What's in a name?

(Okay, first, click here and watch this Friends clip. I wanted to include it in this post but embedding was disabled on YouTube. So, go watch it. I'll wait...)

Did you watch it? Alright...

When this Friends clip first aired, of course I thought it was funny. But, the full hilarity of it wouldn't hit me until about 3 years ago, when life imitated art.

David and I were eating when a guy started talking to him. As he was walking away, he looked at David and said "See you later, Dennis." I inquired as to who Dennis was. David, like Chandler, replied "He thinks that's my name." And, like Chandler, David didn't feel the need to correct him. "I corrected him at first. It didn't stick. He's probably going to keep calling me Dennis no matter what. He's a nice guy, so why bother?"

As a person who has spent her entire life dealing with mispronunciations, misspellings, and other atrocities of her name, I'm kind of sensitive to this matter. I mean, I get why people butcher Audreya. But David? Come on. That's a pretty basic name.

So I thought it had to be a joke. Maybe the guy was just messing with David. But, months passed and every time we saw the guy, it was always "Hey, Dennis!" or "See you later, Dennis." Never a hint of a smile or anything to indicate he wasn't serious.

Somewhere along the way, I decided we should call him Chunder. It was about as similar to his actual name as Dennis is to David. Plus, it had the added bonus of being another name Chandler was incorrectly called (in the episodes where Bruce Willis guest starred.)  So, Chunder was born.

Anytime I would see Chunder out and about, he would speak to me, ask how Dennis was, etc. I would always reply "David is doing well." I kept thinking surely he would realize the error of his ways and quietly correct it. No big, embarrassing deal. I was mistaken.

About a year ago, Chunder saw me outside my office trying to hang up a sign. He stopped and offered to help. Chunder is a well-meaning guy. But after the eleventy-third time he mentioned Dennis, I finally said "Chunder," (okay, I used his real name) "My husband's name is David."  Then he said a line that has now become famous in my world:

"Are you sure?"

Am I sure? Yeah, I've seen his birth certificate, Social Security card, driver's license, credit report... all say David. Oh, and did I mention I'm married to the guy? Yes. I am sure.

Instead, I just nodded and said "Yep, it's David."

Chunder continued to insist that I was messing with him. My co-worker chimed in. "I'm telling you, it's David!" He would never concede the point. Instead, as he was leaving, he just said "Tell Dennis I said hello."

When I got home and told Dennis David, even he couldn't believe it. "You told him in no uncertain terms that my name was David and he thought you were kidding? Yeah, that's crazy - but it proves my point. There is no reason to correct him anymore." Instead, David decided to have some fun of his own.

Now, whenever we see the guy and he says "Hey, Dennis!" David shakes his hand and says "Hi, Chunder!" Yes, he actually says Chunder. At least a year into this plan, Chunder has never seemed to notice. Clearly Chunder lacks observational prowess.

And then there was this weekend...

David was outside cleaning his truck. Chunder was visiting friends in the neighborhood and stopped to chat. After a while, I stepped outside and discovered they were talking about a women who lived down the road. Chunder pointed to the house and said to me, "Dennis is going to fix me up with that lady!"

I stifled my laughter, mumbled something like "Awesome" and quickly retreated back into the house.

So is David actually going to fix Chunder up with the lady?

He says he's leaving that up to Dennis.

{Wordless Wednesday} Stolen Identity

My what?! Clearly I've been victimized by a Good Samaritan identity thief.

The Bachelor, Week 4: So bad I had to spell "classy" with a "k".

We've only been doing this for a month? It seems much longer. I mean, Brad, I love... but these girls, ugh. And now girls are waking up with black eyes? Please. Of course it's Crazypants Michelle. I think we all know how she got the black eye. I mean, you've seen Fight Club, right? Aaaah, makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Anyway, Crazypants thinks maybe her black eye was caused by stress. So I Googled "Can stress cause a black eye?" Google didn't even bother with any links. Just flashed "No" on the screen. 

With the mystery of the black eye still unsolved, Chris Harrison arrives at the mansion with a mystery of his own. Particularly, why was he wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater over a plaid shirt? I guess his wife is out of town again. Or he's decided to start dressing his age. Either way, yikes. Oh, the dates? Same crap as last week, a one-on-one, a group date, another one-on-one.

The first group date belongs to Chantal. According to the date card, they are off to find out "How deep is your love?" Gag. But, of course, before Chantal can leave with Brad, Crazypants Michelle has to be all "Waaah. I have a black eye." And Ashley S. tells the camera that she wishes she had given her the black eye. Take a number, sweetie. We all do. Luckily, knowing Crazypants, she's likely to let the subject drop after this. But back to Chantal...

A yellow and red helicopter arrives and whisks Brad and Chantal off to Catalina Island. Only when they land, they get out of a silver helicopter. The Bachelor franchise just keeps getting fancier. I didn't even know you could do a mid-air paint job. Oh, two helicopters? Yeah, probably. After all, this show is all about the eco-friendliness.

Next up, they take a boat out into the vast Bering Sea. Sorry, wrong show. I really miss Deadliest Catch. Ok, so they are out in the ocean and Brad tells Chantal they are going to walk on the sea floor. Chantal borderline flips out. Turns out she is afraid of deep water. What are the chances? Last week Ashley S. randomly had to sing the most meaningful song in the world to her. This week Chantal has to do the one thing she's most afraid of. Next thing you know, you're going to tell me the girls have to answer questions like "What is your favorite song?" and "What are you most afraid of?" before going on the show.

So, deep water. Chantal's scared. Got it. But, she decides to be brave for Brad. She dons the ridiculous Snork helmet and they start their undersea adventure. Yeah, I said Snorks. See for yourself...

Oh, come on. You remember the Snorks, right?!



Obviously not Brad and Chantal... but this was the best picture
I could find of Sea Trek.

 

The rooms I'm allowed to show you...

This weekend, our friends' little girl turned 1. These particular friends - we love but rarely see. You know, the friends that you hang out with and think "Oh my gosh! They are so fun. Why do we hardly ever see them?" and you vow to see them more often and then suddenly it's 3 years later. So, long story short, we hadn't seen them in ages, hadn't met their little girl, and hadn't seen their new (well, 2+ years old) house.

So, we arrived at the party a little bit early (I made the cake and I have found that it's not well received when I arrive 5 minutes late to the party. Not that I've done that.) We spent a little time chatting before many other people arrived. David asked how long they had been in the house. Nick answered. Then added...

"Would you like to see the rest of the house that I'm allowed to show you?"

Translation: You can only see the rooms where the doors are open. If I show you any closed-door rooms, my wife will murder me in my sleep.

How do I know the translation? Because I've said it. More than once.

I've mentioned before that I'm not the best housekeeper. I have some hoarding tendencies. I have some "sitting on the couch watching TV" tendencies. And I have a lot of "Holy crap! We have company coming over. Just throw all that junk in one of the spare rooms and pray the door closes!" tendencies.

We have a 3 bedroom house. Our room and our "office" are always off-limits. The guest room / "David's room" is a game time decision. Sometimes it's fit for public viewing. Other times, not so much. Plus, it has a deer carcass on the wall and it smells like a man room. So, really, why anyone would want to see it is beyond me. But my point is that I focus my housekeeping on the rooms without doors. And the guest bathroom.

Yet, while visiting Nick and Sarah's this weekend, I noticed a trend. Particularly, I noticed Nick throwing caution to the wind and "Hey, want to see this cool shotgun I got from my dad?" and David following close behind him into "off-limits" area where they kept their gun safe. The whole time Sarah going "Oh my word! Don't mind the mess in there." (For the record, there was no mess.)

Anyway, it got me thinking... first about why men don't seem to understand "off-limits" rooms. David is the same way. If we have people over and he thinks of something on the computer he wants to show them, he's all "Come on in..." as he climbs over piles of junk to get to the desk. I'm all "Hey, Guest, before I die of embarrassment, can I get you to sign this liability waiver?"  And second, it made me think about how little I mind the rooms other people deem unsafe. So what if there are boxes or laundry or other less-than-perfect conditions? I've got the same thing at my house. Most of us do. Unless I step in dog poo or am attacked by a rat, I'm really non-judgmental. If I'm being honest, I wouldn't even be that judgmental about dog poo. I have a dog. I get it. Sometimes poo happens.

I like my house to be clean. Who doesn't? But it's a house, not a museum. It gets messy. If I know someone is coming over, of course I'm going to tidy up. But I'm keeping my hidey-hole rooms. And I've lost the will to apologize for it. So, let this post serve as fair warning...

You're welcome at my house anytime. Move the laundry pile and have a seat. But if you need to Google something while you're visiting, ignore the mess. And, seriously, sign the liability wavier. I might have decided not to care about my messy rooms and what might fall on you while you're in there, but my insurance agent probably won't feel the same way.

The Bachelor, Week 3: Sob stories abound

If Week 3 of Bachelor Brad had been a Friends episode, it would have been called "The One With All The Death". I mean, seriously, I know the world is a cruel place, but it seems like everyone on this season has some sort of significant loss in their lives. It's almost, like, I don't know... maybe they cast this season with Chris Lambton in mind hoping to find a Bachelor who had experienced a similar loss. Then, when Chris Lambton declined their offer they ended up re-casting Brad, they couldn't be like "Okay, sad girls, go on home." Besides, let's face it, daddy issues make good TV. And Brad has plenty of his own, so it works, right?

Also, you might notice there is no "Here for the right reasons" count at the top this week. That's because I don't think it was said a single time. I KNOW! In reality, I should have been keeping a count of how many times someone referenced "walls up". But, hindsight and all that...

Alrighty, let's get right to the hoopla. The first date card is for Ashley S. The S stands for "Southern".

(Side note: I just took a bite of my Special K bar and realized I bought chocolatey drizzle, NOT chocolatey pretzel. I was really looking forward to the pretzel. If I'm totally off my game for the rest of this recap, you'll know why. Blech. This is not nearly as good as chocolatey pretzel.)

Where was I before my breakfast catastrophe? Right, Ashley. The unnecessary tagline on her date card reads "Let's find our love song". Ashley then announces that, if the date is karaoke, she is going to DAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!! (That's "die", for those of you who aren't from East Jesus, Alabama or wherever it is she calls home.) Anyway, she should probably go ahead and daaaahhhh because their date is, in fact, about singing. They arrive at Capitol Records and are going to record a song.

Ashley then says "I know my accent is really charmin', but my singin' voice isn't."

Okay, couple of things. A) Charmin' is a kind of toilet paper, not an adjective. B) Calling your own accent charmin' is extremely un-charmin'. C) No, it's really not.

(Side note: This weekend, I met a woman from my husband's hometown - one of the southernmost recesses of Arkansas. She informed me that his childhood nickname was "a$$box". Fortunately, before I chastised her about what a horrible thing that was to call a child, I realized she said "icebox". Still not an ideal nickname, but better than "a$$box". And her accent was perhaps a little charmin'. Ashley's - not so much.)

I'm a little scattered today, aren't I? It's the breakfast bar. Has to be. Anyway, back to Ashley and Brad. The song they are going to sing is Seal's Kiss From A Rose. Good. Because that song doesn't have the ability to completely take over my brain and stay there for months. Awesome. I probably won't be up until 1:30AM with it running through my head. (Hint: I was.)  Sweet. I almost certainly won't spend the next several days randomly bursting out into "BAAAAAA-BAAAAYYYY!!!!"

Ashley suddenly gets all emotional and tells the camera that this song was really special to her. She can't believe Brad chose it. (For the record, Brad mentioned over and over again how he thought this was a torturous idea for a date. Suffice it to say, he didn't choose the song.) So, the singing begins. They were pretty awful. Or, at least I think they were. My husband was singing so loudly that it drowned out the people on TV. Normally that would annoy me but it was actually quite welcome in this case. So, they sing, Brad apologizes to "Mr. Seal" in the microphone. Then they head into another room and guess who is there?! MR. SEAL!!! He awkwardly serenades them while they rudely whisper. Then they go up to the rooftop to have dinner. (Just Brad and Ashley. Seal probably had to get home to Heidi and their 34 children.)

Over dinner Ashley tells Brad that Kiss From A Rose was her very favorite song when she was 10. SHE WAS 10?! Um, if I've done my math correctly (I used a calculator, so that greatly increases the odds that I have), Brad was 23 when that song came out. Yeeowza!! Anywho, she tells him why the song is so special... because she used to sing it with her dad. Her dad who is probably closer to Brad's age than she is. Oh, and her dad passed away. Singing that song tonight made her feel like her dad was there with them. Good. That's what every guy wants: to be on a date with a woman 13 years younger than him and have her dad watching everything. Ick. But, undeterred by the ick factor (bonus points if you caught the Friends reference there too), they make out and Brad gives her the rose. 

Movie Review Monday: The Green Hornet

Fact: Superhero movies are the male equivalent of chick flicks.

And that it why I saw The Green Hornet this weekend. You see, it was Date Night. Normally on Date Night, David acquiesces and we see some movie I want to see. Preferably with Bradley Cooper. So, in my ongoing quest to be a better person, I thought it would be fun if I planned the date with a theme of "Things that won't make my husband want to stab himself in the eye".

Now, you might not know this about David, but I'd say approximately 60% of his wardrobe is made up of superhero / cartoon character t-shirts. The other 40% is the stuff he wears when he's doing something he doesn't particularly care for. You see, all the things he cares for have a dress code that allows for superhero t-shirts. Thus, I thought The Green Hornet would be a good movie choice.

Here's what I knew about The Green Hornet prior to watching the movie: Hornets aren't actually green. David had mentioned that this was an updated version (not remake) of an older Green Hornet movie. And he said Bruce Lee a lot.

So, assuming I am not oblivious to the majority of my blog readers being superhero aficionados, here is the synopsis: (Based solely on this particular version of the story, not the Bruce Lee or any other versions)

There is this guy, Mr. Reid, who is a media mogul. He owns a newspaper and is filthy rich. But, he's kind of a wank. He has a son, Britt (Seth Rogen), who is your typical spoiled rich kid. They don't get along. Britt is wasting his life on women and partying and trashing hotel rooms. Then his dad dies. Suddenly Britt is the heir to this newspaper empire. He doesn't care anything about it. The only thing he cares about is that, after firing all the staff at his dad's mansion, now his coffee tastes like crap. He finds out who made the coffee - a guy name Kato - and insists he come back. Kato also worked on Mr. Reid's extensive car collection.

As it turns out, Kato is basically an insanely awesome ninja. He has equipped the cars with all sorts of insane weapons and hidden features. He also thought Mr. Reid was a bit of a wank. After drinking too much, Britt and Kato decide to go out and wreak a little havoc. Only, in the middle of their antics, Kato ends up ninja-izing a band of hoodlums who tried to mug an innocent couple. However, the only part of the story that made news was Britt (in cognito) running from the scene. Britt decides it would be cool to turn this into a major story. So, he deems the "mysterious man" in the news photo The Green Hornet. Then he and Kato set out to do other less-than-legal things in an effort to actually bring justice as a result of their deeds. Not really in a Robinhood way, but sort of. Yeah, it's kind of weird. But it works. Anyway, obviously things go awry. Or, more appropriately... chaos ensues.

Overall, I thought the movie was enjoyable. Not my usual genre but I liked that it didn't require extensive knowledge of past books or movies like some superhero / character movies do. We watched it in 3D, which I didn't find to be that necessary. There were very few parts where the 3D added much to the experience - but we have a new theater in town with a big XD (kind of IMAX-ish) theater, so we thought we'd give it a try. The dialogue was funnier than I expected, so that's a plus. Superhero movies are obviously going to have some cheesy / off -the-wall scenes and this was no exception, but they weren't annoying. Some were kind of cool. And Kato rocked.

I'd give it a C. It was average. Or, maybe it would be more fair to say that I enjoyed it as much as I expected to. It was Date Night. Otherwise, it would have been fine to wait for DVD. For David's part, he gave it a B. He said he loved Kato and thought he was exactly how he should be, thought the car was awesome, and appreciated that the movie was pretty funny. 

And, there you have it. My review of a superhero movie. All in all, not bad. However, I have a suggestion if the makers of superhero movies want to get more wives / girlfriends to the theaters with their men. My suggestion rhymes with Radley Hooper.

Not That Interesting

A few weeks ago, my seven year old cousin sat with us during church. I He had reached the point in the sermon where I he was getting a little fidgety. So, out came the pens and paper. Now, I know I should have set a good example of how to listen in church, but he baited me. He always does. He will whisper something like "I bet I can draw a better ____ than you." How can I resist that? Left with no choice, I vandalized an attendance card. (To be fair, I never fill them out for attendance purposes, so I'm entitled to one a week for doodling, right?) I decided to sketch his name with super cool flame-swirl-dooflinkies around. Sweet, right?

Apparently not.

At the top of the card, he wrote "Not that interesting" and handed it back to me. (With a huge smile, of course. He's already incredibly quick-witted, with a specialty in dry humor. I adore it.)

Why am I telling you about this now? Not to flaunt how awesome my cousin is (well, maybe a little) but because it's stuck with me. It's become a mantra of sorts. And every time I turn around, something seems to reinforce this concept.

I read a post from Kerri yesterday about how saying "I wish I had time to..." as an excuse not to do something (start a hobby, participate in an event, etc.) chaps her hide. I couldn't agree more. Sometimes what you mean is that you are already obligated to a number of things and it wouldn't be wise to add another into the mix. And other times, maybe you mean that the offer is just not that interesting.

And that's okay.

You shouldn't feel any obligation to like everything I like. I mean, I am pretty cool and your life might improve if you followed my lead a little bit more... We're different people. What floats my boat might sink yours.

This thought has also popped into my mind a lot as I've been scanning through the people I follow on Twitter and Facebook, the blogs I read, etc. I use words like "productive" and "efficient" all the time at work... but I'm not very good at implementing those concepts in my social media experience. I often follow people because they followed me. I keep blogs in my reader well past the point where they no longer entertain me or are relevant to whatever reason I initially found them.

I'm trying to spend less time on my phone. I've got things in my life I'm actively working to improve. I have a husband and career and church and friends and on and on. Just like everyone else. So why do I spend my time scrolling through updates that I don't even read? Am I that afraid a person is going to lose sleep over me unfollowing their tweets or unsubscribing to their blog? It's possible I'm seriously overestimating my impact in their lives.

So, while I remain anti-resolution (despite the tone of several of my recent posts), the new year is a good time to reflect a little. If you don't like my blog, it's okay. I won't be mad if you move on. If you think I post too much stuff on Facebook, hide me. I won't even know. If you unfollow me on Twitter, that's cool. I'm not going to run one of those "who unfollowed me" reports. If it makes your life a little less chaotic, I'll applaud you for it.

I'm not going on a massive unfriending spree. I'm not declining every invitation that doesn't thrill me beyond words. I'm not going to tell my mortgage company that I am uninterested in paying them. I'm just giving myself permission to do a little clean-up. Make a little more room in my head. Be honest with myself about what matters and what doesn't. About what I enjoy and what I don't. And not take it personally if other people do the same.

 
The hard part is admitting a seven year old got it right when I didn't. Some things just aren't that interesting.
 
And that's okay.

The Bachelor, Week 2: In which Brad breaks my heart...

Week 2 started off much like Week 1 as Brad prattled on about second chances and how he's a changed man. Hmm, how much do you bet next week starts off the same? Give it a rest producers Brad. Seriously. I mean, what could be worse than hearing you say the same things over and over and...  oh, right, Chris Harrison doing it. Nonetheless, Chris showed up at the mansion to explain to the girls how the dating hoopla would play out - a group date and a couple of one-on-one dates. Not everyone would get a date, blah, blah, blah...

First up? Brad and Dentist Ashley headed out for their date, which the date card advertised as "The road to love is a wild ride." Who writes this crap? I mean, I'm a mediocre writer at best and yet I'm pretty sure I'm overqualified. And what would be so wrong with "Ashley, I'll pick you up at 7?" Like she's going to decline the date if there isn't some uber-cheesy tagline on the date card? Puh-lease.

Anyway, their "wild ride" started off with Brad pulling onto a dirt road and Dentist Ashley suddenly fearing for her life. After all, most serial killers intent on luring women into the woods to murder them do so with a camera crew following them. It just saves the corny Lifetime Movie reenactments. Take note, Joran van der Sloot.

Instead of murdering her, they arrived at a huge light switch. Randomly placed in the woods. What are the chances? Dentist Ashley flipped the switch and illuminated a carnival. The first piece of carnival decor was a giant scary-A clown. This doesn't seem to phase Ashley at all. She's scared of Brad but not giant scary-A clowns? Ugh. Anyway, they did carnivally things - rode the Scrambler, Brad "won" her a teddy bear, they ate cotton candy. Wheeee!! Next up, they made out. Then they talked about their daddy issues. A dentist with a terrible relationship with her father? I bet I know how she paid her way through dental school. (As a waitress... that's what I meant. Not a stripper. Geez, people!) Finally, Brad said this was the best date he'd been on in a years. Ashley said "Me too".  Really? Because Brad actually has been on dates like this before. You have too, Ashley? You mean your ordinary, non-Bachelor dates set up private carnivals for you? Do they also have helicopters and private jets? Give me a break. Oh, and she got a rose.

A Strange Thing Happened Last Night...

Like many modern couples, David and I recently realized our cell phone habit "needed a little work". While the timing of it is coincidental, I can assure you it has nothing to do with New Year's resolutions. It had a little to do with our family and friends constantly making comments about our inability to function without a phone in our hand. But it had a lot more to do with us just realizing we were going to get thumb arthritis weren't spending much time talking to one another because we were busy pushing buttons.

My problems are exactly what you'd expect of an iPhone user. You know, Twitter, Facebook, Words With Friends, various other games, weather info, Googling every thought that comes into my head, etc. I don't text a tremendous amount. (See also: Facebook, Twitter) but yeah, I'm always "checking something". Heaven forbid one of my friends see a funny license plate and I not know about it immediately.

David, on the other hand, has a dumb phone. As in "not a smart phone". He doesn't care about anything besides texting and, on rare occasion, actually using the phone to speak to someone. (Yeah, I don't know what that's all about.) Plus, he's a phone breaker. If you like specifics, he has a Samsung Rugby. The same phone used by construction workers and similar rough-and-tumble types. It's virtually indestructible. This is his second one.

Anyway, his keys click. Like a constant tap-tap-tap all the live-long day. Not like my quiet touchscreen. You may not know this about me, but I do not deal well with repetitive sounds. Long story short, the key clicking was about to make me homicidal. I'd wake up thinking I heard him texting.

So, I decided to fight fire with fire. Or, annoyance with annoyance. I called it "aversion therapy". Every time he'd be texting for an extended period of time, I would let out a very loud, long "hmmmmmmmm". The written word can't accurately convey the ridiculousness of the sound. 

At first, I think it made him homicidal. Then, somewhere along the line, it became funny. And, because I'm not a total douche, I knew I couldn't expect him to be on his phone less if I wasn't willing to do the same. So, as of late, we've decided to try cutting back.

Then, last night, we left the house. Upon arriving at our destination, we realized we'd both left our phones at home on their chargers. We got a little twitchy. I mean, what if the car breaks down? What if someone has a medical emergency and our moms can't get in touch with us? How am I going to tweet about leaving my phone at home if my phone is at home? Should we go back home and get them?  (Then I found my Blackberry in my purse. It's my work phone. I hate it, so I never attempt to text or go online with it. Basically, I have it to check emails when I'm away from the office. David and my boss are the only people with the number. My boss calls it the "Bat Phone". Anyway, no danger of me using it unless there truly was an emergency.) So, for all intents and purposes, we were phoneless for over two hours.

While we were gone, a strange thing happened.

Nothing.

I had one Words With Friends notification. David had one text. Much to our chagrin, the world actually went on without us. Who knew?

Are we cured? Of course not. The goal was never to give up our phones. Just give up our utter dependence on them. It was only two hours, but I think it was a big step.

*********

Side note: I thought I might, with his permission, tell you how many texts David sent and received last month. You know, to illustrate my point. So, I went online to view our account information. I think the fact that I got a pop-up window saying "Larger bills may take additional time to load" tells us everything we need to know.

But, nonetheless, I called David and said "Want to guess?" He said "I texted quite a bit last month, so maybe 3,000 or so?"  "Yeah, try 11,000." "HOLY CRAP!!" A coworker was standing nearby. This particular coworker is the father of a 19 year old textaholic daughter. David said "Hey, remember a couple of months ago when you were mad at (daughter) for texting so much... how many texts did she have?"

The answer: 8,000

David out-texted a 19 year old girl. That takes serious devotion. (Says the girl with the emergency phone in her purse. The phone which should, perhaps, be used to receive a call from the pot calling me a kettle and letting me know we're both black.)

The Bachelor, Week 1: Brad, YUM!

The Bachelor is back! The Bachelor is back! And not just any Bachelor... Bachelor Brad! Bachelor Brad is back! Bachelor Brad is back! Ok, I will try to dial down my excitement a little and remember that I write these posts for the sole purpose of making fun of the Bachelor or Bachelorette and his or her harem of dimwits. But I have to be honest, Brad Womack is my favorite person in the history of the show. Ever. Period. Of course, if you've read my recaps in the past, you already know that. Even before Brad was announced as the bachelor for this season, I was making random photographic tributes to him. Like this:

Anyway... I will do my best to make fun of him just like I would anyone else. And, as usual, I have read the spoilers but I promise not to share any of them here. If you want spoilers, get them from Reality Steve and no one else. He's my Bachelor-related hero. Given that this season featured my beloved Brad, I contemplated not reading the spoilers. But, 2.3 seconds later, I realized that was silly. So yeah, I know what happens. I don't find that it makes watching any less fun.

Not surprisingly, the first 10 15 entirely too long was spent talking about Brad's previous experience on the show, how it was a life-changing time for him and made him realize he was the one who couldn't commit, had daddy issues, etc. He said he began having panic attacks, became reclusive and then sought out therapy. Good for you, Brad. I mean it. Seriously. There is no shame in admitting you need to change and you need help. But wow, the producers did a good job of overselling the extent of his treatment. "Hey Brad, let's mention every 11 seconds that you went to therapy. That will prove you've changed." Really? Because I think it made him sound like a raving lunatic when, in fact, he's just a guy who needed to work through some stuff. And putting his therapist on camera? Really? I'm not a therapist, but if I were, I think I would have been generally opposed to my patient going back on TV and reliving that insanity. I'd have been more inclined to say "You've done good, dude. Now, go meet a nice girl and make it work." If my patient insisted going on the show was the best choice for them, then fine, but I don't think I'd have gone on camera and talked about how much progress they made. Unless, you know, I just wanted to shamelessly self-promote on a national TV show. Aaaannyyywayyy...

Next up, we meet a few of the women. They seemed pretty par for the course. More details on the chicks later. Before that, Brad has to have a "shocking reunion" with Jenni and DeAnna. And by "shocking reunion", I mean "producer suggested good cop / bad cop routine". Jenni was the good cop - who said she was hopeful and wished him the best. DeAnna was the bad cop - who said she was skeptical. Clearly a romance expert. She did such a good job on her season picking Jesse. How's that going? Oh, right. (But yes, both girls are happily married / engaged (not to Jesse) now. Whatevs.)

Okay, the ladies. Another crop of intelligent, established, stable women. I'm glad this show chooses based on those factors and doesn't do things like brag that their average contestant is a size 2. Oh, right. I'm not going to rehash every.single.girl because I honestly can't keep up when there are 30 of them. When it gets down to 10-ish, I'll get a little more interested in who's who. But, did anyone else notice they didn't post their ages this time? Could that be because Brad is something like 37 and most of these women are 25-ish? Heaven forbid he be given the option of anyone close to his age.