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Bachelor In Paradise Ep 5 & 6: There Is No Funny Title Because Women Are Not Men’s Property

10 Apr

Ok guys, I’m sick with the flu, I’ve got some feminist rage and I’ve had about 16 pseudoephedrine. Strap in.

We have officially hit the point where the Australian dudes are too boring/whiny so they’re bringing in the big guns and by big guns I mean the misogynistic guns with weird faces and American accents.

Americans. The American dudes are here.

Honestly the women look f***ing over the moon to get a break from the smorgasbord of idiots they’ve been hanging around. Unfortunately though, these new offerings don’t seem to be any better.

First to arrive is Grant who is a fireman and has been on Bachie in Paradise US and proposed to some girl called Lace (or Lacey?) and then got matching tattoos with her that said “Grace” and I already hate him.


This is a thing that happened. 


Mack is still barking up Ali’s tree like a puppy who needs a wee and it’s starting to just get creepy. They go for a swim and Mack just intermittently stares at her and then lays random compliments on thick and fast rather than actually just talking to the woman like a regular human and honestly if this is what Mack thinks a connection is, I fear for him.

Ali makes a comment about how she doesn’t just want to go around pashing everyone and wants her first kiss on Sex Island to be with the man she hopes to leave with. Which is code for she definitely does not want to pash Mack.

Mack doesn’t seem too worried though. As he explains, “I’m falling for her, and I think she’s falling for me in a different way,” which is code for she definitely isn’t falling for you at all.

Jarrod is mad that Mack gave his rose to Ali and ruined Jarrod’s first ever love triangle, but honestly he has been super into Keira this whole time, guys, srzly don’t even worry about it. But he’s pretty P-O’d when Keira shows some interest in Grant because how dare she after he told her she was his second choice. How COULD she do this to him?!

Luckily for Jarrod, Leah swoops in on Grant before he’s even had a chance to get some life advice and a tequila shot from Wais. Grant takes Leah on a single date to the resort next door where they go snorkeling and I have an epiphany about why I might still be single when Leah literally undresses Grant 10 minutes after meeting him and I’m too shy to tell a dude his chair leg is on my skirt.


Is this how flirting works now because I quit. 


Grant tells Leah this was actually the best date he’s ever been on ever, which seems weird for someone who has been engaged before on this very show but, then again, I’m single, what would I know?

Back on Sex Island ANOTHER American man arrives except he’s actually Canadian but I don’t think any of the contestants know the difference. His name is Daniel and he is basically just a massive set of balls attached to a small head. Again, the girls go crazy for him. Daniel is glad Grant is here so he has another “wolf” to run with and honestly why do white men all think they’re wolves?

Daniel gets to work on who’s banging who and literally points to Lisa and says, “Oh is this yours?” to Luke AND MY VAGINA JUST CRAWLED UP INTO MY STOMACH AND IS NEVER COMING OUT.

Never mind the fact Jarrod’s gone all red again because Keira is now talking to Daniel and he fumes for a while at the camera about how these Americans are here to “take all our women,” which again, doesn’t really endear him to me because women aren’t objects to take but again what would I know.

Because the producers are literally here to f*** with everyone, obviously Daniel has a single date card and he says this weird thing to Keira about how he doesn’t need to take her out as he already knows they have a connection which seems like a fairly backwards way to play it, but Keira has downed at least 5 vodka sunrises and she somehow agrees. Not before Daniel asks her if she’s a “bad girl” while trying to sexily sip on his cocktail. Newsflash fellas, don’t attempt sleazy bedroom eyes outside of the bedroom unless you’re okay with getting laughed at. You suck at it.

He picks Nina who I thought was better than this and what follows is just a five minute montage of sexual harassment.

Honestly, Daniel has barely been in our lives longer than the mi goreng I’m eating and I already have enough feminist rage to burn the place to the ground. When he and Nina approach what looks like a legitimately dangerous river, I am yelling THROW HIM IN much louder than my neighbors would appreciate. Unfortunately, a local happens by and basically tells them they are f***ing idiots for even thinking about it and not even jungle sex is worth nearly dying for. (Okay he didn’t exactly say that but you could see it on his face.)

Oh Blake is still here and he doesn’t like Daniel at all because competition is fine but, “don’t come across as a dick,” which I guess is fair coming from the guy who put another guy in hospital and whose girlfriend’s name he forgot on television.

I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to sense the theme for this week might be Hypocrisy of the Highest Order.

Lenora has obviously caught a glimpse of Blake’s new hair do and decides maybe he’s not for her. Considering he has put zero effort into their relationship and still isn’t 100% sure her name isn’t Lenora, he seems very shocked.


This is also a thing that happened. 


Also on the break up train is Ali who is first accosted by Mack telling her he wants to introduce her to his parents after knowing her for 2 days and lord give me strength I’m worried for this guy and what he thinks conversation/dating is.

Ali gently explains that she doesn’t feel the spark with him unfortunately, and considering all he’s done is creep on her and pay her compliments that make her physically uncomfortable, he also seems very shocked.

Mack, babe, when a woman talks to you that doesn’t mean there’s a spark. It just means she’s talking to you. #science.

Returning to the bar for hopefully a little bit of Ali Time, Ali is once again pulled away by Michael who has organised a little unofficial date of his own for her and honestly wtf is the point of the date cards if the contestants can just put down their own rug and cheese platter whenevs? The logic of this show is starting to really mess with me.


You wanna go wash your hands? CAN I COME TOO??!!


BUT IN AN UNEXPECTED TWIST Ali also dumps Michael because she isn’t really feeling it with him either and there could be a chance she’s simply doing it so she can have 5 f***ing minutes to herself, could you blame her?

Oh good God, I’m not even half way you guys this is intense. I’m so sorry.

GOOD NEWS! Something nice and almost genuinely lovely happens and thank f*** for that because I was a bee’s dick away from pledging a life time of celibacy.


Current mood.


Sam and Tara finally go on a date together and Tara tells Sam she thought he was a dickhead at first and bravo to her but he cops it on the chin, bless him. They make each other cocktails and then sit on a Random Sex Couch trying to summon the courage to kiss each other and I can’t believe this I am really starting to like Sam GODDAMMIT TARA!

Nah but seriously, they do eventually pash and it’s the first time I haven’t wanted to gag because I think they might be in love.


I’m still watching you, Sam.


The der-rama is wrapped up on Sunday by da boyz sitting around on the rocks being manly and shit. Jarrod is still trying to convince everyone he loved Keira all along but then accuses Mack of “dogging” him by giving Ali his rose when Mack KNEW Jarrod was going to give Ali HIS rose and honestly you are both as annoying as each other please just shush. But just quietly can we bring back the term “dogged” again?

Okay it’s Monday night now and the same shit is happening and Jarrod is redder than ever.

Because I am running out of patience and pain killers to delve into this too much here is the sitch:

Jarrod (claims to) love Keira.

Keira likes Jarrod but wants to bone Daniel.

Nina also likes Daniel and isn’t sure about Eden now and I’m very mad at her because Eden is the best how dare she.

Eden still loves Nina but wants her to make her own decisions plz marry me.

Daniel wants to bone everyone. He literally does not care who it is.

Jarrod thinks women live under rocks and hates playing second fiddle but forgets he literally told Keira she was his second fiddle not 3 days ago.


It is so draining being this hypocritical. 


Grant and Ali have now hooked up and I literally have no idea how/when that happened.

Leah is full pissed and only speaks in Meal Girls quotes now.

Daniel says he is Gepetto from Pinocchio and all the women are his puppets and honest to God I really hope Channel Ten have purposely chosen these douche canoes to teach the men of Australia how to treat/view/date/talk to women.


Pictured: Me as Daniel’s puppet. 


A new guy arrives who isn’t Apollo but whose name is also Jared which I think is just mean and confusing. No one really likes him but he asks Meagan on a date and she doesn’t even pretend she wants to go. Nothing happens on their date.

Keira and Jarrod fight and then the next day make out and it’s just very confusing. Jarrod is also very confused by biology because he says that Keira is like Madonna – there’s only one of her but I think he’s forgetting that there’s only one of every single person in the world.

Daniel is still walking around like the human equivalent of a tube of cheap lube. Keira takes him into her hut and makes out with him but we don’t see it, only hear it. I mean, who doesn’t love the sound of two people drunk pashing before 11am?!

I mean, Keira is effectively doing what Jake did to Flo and Meagan last week, but remember this is a woman whose crush told her she was his second choice. Her facial expression after she admits she kissed Daniel is worth sitting through this whole episode and I am HERE FOR IT.




Ummm…this whole Keira-Daniel-Jarrod-Nina drama continues on for some time until Lenora ALSO says that she’s putting out flirtatious vibes to see what comes back from Daniel, but if you ask me, the only thing coming back from him is probably an STI.




Because Eden is the best man on this damn island, he approaches Nina and Daniel mid awkward-sex -chat to steal away not Nina, but the Douche King himself. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?! Are they going to punch on? Is Eden going to throw him in the ocean because I heard slimy Canadians can’t swim.

He doesn’t do either of those things but he does give Daniel a stern talking to about not hurting Nina’s feelings and I swear on my life Eden has restored my faith in men for a moment and suddenly I am so goddamn nervous about the Rose Ceremony that I might vomit.

Not to be deterred from spreading his “man eggs” across the island (again, #science) Daniel goes back to a drunk Keira and asks her if he makes her moist. No, that wasn’t a typo.

Uncle Sam takes this opportunity to tell Nina that she is being played by Douchebag Daniel and that Eden is the one who actually cares about her and GODDAMMIT SAM STOP MAKING ME LIKE YOU!


Before this, we get a glimpse of the gals chatting about their choices tonight and everyone is very honest about wanting to bone Daniel and I am seriously concerned that they’ve been drugged because he is literally the worst.

Leah gives her rose to Michael even though they will never be a thing.

Lisa gives her rose to Luke and I forgot these two were still here but yay.

Tara gives her rose to Sam and he straight up smooches her for it and it’s funking adorable.

Ali gives her rose to Grant even though he is wearing the most hideous onesie.

Meagan gives her rose to Jake because next to Daniel he looks like a goddamn saint.

Nina gives her rose to… (oh dear God I’m sweating I might cry)… EDEN! I actually cheered.

Lenora steps up, looks at Daniel and then…gives her rose to AMERICAN JARED HOLY SHIT THIS WOMAN IS EVERYTHING!


Sit the f*** down y’all!


Keira looks to be in full panic mode and says ” I don’t know!” before continuing to panic and eventually gives her rose to Jarrod.


For a man who thought he had a bunch of roses coming at him, his reaction is less than gentlemanly. Personally, my favorite line as he walked out the gates was, “Whatever, I’ve had sex with a tonne of beautiful women. I don’t care.”


Honestly, I have never been more f***ing proud of women on reality television.



If Daniel was on Tinder. 



The Bachelor Season 5: A Matt(ch) made in heaven

28 Jul

I really do not know how I’m going to get through this season.

It dawned on me that the drive and burning passion I have had behind me in all previous seasons was largely due to the fact that I secretly/not-so-secretly hated the actual Bachelor. I certainly made an idiot of myself last year when I was all Go Richie! You and your ropes don’t need Sam Frost, you’re adorable I hope you find much love and bananas! But then was rudely made the fool of when it turned out Richie was the dude equivalent of a pack of Sun Rice Long Grain.

So obviously I am extremely nervous about this whole Matty J sitch. I really like him. And I’ve christened him Matchie already and I’m really proud of that. Plus I am highly vain and desperate to please everybody, so the fact that a handful of people asked if I would keep doing these recaps was enough to spur me into action because being accepted by every single person I ever meet is important to me. IT’S A NEVER-ENDING ROLLER COASTER OF EMOTION!

Am I getting on your nerves yet? Buckle in, y’all.

On with the der-rama!

So of course the powers that be at Channel 10 HAD to show us that awful replay of Georgia ripping out Matchie’s heart and stomping a big, fat “LEE 4EVA” in the remains with her Love boots. Again. Honestly, I cannot bear to watch that another damn time.

But I guess that was an important reminder because, cut to the J Household (no srzly, what is his last name? Jones? J-Man? Johannesburg?) and Matchie’s entire family are basically running the We Hate Georgia Love Club. So I guess it was relevant.

Lots of shots of their white and blue-themed boat house mansion and Matty’s biceps playing in the pool with his definitely-not-for-sympathy-or-fertility-mongering nephew George.

Let’s go tingle some ovaries, Uncle Matt!

Blah blah, Matty is still super hot and super sweet and doesn’t wear shirts often which I am fine with and is looking for true love on a reality show but now I’ve lost trust in this program and am basically waiting for him to turn into a big fat dud.

I’ll show you my Cool Bananas? 


Before we know it, Matchie is all dressed up in his suit and arrives at the Mansion That Spotlight Built, wondering if the “MJ luvs GL” he scratched into the walls is still there.

What is definitely still there, and as reliable as ever, is Osher. Obviously it’s premiere night and Osh can’t break out the organic hemp shirt just yet which is a shame, but he looks v v dapper in his black tie.

However, that doesn’t stop Matchie from telling Osher that he doesn’t actually believe in love at first sight, which is suuuuuper inconvenient for this show. Osher just nods and says, “interesting” or something and does a really good job of masking all the disappointed yelling coming through his earpiece.

Alix is the first one to step out of the limo of dreams. No, that’s not a typo; it is Alix, not Alex. Am I the only one bothered by dumb spelling of names? Probably. But it makes it sound like a cough syrup, yo.

Anyway, Alix explains she is a professional body painter, and yes she felt the need to say professional and yes, apparently that can be a real full time job. She even body painted her own wrist, so basically she is Peeta from The Hunger Games. I would ask if she bakes bread too, but she doesn’t look like she’s eaten a carb for a solid decade, so…

I really hope it comes to this 

Next up is Tara who they do a whole back story piece on so obviously she will be staying for at least a couple of weeks. Tara is a nanny and I’ve already decided she’ll be the Cool Girl of the season because she says “stoked” a lot and has the balls to call Matchie “mate”. Obviously she can’t win now, but I dig her enough.

Some chick called Laura shows up and talks about the rumors being true, but Matty doesn’t know what rumors she’s referring to so he just laughs. But she also mentioned bringing a Cobb loaf so I got distracted because aforementioned Cobb loaf does not appear.

Next is Cobie who we know will be super zany because she’s brought helium balloons with her to suck at. I would usually insert some sort of judgmental/suggestive joke here about sucking things, but sucking on helium balloons and singing war cries at the school swimming carnival was basically how I hooked my first boyfriend in 1996. I feel so connected to this woman.

Next is a short parade of white chicks in white dresses who all look the same.

But then to prove to us that they do cater to ethnic diversity, the producers throw us Laura Anne, who is, so far, the least white girl we’ve seen. Her ovaries are also tingling which suggests some sort of ethnic voodoo witchery, obviously.

Speaking of ovaries, there appears Natalie, who spends her days buried to the elbows in vaginas and placentas and who I’ve decided is this season’s Luna Lovegood. Obviously I am all about her immediately because she admits to being a crazy Instagram stalker and uses swear words – HOW CAN ONE WOMAN BE SO CRAZY AMIRIGHT?! Well, it gets better because she ends up getting a terrible case of Moist Tourettes where she just keeps saying “moist” a lot and Matchie isn’t sure whether he is being Punk’d by one of the interns. I really hope she wins.


Love you, bae.

More women arrive in cut out dresses and boob tape and Matty continues to comment on how stunning they are.

Lisa is another tall blonde in red who will most likely win because her arrival music was The Bachelor equivalent of when Belle appears at the top of the staircase in Beauty and the Beast. 

Belinda is a professional “Love Coach” who has decided it wise to enter into a national husband competition to find true love, so I’m not 100% sold on her credentials at this point. She’s brought an egg timer with her that she switches on, demanding Matty stare into her eyes, while the timer literally counts down the seconds until her fertility runs out. It’s riveting.

An amazing woman called Akoulina “presents herself as a present” and asks if Matty accepts her because feminism has really come leaps and bounds in Russia. And continuing on with my Harry Potter comparisons, her arrival is basically on par with when Fleur Delacour fronted up at Hogwarts doing her ridiculous gymnastics routine. She also claims she is going to “wrap Matty up in my love and in my ribbons,” which means sex. Or STI’s. I’m not sure yet.

Finally, Leah is obviously the big, nasty villain this season, because as soon as her Lipstik heel hits the pavement, the sweet, whimsical music switches to the opening credits of The Walking Dead. She dares to mess Matchie’s hair up which does not impress him one iota so she is clearly evil. She tries to recover by throwing a heap of sexual innuendo at Matty, hoping to get innhisendo. Also she is dressed in black. Because villain.

Something something I’m talking about sex. 

That’s all I recall from the driveway round up. Maybe chuck in a couple more awkward white girls with little personality, plus a police officer, a foreigner and some girl who wears a terrible sash she got from Lombards that has been slightly blurred out and now all I can focus on is figuring out what terribly offensive text Channel 10 felt the need to shield us from.


Straight away everyone hates Leah because she is the villain wearing a black “naked” dress which is actually the same dress that Jen is wearing in white, but no one says anything about that because villains wear black and we hate them.

Tara tries to say hello to Villain Leah but Villain Leah doesn’t see her because there are probably a hundred cameras in front of her and she is most likely drunk already. But that doesn’t stop the other bitches bitching about how awful Leah was to Tara and then someone makes a comment about how they’ve met nicer people at Aldi and HOW DARE YOU I SHOP AT ALDI AND I’M LOVELY!


Once Matchie arrives though, everyone is suddenly less drunk and less bitchy until Osher reveals to them that there is a new twist to this season, and unfortunately it doesn’t involve the White Sex Rose. Sigh. Maybe I’ll start a Pozible campaign or something for that one.

Anyway, this year, some genius at Channel 10 has created The Secret Garden which SOUNDS like a sex den (squeeee!) but is actually just a cordoned off area in the regular garden with some extra fairy lights. But obviously this is all anyone can think about now.

DER-RAMA! The lights go off and everyone thinks Matchie is already pashing one of the bitches, but then, from the depths of the Secret Garden, a glowing figure emerges. Is it the entertainment? Is it Osher performing some sort of sacrifice ritual? Or has someone just straight up set themselves alight?

None of the above are correct. It’s *gasp* ANOTHER CONTESTANT!

Her name is Ellora and yeah…she twirls fire sticks and now Matty definitely wants to bone her.

Do they sell these sexy fire sticks at Bunnings?

But before the bitches can shove Ellora’s fire sticks somewhere I can’t mention on here, fresh drama develops when someone calls Jennifer’s dress “putrid”. Which is pretty funny considering Leah is wearing the same dress in black, but I guess she is the villain so we have more important things to hate her for.

Jennifer is, unsurprisingly, beyond devastated, even though one of the wardrobe assistants picked the bloody thing out for her and the comment was made by a drunk woman trying to compete for her potential boyfriend. Grain of salt, babe, grain of salt. This judge of dresses is apparently called Elizabeth or Liz and now Jennifer and her dress can think of nothing else but ejecting her from the room and from the competition.

All of the dresses on this show are terrible.

Oh yeah, and Natalie farts. Everyone is disgusted or extremely shocked which seems a little bizarre considering Natalie is a human with a functioning digestive system.

Is it just me, or does this seasons’ bevy of bitches seem SAVAGE?


Literally nothing exciting happens except the girl with the weird sash doesn’t get a rose.

Obviously Joan Rivers aka Liz gets a rose because Jennifer hates her and Jennifer is super surprised that the super moral and empathetic producers would allow this to happen.

I’m really looking forward to her choices of outfits in the coming days.

Jennifer did not do her research on this show.



The Bachelor Season 4: Bring home the Banana

16 Sep

As Kim Craig nee Day once said, “I’m feeling a lot of feelings.” And I am. Along with just about everyone else in Australia. You can literally sense the collective annoyance, yet relief that this awkward Bachie journey has stumbled across the finish line.



Thin ice, Richie.


But once again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

REMEMBER WE’RE IN BALI GUYS! Rice paddies, nature, Buddhas, more rice paddies, water, temples, CULTURE!

Straight up we know it can’t be an overly eventful finale because we’re taken on a lengthy trip down memory lane to fill time. You gotta hand it to Osher Gunsberg – he knows how to work it when the chips are down. He regales everyone on Bachie Bananas’ “unforgettable” journey…but…was it though? Strange, yes. Repetitive, yes. Unforgettable? Nussomuch.





But as we all know, there can only be one victor in the race for the Banana, so we gotta keep this train moving.

Cut to Richie doing some VERY serious sunset thinking. He says a lot of words like adventure, journey, Bali, sunset, love, and decisions. Poor guy must have worked extra hard at memorizing those cue cards last night.

And speaking of which, there’s an assistant producer on this show who should probably lose their job for not reminding Bachie that he doesn’t have read off his cue cards when he’s around his own family. I’m not even joking, he spoke to his mum and sister like he was trying to get them to sign up for a gym membership.

Although, Memorable Moment #1 goes to Mummy Bananas with her sassy response to Richie telling her where Northam is. She’s from WA…she knows.

Bachie excitedly tells his mum about all the cool and humiliating things he’s been forcing his harem of girlfriends to do over the last few weeks. And obviously before either of the remaining girls can bring home the Banana, they’ve gotta get past their final, slightly less humiliating obstacle – meeting Mummy and Sister Bananas.

Umm…can I just say something? Don’t get mad, but I don’t think I like Mummy Bananas all that much. Yes, it’s her job to come on here and grill the two women competing for her precious son. Buuuuuuut, I think the penny dropped for a lot of viewers last night; THIS is why Richie is such an awkward manchild – his mum. I mean, you cannot judge a girl for being a single mother when your own son has LITERALLY just dated 22 women at once.

She also demands to know if Alex has explained to 31 year-old Richie that children change your routine? Err…call me crazy…but shouldn’t he just know that? The Dark Knight Rises theme song plays in the background as Alex tries her best to defend her life choices to her communal boyfriend’s mother. This is bullshit.

Nikki has it no better though. She’s accused of being on the rebound and having the nerve to play games with Richie. Honestly, these two women made flipping fools of themselves for your son. THEY WRESTLED IN KANGAROO SUITS WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!



It’s all making sense now…


I know I throw a lot of shade at this show and can sometimes get a little carried away with my talk on the women who compete in this, but all of a sudden I feel myself getting very protective of both Alex and Nikki. This has never happened before. I’m a bit scared.

Basically though, once she’s finished with the two of them, Richie’s mum says the exact same shit Olena said to him yesterday but this time he actually takes it seriously without cracking the sads. I miss Olena.

This episode is starting to make me mad.

Time for the final dates!



Transport: Helicopter.

Memorable Moment #2:  “Omigod is that a volcayyynoo?”

Richie says he has this super “unique” experience planned for Nikki for their final date. What will it be?? Bintangs on Kuta beach? No. He takes her to go look at a temple and have her shit stolen by monkeys. Paint it however you want, but those monkeys are terrifying and likely to be carrying some kind of tropical disease – I’ve seen Outbreak. 





A girlfriend and I went to Bali earlier this year and I legit feel like our trip down a river rapid in plastic helmets was more romantic than this.

I just cannot take her telling him he’s the most incredible man she’s ever met anymore. Girlfriend, please stahp it, you’re too good for this! Gawd if he doesn’t choose her I’mma be bloody devastated.



Transport: Yacht.

Memorable Moment #3: “I wanted to read you my poem I wrote for you…again.”

Just when I thought you’d won me over, Alex, you’ve lost me again. Having said that, at least there aren’t any rabid monkeys to contend with, so I guess that’s a win.

They go swimming. And I think that’s all I have to say about that.



Final poolside thinking. Nature, Bali, water, pool, thinking. Much Bali. Richie just isn’t sure which blonde is the right blonde for him…or does he. All of a sudden he’s saying all this stuff about having to follow his heart, so maybe between the monkeys and the poems he realised which girl has proven herself worthy of the Banana.

The two girls do the usual thing of thoughtfully putting on their makeup and perfume and looking in the mirror and telling themselves the man who made them care for robot babies and eat animal innards is going to choose them.

And that’s where my Bachie Dress Theory comes in. It isn’t Nikki, the clear favorite, who is going to win. It’s Alex who’s in the more pure, more virginal gold dress. They ALWAYS put the winner in the virginal dress. Anna, Sam, Snezana and now Alex. It’s a thing, guys, look into it. Nikki can no longer win because she is wearing red and only harlots wear red apparently.

Richie waits for the first limo to pull up so he can tell the poor woman in it that she is not worthy of his Cool Bananas.




Oooh it’s bad. It’s so bad. But Nikki, you’re a class act; I couldn’t f*cking watch. Even she knows she’s too good for this.



You still look bangin in that red dress, babe.

Look, there’s nothing I love more than being proven right, but I dunno if that was worth it.


So now we know – Alex is about to take home the Banana. I mean, as if he wasn’t going to pick the single mum. You don’t take the single mum all the way to the finale then dump her, otherwise that means you are the biggest douche canoe ever in the whole world. We really should have seen this coming, guys.

Obviously she is stoked and the two of them collapse into an awkward fit of laugh-crying. And while we’re on this super close up shot, what the hell is that thing they have put around Alex’s neck? What what what is it? Now this is over, someone get rid of it and put her in a pair of denim shorts and Havianas like everyone else is Bali!



We’re just so…LUCKY. Ha ha!


Guys, Australia is MAD. Like, really mad. This could go Blake Garvey level.


At least it’s over. Even this guy cannot wait to get the funk outta here…



Where’s my AIR ASIA flight, suckers?

Okay Georgia Love…it’s all on you now, babe. I’m ready for some table-flipping…

Let me tacho bout my Mexcellent adventure…

19 Jul

Along with most of the breathing, tax-paying humans of the world, one of my dreams in life has always been to be upgraded to Business Class on an airplane. I have legit fantasized about smugly watching all the Economy plebs shuffle by into a vortex of thin blankets and leg cramps while I recline into a horizontal position on my Egyptian sheets while my personal butler brings me French champagne served in unicorn glass and a shirtless Henry Cavill sings me to sleep. (That is what happens in Business Class, yeah?)

Unfortunately, this is not a story about Business Class. I will have to continue to simply dream about this heaven in the sky for now.

The story I DO have to tell though, if you’ll believe me, is even more impressive.

See, I got a lifestyle upgrade. For nearly 36 hours, I got to live the life of a very important, rich person; a VIRP. Here’s how it happened.

I’d just spent the last week in Los Angeles with a couple of girlfriends; the last two days specifically we had stayed in a very retro hostel in West Hollywood that had linoleum floors and a heavy steel security gate out front to subtly deter the gangs and junkies. Don’t get me wrong, it was actually super fun and the free peanut butter on toast and coffee each morning was a godsend. On Friday night, two of the girls were leaving to fly home to Melbourne in plush, exit-row, Qantas comfort, while myself and my friend Teagan (whose name Americans just cannot cope with, so, for fun, we’re going to call her Tess) would fly to Mexico on an overnight United flight because of course we thought we were super clever and savvy booking an overnighter to save money on accommodation and of course it was a good idea to do it on a budget airline. Because life choices.

I’m obviously not American, but from what I’ve now learnt, United is kind of like Jetstar – you have to pay to have luggage, pick a seat, buy water, use the toilet… all the things, basically.

Anyway, long story short, don’t ever book an overnight flight to Mexico. Like, if you’re keen on self-inflicted torture and you’re thinking of auditioning for Survivor, yeah, maybe consider it.

But seriously, don’t, yo.

Tess and I arrived at our hotel at 9 in the morning looking like the kind of things you might pull out of the drain.

It was then that the woman checking us in mentioned that they had a special “favour” to ask some of their guests. Tbh, she had a very thick Spanish accent, but what I mainly recall is something about small groups of 2 with no children and being willing to go and stay at their “big brother” resort for a night.

We were the kind of tired where you’re not even sure what dimension you’re in anymore; as in, were we catching Pokemon or were we the Pokemon? (Lol, jks, I don’t play Pokemon Go). So we kind of just stared at her blank and slack-jawed for a solid minute or so. Pretty sure some drool came out too. But when she said we’d get complimentary wifi and a massage, I don’t think the phrase, “Where do I sign, ma’am?” had ever been uttered so quickly.

We were promptly put into a private car and driven a couple of hundred metres up the road to what I can only describe as the actual gates of heaven. Also known as Royal Hideaway, Playacar. 



I just really appreciate this pun.


The fancy marble gates swung open, and so began our weekend of living like Kimye. I knew this place was nekk level when I noticed the American VIRPs checking in next to us casually order a bottle of Bollinger to toast their holiday. The guy who brought it over to them was wearing white gloves and a three-piece suit. In summer.

Royal Hideaway is, similar to many Mexican resorts, an “all-inclusive”. This means that you are free to eat, drink and be merry whenever you wish as everything is included in your room price. However, it differs from other places because EVERYONE is on all-inclusive here; whereas, at more standard resorts for standard people (i.e. us) it’s only an option. An option we had obviously chosen at our original resort and thus been given very attractive fluoro-green wristbands.  (I’m pretty sure the concierge laughed in my face when I asked if we had to wear a different colour wristband while at Royal Hideaway. Hashtag common.

It was after I had made my embarrassing faux pas, that I noticed my friend gawking at something on the desk; the room rates. Look, I’m a lady, so I’m not going to just give it all away, but essentially, this shit ain’t cheap. When the most basic room they have still costs more than a month of rent, you definitely regret showing up in your Kmart shorts. I don’t even think Tess was wearing a bra by this point. (Sorry, babe.)

I’ll never forget the moment we walked out of reception and into the resort itself. The best way I can describe it would be that it was kind of like being at Captain Von Trapp’s place. If Captain Von Trapp was an exotic businessman with a thing for plush white furniture and monogrammed towels.

We were told that check-in wasn’t until 2pm, but we were completely free to enjoy ourselves and relax by the pool.

After a night of failed attempts at sleep atop our economy food trays and refusing to pay money for indigestion, both Tess and I were beyond hungry. So our first stop was the poolside restaurant for breakfast. Otherwise known as: the best goddamn meal I have ever eaten. When the waiter simply brought over a round of mimosas without being prompted I nearly asked him to marry me.



Yes, that’s a breakfast tasting plate there, NBD.


To be honest, the next 8 hours are still a bit of a blur; but here are some thoughts I definitely had:

OMG! These deck chairs have PILLOWS!

Is that a double bed over on the beach?

I never want to drink anything but this strawberry margarita ever again.

You mean, they just bring it to us here?


That woman’s ring is bigger than my eyeball.

Should I have another taco? Yep.

Dammit, I forgot my body wash…oh wait, I’ll just use this L’Occitane stuff.


Must remember to steal everything from bathroom.

If I could touch the hand of God, I bet it would feel like this pillow.



Needless to say, we kind of stuck out like sore thumbs. I mean, I figured out that there are two main types of people who go to these resorts: rich, overweight, retired Americans who wear visors and polo shirts; and rich, overly-tanned European businessmen and their mistresses who don’t wear shirts much at all.

At first I thought maybe they’d all assume we were off-duty escorts or something, but I’m pretty sure even high class hookers don’t wear Havianas and carry backpacks. And the fact that we slunk about looking like stowaways on the Titanic probably didn’t help either. But whatevs, suckers, because we did it for free, ya’ll!



I promise that’s mine or Tess’ leg.


You might be waiting for me to get to the part where I explain that, despite all its’ finery and fanciness, living like the VIRPs of the world is not so great after all and that going back home to live a more humble, normal life is actually way better.

Well, I’m sorry, but that part isn’t coming because it was the best 36 hours of my funking life and I plan to move to Mexico and sell a kidney to live there forever.

Seriously though, if you do EVER find yourself with the cash to try something like this out, I cannot recommend this place enough*. It has Royal in the title for a reason; the staff are beyond attentive and helpful, and the surroundings are legit out of some sort of romance novel**. One that involves Henry Cavill, I hope…


Now, who do I know who’s good at organ removal?




*This is not an endorsed post. Royal Hideaway did not pay me to write this. Actually, wait… if you count endless margaritas and gourmet nachos as payment, then yeah, maybe they did technically pay me. I’m cool with it.


**Also, if you’re wondering where all the photos are of the rest of the place, there are none. I didn’t take any. I was too busy napping, drinking and stealing stuff.

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.


Would swipe right



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…)




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.



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.



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.



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 Match!
It’s a Perfect Match!

greg debbie

Life goals AF


Selfies are Literally Death Now

20 Feb

Yesterday I heard some news that made me want to cut my own ears off and hurl the bloody mess at people’s faces. It’s taken me a solid 24 hours to pull myself back from the ledge and put my feelings into words.


Because apparently selfies are now responsible for murder.

I am sure you’ve seen by now the reports of a poor, defenceless Franciscana dolphin manhandled to death by a group of dumbass tourists, desperate for a “cute animal selfie” they could post and gloat about on their facebook pages.

This innocent creature was just plucked out of the ocean like a set of keys from a bowl and passed around a large group of smiling beach goers in Buenos Aires. Because of this, it died. As in, that innocent little dolphin is DEAD.

Now, I’m no marine biologist, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s common knowledge that, despite being mammals, dolphins kind of need water to live. They’re not puppies who can swim. They are water-dwelling creatures who require said water to keep their bodies hydrated, lest their thick, greasy skin essentially over heat and suffocate them.

But apparently, this fact was tossed out the window in place of a desperate need to fulfil vanity and validation.

Most people who know me know I am not a big fan of the selfie. I even wrote a thing about it a couple of years back. (Seriously, you should read it; it’s in my Archives. No, I’m not above self-promotion.)

On the other hand, I am definitely in favour of self-love and I realise selfies can sometimes play a part in this movement. So don’t worry, I get it.

But I am, however, desperately opposed to what is becoming a vapid and, frankly, disgusting obsession with validating our own image  and, therefore, our lives. This need for acceptance and one-upping each other through posting on social media is a slippery slope that, until now, people liked to assure me was harmless because, “it’s not as if it’s killing anyone.”


A living thing has literally paid the ultimate price of gaining likes on Instagram.

Doesn’t that sound a little messed up to you?

I know my animal rights supporting-friends are already all over this like a rash; but for those who need a bit more convincing, think about this:

Dolphins are often placed third among animals in terms of intelligence (behind humans and chimpanzees) however, many new studies suggest that they may actually be closer to second place. Some biologists even refer to them as ‘non-human persons’. And lesbihonest, don’t you know a couple of human people who don’t even meet that criteria?

What I’m saying is that this animal had an intelligent brain. And feelings. And most likely felt a real sense of panic and terror at being tossed around like a beach ball. It makes me want to cry. And even though it happened in Argentina, I can’t say I didn’t think about the high likelihood of it happening right here in Oz.

Guys, can we maybe just put a lid on it?

In the spirit of Dry July and other such sacrificial movements, I’d like to propose an idea:

A day of no selfies.

One full day where no matter how damn good we look, or how on fleek our eyebrows are, we abstain from taking a picture of ourselves (and any other unsuspecting parties – animal or not) and instead, focus on simply enjoying the moment as it exists.

Walk out into the ocean and enjoy the salty water. If you happen to see an adorable sea creature minding its own business nearby, don’t hold it up next to your face, snap a picture and post it alongside fifteen hashtags. Observe and appreciate it before it swims home and store the memory away somewhere other than your camera roll. (In case you don’t know where that is, it’s your brain.)

You may be surprised at how much better it feels to keep the moment all for yourself.

Please, for the sake of the dolphins, could we just give it a try?



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.


(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.


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.

An Open Letter to Rosie Waterland

23 Jun

Dear Rosie,


I’ve wanted to write you a letter for some time, however, I don’t know where you buy pen and paper from anymore. So then I thought I’d make use of the world wide interwebs and send you a smart email. But again I was thwarted when I was told that the only acceptable way of communication these days is via open letters. I figured if it was good enough for Beyoncé, it was good enough for me.

My name is Lauren and I am a Melbourne woman with a slight obsession with ‘The Bachelor’. And by ‘slight’ I mean major.

I am also a major fan of yours. I sometimes creep on your twitter account when I need a laugh and believe the term “Oh my Glob” should be documented in (It may already be there… I don’t check websites often. I can’t internet well.)

Anyway, here’s the thing. Two years ago, fuelled by a night of incessant bitching and Savvy B, I began writing about ‘The Bachelor’. Blame Tim Robards and his greasy man-curls. I would watch episodes and then commentate them on my blog. My friends started to read them and told me they were pretty good. So I kept doing it. It was cathartic and a perfectly acceptable reason to cancel social plans to go home and watch reality TV.

It didn’t take long, however, for me to be alerted to the fact that you were also writing about Bachie’s journey and Osher’s glorious weave. I would often be tagged in your posts by lovely, albeit unknowing, readers/friends who thought your work was mine. Incorrect, but a compliment nonetheless.

Because you are better than me. You’re a real writer, for a start. People pay you to write words. I, on the other hand, am a lowly educator/actor with a measly 197 twitter followers. I’m not a big deal. But I do want to keep writing about Bachie 2015 and beyond (I mean, Sam as Bachelorette? SQUEEEE!). It’s become a bit of an outlet for me and something I have channeled into a one-woman musical show (yes, you read that correctly).

So what’s the point of this whole open letter?

To whine about how you are taking all the Bachie goodness away from me? Absolutely not.

To get you to notice me so that we can be best friends? Maybe.

To assure you that I have not, nor do not wish to copy you or use your work for my own gain? Yes.

*Please note: I still read your recaps after I write my own and often suffer from a serious case of WDITOT (Why Didn’t I Think of That?)

** Actually, I’d better come clean and admit I too used the term “Curly-Haired Girl #1 and #2” because THERE WAS NO OTHER LOGICAL NAME FOR THEM!

I guess the real reason I want you to read this letter is to consider it an application. An application to be your understudy. The Robin/NightWing to your Batman. The Louise to your Sam. The loyal pleb who could maybe be there for you should you ever find yourself indisposed with Dirty Street Pie poisoning or stuck in Africa with no reception and no Bunda rings.

I am so ready.


Until then, I will be sitting by my phone eagerly awaiting your call. And even if you turn me down, maybe one day we could get together and forehead touch?

forehead touching 2

Too much?

Much love, many journeys.







The Bachelor Season 2 Recap: Vader vs. Bane

21 Aug

First up, I’mma say two things: this business of having TWO episodes a week on consecutive nights is accelerating the aging process at a rate I am not OK with. Because I am attempting to maintain a social life after 30 (true story) I sometimes miss parts of episodes and have to re-watch via streaming. Which is time-consuming. Srzly. The internets need to start paying me.

Second of all: BECAUSE of aforementioned programming, the resulting eps are becoming more and more uninteresting and formal. Like, Blake just seems to take a bitch out on a date, thank her for shit he’s not sure she even did, hands her a business card then heads to the studio to start his Love Song Dedications shift.  I’m bored already.

Yes I’m whinging. But I’m 30 now. I have furrow lines and a seniors card so I’m allowed. Whatever, on with proceedings…


Evidently Osher was held back at his cross fit session this week, because he is once again not there to dish out the individual date. But what is also evident is that Laurina’s eyebrows went to Maths class with Osher because she explains something something 4 out of 10 which means 25% chance. Because maths.

And because she aced the pop quiz, she gets the individual date and the other bitches are saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah annoyed. I know this because the producers have taken to playing Bane’s theme music from Batman every time she’s mentioned. (I’m not even joking; close your eyes and listen to those dulcet tones.)

Everyone hates you, Laurina

This is actually top news for me because I have been aching for the episode where Vader and Bane would spend quality time together.

Vader comments that Laurina is only wearing her sneakers and jeans but is still “rocking it”. Look, I don’t wanna say I told you so, but straight men don’t talk like that. Jussayin.

Because the future of Gotham depends on it, Vader has decided to push Laurina out of a plane take her skydiving.

He explains in his uniquely spontaneous way that he is deathly scared of heights, and Laurina’s strength has inspired him to overcome this. In other words, she has bigger balls than he does and he’s hoping they will be there to cushion his fall. Sounds legit. While he reads off the autocue about “big black clouds” and “rain pouring down”, we are treated to lovely shots of a pink/grey sunset and gentle droplets of rain on a pond. Terrifying.

Unfortunately, Vader isn’t allowed to fly the plane they go up in; but guys, he’s wearing a rugged leather jacket, so we know he means business! In a fit of spite, he jumps out of said plane with Bane right behind him. And I just can’t even.

While trying to stop her face from peeling off of her skull, Laurina inadvertently shows us that she has more mouth skin than a bloodhound. “NO! NOT MY FACE!” she cries, as she hurtles towards earth with only her enormous jowls to soften the impact.

Luckily, her instructor has packed an actual parachute, and she makes inappropriate sex noises as they start the much gentler decent to ground. BUT DER-RAMA! Her hair has come loose in the process of plummeting downwards at 240km/hour. So she f&*#ing re-dids it then and there! Because priorities. Her ponytail is getting right up in her instructor’s grill as he is trying to navigate them safely to the ground and you can practically sense his urge to just cut her loose. Babe, no one would blame you.

Once landed, Laurina keeps saying “traumatized” and hugs Vader a lot, but really just seems relieved that her eyelids are still in the same place.

Meanwhile, at the mansion Spotlight built, Osher FINALLY shows up to set and tells the other bitches they are going to hang out at a kindergarten for the group date. Because ovaries.

After their traumatic experience, Richard Mercer takes Bane to the The Block apartments his “Bachelor Pad” for some fancy tapas and possible eyeing of the tiger. Obvi, this isn’t Blake’s ACTUAL house because he looks superbly unsure of where he is going, particularly after Shelley Craft has just been in with her team to jazz it up with everything from Kmart Home. But Laurina is super impressed because she is elongating vowels all over the place!

“Oh my gaaaaaaaaaawwd! It’s gawgeeerrss! Thank yoouuuuuui so muuuuuuuuuuch!”

In return, Vader decides to make her EXpresso martinis. *face palm*

They get ploughed with vodka and EXpresso and she gets a rose. Boring.

But then she returns to the Red Room of Pain to tell all the other bitches about her traumatic experience. The girls are pretty sure the date would have been shit, but are caught off guard when Bane starts laugh-crying like a champ. For realz, she puts Tyra Banks to shame. She keeps saying trauma again and then likens her jowl- flapping experience with that of Passion of the Christ.


The bitches do their best acting, trying to seem concerned for Bane’s face, but are not-so-secretly dying inside. Luckily, the group date commences and everyone is happily passive aggressive again.

The ladies show up at a local kindergarten while Vader is busying himself doing weight training with children strapped to his arms. Also, Vader talking to all these children in his baritone has inspired my new nickname for him: Mufasa.

 The bitches are saaaah happy because they all love children and they need to show Mufasa that they have the maternal instinct. Cue lots and lots of face painting, squealing and tea parties. Oh and then the kids showed up. (I’m very good at jokes.)

Canadian Horse Whisperer is just hating on errybody today, especially Jess/Elsa who she believes is inappropriately muscling in on her quality time in the sand pit. So as punishment, at story time, CHW pretends she has a magic Disappearing Potion and disappears Jess/Elsa out of the way. At this moment, despite her never-failing smile, Jess/Elsa is wishing she had a pack of magically appearing horses to allery that Canadian bitch to Hell.

Blake’s Craydar is picking all of this up and he is not having a bar of it. In his to-camera bit, he forlornly asks, “Can’t everybody just get along? Is that too much to ask?”

Yah. Yeah it is, mate. THIS IS THE HUNGER GAMES! These bitches would tear each others’ fallopian tubes out with their teeth, given the chance.

After the face paint and immaturity has been washed off, they all get their babs out for the cocktail party and, turns out, Chantal has taken it upon herself to be Osher’s 2IC. She busies herself explaining things and asking the other bitches personal questions. This is all fine until the surviving curly-haired girl from last week, Zoe, is mentioned. Chantal is v v unimpressed that Zoe is not falling over her Spumanti to marry Blake right away. I mean, WHAT. A. PSYCHO.

Chantal’s fears are unwarranted, however, because Zoe gets a rose. Evidently, Mufasa saw enough of the inside of Zoe’s walls to keep her around. And he’s getting sick of all these straight-haired women. Alana, on the other hand, gets the boot. I mean, she didn’t get ANY paint on her face on the group date. How could she?!

Soz Alana. See you on the playground.

Weeeeeee!! Post-ep teasers tell us the new intruder bitches are arriving tonight! One looks potentially cross-dresser-y. This is very good news.


My face! Not my FACE!!!

The Bachelor Season 2 Recap: Double Banger

15 Aug

So I’m back from the tropics and straight into the crazy bitches. Yes, I did miss last Thursday’s episode, but I was v occupied turning thirty and getting a white girl tan (bee tee dubs, Melbourne, you suck. I’m moving.)

Aaanyway, despite hideous jet lag, or maybe a few too many G&T’s on the plane, I am coming to you live with a double feature on this week’s Bachelor happenings that will encompass both Wednesday and Thursday nights’ episodes.  Hold on tight,because that’s a lot of bitchy staring.


Even in a foreign country I got the news that Goal Attack had voluntarily LEFT! For a “netball opportunity”.  You guys, let’s all clap for Holly and her team for making it to the semi-finals against the Toowoomba Waratahs. Because I’m all about celebrating success.

So tonight, Osher comes straight from his Bikram yoga class to the mansion and talks to the girls about dates. Because this is a show about dating and one of them is about to go on a date. But we quickly get some commentary from Amber about how the dates are NEVER for her and how she’s really desperate waiting around for a guy to ask her out.  Yah.  That’s pretty much the premise of this show.  Lisa also says something not that important, but it is at this point that I really notice that deep voice of hers.  Maybe she and Blake are related? Now THAT be a twist I could get on board with.

Amber’s desperation misses out and the date goes to Sam. Amber throws one of her tanties. Sam pretends to feel bad. But then she finds Blake Vader posing in front of an old car that he pretends to know stuff about. She looks happy again. They talk about cars.  I’m sensing this car theme again, guys.

They drive for a bit but then stop at a set of lights where he tells her to, “remember this moment.” Of sitting in peak-hour traffic.  Magic.

Blah blah they go to a drive-in movie.  But before they can partake in the beauty of cinema they pay a visit to Tasty Shakes* and her diner for some old-school burgers and fries.  Tasty Shakes does a really awkward pirouette thing on her skates and brings them a banana split. Vader sincerely tells Sam he will try to, “not get any on your face.”


Because romance.

He then takes Sam to the hire car and she settles in, preparing to watch some old-school movie she’ll have to pretend to like.  But no! Oh my god, they’re going to watch The Life of Sam. Obvi I am just waiting for Mike Munro to walk out from behind that screen with his red book and majestically narrate Sam’s life story.  No no. Instead we see lots of lame pictures of Sam at parties and some footage that could be any random young child dancing around a room.  But we do learn that Sam’s constant upward inflection is a trait also shared by her sister/mother person/lady.

Vader tells a teary-eyed Sam that this was his way of thanking her.  For what I’m not at all sure, but I am pretty sure that he was actually enjoying a green smoothie with Osher when the video editors knocked this up.


Amber’s tanty comes through for her and she gets a spot on the group date to….a race track. Cue many amazing puns on finding a co-pilot on the “road to love”. Diana reveals that she is ready to show Blake the roadmap to her open heart.  Gross.

The deal is, the bitches have to be blindfolded and drive through an obstacle course with only Richard Mercer to guide them with his gearstick voice.  Now, I actually hate the assumption that women are bad drivers.  Bloody HATE IT. Considering I am one of the best parallel and reverse parkers you will ever meet, I almost take it personally. But girls…COME ON.  You all suck.

More puns about roads and feelings without anyone getting run over.  Chantal wins the aforementioned blindfolded challenge and gets some alone time with Vader. Speeding around the track in another car. She’s again coming across all rational and articulate, until the producers notice that Blake is having trouble keeping up with her and suddenly she switches to talking about sexy cars. Vader remembers the sexy car he got to drive today and the light returns to his eyes.  Crisis averted, guys.

But then later, Amber shows up to the mansion with a rose?! How did she get it?  WHEN did she get it? Did she drug the props assistant and steal it from his cold, dead hands? Does Blake know about this?

Whatever, she lauds it over all the other bitches like NO ONE’S BUSINESS and they all stare at her and wish they had a flock of rabid horses at their disposal to allergy her to death.

At the Rose Ceremony, Katrina the musician declares that she hasn’t had enough alone time with Barry White apart from small talk and such and so has….*tear*…written him a letter.  She gracefully pulls the document out of the boob area of her dress (because class) and gifts it to an unsuspecting Blake. I’ll be honest here. The episode that I downloaded wigged out on me at this point and went all fuzzy and bejiggity. These are technical terms.  But I’m pretty sure I can assume what happened:

Katrina: I wrote you a letter. It’s in my boob.

Vader: A letter? With your hands?

Katrina: It’s about feelings. My feelings. I thought you’d want to know about my feelings.

Vader: I like feelings. And cars.

Katrina: Here is the letter. I was drunk when I wrote it.

Vader: Thank you. My hair stylist will enjoy reading this.


Yes? Yes. There is also a drawing involved in this boob letter but I just don’t have enough time or energy to get into that. It’s basically hideous though.

Luckily, Vader isn’t too perturbed by strange, voodoo portraits of himself, and Katrina sticks around. Some poor girl called Lauren gets the heel in the arse and has her flame extinguished. She mustn’t like cars. I wonder if there’ll be cars next episode? Stay tuned…


*Tasty Shakes = may not be her actual name


You had one job, Mike.





I’m not very happy about the ending of this episode, but i’mma try to get through this part as best I can without throwing an Amber bitch fit.

We open with a sunrise over rocks.  And water.  Seems legit. The ladies are sitting around the drawing room in their playsuits pretending to like each other. Also legit.  Any minute Osher should come gliding through the door with a date card to talk to them about dating.  But it doesn’t happen. He. Doesn’t. Show. Up.

Did he do too many downward dogs and pass out? Maybe he choked on his chia pudding? The questions fly through my head before I’m distracted by Chantal’s announcement that tonight will be a double date with only one bitch declared the survivor. They are told they have one hour to make themselves look hotter than the other one.  But who will it be?

Turns out Barry White must have had nightmares over Katrina’s boob letter/drawing thing because she’s selected.  Along with Zoe.  The other curly-haired girl. Someone makes the very astute observation that they are two different people. Yeah, but guys, they both have curly hair!  Obviously, there can only be one curly-haired girl.  (I legit said that out loud about a second before Laurina said the exact same thing. And then I vommed a little in my soul; are we becoming the same person?! HELP!)

So Kat is a musician kinda like Holly was a netballer. And Zoe is a pharmacist in Vanuatu. So she wears a lot of maxi dresses. Yep.  They are saaaaah different.

They arrive at the Chinese Garden of Friendship/Drama and Vader looks honestly relieved that he’ll only have one curly-haired girl’s name to remember after today.

They both change into matching (and also slighty racist) Chinese gowns and sit down to dinner.  Now, hear me out, but here in my house we are starting to think that Vader may be a little bit of a secret homo. Because just like any good gay husband, his Craydar was switched to maximum power, picking up on the underlying der-rama between the two curly-haired girls. Neither was overly willing to get the claws out in front of him, so instead they just had an awkward chat about not really knowing each other, while secretly whispering death curses under their breath.  Honestly? Barry White looked disappointed. I know I was.

But no matter, because the chefs were right behind them bringing in a selection of weird and wonderful dishes that they were all going to try.  And by weird and wonderful, I mean just weird. Like sea cucumber and duck tongue. Which led to the call of the night (and possibly the season) when young Katrina declared, “I just tongued a duck.” I feel like we could be friends.

Evidently Katrina made the duck call because she is clearly being out-shone by Zoe in the curly-haired girl stakes. So she recites pretty much the same speech her counsellor has been giving her about being deep for the last few years. I just can’t even. If there’s nothing a guy likes more, it’s a random regurgitated psychoanalysis. Because feelings.

In an effort to get home to the non-curly-haired women, Richard Mercer quickly pulls each girl aside for a moment to chat. Zoe is v v rational and normal (and boring) but then tells us that she’s 99.9% sure the conversation went really badly.  Obvi because being rational and logical is punishable by death on this show.

But not to Richard Mercer, because he keeps her around and sends the other curly-haired girl home. At this point, I’m looking for a white rose again, but it’s no where to be seen.  Looks like that gimmick sank quicker than Kirsty Alley’s Jenny Craig contract. What he does give her, however, is a bloody diamond bracelet! Wait, make that a 64-DIAMOND BRACELET. Because Vader likes to do math, he needs to point out how many diamonds are in this bracelet that he didn’t buy for her. Maybe he got it from the same dealer he gets all his sexy cars from?

Back at the mansion, the bitches get mail. “What do you reckon it is?” asks one of them.  I’mma go out on a limb here girls and say it’s someone’s acceptance latter to Yale.  No wait, I was wrong, it’s a date card. SURPRISE!

Hide your crucifixes and your incense, ladies, because Anita is staying home this week! Luckily she still has that cocker spaniel hidden somewhere in the mansion to play with.

Ooh ooh, it’s a Psycho Beach Party! Well, not really, but a Psycho, Sexy Pool Party, proudly sponsored by Ikea Living. There are even fake flamingos.

Guys, it’s a pretty non-event where the bitches get naked and cheer on Vader to take his shirt off like any good stripper. Princess Diana gets a moment to chat with Vader and they awkwardly hold hands while she says travelling a lot. Because travel. All this travel talk makes Blake feel sad that he isn’t as travel as Diana, so he goes and talks to Louise. Who, just bee tee dubs, is wearing the most inappropriate earrings for a pool party! I’m sorry, I don’t care what medication you are on, but dangly, ornate earrings are not suitable poolside attire. And don’t even get me started on the make up and hair. For some reason, Louise thought they were shooting a Harpers Bazaar feature in the Maldives. Sweetie, this is a backyard in Sydney. Get your effing hair wet.

Speaking of hair, we’re back at the Rose Ceremony, and someone has obviously picked up on my disapproval of Kara’s hair, because this week she’s had the once over with the ghd and some smoothing serum.

Anita is back in action and steals Barry White away for a moment to have an “in-death” talk. Guys, that was not a typo. Not in-depth; she said “in -death”. Someone hold me.

Her idea is to ask him lots of questions and get to know more about him, but what happens instead is she giggles manically and spills her life plan of living in his attic and having ten million of his babies. Blake is understandably terrified, but remembers that as long as he keeps Anita in the game, Mr Important Executive will keep hiring fancy cars for him to drive. Moral Quandary!

OSHER! He finally shows up after his spray tan has dried and gives them all another maths lesson.  Apparently TWO bitches are going home tonight! Wait, what?! But…but….that curly-haired already left earlier in the episode.

Look, Channel 10, we had this problem last year. You can’t do this to me! They are dropping like flies! NO. Just NO. I will not accept this from you.

But as if to rub salt in the wound, both Diana AND Anita are sent home from Whore Island. I am not OK with this. Look, I was under no silly impression that Richard Mercer kept them in the game because he ACTUALLY liked them, but for realz? Both at the same time?! I’m crying into my Maltesers when…




Just like in Big Brother, we are getting Intruders next week. The current bitches are pissed. I am overjoyed. Omigod, remember Miriam the intruder from BB? I wonder if any of these girls have a penis too….


grumpy cat

No, Channel 10. One bitch at a time.