It’s like a disease

–a disgusting, dirty, delicious disease.

That’s how I feel about my obsession with this season’s “The Bachelorette.” Oh sure, I’ve dabbled in reality TV before; I like the sound of humanity acting bizarrely in the background as I clean. Some shows are just fun to zone out to on a lazy afternoon, others spark my competitive side. But not “The Bachelorette.” She has me hook, line and sinker into something I normally do not care about.


Other people dating. Public displays of affection. Stuff I don’t like to see.

But I am into it. The season is winding down with six contestants left, and I’ll be sad to see them go.

I am madly in love with Jef and Doug, I actually googled them! To my own surprise, I have strong opinions about who is and is not a good match for Emily. She is a woman I have never met, I don’t think we would be friends. Nonetheless I am anxiously involved in her dating life and praying she makes the “right” choice. I want her to end up with someone who makes her happy. Someone with her same worldview and similar life experience–a good match. Even though, I know the two of them would annoy the shit out of me with their “blessings” talk and money.

But I care. I care so much I take more than one hour a week to watch the show. I watch with rapt attention, then immediately set to analyzing what happened, googling people, reading other blogs and even going so far as to read tabloid magazine articles about Emily.

I’m that person! I’m the girl at Walgreen’s at 1 a.m. with glossy magazines and nail polish. I despite that person. I made fun of that person, and  now I’m her. And I care about people who sign up for a TV dating show.

Fuck! If I’m not careful, I’ll come to in Los Angeles at an audition for Big Brother.



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