It’s going to be a loooooong season
That was the status of my Facebook page last night.
I wanted to issue a grand “BLESS ALL OF OUR HEARTS” blanket statement and then be done with the recap, but I know y’all want and need a little more than that. Because I love you, I will force my eyeballs to roll forward from their permanent placement in the back of my brain, refrain from shaking my head back and forth in haughty derision and power through my list of notes from the JUAN-uary inauguration. I am a pseudo professional after all.
Here’s what I gleaned from last night’s show:
Our Host Chris Harrison’s still got it. His suite was immaculate. His hand gestures were regal. And his spray tan was the perfect shade of California glow. Well done Harrison. I’ve missed you.
You must be stacked to make it on the show. Ladies who shop below the C-cup drawers in Victoria’s Secret need not apply.
I wondered if times must be tough over at ABC, because suddenly we are following Harrison schlepping roses to the lucky DDs who have been chosen to vie for the love of Juan Pablo. It isn’t until Lucinda (aka Lucy) jumps up into Harrison’s arms and wraps her legs around his crotchal region that I understand his willingness to participate in this endeavor.
She’s so excited that she runs into the dressing room of the quaint shop Harrison randomly found her in and emerges in a tight shirt that she’s passing as a dress. Gotta love those free spirits.
Our Host arrives at Elise’s house next who TOTALLY was given the head’s up that he was coming because no one wears red cocktail dresses in the middle of the afternoon. Bonus: she’s attempting to learn Spanish. She’s in it to win it. Muy bueno Elise.
Christy also looked too good when the producer showed up with her rose. And so did her hot friends. I’m impressed that she was able to pack all of her cocktail dresses, feminine tanks, statement necklaces, string bikinis, DD bras and casual mimosa morning yoga pants in the five minutes that the producers gave her due to the fact that SHE HAD TO LEAVE RIGHT THAT SECOND to get on a plane. Bonus: BANG BRAID
Lauren H. appeared to be pretty legit since she answered the door in her glasses and a flannel shirt. I was suspect at how immaculate the house seemed, but let it slide thinking it was probably her parents’ house, which led me down a rambling thought of how my Dad would probably be asleep on the couch with ESPN blaring if cameras just happen to show up unexpectedly. Mama would look fresh as a daisy.
Alli seemed to be the most authentic of all the surprise visits. She was eating on the street with some dudes. She didn’t seem overly enthusiastic that cameras were being shoved in her face and was equally annoyed that the producers made her interview little old couples on how to find true love. She’ll probably be cut the first night.
Catch phrase of the night: “I’M COMING FOR YOU JUAN PABLO!”
Surprise of the night: Lady Edith is kissing in public with the London dude who wants to be German. YOU GO LADY EDITH! ROCK THAT ROARING 20s LOOK!
I can report that Juan Pablo ran on the beach in white shorts and body rolled in a red t-shirt. The night was officially looking up.
His daughter Camilla is his world and appears to be a little too big to be in a car seat. Her tiny BFF Chantal is a doll and the two hug each other with the same exact enthusiasm as Our Host and The Free Spirit. Juan Pablo purchases invisible cookies from their restaurant on the playground. It was adorable.
If you don’t like Venezuelan food, you’re out
According to his family, Juan Pablo doesn’t have a type. His cousin Isabel gave him some ridiculous advice. She told him to keep his shirt on. We hate her.
Juan Pablo’s father made him cry. That’s when I noticed he wears an ankle bracelet. Suspect.
ABC aired a very tasteful memorandum celebrating Gia.
Wait a minute. I thought this dude was going to be courting Lady Mary tonight?! What gives?
It would appear that this season is going to be full of tears, amazing locations, toplessness and more tears.
Buckle up people. It all starts TONIGHT!
All about the shame, not the fame,