A Free Spirit, A Dog Lover, and a Former NBA Dancer Walk into a House...

2014... A new year filled with so many promises: Legalized recreational marijuana, universal health care, and proof that the search for love prevails over societal pressure to have a job.  What a fine country we live in!  Of course that's no secret to US born, Venezuelan raised, Juan Pablo Galavis, ABC's 18th (What!?) bachelor.  During last night's premiere he really was gifted with the American dream: 25 beautiful women of his choosing... Arguably zero with legitimate careers.

Me? I am a self-diagnosed Bachewhore;  I've lived, laughed, loved and cried (/suffered) through most every season.  So it of course surprised me during last night's introductions to find the Bachelor house without the standard handful of "advertising executives," "medical professionals," and "consultants" we've grown to know and love.  Yeah... I'm not dumb... surrendering months of your life to a TV show does not a legitimate job allow - yet, where is the effort to keep up appearances?  These 26-year-olds look like 45-year-olds with the porn quality makeup they've been regularly applying since the age of 10 - why not maintain the appearance of ambition to the level they maintain physique?

So then it dawned on me: perhaps professional drive is no longer a key attractive quality in a woman.  Well... shit.  What the hell have I been doing all these years?  Sure, I would have loved to identify myself as a "Free Spirit" or a "Dog Lover" and feel legitimized rather than slaving life away at a media agency for a measly paycheck.  Well that's what resolutions are for, aren't they?  I, Sofalista, now resolve to be a "aspirational Beyoncé dancer," "food eater," and most legitimate of all... "Blogger." ;)  Take that, feminists of the world!  I choose love and am sexier because of it!  To hell with you and the roads you paved for our equality!

Ohhh this season is going to be goood!  Hold on to your hats (and your jobs for all you uglies that have one)... Gonna be a wild ride!

An Ode to Becoming Irrelevant

In an era where your relationship doesn't count unless it's on Facebook, an idea isn't legitimate until it's on Pinterest, and a thought is meaningless until it's broadcasted to the Twitterverse, one can't help but to ponder the topic of irrelevancy. Hell, the sole reason why this blog exists is to remind myself that I have a semblance of a sense of humor and, on occasion, a poignant thought or two (bold statement... noted). Though, amidst this seemingly universal sentiment, there is a frightening amount of TV becoming as irrelevant as the Yellow Pages, beepers, or even terrestrial radio (like... what is that?). Let's take a look at those shows slowly but surely securing their place in the cobwebbed attic of the silver screen...

Jersey Shore

Is this show back? No seriously... is it? It's pretty bad that I even have to ask that question as an entertainment industry professional (weird... I've never said that aloud before). Hold on... I just Googled... ah well yes it appears that the new season is in fact running. It also looks like Vinny may have left? (I always liked him) ...But then he came back? (Ugh, comeon). Bottom line: this show has stretched out it's welcome much like Deena's stretched out JWow's hand-me-downs. Snooki can diet as much as she wants; nothing is going to change the life expectancy of this show. The moment Jersey Shore becomes relevant to me again is when in 4o years MTV decides to air a reunion special: Boca Raton Shore. I'd love to see what years of tannarexia does to their aging faces.

GLEE

At least this show recognizes that no one cares anymore. No way in hell they'd toy with a "Finn and Rachel" getting married story line if anyone was actually paying attention. Next thing you know, aliens from planet Schuster will come and abduct all members of New Directions (Ryan Murphy you'd love that, wouldn't you?). Aside from gimmicky episodes like this week's MJ tribute (which, despite my bellyaching, was ridiculously entertaining), it's becoming all the more clear that McKinley graduation day and the series' doomsday are one in the same. Sorry, Britney.

Desperate Housewives

I've never left a show in its final season... that is until now. Yes, I'll always have a spot in my heart for the series that gave women and gay men everywhere a shirtless Jesse Metcalfe, but I can no longer stomach James Denton's blatant disrespect for the acting craft. Sure, he's OK to look at but watching him act makes my brain shrivel. I held on passed the "fast forward" all too long... farewell old friend... farewell.

The Bachelor

It's no secret to faithful readers that I've had my ups and downs with The Bach franchise. So many fond memories... yet so many doody bubbles. In my humble opinion, it's all gone sour since Jillian's season. We've had nothing but weenies, whiners, and ugly ducklings ever since. Until this show cuts the fat and starts from scratch with someone remotely desirable, my Mondays will be exclusively spent with CBS sitcoms.

Happy As The Double Rainbow Guy

Greetings, O faithful readers. I write you from the confines of my livingroom after an epic, soul searching journey. You see, after the old bitch hit 100 I figured she needed to take some time, see the world, and frolick with the Dutch navy. Yes, my very own Eat.Pray.Love... With a little less pretty woman and a lot more slop tart. We'll call it: Eat.Eat some more.Pray. Love.Drink.Drink.Drink.Pass out.

Well, if I learned anything from my travels other than how to slug rum punches, it was that I have to stop thinking negatively and start exuding positivity. Which is why I'm not going to talk about how much I hate Ali "care bear nose" Fedotowsky. Instead, I'm going to talk about how happy I am that her chin is currently sporting a seriously volcanic white head. Like wash your face, dude.

All jokes and Proactiv products aside, I'm sure that by 10 PM we're all going to be watching a giggly, happy moron. Why? Well, because I'm 99% sure that Ali is going to choose herself tonight. In fact, she might look over in to the waters of Bora Bora and propose to her own reflection. I mean, who loves Ali more than Ali? Sure the show caters to love starved attention whores everywhere, but this one broke the mold.

Yes, this is my theory and I'm sticking to it. If it happens, there's no doubt that I'll be happier than the double rainbow guy. I can picture it now: falling off my Ikea couch, so overwhelmed with all things wonderful. DOUBLE RAINBOW!! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! Cross your fingers and hope for a sun shower, people! I'll catch ya on the other side of the rose.

Um, No Thanks

So it would appear that the new bachelorette, Ali (insert gagging noise), has requested that all of her potential suitors look like things that the sewer ate and later pooped out. With the exception of Jesse, sexy construction worker, and Roberto, former minor league baseball player, these guys seem to be collected from the "take my loser boyfriend" recycling plant. And not to say that the aforementioned bachelors are peaches either. Jesse is more inked than Jesse James' Hitler-loving mistress and Roberto, by his profession, is most likely a cheating, disease-ridden manwhore.

Also this season, ABC has made a bold move and invited a real NBC character to compete for Ali's heart. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I give you Michael Scott under code name "Johnathon the Weatherman." I really don't know how the network got away with this. I smell a law suit coming on, or as the Weatherman says, "something evil and dangerous."

Oh... and another thing... whoever says that the "Weatherman" is not gay is kidding herself.

But the real icing on the cake this go-around, is the bachelorette herself. I must say, Ali Fedotowsky is the most irritating, nausea-inducing, and unappealing bach to date. Upon further reflection, I've come to the conclusion that she has the face of some sort of bear-like cartoon figure (care bear, Paddington Bear, Winnie the Pooh, you take your pick) with the personality of a squawking parrot.

It's true; I've always had a real aversion to caddy bitches... especially those who lack the ability to feel comfortable in grown up clothes. When Ali was a contestant for Jake's season, her 8th grade sundresses made me feel like I was watching a reality show documenting a cracker factory. Now that the producers force her into big girl gowns, Ali looks just about as comfortable as a post-surgery Heidi Montag wearing clothes in public. Learn how to wear a real dress, you 12-year-old.

And that's really all I have to say on the subject. Seeing as I have no more GG or HIMYM in my life, my Mondays may have to be forced into this torture. Someone find me a solution---STAT!

Incident Report: Precious Stolen Hours

Monday was a sad day.

Not only did someone at the office steal my turkey breast and havarti sandwich (who does that?!), but it was the day that I realized I had wasted precious hours of my life. 18 to be exact. After Monday's night finale of the Bachelor, I can say with utmost certainty that it was the most torturous season of the show to date. So torturous in fact that I wrote the following note to ABC (please excuse my gross grammatical errors--I was only limited to 500 characters):

Ive been a fan of the show since S1. What Ive like most about it in its recent seasons is that its given the contestants in which the audience became emotionally invested w/ another chance at love. Trista, Meredith, Jen, DeAnna, Jason (eh), Jillian = great, grand, wonderful. But then you give us Jake!? Ive never been so embarrassed to say I watch the show. Seriously, try and find a bigger loser. I dare you. Oh wait, you already did... Ali. Way to go, ABC, I hope cablevision drops your sorry ass.

Ok, probably not one of my finer moments, but hey! I am a woman scorned! And let's be clear, it's not because I'm pissed that Jake picked Vienna like all the other crying vaginas in America. I mean, sure, he and Tenley the Disney princess would have been a match made in heaven... scratch that... middle America circa 1950; but do you really expect a guy with a working peen (though that's up for debate) to chose a pill popper who "danced" for him on national TV? Yeah, no thanks. He's going to pick the girl that gives him the pee-pee sensation, whether she be tranny-looking or not. Odds are that Jake hasn't ever had his no-no's played with. My guess is that he picked the girl most likely to that very thing.

And you know what? I actually liked Vienna. Ok, I said it. All the poor girl did was talk about Jake. Sure she was annoying and hard to look at, but if I was stuck in a house with Ali the 16-year-old mean girl, Tenley McAntidepressents, and Rozlyn the super-whore, I probably wouldn't be friends with anyone either.

But back to my point, I'm not pissed because Jake picked Vienna--I'm pissed because every word that came out of his mouth this season made me die a little inside. And then... on top of it all... I have to listen to "On the Wings Of Love?" You've got to be kidding me. Poor Chris Harrison nearly pooped his pants with laughter when Jeffrey Osborne showed up during the after the final rose special.

So to sum up, I'd really like those 18 hours back. I'd love to say that it's over and that my hours are secured in an armored safe box, but it appears that ABC is like one great life-stealing bandit. Now they've added Jakey to the DWTS cast and Ali as the next bachelorette. F.M.L. Oh well, at least Jimmy Kimmel feels the same way I do:

St. Chris of Bacheloria

I am writing today to petition for the social canonization of Chris Harrison. No, I'm not suggesting the church begin collecting relics in the form of long stem roses; I'm only saying that when you really want to hit a bitch, just think of St. Chris and perhaps you'll abstain.

Yes, St. Chris, patron saint of wanting to hit a bitch and holding back. Truly this is an angelic man. Last night, the bachelor contestant who got kicked off for not being able to keep her legs shut around men with power returned to the "Women Tell All" stage to duke it out with poor Chrissy-Poo. For those of you living under a rock (or have better things to do than follow this horrific season of The Bachelor), Rozlyn Papa was kicked off early in the season for "allegedly" (Ha!) having an affair with one of the show's producers. Yet alas, the burden of booting the ho fell upon the shoulders of St. Chris. (Please refer to the video below).

You know that every other thought that goes through poor St. Chrissy's head is "FML." His job duties entail dealing with the emotions of people doomed to never find real love (cough... Jake), dealing with the delirious, intellectual ingrates that actually believe they can find love on TV (cough... Tenley), and attention whores who come to the show solely to propagate their own mindless agendas (cough... Allie... cough). Now he has to go head-to-head with sociopathic, supermodel whores?! Someone call ABC--St. Chris needs a raise.

Rozlyn swears (on her child's life, no less), that this relationship she had with a producer was not physical. Me thinks that Rozlyn is a pathological liar, but for s&g let's give her the benefit of the doubt for a second; In that case I should suspect that Roz is some kind of super-whore who only considers "physical" relationships to be those which result in a litter of kiddies.

The ladies banded together last night to back St. Chris in his mission to slay the beast... the beast being Roz the Whoreable and the slaying being a stern, verbal lashing. The fight was epic, ultimately leading to Roz accusing St. Chris of cheating on his wife. Not so fast, Roz! Don't think that you can bring down St. Chris on your sinking ship of sloredom. Didn't you ever learn to never take a saint's name in vain?

And Another One Bites the Dust

Gather 'round boys and girls as I tell you all the story of the most feared creature in all of TV land.

He flies. He bikes. He possesses the innate ability to make your nipples shrivel with his awkward conversation and nonexistent sexual maturity. He'll make you want to rip your ears off by saying things like "neat," "gee golly" and "holy cow." And most importantly, he'll pull the rose out from underneath you and drop you like a bad habit.

You guessed it! I'm talking about big bad Jakey-poo, America's dreamiest virgin pilot. Jake's been using his powers of aversion to the opposite sex this week as he sent home double the amount of ladies-in-waiting than he was supposed to.

During the dreaded two-on-one date with Kathryn and Ella, Jake went rogue and kicked both of them to the curb. While I did think he and Ella would have made a decent couple, I totally understand why he sent her back to singledom; I'll spell it out for you: K.I.D. Kathryn, though? I really liked her! She was funny and adoreable and didn't scream loser... Hmm... Probably the same reasons why Jake didn't pick her.

We also had to say goodbye to Jessie who weirdly we only heard talk for the first time on Monday night. Sionara, Jessie... We'll miss ya... I guess? And last but not least, the final bachelorette on Jake's hitlist was Ashleigh. We obviously knew she was getting the ax the second she touched Jake's upper thigh.

And now we have the final five: Tenley, Allie, Vienna, Corrie, and Gia. My vote for the final rose? Tenley. She's adoreable, simple minded, and without-a-doubt prude. Match made in heaven. Allie is really starting to piss me off with all of this Vienna nonsense. Vienna is a tranny, Allie... Get over it. Then there's Corrie, whose awkward spanking is going to put her on a fast track to roselessness. I'm actually a big fan of Gia; not in a I would want her to win kind of way (she's clearly too hot to spend a lifetime with Jake), but instead in a wow she dated a Yankee and I would like to be her friend kind of way. Yes, Gia used to romantically involved with Yankee pitcher Carl Pavano. She has also graced the pages of Maxim. Hmm... I wonder if Jakey knows how out of his league he's in?

Ah... Sweet Reality

For me, the beauty of The Bachelor is being intoxified by outrageously lavish and (usually) super original dates that... well... I'll probably never see in my lifetime. The only dates I find myself on lately involve smoking flows, eating perogies, and watching Lady GaGa music videos (Yes, my manfriend and I have a truly grown-up relationship). As I write this on a lovely Friday night, I'm sitting next to a noisy eater on a full bus to Philadelphia; off to meet my prince and travel to his post-collegiate frat house kingdom.

As I sit, in a clusterfuck of traffic and in the middle of a conversation about dysmenorrhea, I begin to wonder what it would be like if real life really was like The Bachelor? Moreover... what if real life was really like this season of The Bachelor? If that's the case, I would imagine this night going quite differently.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Jake would ask in his big-wet-noodle-voice, as he picks me up from the office. Of course I've been wearing a full-length sequined evening gown all day as my closet is an arsenal of special occasion dresses and string bikinis. We would then jump into a helicopter, like how all dates this season apparently begin. I'd ooo and ahh over the beautiful view and fly over Murray Hill to incite gut-wrenching envy into all the girls trying to sleep with my man(Though, in truth, the girls of Murray Hill are just trying to sleep with any man). Then the scene would jump to a candlelit garden; in hand, two oversized glasses of white wine. I'm getting drunk; he's just getting more awkward. We'd follow it up with a rendezvous in the hot tub where I would try to be sexy and probably get the heebies from Capt. Boner-Killer. He would then ask me to go home. Let's face it... we're not cut out for each other.

Ah yes... sweet reality. In all Jake's defense, at least we know he's here to find love. He's been cutting dead weight left and right and I'm excited to see who gets the ax next. Will it be Allie? My once-favorite, now-bitchy instigator whose attacks on Vienna lead me to believe she's in fact, sixteen. Or will it be Jessie? The Courntney Bancroft dobbleganger who's been getting roses under the radar with no camera time. Or maybe it will be Vienna? The Miami tranny that has every girl in the house scratching their own eyes out? My vote? Sionara, Ashleigh, for crying at the comedy club and bringing nothing to the table.

Who do I hope gets the final rose? Kathryn, Corrie, or Tenley. Kathryn and Corrie because they're funny as hell and Tenley because she's been re-virginized (you know Jakeypoo loves that). Truth be told, if I were kind, I wouldn't want anyone with that man-napkin. Oh well... guess we'll find out soon enough!

On The Wings Of Love

Ahh... it's that time yet again. The time of year some may argue is better than Christmas. The bi-annual sensation that couples love with alcohol and a problematic addiction to television. Yes, it is the magical season where ABC whores out the crazies who come from near and far with one mission: to make complete asses out of themselves.

Well... that is unless you're Channy Choch (no, not a joke), this season's token ho/minority. 29-year-old Choch's mission: to catch the bach in her well groomed snatch. Her Cambodian one-liner to the virgin pilot, ("you can land your plane on my landing strip any time") left nothing to the imagination. Yeah, Channy... we know you wanna get it on, but that's not what Jakey Vaginaphobia wants to hear. Sadly Ms. Choch did not receive a rose; No, Jake saved those for all the intelligencia with lines such as "You have something on your tie... SIKE" and "Hi! I'm Tenley... like... the number ten."

Not only are the of ladies this season particularly stupid, but they are also particularly crazy. Michelle? That bitch is about to blow the joint up. Someone get an interventionist to the mansion STAT. If anyone has a right to go schizo in front of the cameras, it's poor Chris Harrison. Sure he has to pretend to be concerned with the love life of a man doomed for relationship failure (quote: "I have a lot of first dates, but no seconds"), but now he has to play pin the scarlet letter on the house whore? Somebody get this man a raise!

Ultimately, the skanks and the dummies and psychos had me thinking: someone needs to reach out to the single ladies of America who are deciding to go on the show, and prevent them from making a mockery out of true reality show love. (Haha. What? I can laugh at my own jokes). In response to my own musings, I've put together a what to do/what not to do list for all future contestants:

1. Practice walking in your heels. Whoever said tripping was charming must have been a drunk.
2. If you're going to come bearing gifts like one of the three freaking wise men, at least make it cool. Peacock feather? Cool. A basket of parting gift treats for your future roommates? Not cool. Pilot wings for a pilot? Cool. Gonorrhea? Eek. Not cool.
3. Never pour out your deep dark secrets on the first night. No one is going to care.
4. If your ugly, be witty. If your pretty, shut up and make bedroom eyes.
5. In choosing your dress, never underestimate the phrase "tastefully slutty."
6. Save the sexual innuendos for the overnight date.
7. Limit yourself to 2 glasses of wine--something to take the edge off but not your panties (remember her?)
8. You probably shouldn't sleep with a "staffer"... just sayin'
9. If you're going to "steal him away for some one-on-one time," have an excuse. Don't just be that girl.
10. Again... you probably shouldn't sleep with a "staffer"... just sayin'