Jersey.Girl.Genius

The Bachelorette is Back! (Insert Annoying Giggle Here)

Ashley Hebert was kind of rejected by bad boy businessman Brad Womack on last season's Bachelor.   You know, in the same way that she's kind of a dentist.   A few porcelain veneers does not a dentist make.  Just as a date in a tree house in South Africa does not solidify your status as soul mates.

Was it really her inability to open up?  Her bitchy snarking and lack of self-confidence?  The absence of hair extensions that turned Brad off?  While the first date at the makeshift carnival looked promising, all girls know you can't ever trust a carnie.  Ashley eventually committed Bachelor suicide by throwing in a few "I don't cares" and got the boot, full of regret.  It was there that she made her best, most calculated move.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, and in the back of a limo, she was giving her appearance on The Bachelor her Bachelorette hopeful all.   If you've ever watched any of the previous seasons, you know that there is a tried and true formula for a repeat performance, be it on Bachelor Pad or as an upcoming Bachelor/Bachelorette.  What's that formula, you ask?

#1: Leave full of regret.  Return as enlightened as Dr. Phil.

It usually begins with the epiphany in the limo on your way back to Medawaska.  One minute you're zip lining your way into a man's heart, the next you're rejected over an oaky chardonnay somewhere in the middle of the rainforest.  You gave the Bachelor two months of your life, and all you have to show for it is a nasty rope burn and a mild case of yellow fever.  The first obstacle for any Bachelor or Bachelorette hopeful is to recognize one's misgivings and have some semblance of an off camera transformation.  The bigger the obstacle you overcome, the more likeable you'll be as the next Bach.  In the case of both Ashley and Brad - fear of rejection, fear of opening up were common themes.  Brad talked a lot about an absent father and heaps of talk therapy.  He even dragged his "therapist" around the world, to make his transformation look all the more believable.  All scripted to provide for the ultimate viewing experience, and to justify his return.  My advice to current Bachelor hopefuls, is to talk a lot about your own fear of rejection.  Leave early because your job demanded you return - facing you with the most painful decision of your life.  Have second thoughts about an ex-girlfriend; contemplate sleeping with the guy who wears the Mask around the house.  Above all else - act like a child and then demand that the producers bring you back to showcase your miraculous transformation.  It worked for Ed; it could work for you too.

#2: Be the first to bungee jump, repel off a building, sky dive or risk sudden death

ABC loves to flash back to the first "leap of faith" together for that final montage at the end.  Odds are if you take a leap of faith with the Bachelor or Bachelorette, you're getting a good edit on the season and will likely wind up in the final two.  Jumping off cliffs, zip lining, bungee jumping off a bridge, skydiving, shark cage swimming, snake charming, are all a few options for Bachelor infamy.  If you're not the final pick, no worries.  You'll likely end up in the top 2 and can hope for either a Dancing with the Stars stint or a room at the Inn when they film the next Bachelor Pad.

#3: Overcome obstacles, become a fan favorite.

This is the toughest road to hoe, but the most fruitful if you can pull it off.  Jillian followed this formula to a T, and wound up as a Bachelorette who now stars on Extreme Makeover as a designer.  Jillian talked a lot about how her mother's lifelong battle with depression shaped her and made her a stronger, better human being.   As a side note, she appeared to be one of the most genuine, down to earth contestants to ever appear on the show.  I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Emily (winner of Brad's final rose) will be back at some point to claim her title as Bachelorette.  Now that she's poked the bear and lived to tell, she'd make a dream Bachelorette.  She lost her fiance in a plane crash, was duped by Womack, and is still looking for her Prince Charming.  Can't script better TV than that.  If ABC wants her back, they will have to cough up some serious cash.  Rumor has it that Hef has already offered her a pictorial in Playboy.  What would little Ricki say?

#4:  Play the guitar, sing and/or get a tattoo. 

While Wes supposedly had a girl back home during Jillian's season, he was brought back for The Bachelor Pad and wormed his "love don't come easy" way into Gia's heart.  Remember Kasey?  The fruit loop Kermit the Frog marble mouth who wanted to "guard and protect Ali's heart" so much that he went out and got some ink?  Yeah, that guy.  He also sang to Ali.  Twice.  If you want to make an impression, a guitar or a little ink can go a long way.  Odds are you're loopy enough to make good TV or just sexy enough to be tolerated when you break out that six-string.  While singing usually helps the men with a repeat stint on ABC, it has the opposite effect when women attempt to serenade.  I recall an early cocktail party for Matt Grant, the London Calling Bachelor, when one of the women attempted Opera.  Nothing brings on a puff tent like a good aria.

Apocalypse Soonish.

It's the end of the world as we know it.  And I feel fine.  Truly, I do.   I had my hair colored today, to cover up those persistent grays.  Look, if I'm going to see Madonna, The Countess LuAnn, Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, her Beaver, Lady Gaga and all the gays in purgatory, I want to make sure I'm at my best.  What does one wear to one's first Rapture debut?  Bet you twenty bucks that LuAnn is back on good terms with Ungaro by now, and will be wearing something similar to Ramona, but not too similar.

All of this talk of the rapture has my head spinning.  How can so many people believe this nutterbutter?  He looks an awful lot like Orville Redenbacher.  I wouldn't trust him to accurately predict the proper popping time for microwave popcorn, let alone predict a cataclysmic chain of events leading to oblivion.  I'm baffled that he's collected nearly $80 million dollars in donations in just under three years.  Did I mention that Christian radio network Family Stations Inc is a nonprofit?  Evangelical broadcaster Harold Camping is at the helm.

Floods, tornadoes, oil spills, hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, oh my.  The planet has serious issues, there's no denying that.  But if the end of the world where near, I'm pretty sure that Oprah wouldn't have scheduled her last episode to air when no one would be around to see it.  Who would she give all of those cars to, if we all ceased to exist?  Who would she sing her farewell Maya Angelou poetry to?  Don't forget that you too can praise Oprah openly, via a fanpage on facebook, along with 150+ people who believe she's God and worship openly at the Church of O.  Of course Oprah is God.  Who else could get a group of self-deprecating women to Zipline at the Miraval spa?

It's now 11:08 AM on the day of reckoning and I'm still here.  Hoping to get in a few hours of garage sale browsing before the big kaboom. 

Me & Mrs. Jones

We've got a thing going on ... we both know that it's wrong, but it's much too strong to let it go now.

What do we have here? January Jones has a scandelous baby bump.  Betty Draper has been a very busy bee.  Somewhere in-between tupperware parties, neglecting bobby and sally, three martini lunches and chain smoking, she's found some time to get horizontal with a few good men.  And apparently, one very naughty one.  SNL funnyman and former squeeze Jason Sudeikis has gone on record to say that he is not the sperminator.   I'm not surprised.   I picture her with more of a Roger Sterling type, someone older and more refined.  Sudeikis, while in his thirties, is likely trapped in his teens emotionally.  Can you imagine dating him, or Andy Samberg, for that matter?  Even if I were a raging heterosexual, roofied out of my mind, I'd still look at Samberg and wonder why the hell the Cathy cartoon was trying to pull my pants down.  Ack! 

Word on the street is that January's baby daddy is one of her X-Men: First Class co-stars.  Tisk Tisk.  I'm not so convinced.  My money's on Iron Chef Bobby Flay.  His secret ingredient? Cucumber.  The fact that Flay's wife, Stephanie March, is a poor man's January Jones makes it all the more painful. 

Wonder how she hooked up with Flay?  Why not, Mario Batali?  or Cat Cora, for that matter?  If Batali was the baby daddy, it would be much easier to decipher genetically.  I've heard his kids are born with full beards, a soft spot for gwyneth paltrow and orange crocs.  Will the baby's looks say it all?  Look for a baby born with unruly brows, clinging to a bottle of Jameson.

Celebrity Baby Naming: 101

If we were rock stars, this would all be so much easier.  And no, I'm not referring to a never-ending selection of tight pants or on-call groupies.  The rich and famous get a free pass when it comes to the monikers they choose for their offspring.  Why is that?  When Cher named her son Blue (he now goes by Phillips Exeter Blue I) was there a grandmother amongst them who hung her head in shame? 

You want to name him what?  Blue?  What the hell is blue?  No one should name a baby blue - that's the color you hope to avoid when the thing comes out, for Christ sake!  I just knew that Gregg was smoking the mary jane.

Due to my many years of E Channel & Bravo TV wisdom, coupled with years of People magazine browsing, I think I've come up with a tried and true formula for naming celebrity babies. It's a lot like Yahtzee, actually. 

Step 1:  Choose a city or state.  Need not be in the US. 

Brooklyn, Halifax, Montana, Winnetka, Peoria, Saskatoon, Bruges, Columbus, Burlington

Step 2:  Select 9 colors that might also double as swatches for Benjamin Moore paints.

Blush, Boysenberry, Slate, Midnight at the Oasis, Sunburst, Peppercorn Fiesta, Sweet Corn, Blossom, Safari

Step 3:  Choose a helpless baby animal.

Fawn, Fledgling, Kit, Calf, Farrow, Cub, Foal, Joey, Pup

Step 4:  Place all of the above in a tragically hip hat and shake. 

Continue to select names until you've selected one color, one city/state, or one city/state and one helpless baby animal.  In no time, you'll be Introducing Halifax, Safari and Peppercorn Fiesta Farrow.  In my research, I've discovered that step three can also be replaced with a musical instrument or a fruit and/or vegetable, like so:

Sunburst Banjo, Midnight Plumb, Burlington Rhubarb, Sweet Corn Pan Flute.

Look out Rosie Pope, there's a new baby naming Sheriff in town!  Now auditioning for a gay male assistant and/or Meshach Taylor, who played Hollywood in 1987's Mannequin.  I wonder if he's available?

Are My Boobs Any Bigger?

It's 10 pm and my girlfriend is now in bed. 

Earlier this week, bedtime was 7:30.  What had started off as an innocent, tasty nap on the couch before Dancing with the Stars, turned into full REM sleep.  I'm quite used to entertaining myself after hours these days.  As a matter of fact, I'm watching Chaz Bono explain transgender 101 to Letterman and how he tackles the "men's bathroom" conundrum.  An amateur question from a smug Letterman, but I give them both credit for having such an open conversation.  Aside from Chaz's poor taste in footwear, I thought the interview likely blew the minds of more than half the population.  Good for you, Chaz.  You have bocce sized balls, my friend.

For those of you who have been reading this blog (and are not somehow related to me) over the past few years, I wanted to say thank you.  I've been on a bit of a hiatus while my real-world job has taken me all over the globe, peddling our savvy facebook wares.  It's only now, and in the wee hours, that I have time to crank out my thoughts on everything from A to Zoe.  And so, it's with this post that I'll be starting to take a look at new subject matter for the Jersey Girl Genius blog.  The whacky and wild world of Pregnancy. 

After only two attempts at IUI, Y is now 14 weeks pregnant.  Over the past three months, I've learned a few things about pregnancy and pregnant women that I'd never thought about before.   Eager to share my mama to be knowledge with you, there's no time like the present to start making lists.

#1.  Pregnant women will read an average of 20 gazillion books about being pregnant. 

Something funny happens as soon as that faint line on the 20th EPT test turns the slightest shade of fuchsia.  Hormones surge.  There's one hormone in-particular that sends women to the closest barnes & noble store.  The dog-eared copy of the latest David Sedaris book on my nightstand has collected a fine dusty patina, while Y can read about pregnant women the way professional eaters put away Nathan's hot dogs.  She's like a character from the tv show Heroes, with a super power for speed reading.  Just when she's finished one book, she's on to another.  Her appetite for pregnancy prose has left me feeling a tad guilty that I'm not putting down the pages like a true champ.  My copy of "She Looks Just Like You" along with "Daddy's Pregnant Too" have become excellent coasters for my water glass.   I know I'll pick up speed, but there's lots of time left, right?  And besides, why do I need to know everything there is to know, when Y's taking in all of this info, Rain Man style?

#2.  Pregnant women worry about the state of their nipples.  Often.

I now know that nipples darken to create the perfect bulls eye targets for hungry newborns.  It can happen during pregnancy or after birth.  But it does happen all right.  We're told they turn from pink to brown.  Mom nipples, as it were.  This impending transition can cause some anxiety for new moms-to-be.  Y asks me weekly if her nipples look any different, or if her boobs have gotten any bigger.  If I knew I'd wake up one day to be greeted with areolas the size of dinner plates, I might experience a teensy bit of anxiety too.

#3.  A Pregnant woman's sense of smell rivals that of a Great White Shark.

Because I'm a Shark Week nerd, I know that Great Whites can detect a single drop of blood in an olympic sized swimming pool from miles away.  A pregnant woman can tell if I'm wearing a sweatshirt that I wore to a diner three months ago, when I happened to eat an incredibly tasty, greasy cheeseburger.  While most schnozes would only detect the faintest hint of a downy ball, pregnant women will hone in on the cheeseburger smell, buried deep within the sweatshirt's fibers.  Pregnant noses should be trained to work alongside sniffing dogs at local airports, allowing them to give back to their community while simultaneously wreaking havoc on their loved ones for deciding to cook fish in the house.

#4.  Having Morning Sickness is not at all like being hung-over.

People who are hung over don't rebound quickly.  It's a slow transition at best, from misery to normalcy.  Boozers don't often wake up, throw up, immediately eat a bowl of Raisin Bran and then talk about what's for dinner.  I'm in awe at how quickly Y can go from hurling to hankering. 

Over the next few weeks and months, I plan to chime in every now and then to bring you the latest.  We're both so excited and (slightly) terrified for this next chapter.  I hope you pop in and chime in as we discover what the future holds.