to date a guy whose house is so underwhelming, they have to rent a faux house and try to pawn it off as his real home?  Sure.  You live on a houseboat with a four-year old who can't swim.   Whatever you say, Bachelor.  The next time someone tells you they are looking to marry their best friend, you should come clean on your own strategy.  Puff tent first, best friend second.  Pishaw. 

I just became privy to some insider scoop on the seriously twisted, Bachelor ending.  If you're up for a spoiler, this one will leave you feeling dirty.  Very, very dirty.  Jillian, you're better off letting your Grandmother take you up north to marry you off to that nice young Ukranian man she was telling you about.  Turns out, this guy's nothing but raw onions and chili farts.  Gross.

Tim Gunn and The Water Bra

With so much political excitement and celebration over the past few days, I've been a bit remiss in my blogging.  I've been too busy voting, Obama sun-saluting, fist pumping, finger wagging, hooting, snorting, "oh my god-ing" and tear shedding to think about trivial things like reality tv and hunched, self-effacing top models.  But that was Tuesday. 

I'm happy to report that I'm now able to multitask again and think about the state of the country, not through Anderson Cooper's eyes or Jon Stewart's shouting, but through the microcosmic lens I know and love; BRAVO.  Finally had some time to let the likes of Tyra Banks and Tim Gunn take root.  My first foray into reality tv-topia this week came in the form of America's Next Top Model, Cycle 11, Episode Vanderhootenosten, which I'll try to highlight for your reading pleasure.

The waiflings are put to the ultimate test in Amsterdam, where they must navigate around the city, guided by dingy drivers and internal compass, in order to find their "go-see" appointments.

Mon petit chu.  Marjorie was visibly distraught and about two boat rides away from a complete Wellbutrin meltdown.  Who does depression hurt?  Oui, Marjorie.  Her inability to read maps or communicate with the locals really set her back this week. 

When she did manage to hunch her way into a showroom, her fragile, shaky beanstalk of a body folding into itself, she did not impress the designers.  She didn't smile with her eyes ... in fact, those eyes say "panic attack looming" whenever she steps foot out the door.  Scratch that.  She need not leave the house in order to spaz into a fit of self loathing.  I believe I saw her crying over the way she had elected to break the spaghetti in half before dropping it into boiling water.  I think it's time for an intervention, sponsored by the kind folks at Schering Plough, the makers of BOOST protein shakes and The Dr Phil Show.

Elina got the boot and I was quite sorry to see her go.  Aside from being the best looking of the lot, she also seemed to be sporting the best collection of brain cells.  Tattooed and far less fragile than the others, I think Tyra made the wrong choice here. 

Producers must be banking on a hospital visit from Marjorie, complete with straight jacket restraints.  Had Elina made out with the other contestants or pitched another fit about being discriminated against because she's European, she might have made it another week.  When all was said and done, she wasn't vulnerable enough to make good TV in the land of the top model, which is a crying shame if you ask me.  Word to the wise, Top Model hopefuls .. you better whip out the crazy.

In other reality show news, Tim Gunn helped a tragic rocker wannabe with her wardrobe last night.  Tim Gunn's Guide To Style has taken on a whole new formula this year, that I find really interesting.  1)  They gave Veronika Web the boot  2) They are helping clients who have bitchier, I don't need your help Tim Gunn fashiontudes!

The woman featured last night was an exception to the aforementioned bitchy rule.  She was extremely gracious - just lost in her own tragic 90's denim nightmare.  Gunn and crew, including designer Kay Unger, helped Eliza to understand that skin-tight just ain't right.  One of the funniest moments, in my humble opinion, is when the chosen fashion victim has to show Gunn her new bras. 

What do you know, Tim didn't know what a water bra was.  Why is that, you ask?  Because Tim hasn't seen a bra on his bedroom floor since an illuminating game of truth or dare in 1962.  He always seems reluctant to touch the undergarments.  As if Tim's just been offered a plate of monkey brains while on the hunt for rare silk organza in South Asia, and has to kindly decline the offer. 

No, no, no, that's just fine, I'll pass.  We don't eat those where I come from.  Sorry to report, I can't make that work.

Golly gee, Tim, you're such a square.  Would it kill you to fondle a C cup every now and then?

She's Not Insane, She's European

I've been watching far too much of America's Next Top Model these days.  So much, in fact, that I believe I uttered the phrase:  I love how they just camped the shit out of this show.  Now that I'm praising Tyra for wooden clog walk-offs, I know I've reached the point of no return.  Might as well embrace it.  If you can't beat em', join em I say.

Of particular interest on Cycle 11 is Marjorie, the 19-year old neurotic French waif in desperate need of a Royale With Cheese - and some Forest Gump leg braces, to help her straighten out that scoliosis. 

What she really needs is a spa weekend with Oprah and Gayle at the ranch, where the three of them get strapped into harnesses, don helmets and work the zip line until they recognize their inner beauty and power.  She's a little bit Woody Allen, a little bit Ally Sheedy, Breakfast Club style.  I was really hoping for a miraculous transformation, but you just can't take the "homeschool" out of this pomme frit.

Marjorie better straighten her neurotic tranny mess of a self out soon or risk getting the boot.  In fierce Tyra land, you most certainly need to exude self-confidence and poor miss M is lacking.  I think it might be a vitamin deficiency, much like scurvy.  I bet Samantha Ronson is a deeply insecure person, all stemming from the fact that DJ'ing in the dark can really detract from your Vitamin C & D intake. Don't quote me on this, but a girl's entitled to her bunk theories.

To become ANTM, one needs to do more than smile with the eyes if one intends to take home the top prize.  Here's what I think it takes in order to land that contract with Elite Model Management (and bang Nigel Barker in the Bahamas, post swimsuit shoot):

1.  Have a really good "life challenge" that you were able to overcome. 

The fact that one of the models brought her penis with her this season would have landed her in the top three, hands down, had she not had that unfortunate droopy eye issue to contend with.  Tyra loves a good makeover story.  Girls who have overcome anorexia, drug abuse, living on the street or chronic stupidity are especially ripe for the cover girl crown.

2.  Talk about yourself in the third person - and/or - come with an obnoxious drawwwlll, y'all.

Naima was  a victim of third person personality disorder and she took it all the way.  Girls with unpleasant accents represent a tasty project for Tyra.  A project that she can't resist.  What she really wants to do, more than cut your hair off and dye it red, is to throw you into speech therapy to rid you of your hee haw.  

3.  Remind Tyra of herself.

This is the golden nugget, the hope diamond, the key to ANTM infamy.  If you photograph like Tyra or resemble Tyra in any way shape or form, you're already a winner.

4.  Make out with other girls in the house and/or speak openly about wanting to "turn others gay."

I've seen this tactic before and it works like a charm.  Kim is a real celesbian and she's made it pretty far.  Even if you're not gay, fake it till you make it.  Make out parties in the limo are especially popular.  Hot tubs, another good locale.  Judges and producers alike might keep you around a bit longer if you steam up the scene.

5. Practice incessant self-loathing, hunching and blame all of your problems on being European

Ahh yes, little miss M.  It's tough moving to the United States from France at the tender age of eight.  I bet you resent the fact that you were introduced to things like razors and deodorant in middle school.  And lest we forget, the cruel mistress I refer to as gym class dodge ball.  Probably feel like a fish out of water here, well, given the fact that we're all boastful, self congratulatory ogres who made you feel like an insecure door mouse.  Poor poor hunchie. (*JGG plays minature violin*)  Get over it, sweet cheeks!  Strap on Isis' balls and hunch like you invented hunch, mon petit chou.