No eHarmony for Womack: The Ladies

Ok, let’s recap the ladies, shall we? The caliber of women can be defined by the fact that there’s not one, but two Chantels. No my apologies, one Chantel and one Shawntel. Good Lord woof.

Ok, let’s start with the ultimate dead weight. The rejects that didn’t even get the courtesy of an exit interview. First we said adios to the normal named, regular occupation holders: Cristy: the attorney, Lacey: the insurance adjuster and Renee: the nanny. We also went ahead and got rid of Sarah, the musical theater performer (She was so close to me loving her! But then she went all, “Um. One thing you should know about me is that I can’t snap my fingers.” Well. Danke, freshman-orientation-one-weird-thing-about-me girl. You have a nice life singing about being alone.) and J, the operations manager. Yeah, just the letter. And it was her birthday. This year she got both rejection and embarrassment. Her cup runneth over.

The chicks that got Brad’s might-as-well-have-worked-at-Sizzler “Thanks for coming out” speech include an esthetician, sales director, paralegal, high school teacher and sales consultant. Yup, get those normal bitches out of the way. Two notes for a couple of the ladies: Paralegal Britnee how bout you not make your first impression as a demanding Needy Mcneederson with bad hair making Brad break protocol and open your door. They have P.A.s for that. Esthetician Rebecca…It’s true what they say about not buying cows when you can get milk and shit for free. Don’t be that girl that makes out with strangers. Especially if you’re not gonna be good enough at it to make him want to keep you around just for kicks…Just sayin.

As far as the ladies who are sticking around for one more week:

Ashley, the southern girl turned NYC nanny won the first impression rose. Is she Tenley’s baby sister, Ninely? If she does an interpretive dance any time within the first four episodes…I’m taking that as more conclusive evidence than a blood test.

And a quick recap of the rest of the cast:

Michelle the hairstylist (Mom #1)

Kimberley, marketing coordinator and mouthbreather

Madison the model and hissing vampire ratings booster

Emily the Children’s Hospital event planner, Mom #2 and race car driver widow

Raichel the manscaper. Apparently that’s a legit career these days. The spelling of the name though…Farthest thing from legit. Ever.

Keltie the bendie Rockette and most awkward runner since Phoebe Buffay.

Ashley the extremely lucky dentist. I say this because the woman was wearing a sparkle tube dress and I’ve already pegged her as this season’s Mrs. Ray Ramano. If she even gets one solo confessional I’ll be pretty surprised.

Lisa M. the marketing coordinator who owns ruby slippers for grown ups. I have a feeling they were left over from a particularly whorish Halloween costume from years past.

Lindsey the first grade teacher

Alli the apparel merchant named for a non-FDA approved weight-loss program that induces the shits. She should be proud.

Sarah P. the drunk real estate broker that forced a proposal out of the Womack moments after introductions. I’m just gonna leave it at the fact that the champagne was free and the wait was long. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. Yeah.

Marissa the sports publicist. Her intro: “I’m the closest thing you’ll ever get to screwing Erin Andrews so you better take advantage. I’m gonna walk away now.”

Britt the food writer who brought Womack trail mix. Whatevs.

Stacey the bartender aka “I don’t know who you are because I’m too cool to actually watch the fucking Bachelor”

Shawntel the funeral director. He’ll say adieu at the first whiff of formaldehyde.

Jackie an artist. That likes to make up songs and sing. Much like a five year old. Bet she uses finger paints too…

Melissa the waitress who took a running leap into the Womack. Guess those, um assets? Buoys? Ok, whatever, her giant bouncing boobs, paid off.

Chantel an executive assistant who slaps strangers for dumping women she’s never met. I think he would’ve had full rights to smack her back. Maybe next episode?

Ok, I'm off to watch some Actors Studio. Because I just can't bring myself to watch Barners and Ducks this evening. If I succumb to the Bachelor: Round Two, I'll be sure to express my opinions of snark and disdain. Until then, happy TV watching, whatever it may be.

Brad Womack Hasn't Heard of eHarmony.

Ok, so as I wait with bated breath to see if I actually get a snow day tomorrow, I'm attempting to distract myself by finally watching the Bachelor. I'm 20 minutes in and I think I've learned all I need to know about Brad.

1. He's not going to be wearing a shirt much.
2. He thinks "perverbial" is a word.
3. Even with two years of therapy and inner reflection, Brad thinks the only way to find a wife is through ABC prime time.

I've also already decided that the race car driver's widow with the miracle child might as well pack her bags with leis and tankinis because she's going to the final-three-Fantasy-Island-vacation. And she's gonna get the first vacation date because she's no one's sloppy second and/or third.

My instincts are saying vampire chick's not going to go well with his Austin twang and pearl snap shirts, but good Lord almighty I hope the producers keep her crazy ass around. At least for a few episodes. Vampires are big right now.

Ok, back to the show. Chris Harrison has a fresh scotch to watch the parade of slaps, spittings and desperate discrete humpings that is the introduction of all the ladies. Check back later, I'm sure I'll have more insights to share.

Death by Satellite Radio

Kids of blogosphere, I'm in a funk. I don't know if it's a holiday hangover or if I'm actually getting sick, but I feel le craptastic. Am seriously hoping that my body is just repelling having to go to work after 12 glorious days of deliriously awesome nothingness. But you know what's not helping? The sad-FM-easy-listening-for-the-over-40 piped in music causing my ears to hemorrhage in my office. It's sad enough that after two weeks of family love and debauchery with my crew that I have to come back to work and stare at my grey cube walls, but the fact that over the course of the day I have heard:

Memories by Barbra Streisand

Close to You, the Carpenters

It's all Coming Back to Me, Celine Dion

You're Still the One, Shania Twain

Hopelessly Devoted, Olivia Newton John

Tell Me Why, Backstreet Boys

I'll Never Love This Way Again, Dionne Warwick

...Well it's just not right.

We cube-dwellers have decided that this station was once the one playing around the clock Christmas music, and now that Christmas is over, it's back to regularly scheduled programming. Now I know what my Jewish boss was feeling during a month of "White Christmas," "Here Comes Santa Claus" and "Dogs Bark Jingle Bells." Generally pissed off and desperate for a song about dreidels.

I'm doing my best to ignore it, but seriously: there's no escaping those inevitable saxophone riffs that tend to pop up every quarter hour. Woof.

On the upside, I have a new favorite desk accessory.

Yes, it's a mustache mug. And I find it quite awesome. It makes me happy. It's awesomeness has the power to drown out the Kenny G.

Oh, oh, oh. And check this out.





Do you see that?

No, I'm not talking about the Xpress 101. We've already talked about it's magical powers. It's a plant. That I grew. That's not dead.

I have a notorious black thumb. In my first apartment, I thought it'd be a hoot to have lots of potted plants on our screened in porch (you remember this, Sus?). And for about a week they looked pretty adorable. Then I forgot about them. And they went through the harsh Alabama summer with no water. And then they went though the harsh Alabama winter (huh yuck) with no water. Or love. Or anything. Come move out time, I had lots of pots and withered-to-nothing-stumps-of-plants to throw away. Woops. The fact that I actually have an animal that is very much alive still astounds me. I killed a fern. A fern. That's like killing a cactus. Anyway, this tangent has gotten out of hand. In short: Plants fear me. Am lucky with animals.

I never expected the current pre-death plant to actually survive. It's one of those plants in a box with the bulbs and compressed soil discs. Mom got one for me and one for her. I knew hers would live. I think she has some plants that are still around from the Carter administration. Mine though...Yikes. But lo and behold it's still kickin. It will however, never go outside. Out of sight is literally out of mind for me. It'd be the equivalent of sending that poor plant on a Trail of Tears-esque death march.

In other, random news, I'm picking up my routine after a holiday abstention and going back to the sad, little apartment gym tonight. Maybe it'll make me feel better. At the very least, I'll feel better watching Biggest Loser tonight knowing that I'm not a complete lazy ass. I'm already one step closer to not feeling pangs of guilt while watching the BL by bringing in a leftover canister of buckeye balls (a result of excessive holiday baking) into work. Now they won't stare at me every time I go into the kitchen and ask to come join me by the couch.

And speaking of TV...I've got the first episode of the Bachelor on the DVR. But I just don't know if I have the strength or the stomach to watch and/or commentate this season. We'll just have to see about that one. Double woof.