Everything I Know in Life, I Learned from The Bachelor

I hear people complaining about the sexist nature of The Bachelor and how it sets back the "Women's Lib" movement and all that "women shouldn't flaunt themselves for male attention" mumbo jumbo, but the reality is.... that is a really wise and educational show. I think the non-followers are really missing out on some of life's most critical lessons. So, in light of that fact, I am going to spread the wealth of knowledge that I have learned from Jake, Jake the Pillow Snake and the rest of the crew.

1. If your potential mate has a striking resemblance to Hedy from Single White Female, it's best to cut and run before you bother to get to know her (and her other 14 personalities).

See.... Hedy... puppy killer, stalker, man raper and murderer...

Now, Michelle... in love with Jake before they met, "I'm leaving... no I'm staying.... no I'm leaving" Sybil-ish tendencies..., would totally have slit some throats if they let her play with sharp things...

I think it's the vacant expression in the eyes. You know they aren't listening to the people around them.... so they must be listening to the voices in their heads. Scary.

2. When describing a girl who is super perky, blissfully happy all the time, (ahem, Tenley) even though her first husband cheated on her and she went through a messy divorce, definitely use phrases like "she shits rainbows" and "I am pretty sure she dreams in cartoon" because that just paints a picture better than Picasso. Then again, he was abstract wasn't he? Bad example.

3. When entering a room that is already occupied by a foxy male... let your breasts enter first and your body and face come in much, much later. (Works best when in a bikini and entering through curtains). It sure worked for Rosalyn. Oh wait, she was kicked off for fornicating with a poor, married, now unemployed staffer. Never mind. It didn't work so well after all.

4. When playing stupid mind games like...

I am going to tell you that I don't want you to kiss me, but then I am going to make it abundantly clear that I want to taste your tonsils...

or...

I am going to pretend like I need to go home for my job (even though I am a low level ad exec and life does EASILY go on without me) just so I can force you into telling me that I am "the one" way before you are allowed to...

beware that at some point you are going to have to back it up. Like when he kisses your forehead dismissively because he's sick of your wee wee teasing crap and then hands the rose to anyone available, maybe even the 300 pound camera guy, just to get you back home to Nebraska where you belong. Or, when he doesn't say you are the one because you've reduced yourself to a game playing psycho... then you're really going to have to leave the show that was basically your last chance at true love because now the entire country full of available men knows you are one of those crazy women they need to avoid. Tough lesson learned for Elizaprude in Slut's Clothing and Ally McBailOut... but good for the rest of us.

5. When you are a lingerie model and you want a guy, but have absolutely nothing intelligent or interesting to say, play with your full and luscious lips... because then he will forget that he wanted to talk in the first place. This only works for a small percentage of the population, but if you got the lip action, make it work for you. Octomom and Lisa Renna excluded, of course.

6. And lastly, when you are a dude surrounded by 25 attractive and REALLY available women, do not keep the lazy eyed, mullet/bad weaved, Daddy's girl in the mix thinking she's going to be your little woman. Betty Crocker, June Cleaver, hell... Roseanne Connor she's not, so don't think your wings will be polished and your dinner will be nicely microwaved when you come in for a landing. She's going to be really busy watching her DVD collection of Beavis and Butthead and reading Teen People (the adult one is just so confusing). And through all that, someone has to keep her in synthetic hair like strings and popping bubble gum... and I am not sure you want all your hard-earned pilot dollars heading to Bob's House of Crappy Hair down in the Florida swamps, now do you?

Let's Get Drunk...

So, I am reading this Good Housekeeping article about a work from home mother coming to grips with the fact that she is an alcoholic, and you know what the sad part is... instead of inspiring me to kick the cocktails, it is kinda making me wish I was a full on alcoholic. Is that wrong? She describes how a box of wine could make her more fun, more tolerant of the things her kids do (things that are cute at 8:00a, but get super annoying around 4:00p), and she was less on edge. I realize that alcoholism is serious and blah blah blah 12 steps yada yada, but I read the article and was left thinking.... I wanna be those things. I want to be more fun, I want to be more tolerant, and I want my shoulders to detach from my ears from time to time so that my neck can see the light of day. So ok, maybe she spent her school's entire open house puking in the bathroom, but is that really such a large price to pay for being... I dunno... happier?

The reality is, I am not going to AA any time soon. I go out with my girls about once a week and have two Bailey's on the rocks, which comes in a shot glass mostly filled with ice. It is probably the equivalent of a quarter of a beer. Then I switch to Diet Coke. So, alcoholism is not gonna make it. I don't do drugs and much to the shock of most people who have met me, I never have. I have never smoked, popped, or shot up anything so, that vice is probably out too. Do you know what that leaves me? Usually Taco Bell. I kid you not, Wednesday was a day from h-e-double hockey sticks and when the kids went to bed, I literally said to Mark... "I want to Taco Bell my bad day away." How healthy is that? Instead of drinking, I eat. So, I won't puke during a school open house, but I may not be able to fit my butt in the itty bitty desk chairs. And you know what... tacos don't make me more fun, or more tolerant and it sure doesn't make me less on edge Instead, it makes me fatter.

So, now what? I guess drinking is out, and food's not working. What do we SAHMs do? Some reader (slash nut job) is going to tell me about the endorphins from exercising, but come on. I am more likely to shoot up than I am to join a gym... so what is left? I love my kids, but by the end of the day the screaming, jumping up and down, tugging on my sleeve, constant fighting over the same toy, can't even go to the bathroom by myself life that I lead can get me down. And when I'm down.... it doesn't seem like anything can pick me back up. I mean really.... somethings gotta give when you start envying the alcoholics.