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Sophie Monk is going to kick some Bachelorette ass

26 Apr

Sophie Monk will soon be donning the sequinned gowns and going on a lot of boring picnics as Australia’s Bachelorette of 2017.

 

 

I am so very #Team Sophie now that the news is out. And not just because Popstars was pretty much my most favorite show of the early noughties.

For some reason though, it seems like I might be in the minority.

Honest to Osher, I actually did not see this coming at all. Granted, I haven’t spent too much time on my couch pondering the identity of this year’s Lady Bach – I save that blessed time for eating mee goreng and streaming Real Housewives of Auckland.

Of course I did still harbor some suspicions about Nikki Gogan and her many fascinators taking over the rose-shaped mantle from Bachie Love.

And there’s certainly a little part of me that’s disappointed  Nicky won’t be getting her opportunity to find some lovely fireman/IT consultant/man-with-real-job (i.e. NOT a “ropes technician”) to flaunt in Richie’s boring face.

But I digress.

This decision by Channel 10 is, in my humble opinion, a total winner. I think Soph is going to make a queen of a Bachelorette (and if she doesn’t I will go back to TAFE and study “Rope Technology”). And to all them haters out there, here’s why:

To begin with, she’s 37.

Do you know how many outraged Facebook comments I saw that labelled her “too old”? MORE THAN I CARED FOR, I’LL GIVE YOU THE TIP!

And I call bullshit. (Also how very dare you.)

 

I hope I look like this at 37.

 

The fact is, she’s not some 20-something ingénue or upstart, claiming to own her own fitness company or fashion line, when really we all know she’s just very good at taking photos of herself not looking at the camera and putting them on Instagram. Sophie has had a solid and visible career in the music and media industries and, even more impressively, has managed to make it past 30 and remain culturally relevant – no easy feat for a woman.

And for once a television show is sending the message that women over 30 are actually desirable, loveable and interesting human beings! WHO WOULD EVER HAVE THOUGHT?!

Her age also means she’s had more time to dabble in the dating pool and experience the dizzying highs of love and the subsequently crushing lows of losing it; some of which she has done in full view of the public. (I’m still mad at you, Benji Madden!)

Before all you whipper snappers put on your outrage pants, I’m not saying that 20-somethings don’t know anything about love or relationships; I’m just saying that, mathematically, a woman in her mid-30’s has had a head start.

And yeah, maybe there is an argument to say that her appointment is somewhat unfair to all the everyday, non-famous applicants out there. But when you think about it, wouldn’t her experience in the spotlight mean she’s actually much better equipped to deal with the perverse invasion of her personal life (and the potential for it to go very badly)? And really, don’t Matty J, Sam Frost and Bachie Bananas all technically fall into that “celeb” category as well after each trying (and failing) to win their respective wife/husband competitions the first time around?

Sophie has a clear idea of what she wants and does not want; what she will and will not put up with. Combine this with an understanding of what people find entertaining and a habit of speaking before she thinks and, frankly, you’ve got some bloody good television, y’all. And isn’t that what we all came for?

And, side note, she’s funny AF.

 

 

People who’ve been throwing around accusations of “tacky” or “unclassy” her way clearly have not followed much of her time in the media. She’s a bona fide piss-taker and can deliver a one-liner like no one’s business.

She once said in an interview what basically erry lady has thought to herself at some point in her adult life; that she’s “…probably bad in bed actually. I think I’m dud.” (And if you haven’t ever thought this about yourself at least once, then can you please write to me and give me the name of your sexy confidence medicine, kthanx.)

She’s been accused of being stupid (just watch the Hard Chat video with Tom Gleeson for a start), but instead of getting upset about it, Sophie regularly comes out with some absolute bangers, like this one about her bike-riding nephew:

“He’s like Lance Armstrong … minus the drugs … plus the balls.”

In fact, I actually believe the woman is some kind of low-key genius after she explained she, “…got suspended for writing ‘I love Sophie’ on the desks to make the other boys think I was popular.”

I mean, why didn’t they put THAT advice in the Little Golden Books?!

And finally, not only did she dress up like a giant bird and sing in a giant cage, she has regularly made a right tit of herself on radio and television for viewer amusement. She even managed to make Kyle Sandilands look good during their stint together as co-hosts. Not. Easy. To. Do.

 

#birdchic

 

Look, maybe I’m biased because I have Poison on regular rotation on my Spotify playlist, but I honestly think this is a win for The Bachelorette series. It’s a win for glorious idiots like Sophie. A win for women over 30. And a win for us viewers.

So can we all just get on board and focus on what really matters – that she begins the first rose ceremony like this:

Don’t you treat me bad,

Don’t you make me sad.

Our love could be deep as the ocean.

 

Can we petition for group-Bachelorettes?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Bachelor Season 4: Stuck in Richie’s Mud

1 Sep

After (another) forced hiatus, I’m back again. And what an episode to come back with, amiright??!!

Jks, it was not interesting at all.

Guys, is it just me or is this the most snore-worthy season of Bachie everrrr? I mean, maybe it’s the fact I’ve been watching, re-watching and writing about it for four years that literally nothing impresses my stone-cold heart anymore, but somehow, I don’t think that’s the case!

But let’s not spend this entire post bitching and complaining because that is totally not my style AT ALL…

 

alec bored

What he said.

Obviously I have missed a decent chunk of Bachie Tribal Council because there are only seven bitches left. As usual, they are sitting around the Tuscan Mansion that Spotlight Built, as usual, talking about how much they miss their collective boyfriend and, as usual, worrying about who is going to get time alone with his Banana in exchange for some sort of humiliating task.

Intruder Lady (is it Steph? Steffy? I legit have no idea) is the only intruder left and is all like, “Haha, am I always gonna be that intruder girl to you all? Like in ten years are you still gonna call me that? Haha!” And the others are all like, “Haha, no babe, not at ALL…. But srzly, yes you are. We can’t wait for you to go.”

As usual, Osher shows up in some sort of lovely Roger David number and gives them all a quick maths lesson to explain how important it is that they go on more than one date with the man who may become their future Logies escort. The date goes to Nikki. It’s her second; she is blonde (tick), pretty (tick), and doesn’t cause any drama (tick). She is probs going to win.

SINGLE DATE

Apart from Nikki’s slayin leather pants (dayum, gurl!) and Richie showing up in Foghorn Leghorn’s car, the whole thing is super funking beige.

 

foghorn car

Real life reenactment of Nikki getting picked up.

Bachie Bananas takes Nikki to Australia’s third-oldest pub because she’s a country girl and obviously loves pubs and hay bales. I legit don’t understand why they take country girls on country dates? Don’t these poor women get enough of that farm shit at home?! It would be akin to a guy saying to me, “Hey you like to write stuff, so I thought I would take you to Officeworks!”

(No, but srzly, I would actually love that. I guess my argument is now moot.)

I can pretty much narrow down their entire date to one repeated conversation:

*The theme song from Beaches plays in the background*

Richie: I’m really looking forward to picking up where we left off.

Nikki: Yeah because you’re perfect for me.

Richie: Wow, yeah, haha, well it’s just so great to pick up where we left off.

Nikki: I agree. You’re just like, the perfect guy for me.

 

Somebody make it stop.

 

phoebe madness

 

At this point my computer crapped itself and I could only hear the episode while staring at a frozen image of a Lite’n’Easy meal. I actually do not think it made an ounce of difference. It sounded like they went to some other country-themed location, probably equipped with a Random Sex Couch (and cheese, hopefully) while a cool band called The Morrisons played country music for them. Because country.

 

muppet band

What I imagine The Morrisons looked like.

Dancing, kissing, kissing, dancing, face touching, talking, kissing, awkward laughing, talking, face touching, kissing, Nikki admits she’s fallen in love after two dates.  The end.

I actually think looking at the Lite’n’Easy meal was more entertaining. I mean, it WAS Roast Chicken, but still…

GROUP DATE

Yeaya! It’s an All-In. There are only seven of them so the producers need to squeeze every single drop of potential der-rama and bitchiness out of this. They continue to play villain music every time Rachel says something mildly honest because she is obviously the not-so-brunette villain now that my spirit animal, Keira, got the boot. Poor Rachel. As they say, it’s hard out there for a pimp brunette.

The girls worry that they’ll have to shove lamb guts down their throats again and so seem legitimately relieved when they discover they simply have to struggle through a mud-covered obstacle course. Because perspective.

Bachie Bananas explains that they’re gonna, “get down and dirty” and unfortunately, that’s not a euphemism. They will actually be running through the dirt and nature in their own Tough Mudder challenge. I would never even consider competing in Tough Mudder for the real-life satisfaction and achievement, let alone to win ten minutes of time with a brunette-discriminating ropes technician.

The twist today, however, is that they won’t be competing against each other.

 

PARDON? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!

 

No, no. Apparently they are going to “work together”. To win a challenge only one of them can actually win. Yeah this makes total logical sense.

They climb over walls, jump into ice buckets and wriggle through mud together, all the while bitching about who is standing closest to Richie and how much they don’t actually care about working as a team. Rachel makes some very relevant bitchy jokes about how they all suck because they’re blonde and, again, she’s the only brunette which isn’t actually true because Kiki is still there, plus she’s more a J.Lo-esque bronde, so….

 

tough mudder

Yay! Teamwork! 

Olena pulls out the big guns ifyouknowwhaddamean and challenges Bachie Bananas to a one-on-one mud race. He agrees awkwardly, visibly worried that he is going off-script here and might have to end up paying for the sponsor-gifted muscle singlet he’s wearing. Olena does a total Randall from Monsters Inc and crawls through that mud like she has reptilian blood.

THEN she seals the deal by pouring an entire water bottle over herself to hose off in front of Richie, NBD. Needless to say, his Cool Bananas are no longer able to remain very cool and she wins the challenge.

 

olena mud

Don’t. F*ck. With. Olena. 

Sitting on their Random Sex Couch, Olena basically reminds him that she ate mud for him so he better kiss her/tell her she’s beautiful/give her a rose or else. He does all of these things because Olena now has magic sexy water bottle powers over him.

ROSE CEREMONY

Also super boring because, as stated earlier, seven bitches equals not a lot of drama. I don’t even think the newly instated Batman vs Superman soundtrack can save this one.

Single Mum Alex is convinced that Intruder Lady Sophie/Steph/Stacey is going home because when it comes to relationships, spending the most amount of time with a man is the number one way to win him over and take your deserving place at his side; screw the chemistry he may have with other ladies; that is NOT how love works, y’all.

 

crazy girlfriend

Alex explains it all. 

Overly Bubbly Blonde Faith is doing her usual thing of being blonde and staying positive, also assuming that her super deep connection with Bachie Bananas will win her another week in the Mansion over Intruder Lady With Name Starting With S.

I really hate to break it to these girls, but, despite her controversial Intruder-status, Name Starting With S is still a flaxen-haired female, so she is in with a raging chance.

I also wanna say Bachie Bananas wears his camp purple velvet suit as an homage to the late, great, Gene Wilder, but somehow I just don’t think he’s that creative. (And also, this was probably filmed eight months ago.) So let’s just go on the assumption that he does his best Willy Wonka impression to distract us from the fact that he is a total brunette-hater and gives Intruder Lady a rose early in the ceremony because she is not a brunette.

It’s down to Kiki and Overly Bubbly Blonde Faith who, all of a sudden, has lost a lot of her bubble.

Not that she needed to worry because Kiki gets the boot. Because she isn’t blonde. Are you picking up what I’m putting down here?

All this mud and exercise has left both Rachel and Faith extremely disorientated and emotionally exhausted because they practically collapse onto each other; thankful and relieved that their shared ropes technician boyfriend has allowed them to survive another week.

 

faith rachel hug

No, THIS is what perspective looks like.

And so ends both the journey of another non-blonde bachelorette and another fairly beige episode.

Alex better either go postal on erryone or invite them all into the White Rose Sex Den for some real group dating or I am going to need some serious substance assistance to keep this interesting…

kiki is hot

So close to being blonde…so close. 

 

 

 

 

The Bachelor Season 4: Somebody did put Baby in the corner

11 Aug

Like a parent discovering Facebook for the first time, I am very late to this party. Please accept my most sincere apologies. For those of you who didn’t catch it, I’ve been overseas in the US of A for the last few weeks and, due to my over-confident, devil-may-care attitude (i.e. lazy) I assumed I would still be able to tune in to everyone’s fav wifey competition each week via the magic of the interwebs. OH HOW WRONG I WAS! Curse you Geoblocks/Firewalls/Scary Sounding Things That Stop Me From Streaming The Bachelor. 

Whatever Trevor. Let’s look on the bright side; I CAN WATCH BACHIE AGAIN! WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE!

Before I launch into this week’s post, allow me to stretch my sarcasm muscles and share a few thoughts on what I did manage to see over the last fortnight:

  • The new Mansion That Spotlight Built is v v Under the Tuscan Sun. I hope this is a nod to an upcoming international trip because last year’s finale in someone’s backyard in Sydney was bulls***.
  • I FUNKING TOLD YOU THE WHITE ROSE WAS A SEX ROSE!! Don’t try and mask it with fancy phrases like, “White Rose Hideaway” and other crap. SEX. ROSE. God I love it when I’m right.
  • Osher is skinny again. I’m afraid he’s doing a Matthew Perry on Friends circa 1995-1998. Fat Chandler – Skinny Chandler – Fat Chandler – Skinny Chandler. (Osher’s new nickname is Chandler Gunsberg, btw.)
  • Richie is the best/worst Bachelor ever. Best because he’s super adorbs and awkward and worst because super adorbs and awkward gets annoying after a while.
  • Erryone is talking about Keira and her bitchy jaw. Obviously she is heaven.
  • FYI, black 90’s chokers are officially back.

 

keira choker

So jaw. Much choker. 

 

Okay. I’m ready.

 

It’s the Ovaries Test episode! I mean, is it just me, or does it feel like it’s come way too early? (Insert sex joke here. Also “insert”. Lol.)

The unsuspecting bitches have gathered around the Tuscan kitchen in their best Peter Alexander floral ensembles and knee socks; “Just LOOK at us having a cute pajama party together! A few more Irish coffees and we’ll probs take our tops off!” Boys, if you are reading this, you are lucky if I wipe the crusty sleep out of my eye as I stumble out of bed that early in the morning. Because reality.

To add to the totally unforced realism, the bitches all sing about how they hope the group date involves all of them going out together and pretending they’re making acceptable life choices.

Except Keira. Keira just wants that Bachie Banana Split, ifyouknowwhaddamean.

SINGLE DATE

Chandler Gunsberg arrives just in time to stop the naked pillow fighting to give out the single date card. Alex, the girl who, through a lot of subtlety from Channel 10, I have gleaned to be the single mum gets the single date. Cue lots of discussion about how unfair it is that Bachie Bananas is taking out one of his girlfriends in a competition where lots of girlfriends compete for Bachie Bananas. Srzly, I don’t know how many more seasons I can keep commenting on how moot this argument is.

 

cows opinion

 

To rub salt in the wound, BB picks Alex up in front of all his other girlfriends who pretend to give a f***.

BB and Alex make a lot of small talk about their time in the White Rose Hideaway/Rose Nest or whatever other euphemism they’re trying to sell. WE KNOW IT’S A SEX DEN, GUYS! Although, I’d probs take Alex to a sex den myself, considering she’s got a bloody impressive rack for someone who’s nursed a human baby. I have no human babies and I’m lucky if my boobs don’t hit me in the face when I lie down. But I digress…

Because Alex is a single mum and probably doesn’t have time to pamper herself, the producers are doing a Pretty Woman and calling in ALLLLL the corporate sponsors to make it look like BB has dolla dolla bills to throw around. I mean, he takes her to the Camilla store! (I’ve never shopped there, but from what I can tell they sell very camp kaftans for rich white ladies that cost more than my first car did.) Bachie Bananas very expertly explains why they’re there:

“Girls love clothes. – R. Strahan, 2016.

What follows is a montage of Alex trying on overpriced dresses and Richie commentating everything she does. Srzly, is he trying out to be a commentator for the Olympics? Because we only need one Bruce McAvaney, babe.

bruce mcavaney

Bruce for Bachie 2017

But I’m distracted then by the silly girl at Camilla telling Richie (and all of Australia) about the Undie Tuck. STOP REVEALING OUR SECRET, GURL! But no matter, because then BB and Alex stop off at their first Random Fancy Couch (good to see Channel 10 sticking to traditions) and guess what? It’s…………… in the Camilla store! Romaaaaaaaance!

After paying for Alex’s new dress kaftan with his tears, BB chauffeurs his lady date to the next Random Fancy Couch. This time it’s in the lobby of the Intercontinental Hotel. Did I mention Intercontinental Hotel? It’s a hotel and it’s very Intercontinental. #sponsorship. Meanwhile, just out of frame, some poor hotel worker is scraping leftover potato wedges from someone’s room service tray into a bin.

intercontinental

Can I have a free holiday now?

Of course talk turns to the BIG DEAL of Alex having a kid. BB puts on his focusing face and tells her he knows it’s a BIG DEAL and uses a lot of words like “responsibility” and “serious”. But you can totally tell he’s just trying to speed through this BIG DEAL talk to get her up onto the balcony where there’s another X-Factor reject ready to awkwardly serenade them. (His name is Allan Stone. He actually looks way cool.)

Hoping to remove the memory of their BIG DEAL talk through oral lobotomy, BB goes in for the kill and THERE IS MAJOR TONGUE!

alex pash

Thank you internet. 

GROUP DATE

Back at the Mansion That Tuscany Built, the women are rudely awoken by a noise that very few of them seem to recognize; the sound of crying fake babies. Upon discovering their new robot friends in the living room, most of them react as if a crazy drunk has broken in and tied up their families. No one gave them the memo that they must prove their ovaries to be maternal else risk being branded unlovable non-women who don’t deserve Bachie banana.

Except for Nikki, who is cooing and cradling her fake baby like Mary and the baby Jesus. She even names it Nina. Before she discovers it has a penis. Mother of the Year right there.

Megan, on the other hand, is not impressed by the whole exercise, even when she discovers that the not-at-all-obvious-attempt-at-equality-black-baby is hers.

She still doesn’t even try to pretend to give a f*** when Chandler Gunsberg swans in, announcing that this torturous chamber of baby hell IS the group date. Over on the Tuscan bench top, Keira has the realization that this is the first group date she HASN’T been on…

cersei smug

Keira be like…

Another girl I’ve never noticed before (is it Noni?) tells us how bloody happy she is to also not be included on the date because she couldn’t even stand to look after a baby for an hour, let alone an entire day. Obviously she is going home very soon and will be damned to Hades for not having acceptable ovaries.

Speaking of ovaries though, every damn one in the room explodes in a Mardi Gras parade of yearning lady parts when Bachie Bananas arrives with his very own fake baby strapped to his chest. All the bitches put on their best concentrating faces while trying not to fantasize about Richie carrying their own little Baby Banana (for realz, a guy straps a fake baby to his chest and all of a sudden he’s Man of the Year – Champion of Lady Boners. It’s actually a joke.) BB tells them all he has room for one more lucky lady on their Ovary Date. Obviously it’s going to be No Feelings Noni, but poor Eliza definitely didn’t get that memo…

jimmy gif

She can barely keep a lid on it.

As I suspected, Noni is chosen to put her uncaring ovaries to the test with not just one, but two fake babies. TWINSIES! She looks super happy about it. I believe the phrase, “…worst day of my life,” is used. Yay motherhood!

The five lucky bitches are then taken to the most obvious place a new parent would take their new plastic baby – Putt Putt. For realz, this show is becoming less like The Bachelor and more like It’s a Knockout. 

All of them except for Nikki are super sh*t at being maternal. When Megan puts token black child down on the golf green so she can putt, she proves that you really CAN put baby in the corner. Who knew?

Blah blah, Nikki wins the ovaries test.

Her prize is to spend ten whole minutes on a Random Fancy Couch talking about feelings with BB. Snore.

 

ROSE CEREMONY

Because Keira didn’t feature heavily in this episode, (I’m assuming) the evening is therefore low on der-rama. Sensing this terrible mistake, the productions assistants tell Nikki to tell Alex and the other girls that she kissed their communal boyfriend. Alex looks pissed that her communal boyfriend she is competing for pashed one of the…. you know what, I don’t care. We’ve covered this.

 

alex mad

Do Intercontinental know about this betrayal?

BUT THEN! Some weird girl called Eliza gets Bachie Bananas alone on the couch and, NBD, pulls out a blue rose thing from her bra. She explains that this Boob Rose is a little celebration of her being a weirdo. And then I get really sad because I’ve just met this amazing Boob-Rose-Maker but she’ll definitely be going home now because Channel 10 are using that music from The Simpsons when Lisa has to play the jar instead of her saxophone. And cutting to lots of shots of Richie’s uncomfortable face. Apparently red roses and white sex roses are the only acceptable roses in Bachie Bananas’ house.

Waaaaah!

I’m not even going to break the ceremony down. Eliza gets sent home to make more boob roses.

She should totes open an Etsy shop.

richie baby

I just wanted to include this somewhere. 

Can we please have your dignity?

20 Apr

Has reality television turned us all into a*******?

They say sex sells, but shame and failure are way better. See, I really wanted to hate Married at First Sight. I promise I did. But I have a dirty confession; not only have I watched it, but I also kind of love it in the worst way and I DON’T KNOW WHY!

Actually, that’s a lie.

I do know.

It’s because, deep down, I’m a bit of an a**hole.

Ironically, my new obsession with MAFS comes at about the same time as my Bachie nemesis, Blake Garvey, a.k.a. Blake Vader, announced his tragic split from Lipstick Louise via a poignant breakup shoot with New Idea. Yes, you read that correctly. They legit got together on some windy beach-side lookout and posed for photographs looking forlorn and heartbroken. Relationship goals AF.

And a big part of me has absolutely revelled in it. The deep-voiced, shallow-minded lothario and his controversial third-choice bride have given back their Bunda rings and commemorated it with a flipping GLAMOUR SHOOT! It’s heaven on a stick. (On the other hand, another, somewhat smaller, part of me is sad I won’t be able to make sarcastic jokes about their beige wardrobes and personalities anymore, but that’s just a cross I’ll have to bear.)

 

new idea split

This is a thing and it really happened. (Image via New Idea)

 

But through these two reality television goldmines, what’s really become super clear to me is just how much we enjoy watching people suffer. And not just us, the viewing public of Australia, but the very contestants themselves. Apparently sacrificing their dignity, their bodies, their emotional well-being, and anything else remotely sacred is the only way wannabe television stars can make a coin these days. Forget the happy endings, we wanna see you tear shreds off!

Take Monday night’s ep of Married at First Sight for example. Although the surface-level focus was the anticipated meet up of all the couples and their incessant arm-stroking at Bilbo Baggins’ house, anyone with half a brain knew that it was really about Jono and Clare breaking up and the ensuing awkward AF dinner party showdown. And the other contestants kind of loved it. It was legit all they could talk about. I mean, they put in a solid effort pretending to care, but really the smugness was palpable…

 

cersei smug

Ohhh…you’re not together anymore?

 

The psychologists kept saying that Jono and Clare were matched for a reason, but unless that reason was to make good television out of emotional turmoil, I’m fresh out of ideas as to why these two people were married in the first place. Sources tell me that Clare suffered through an abusive relationship in the past, and so she was expertly paired with a man who lost his shit at a couch in Ikea. Obvi it had serious potential from the start, guys. But perhaps the best and most telling part of the whole shemozzle was the serious “psychological support” Clare received from the three “experts” when she and Jono officially decided to split and she found herself sobbing alone in the middle of the Blue Mountains.

 

there there gif

From left: Clare, John Aitken

 

And Australia loved it. It was a major talking point on Tuesday morning. But after a brief discussion with my fellow MAFS- addict and writer friend, we agreed that the schadenfreude doesn’t just stop at dating shows. Basically every reality tv program requires a significant element of suffering and embarrassment for us to want to tune in. And for what? Despite the small wins, occasional monetary remuneration and, at best, fleeting fame, what do the participants really gain from the whole experience? An entire nation of people enjoying their shame.

Because, deep down, we’re all a bit of an a**hole. But has reality television itself conditioned us to be this way?

So my friend and I played a little game. We decided to write the production briefs for some of Australia’s biggest reality shows. But in a much more honest way.

The Voice, X Factor and any others from the trolley of talent shows out there: Sure, sing us a beautiful song, but you ain’t gonna get any screen time unless you tell us about how you saw the life leave your little brother’s eyes after he was squashed by that tractor. For those of you not as fortunate to have a tragic backstory, don’t worry, we’ll put together montage episodes of all the really bad, delusional contestants who never had a hope of succeeding so that our viewers can have a good laugh. Maybe you can get on one of those.

Biggest Loser: We really want to help you lose weight, but we also really want to hear again and again how much you want to be a parent and keep dwelling on those failed pregnancies you suffered because of, you know… how overweight you are.  And while we focus on all aspects of your health, we’re going to starve you on a low cal diet for weeks, then roll you through the middle of the Chadstone food truck festival and see if you eat your body weight in dim sims. Surprise! Temptation! But don’t forget to be healthy, kay?

The Block: Come on our show and we’ll ‘challenge’ you by ringing every drop of stress and anxiety out of your relationship while we give you a shitty budget, rush you through something you have never done before, but also don’t forget to stay in love with your partner and be attractive. (Meanwhile, did you see Cherie’s wall paper… hideous amirite?) Then deal with our smugness when your over-decorated apartment doesn’t reach reserve at auction and you realise you’ve worked your balls off for, like, $3000.

My Kitchen Rules: We’ll invite the biggest pack of a**holes in Australia, sit them around your dinner table and watch while your hope curdles like the cream you forgot to refrigerate as they pick apart all the reasons why you are a terrible cook and overall person.

 

Reality television is basically taking over. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing, but I can’t help but worry that it’s only going to feed our hunger for suffering and embarrassment. Don’t get me wrong, I (and I think a lot of people) want to see Ordinary Joe realise his hopes and dreams, but not before he hands his dignity over.

Just like Blake and Louise did. At the end of the day, someone had to have OFFERED them that photoshoot. Or, at the very least, thought it was worth publishing. Because they knew Australia would love it.

 

I mean, really, would you ruin your life for a guest spot on Ready Steady Cook and a 2012 Hyundai Getz?

 

 

 

Why can’t dating be more like ‘Perfect Match’?

30 Mar

Is it just me, or has the concept of new age dating and romance just about blown up to Death Star-size proportions of late?

If it wasn’t already clear through the endless wheeling out of new apps and websites promising true love with the click of a button, the significant increase in popularity (and in my case, obsession) with reality TV dating shows has pretty much cemented our collective addiction to dating. We love doing it, we love talking about it and we really love watching it. It is legit surprising anyone manages to get anything bloody done anymore.

But it seems we have taken a bit of a wrong turn of late and things are going rapidly south ifyouknowwhaddamean?

Australia’s rekindled romance with our home-grown version of The Bachelor in the last couple of years appeared to trigger an influx of new trashy programs, each with their own spin on both the dating game and relationships in general. There was Dating Naked; the more politically polarizing Married at First Sight; Dating in the Dark and now, more recently, First Dates and The Seven Year Switch. (Unfortunately, this post is NOT about The Seven Year Switch and it’s thinly veiled premise of straight-up adultery. But if it was, I would have all the opinions on it, don’t even worry.)

But I gotta say, none of these shows really measure up to the glory of Perfect Match. A stalwart of late 80’s television, Perfect Match was what gave my life meaning. Back when staying home on a Friday night with your parents was not only acceptable, but preferable; at my place that meant fish & chips and a can of Coke. When you’re seven, that is the equivalent of a bottle of red in your underwear.

Perfect Match was and is by far the best dating show ever created and anyone who disagrees is kidding themselves. Obviously I am going to explain exactly why that is. But first, please enjoy this nine minutes of 80’s heaven:

Five Reasons Why Perfect Match is Everything

Greg funking Evans

The host of the show and quintessential Stone. Cold. Fox. Evans kept the ball rolling and the jokes flowing. He was kind of like a hotter version of Andrew O’Keefe. When unsuspecting and nervous contestants would put their awkward foot in it, Evans had the kind of suave charisma and quick wit to smooth over any potential law suits or inappropriate sexual innuendos. Most of the female contestants secretly hoped to bone him and I do not blame them one bit.

greg

Would swipe right

 

Dexter

I mean, who DOESN’T want to have their romance score with a potential Romeo calculated by a sassy robot? Srzly, it would make life a hell of a lot easier. Forget swiping right, or even sending endless kisses/winks/charms, Dexter did all that dirty work for you and delivered the results in a bowler hat and give-a-f*** attitude. (For the record though, what even is a “charm”? It just makes me think of Hogwarts. Not sexy. Unless we’re talking about the Weasley twins…damn those hot gingers…but I digress…)

Dexter

#sass

 

The format

Essentially, Perfect Match operated on a process of elimination. Contestants started out with three possible matches who they were separated from by a v festive, pastel-coloured partition. They asked them each a question or two about dream dates and so on, then they picked one person from the line-up whose mullet they thought they could take home for a family BBQ. Basically, there was no reliance on physical appearance or abundance/lack of gym selfies. The contestants actually based their decisions on personality alone. If I really think about it, I can barely imagine a functioning world where this is a thing anymore.

 

seats

So…no chance of sending nudes, then?

 

The holidays

Forget a badly disguised d*** pic; once contestants had chosen their “perfect match” for the evening, they were gifted with a flipping holiday! Newly matched pairs were flown to the Gold Coast or the Whitsundays with a TV crew who would capture every awkward moment in their budget motel rooms. The following week, their post-holiday interview would be screened, where one half of the couple would reveal their true love, while the other had to admit they just went on the holiday for the complimentary biscuits and ironing service.

 

choosing

Can I still choose Best Western?

 

The time slot

Guys, do I have to say it again? Perfect Match screened on a Friday night! It was like Date Night when you didn’t have a date. These days, the best thing you can hope for on TV should you find yourself alone on a Friday is Better Homes & Gardens or a smart repeat of The Shawshank Redemption. It’s like Reg Grundy and his production company KNEW that if you were gonna be flying solo, a chandy or two just wasn’t going to cut it.

 

logo

Television, if you’re listening, THIS is how you do romance! Actually, I take that back. I don’t just mean television, I mean the world. For realz. I’ve had jack of all the apps and the swiping and the messaging. Put me in a wicker love seat and let me ask three dudes in pastel suits who they’d like to have dinner with dead or alive.  I guarantee the results will speak for themselves. Because…

Like Peaches and Cream
And a Coach and her Team
Like Sand and the Seas
And the Birds and the Bees
Lie an Oyster and a Pearl
And a Guy and a Girl
What Have You Got?
You Got a Perfect…
Perfect…
Perfect Match!
It’s a Perfect Match!

greg debbie

Life goals AF

 

Tina Arena is ashamed of something she shouldn’t be…

27 Nov

Oh Tina. You glorious, perky-breasted goddess, you. You captivated us from the moment you donned your pink, polyester onesie and belted Volare to the adoring live audience of Young Talent Time. And you did it again last night when you majestically appeared at the top of the ARIA stairs amidst some serious dry ice to belt the shit out of Chains. (Again in a onesie, but this one had a funking cape.)

Fellow babe Kylie Minogue then inducted you into the Hall of Fame before you gave a rousing, if not lengthy (I’ve got the attention span of a three year-old after downing a litre of cordial), speech about the music industry and the role women have to play in it. You even referenced your amazing cans. Bravo.

But I have one little problem with that speech, Tina.

Amongst the praise and positive memories of Johnny Young and his bowl cut, you delivered a small dagger to the heart that I’m not sure everyone watching at home felt as much as I did.

Not to take away from your well-deserved moment, but you implied that your 1990 single, I Need Your Body was not your greatest work. At first I thought maybe it was a joke and you were just trying to be funny. But upon further research, I discovered that this glistening gem of early-90’s electro-pop has been making you “cringe” for years.

And to this I call bullshit.

I Need Your Body IS ONE OF THE BEST GODDAMN POP SONGS OF OUR TIME!

(And if you have yet to experience the song for yourself, I demand you stop what you’re doing right now and watch this immediately:)

 

Here are the reasons why:

1. It was your break-out song.

All through the 80’s you were labelled Tiny Tina. Every Australian with a working television wanted to take you home and cook you pineapple fritters. But you had to grow up some time.  Britney did it when she donned leather bumsters and danced up on a lot of sweaty people in I’ m a Slave For You. And the song isn’t even that good, just quietly. I Need Your Body was your Britney moment. And you did it BEFORE her! AND you were all of 20 years old. At 20, my biggest achievement was buying my own jaffle-maker and managing to shave my legs once a week. While you were busy paving the way for many a sexually frustrated child star to come. Don’t be ashamed of that, Tina.

2. Half-naked dancing men.

While the trend for music videos, today and in the past, has been to parade dancing women around in vagina shorts and bikini tops, you bucked that trend in the INYB video clip. Because Tina don’t give no f***s. Your film clip featured a small chorus of shirtless, muscly dudes dancing on patio chairs in the Phantom of the Opera’s house. I was just shy of six at the time, but even I could appreciate it. Because #girlpower.

3. It reached #3 on the ARIA charts.

And that is nothing to sneeze at. Let’s put this into perspective:

Chains, your stunning anthem of white-girl angst that no one else can sing, no matter how many Pinots they’ve had, (definitely not me…I’m talking about a friend) only ever got to #4. NUMBER FOUR! I mean, that is a travesty of justice in itself, but now is not the time. The point is, I Need Your Body beat that. That is a BIG. FLIPPING. DEAL.

4. ALL THE VELVET!

Again, I’m referencing the music video here, but who can seriously forget that velvet bolero?! Most people get a bit caught up in the memory of your boobs dancing around in the matching velvet dress, but honestly, it was all about that bolero for me. At times you even got so into the whole running-away-from-Fabio’s-brother thing, it fell off your shoulders but you just kept going. Very devil may care, very Tara Reid nip-slip without the nip. That entire velvet outfit was my life and I will continue to spend my waking hours hunting it down so I can wear it to every social occasion ever.

Seriously, can someone bring velvet back?

5. It’s a great bloody song.

For realz. It’s a song about being so damn into a guy that you constantly feel burning things inside you, and not in the medical/STD way. Who can forget lyrics like:

And the wind cries out

Out your name to me

And I feel no shame

Feeling this way…

Gawd I love a smart wind reference. It taught us girls that it was totally okay to feel all the feelings about a boy and even encouraged us to own it in the hope he might show up at our own abandoned mansion and dance about in the shadows.

The song also contains a siiick electro beat. The kind of frenetic, blood-pumping disco/pop track that made Belinda Carlisle a household name. Honestly, if it wasn’t for I Need Your Body, dance concerts across Australia would have had nothing to do with all their lycra bodysuits and jazz sneakers.

 

I need your body

Even her perm on the single cover is #onfleek.

 

Anyway Tina, my point here is that, while you are polishing off your Hall of Fame trophy and looking back on what has been a pretty illustrious career, please don’t view I Need Your Body as that ugly, stumble-block that you try to laugh about now but secretly kills you inside. Because it shouldn’t.

I have and will continue to defend I Need Your Body until the cows come home, as well as continue to play it on repeat at erry flipping house party I go to.

So, on behalf of the children and teens of the 90’s, I would just like to say thank you, Tina. Thank you for one of the best velvet-clad, shadow-dancing disco pop tracks of our generation.

Merci beaucoup.*

 

 

*Because Tina speaks French. She’ll know what it means.