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.