Juan Pablo #4: Bachelorettes--They're Just Like Us!

If you've ever had some time to kill in an unmoving grocery store line you may have opened an Us Weekly and come across my favorite feature, "Stars--They're Just Like Us!"

That's some quality journalism right there, folks. What could be more valuable than reminding us all of our shared humanity? (I'm sure that's the intent.) And that's what struck me during this week's episode of The Bachelor: how very much like these inhumanly beautiful self-absorbed young women we all are. Or at least I am. (Remember, self-absorbed is one of the listed qualities.)

Here's where I was today:

Second-hand Souk, Riyadh

Here's where the Bachelor girls were:

Bachelorettes in Seoul

Here are the kinds of dresses I was looking at: 

Finery at the Second-hand Souk, Riyadh

While the Bachelor girls got to choose from a wardrobe that produced the likes of this:

Bachelorettes at the rose ceremony

See the similarities? In fact, that green number on Elise in the front row might be a crossover piece.

To keep going, this week I got to return to Riyadh after a monthlong stay in the U.S. Meanwhile, the Bachelor crowd got to travel to Seoul, Korea. Both trips are long. But I did notice that travel sure goes a lot quicker when you go by cartoon:

Whoosh! With some background giggling and a passing-jet sound effect, they were there in only a few seconds! Before leaving, the girls were told they had only an hour to pack, which didn't seem like a big deal because all evidence to this point suggests that they've just been heaving stuff onto the floor all along and only needed to cram it back into the already-half-loaded suitcases. But then I saw this:

Whoa! They have A LOT of luggage! And guess what? I also filled one of those carts when I arrived in Riyadh this week! I was supplying two people with six months' worth of supplies we can't get here. The bachelorettes, on the other hand, were carrying an unknown number of glitter dresses, cute leggings with boots, assorted spandex pieces, rompers and hot pants, and shoes and shoes and shoes. I'd be curious how much volume they could've eliminated if they realized that all their hair care and exfoliation appliances wouldn't plug into foreign outlets. Or maybe they already DID leave those things behind. Oh, dear.

For the first group date, they were told to prepare to POP! By that standard, only one did: Kat. She was bursting with self-love about her dancing ability, sure she was going to shine like New York at night. In preparing to act as backup dancers for a Korean girl-pop group, she claimed she was KILLING IT and that this couldn't be ANY BETTER and if the rose were going to be given based on dancing ability then she'd have it FOR SURE. (I have yet to see a talent-based rose bestowal, but I guess there's always a first time.) "I'm a dancer!" she bleated more than once.

Wait a second. According to the bios, she's a medical sales rep. However, we DO have one actual dancer.

There it is. Right on the screen. Didn't hear a word from her about it. I have to give some credit to this woman-child for her restraint when SHE was the one who actually had something to brag about. Later in the show, she also showed extremely high maturity with her unwillingness to join in a bachelorette gripe session. Yes, Cassandra, you may take two giant steps forward.

I'll tell you who IS just like me, though. Nikki the Non-Dancer. And I'll tell you who I WANT to be just like me: Chelsie, who could only talk about how incredible it was to be given an opportunity to do something no one else ever will. Gratitude and a positive attitude, check. Chelsie, two giant steps forward.

Kat, however, appeared to be moving backward. How did she choose to show Juan Pablo that she's "not just a fun and games girl"? By talking about her alcoholic dad. She also said, "I've always been the strong, successful, independent one." Well, shoot. ME TOO!

Sharleen the Opera Singer scored the solo date. Juan Pablo appears to be way more taken with her than she is with him. (Shades of Desiree and Brooks, anyone?) His choice indicates that he is anxious to date up. Admirable, yes, but wise? Probably not.

The final group date took the remaining girls around Seoul, trying exotic food like OCTOPUS! Hey! I've eaten that! So has about EVERYONE! We're JUST LIKE them! Well, almost all of them. Not Clare, who acted as if she'd been asked to eat a dog pile. If Juan Pablo wants to be just like me, he'll stay away from princesses. But so far, no.

For the sparkly dress portion of the evening, Juan Pablo spontaneously made a vow to keep himself kissing-abstinent. Coincidentally and unfortunately, each of the women spontaneously decided they NEEDED to be kissed that particular night. Oops! Communication is at the foundation of all successful relationships, right? Thus we ended up with Lauren feeling rejected and crying (the #1 biological turn-off to men) and thereby tying her own noose. But whose mouth did he find irresistible, the one that made him completely lose himself and forget his vow? Clare! Yes! The one who JUST EXPLAINED that eating the octopus made her throw up in her mouth. THAT mouth.

Clare throwing up a little in her mouth

Okay, I'm nothing like her. Or him. Except that maybe I'm starting to throw up a little bit in my mouth right now.

The cocktail party was marked by lots of tough talk from girls who WOULD NOT STAND for bad behavior from the others. Clare (surprise!) in particular talked about how she wasn't going to let people Walk All Over Her. And she did so while in the act of being interrupted by Nikki and stepping aside without asserting herself in the slightest. What she did do instead was create a super-uncomfortable passive-aggressively confrontational moment across an innocent dog-loving third party a little later:

Lesson: Don't be the girl in the middle. In the end, though, no harm no foul YET among the girls who are making each other mad. The go-homers were Elise of the Low Camera Time and the Strange Dress,

and Lauren of the Bad Timing and the Practical Khaki Jacket.

But their time will come, guaranteed. As it will for all of us because, well, we're just like them, right?

Juan Pablo #3: The Children's Hour

I had dinner with a couple of little boys Monday night. Ages eight and nine, to be precise. I mean, they're children. They're actually really good company, especially if you're into this certain app that lets you add special effects to videos you take with your phone, like dropping a piano on your brother or blowing him up. If you're not, though, I can see how a night would seem to pass kinda slowly. I can see how someone might be concerned that the Object of Her Affection would be, say, a titch bored in the company of somebody who's too young.

Eight-year-old: You know what kind of animal I would be? A hippo-horse! A hippo-horse-dog-zebra-monkey-bear-lion-giraffe-table-floor-chicken-spoon-plate-everythingthereis! Bahahahaha!

Forget about my sheep pig (which is real). Now THERE'S some raw conversational material. I mean, check out the results I get for a search on "animal mashups":

And it goes on for pages. But I'll admit the topic does have its limitations, and after you've gone a few rounds you're pretty much done.

Cassandra, former NBA dancer: Oh my gosh! Hahahaha!

That kind of conversation, on the other hand, it much more open-ended, and when you have the body of a teenager because you're, well, just barely beyond being a teenager, apparently that's enough to make a relationship really start going somewhere. And high time one did for this poor girl! Did you know it's been THREE YEARS since she last had a first date? THREE YEARS! How could anyone survive a drought like that! What hardship! What sacrifice! I mean, she hasn't been on a first date since she was EIGHTEEN! That's ages! That's, like...

Okay. She's 21.

But in her eyes, she's washed up. Career over, a worn-out single mom, ready to start shopping for cotton underwear. She hardly knows what to do on a first date. Juan Pablo, for his part, knew what he was getting into: "She seems kinda shy." Given his limited English, I'm going to fill in the word he must have meant to use: "vapid." However, he said he was having "a blast" as they jetted around the harbor in the auto/speedboat. What he didn't say was whether it was any more of "a blast" than he had when he took the thing out for the first time by himself and learned how to drive it the day before.

But despite the few words that made it past her ventriloquist lips (did anyone ever see her pronounce a consonant?), and the way she reached to touch the edge of the pan when they were cooking, Juan Pablo seemed satisfied enough at her qualifications to mother his own child that he gave her a red-petaled pass to the next round. Date One, Done.

Group Date: The soccer game failed to deliver the emergency room trip that would have resulted from a field full of bachelors (girls be dratted). Sharleen the Opera Singer probably came closest, and maybe we can blame a soccer ball to the face for the really difficult-to-watch kissing they attempted later. And in the wake of so many stolen kisses in and around the stadium and all the attendant jealousy, I was gratified to see the evening's rose go to Nikki, who settled for a hug. I was also pleased that no one talked about how relationships are like headers or that she'd be sure to score her goal of ending up with Juan Pablo.

The final solo date went to Chelsie, rather than Elise, who'd been complaining to anyone who would listen about girls--particularly Chelsie, her rival for a date card--who were too young. Juan Pablo, she was sure, was looking for a mother for his daughter, not another child to raise.

Some other girl: How old do you think Chelsie is?
Elise: I don't know.
Some other girl: Maybe 25 or 26, I think.
Elise: Really?
Some other girl: And you're...
Elise: 27.

Chelsie scored the requisite Intense Premature Bonding Over Shared Danger date, which involved bungee jumping in this case. After much dread and indecision and reassurance that it didn't matter, that she could do whatever she wanted, she decided to go for it, and she did it WITHOUT ONE WORD about relationships being "like a freefall" or that they require you to "take a leap of faith." Bravo! And at dinner they seemed to hit it off way more naturally than the Premature Bonding would have me expect. Shockingly, she actually knew the band playing for their (surprise!) private concert, though I did not. (The musical product placement clearly failed when "Billy Grngdn" was the best I could capture for my notes. Currington, it turns out, so I had it about right unless you're a mightily insulted country music fan. Sorry.) Her singing and dancing along made this the first private concert that didn't seem acutely uncomfortable. I like this couple.

Finally, in lieu of a cocktail party, Juan Pablo showed up at Bachelor Mansion with breakfast fixins' to surprise the girls in the early morning. Not terribly early, it seemed. The sun was fully up and the rooms were completely bright when the li'l angel darlings smelled meat and pulled off their sleep masks. Top marks go to Renee the Kindly House Mother, who didn't fuss with her hair or makeup (or even brush her teeth) before going to the kitchen. And still looked like Jennifer Aniston. This fact did not escape Juan Pablo's notice: "The girls look great in piyamas," he said.

The obvious next step? A pooparty! he declares. A small cadre of girls did not completely understand this expression, and thought it was still a cocktail party. I'm not sure of the source of the confusion. The words don't sound anything alike. Nevertheless, while Juan Pablo, his chest, and a bevy of beauties took to the pool, Cassandra, Sharleen, Kelly the dog lover, and some blonde girl we later identified as Christy stood at the side of the pool in full makeup and curled hair, holding stemware and recoiling from the water. And complaining about Kat "throwing herself" on Juan Pablo by, I dunno, playing in the poo at a pooparty.

In the end, Christy ("Sparkle Shorts") and Lucy ("Free Spirit") went home. Christy regretted that she hadn't opened up more. If she opened up to the camera about as much as she opened up to Juan Pablo, I see the problem. Lucy, who certainly made the most of her camera time while she had it last week, graciously wished the best to everyone else. She wiped her tears with a hand adorned with her $7000 Cartier love bracelet (thank you for the spot, Kathleen) and walked out barefoot, carrying her $700 Christian Louboutin shoes (thank you, Cheryl). Someone, somewhere, has been keeping an adding machine tape running on the price of everything the professional free spirit ("unemployed princess child of rich parents") from Santa Barbara has worn in her brief stay in Bachelor mansion. I'd love to have it, and I'd love to know what else we'll never see from her suitcase.

So there we are. Two children gone, a play house still full of other children, a really pretty Fairy Goodmother, and a few grumpy alcoholic nannies. Perhaps it's time they all grew up, eh?

(Shameless grandchild promotion.) Many thanks again to my rescuers last week, who filled in spectacularly while I took care of my own mother (in law). I've had great stay, but it's time to head home. Back to the sandbox!

Juan Pablo #2: With a Little Help from My Friends

I don't want to die.

It's got nothing to do with disease or catastrophe or everlasting judgment--those things are going to be whatever they are, and I can't do a whole lot about them right now. Well, I guess I can work on that whole "do unto others thing," but that's beside the point.

No, the terror of dying for me right now is in what comes after. Somebody will go through all my stuff and comment on it, and there's only two ways for that to play out. A) "What a slob!" or B) "What an obsessive freak!" No one, in the middle of a post-decease house-cleanout, looks up and says, "Only a truly noble and gracious and wise human being could have stored batteries the way she did."

That's what I've been doing this week: digging into the private lives of people who can't defend themselves. (Anybody surprised?) When Steve and I moved to Saudi Arabia, leaving my elderly mother-in-law with no family nearby, she moved to a furnished place near Steve's brother. Now that she's comfortably settled there, it's time to clear out her old house while I'm in the U.S. and available to help. My father-in-law, her husband, passed away a few years ago, so going through all the stuff puts me squarely in the commentary box, where I'm scoring demerits against the time when I move into the pine box myself and my dear ones take over the commentary seat. I earn those demerits by commenting on things like this, the box full of retired phones:

(Retired, I believe, because they didn't work. And kept because, I believe...?)

And my darling great-grandmother-in-law and her cousins! If you've ever caught yourself laughing at the size of a bow on a baby girl's head, the photo suggests the trend is far from new:

And oh! The long-expired tax documents, kept in labeled boxes and portfolios! I was already tsk-tsking over the portfolios labeled 2000 and 2002 when I removed one and found this:

But wait! What's that I see to the right?

Yes. And the outside of the box was telling the truth.

But were all boxes telling the truth? I opened this one to make sure I really was about to put a modem (rather than, say, a gold ingot) into the Goodwill pile:

Hold it. There's a box INSIDE of a box. Open that to find...

I DON'T WANT THIS TO HAPPEN TO ME. Upon returning to the U.S., I will go through EVERY box I've packed away and weigh the merits of EVERY single item before I return it to the personal collection somebody is going to judge me for. Why? Because I'm among the class of people that don't actually want everyone on earth to know everything about their most personal selves. You know, the class that The Bachelor might make us forget actually exists. The one that would provide no one to dissolve into tears in a bathroom over a sketchy man she barely knows. No one to bare it all on national television...four times. You know, the one that provides people for the commentary boxes, rather than the glass-fronted pine boxes.

There actually are a lot of commentators, which is good news for me. Locked as I am in a house with no television this week (?!??!?!), I had to call upon friends for blog help. Kristy the Great and Powerful, whose own genius blog is here, volunteered to do the guest spot. But I asked a few others to give me some live-blog commentary to see what kind of a mashup we might end up with.  Our supplemental commentators are an ad exec, a non-profit program manager, a sociology professor, and an art historian. (This is supposed to make you feel as if watching this show doesn't actually make you dumber.) I loved watching the comments come in through the evening, and I figured out pretty quickly I was missing a great week. I hope you enjoy the results as much as I enjoyed watching it come together!

The Naked Truth

by Kristy Steele
(with parentheticals from fellow commentators)

I’ve seen a lot of crazy things over the years watching The Bachelor, but I have to say I never thought I would witness a moment when the words, “We’ll both be naked so we’ll be okay,” would put a woman at ease. Either Juan Pablo has a special gift or he is on a dating show with a lot of needy women. 

One shocking! twist! in tonight’s episode was that not everyone would actually get a date--solo or otherwise--with their potential future husband that week. It was pretty devastating news for a bunch of women anxious to lay claim on words like, “let my guard down,” “vulnerable,” “put myself out there,” and “connection.” But it was great news for Clare, who managed to secure the first one-on-one with Juan Pablo. You remember Clare, the blonde one who squeals every time JP enters the room? Some might say Clare came on the show to find true love and NOT to patch up unresolved issues surrounding the fact that just like the word team, apparently there is no i in Clare. I’m undecided. 

When Juan Pablo came to pick up Clare, housemates in tow like a swarm of worker bees surrounding their queen, he whipped out a scarf to tie around her eyes so their date would remain a surprise. Now, usually when a guy blindfolds you and puts you in his car you’re supposed to be screaming in your head, “NEVER GO TO THE SECOND LOCATION!” and claw your way out at all costs. But throw in a few cameras, a TV host, and 25--sorry, twenty-SEVEN--former homecoming queens and instead you’re whipping out phrases like, “He smells like heaven in a bottle,” and earning yourself a center spot in a hot tub. It’s the American way. When the blindfold came off and revealed a Winter Wonderland in the middle of Los Angeles, her breath was naturally taken away. Don’t worry, she got it back just in time to kiss him and tell him, “You taste like snow.” You heard it here folks, this Latin lover single Dad tastes like…water. Cold, flaky water. It’s okay, though. She made up for it later by avoiding clichés when describing their date as a “perfect fairy tale.” 

(AdExec says Clare is "cray-cray." She is also sure Clare's deceased dad must be very proud of the way Clare is finally "putting herself out there." NonProfit expresses her usual discomfort with private concerts.)

The next lucky winner of the coveted one-on-one date was Kat. Unlike Clare’s “Let’s chill out” invitation, Kat was informed on her note, “I can feel the electricity.” At first I was confused because they were led to a private jet, which seemed anything but electric. That’s when it hit me, “OOOhhh, it must be a PRIUS jet.” The two hopped on and Kat was left in the dark about their destination until Juan Pablo whipped out what looked like missing paraphernalia from an Olivia Newton-John video and told her to put them on. I guess the thing about being a size negative zero is that flashing neon workout clothes don’t look that bad on you. It is finally revealed that they have arrived in Salt Lake City, UT to head up an “Electric Run”--a 5K race done at night with everyone dressed in glow-in-the-dark gear. They are greeted by a screaming mob of glowing runners whose race culminates near a stage where Kat and JP are leading a dance party with thumping music and screaming fans--likely the same lot who made Stephenie Meyer a millionaire--and an elusive rose in soft focus behind the exuberant couple. JP grabs the rose. “Kat?” he yells into the microphone as the crowd completely loses their mind, “Will you accept this rose?” It is in this moment that I desperately want her to say “No.” Please, Kat? Just this once? Say no and watch the lights go out in the stadium. It’s better for ratings. My hopes are in vain as she shouts back, “YES!” into the microphone and her voiceover declares, “It was like we were the only two people there.” Garth Brooks once winked at me at an outdoor concert in San Diego so I know what she means. 

(AdExec says that sexy photo shoots help sell dogs. Fact. And she would know. But she did not know that Lehi, Utah is an awesome destination for electric rave parties, even though she lives nearby. I doubt anyone knew that.)

My clothes are beginning to feel cumbersome so I must be ready to discuss the group date. If this experience could be summed up by Prince Humperdinck it would go something like this: “I’ve got an attorney to disrobe, dogs to save, a bipolar legal assistant to send home, and a Creative Director with an oompa loompa beard to please. I’m swamped!” Not that a photo shoot with dogs while having to dress as a fire hydrant doesn’t sound like something I instantly want to add to my bucket list, or that a category 9 meltdown by a drunk 24-year-old who is REALLY confused about the Heimlich (HeimLICH!) Maneuver wouldn’t be fun to witness, but this date earned train wreck status and it’s only week 2. 

(EVERYONE took delight in "Hymen maneuver." ArtHist wonders how Juan Pablo will feel when his daughter someday hears him reassuring a woman who doesn't want to take her clothes off that "It's okay, I'll do it with you." NonProfit keeps a sizable list of red flags to watch for in people, and added "When I'm mad, I'm really, really mad, and when I'm happy I'm really, really happy" to it. Despite her background she did learn something new last night from The Bachelor: there's a fine line between a hippie and a sex offender. SocProf gives JP points for not giving the rose to the naked cop and for not engaging with the crazy drunk lady. She's hoping having a kid will make him a little more on guard against the crazy. ArtHist (on whom you can count for spotting larger themes) points out that getting naked always buys you more time in the Bachelor house, but that getting messy drunk always gets you sent home.)

My votes: 

• Date Favorite: Elise. Unlike Oompa Loompa beard man, she knows the real meaning of a role model. 
• Best Quote: Kelly. “The date card said ‘say cheese’. I would assume it’s a photo shoot but maybe it’s eating cheese. I’m good at both so I’m alright with either one.” 
• Most Likely To Serve Up Dandelions As An Appetizer At The Clothing Optional Wedding: Lucy. Obvs. 
• Lamest Observation and Therefore My Favorite Observation: Lauren, who said Pablo was looking extra hot because “he’s wearing blue and his arms are showing.” Good news for Lauren! If JP doesn’t take her to the altar, she still has options: 

• Modest Is Hottest!: Andi, for bringing a one-piece bathing suit to the mansion. “Being naked is not my comfort zone. I mean, I send people to jail every day for a living.” 

At the conclusion of the group date from Hugh Heffner meets PETA’s playbook, Juan Pablo awarded Kelly, the one painted brown with white spots, with a rose for being the “best sport.” Painted spots trumped nudity. Note to Lucy: Dalmation costume for the next date, all the way. Ultimately, it was Amy and Chantel who got the boot. Amy seemed surprised that her newscaster role play failed to impress her audience, but I think she gets it now. Chantel, Chantel. You couldn’t help yourself could you? The shock, the tears, and then the ever predictable, “I thought we had a connection.” Yes, well, I thought I would share my skinny grandma’s metabolism. We all have our ups and downs. One day your prince will come and whisper those precious words, “We’ll both be naked so we’ll be okay.” And it will be.

Juan Pablo #1: The Audacity of Hope

"I think this is going to be a really good season."

That was my daughter Jill, clinging to the universal hope that this year will be better, that morning will come, that bullies will be humiliated, bank errors in your favor will go undetected, and ducklings will cross the road safely. Rhett Butler will come back and Tara will be saved, right? Hope is the power that moves us forward, upward, onward. Or that parks some of us in front of the TV, believing in the power of True Love to overcome all the obstacles of contrived courtship. Others of us (ahem, right here) find ourselves parked in front of the TV believing instead in the power of Astute Casting to provide us with 11 weeks of high entertainment. The first week is never a good bellweather for the season to come--too many people, too much chaos to learn anything very useful. But Bachelor producers have never failed to pepper the cast with just the right number of flakes to keep the stew interesting. So I have hope.

And it's hope that brought all these outstanding ladies together, isn't it? A bizarre, narcissism-fueled hope, but hope nonetheless. Consider the breadth of insecurity in the typical, less hopeful female:

• Do these pants make my butt look fat? 
• My ears stick out.
• I have a weird laugh.
• That mascara is how much? I'll take it.
• I just seem to be a loser magnet.
• I hate my knees.
• I hate her.

(In the final item, "her" refers to whatever prettier girl is in the room. And there's always at least one.)

Among Bachelor candidates, however, the thinking goes like this: "In a pool of 25 stone foxes, women so beautiful they beat thousands of other beautiful women to get here, all competing for one man with all the substantial resources at their disposal...I'd say my chances are good." These are women so mathematically and logically challenged that they see this setup as a legitimately solid way to find not just a guy, but a life mate. Speed dating, with a one-to-one ratio? Nope. Online dating, with a one-at-a-time process? Nope. Setup by a friend? Not a chance. A competition against a roomful of women who are all the hottest woman in any room they're in? THAT'S where I'm going to shine.

Now that's hope worth watching.

We got a preview of the season on Sunday night, and a chance to see some of these women before their limo-exit appearances. We also got a peek into some of their reasons for volunteering to be on the Bachelor:

• "I'm not getting any younger or more fertile."
• "I'm always a booty call."
• "I can stick my fist in my mouth."
• (Mom) "You need a boyfriend."
• "I can drink a lot of wine."

That last one is onto something. She may be the best qualified to do well on this show. I didn't get much else from the preview, except the squirm-inducing moment when Chris Harrison explained how the women would be notified they'd made the final cut by producers fanned out across the country to visit each one personally: "We're hitting all these women in one day," Chris said. Eeyikes.

Monday's opening show left an equally minor impression. Two of my three top crazies went home straightaway, which says a lot for Juan Pablo but not a lot for my entertainment prospects. Lauren, the broken-hearted ex-fiancee with the strange mouth and the overwhelming emotions, couldn't talk herself out of using her solo time with Juan Pablo to talk about said ex-fiancee situation. Amy J., the massage therapist who got WAY too ecstatic while giving massages, overplayed her hand (so to speak) by oiling up (did she leave prints on his suit coat?) and digging in on a virtual stranger who was visibly uncomfortable. (The unfortunate consequence of all too many massages.) We do still have Lucy, whose identified profession is "free spirit." It's always a puzzle why some of these edgy or oddball women stick around as long as they do. Maybe a weirdo that puts people off in a normal setting appears adorable among so many more conventional beauties.

Then there are the ones that seem too level-headed for this show, which means they're doing a good job of keeping their freak flags furled for the time being. Renee, the single mom, seemed to connect very easily with JP. He was also quite taken with Andi, the prosecutor in the dark purple dress. (Let's hope she avoids the contention trap that the last prosecutor couldn't keep himself from stepping in.) I like Lacy, the nursing home owner, as well. Sharleen, the opera singer, got a LOT of attention for her classical dress, which should be a lesson to everyone who thinks the key to being noticed is to show a lot of skin. She also seemed unclear about why she was there and how she got there, and came within a whisk of turning down the uncomfortable surprise of the first-impression rose. (My favorite line of the night: "Seriously?") Perhaps it was jet lag. Perhaps it was late-onset common sense. Either way, Juan Pablo wasn't reading the situation very well.

Other observations from the first night:

• There's nothing Juan Pablo can say that these women won't all giggle for. He's delightful! He's charming! He's witty! Now give us another line about how many and beautiful we are!
• I'm obsessing a little bit over the planning that went into the entrance for Lauren S., the music composer, who pushed a piano along the driveway. Did she get to do a test run? Or did she just take producers' words that there wouldn't be too much of a slope up or down?
• I'm also wondering about Molly, the dog, and how she spent the evening. Did Kelly (profession: "dog lover") bring poop bags with her? Is the dog going to stay in the mansion the whole time?
• During the previews for the rest of the season I realized I'd never noticed how many corners there are in this house for crying into. Suddenly the labyrinthine architecture makes sense. More corners = more crying venues. I was also puzzled by the women's restroom sign on the door outside the spot where someone collapsed by the toilet sobbing "I hope you die, Juan Pablo!" Aren't they all women's restrooms right now? (And is there something innately wrong with me that this is my question, rather than what he did to deserve death?)
• My daughters saw Juan Pablo this afternoon at LAX, so look for an LA winner. Or he was just here for promos and premier night. One of those two.
• Finally, I'd like to give a resounding round of applause to Ashley, the grade school teacher who took the time to comfort crazy-mouth, and said as she sobbed about how she couldn't believe she was sobbing, "So what are you going to do?" Now THERE'S a woman who knows how to take care of business. 

At this point, I don't think I've seen anything to really get excited about, but I'll go with Jill and choose to be hopeful. I mean, I just learned there's such a thing as a sheep pig. So anything's possible. And next week is right around the corner.

Mangalitsa pigs