I do not make any secret of the fact that I loves me some bad TV. I have several guilty pleasures including more than one Real Housewives of … series, “Dance Moms” and, what is probably my favorite, “The Bachelor.” This show, where 25 attention-seeking young ladies (?) with daddy issues parade themselves in front of the Bachelor in hopes of finding representation for their budding “independent film” career love, provides me entertainment each January and, as embarrassing as this may be to admit, helps me get over my seasonal depression. How can you not smile while these girls who have aged out of real pageants, enter this one? It’s not a pageant, you say? I beg to differ. There is evening gown (what they wear to the cocktail parties), interview (what they say, or slur, at the cocktail parties) and we all know and love the talent segment when 100-pound girls who have been fed nothing but a steady diet of champagne and squeezed into gowns made entirely of sequins with neck lines down to there and slits up to there try to dazzle the guy who is the prize with their operatic range, their ’06 cheer competition routine, a scrapbook page, a poem wherein the word heart is rhymed with approximately 67 words, and whatever other talent their mamas have lied to them about having. Now, I am not saying these girls don’t have talent, but what I am saying is that these talents don’t always translate to performance art that should be seen on national television. My mama loves me, y’all, and she loves me enough to tell me that maybe God did not bless me with a voice made for solos. Or duets. Or anything other than rocking out in my car. These girls’ mamas are either blinded by their love for their little precious ones, or they are sick and twisted women who enjoy watching their daughters embarrass themselves. I can only assume that there are at least a few who fall into the sick and twisted category and that is WHY little precious is dieting and waxing herself into oblivion for maximum camera time during the ever-present hot tub scenes.
Anyway, tonight, Juan Pablo takes the stage (or stone-paved driveway in this case) as our bachelor. I am not going to lie to you, folks – I am excited for this season. Besides being easy on the eyes and having a great accent, Juan Pablo is a former professional soccer player and World’s Greatest Padre (so says his coffee mug) to daughter Camilla. I may or may not (read: totally did) watch last night’s Juan Pablo preview on ABC and have a few observations:
1- I loved Juan Pablo when he appeared as a contestant on The Bachelorette. I don’t think one single person who watched that show understood why Des decided to send out Latin lover packing. We knew she was going to, but we don’t understand why. She instead chose the guy who didn’t want to choose her but oh wait now I totally love THAT guy because he is still here and already made the effort to put on the suit and all. But back to Juan Pablo … dashing, funny, self-deprecating, a good father and family man by all accounts, and the ONLY one to actually make the ridiculous spaghetti western episode work for him. (Again, she sent him home for the guy who sort of kind of looked like John Mayer used to before he started wearing that ridiculous hat who didn’t pick her. Gah, Des!) And last night, we saw much of the same. However, I couldn’t help but notice that there is something that is a touch smarmy about any bachelor they choose. I don’t care if this is the most awesome, down to earth guy ever in real life; there is something about becoming the bachelor that makes them a tad … cheesy. I think it is because of all of the contractually obligated scenes they have to film shirtless. (Except for Ben. Thank you, Chris Harrison, from everyone in – as you fondly call it – The Bachelor Nation, for NOT putting that clause in Ben’s contract.) And all of the contractually obligated scenes of said bachelor starting into the distance contemplating his future while his voiceover talks about “finding love” and “the journey” and, and and. Or maybe, MAYBE, it is because no guy most of us would actually choose in real life would sign up to be on a show where he is contractually obligated to take his shirt off 97 times a day while writing poetry.
2- Juan Pablo might be the Padre del Año but he is clueless about car seat safety. Seriously, I could pay no attention to anything else because Camilla’s chest restraint was somewhere around her belly button and her right arm strap kept falling off completely. You know her mother was mentally tightening those straps when she watched last night. And what of you, Bachelor producers, camera people, boom operators and mic folks? NONE of you have children and understand proper child restraint? I mean, kudos to Juan Pablo for keeping her in that five-point harness at her age and all, but I would feel less itchy if someone would tighten those straps for her.
## 3- In spite of the improperly restrained yet adorable daughter and my admission that, while I appreciated Juan Pablo’s shirtless Latin dance moves in a tunnel (Or was it a bridge? I can’t remember exactly, but there was traffic, I believe. It was odd.), I also found them a little, well, much, I will STILL watch this show. I will DVR it and love it and wait anxiously for [Lincee’s recaps.](www.ihategreenbeans.com) I will get mad at ABC for choose a group of 25 women who were NOT chosen for Juan Pablo as they claim, but because they will make “good” TV. I will watch because I am a romantic who believes that MAYBE just MAYBE two people can find love on what is essentially a ridiculous game show that sets totally unrealistic expectations in a very short period of time. I will make fun because I am a cynic and because come ON. You’ve got me ABC. I am part of “The Bachelor Nation.” I will read good books and listen to NPR and think deep thoughts tomorrow, but tonight, I will sit on my couch and watch “The Bachelor” and love every cheesy second of it.