The Night of Surprises (and of the worst date EVER)

Although I'm still a bit shocked and awed, I owe you a blog entry, and I will write through the pain.

The night began with a game of basketball. A little four-on-four action that we all knew I would enjoy. I'll give you one guess which team I liked most. Did you guess the "skins?" Yeah. Jerry, Wendell, Josh and Keith, bronzed and buff, took on Fabrice, Ryan, J.P. and Ben who may be buff as well, but who sadly played as "shirts." Couldn't they have played skins versus skins? Way more fun for all of us. The game got a bit physical, but I have to be honest. All I could think the entire time was, "what if my 'undercover gay' plan (i.e. the role ABC cast with Fabrice instead of me) worked and I had to play basketball when all I wanted was to be the slutty sideline cheerleader?" Eighth grade gym haunts me again...

The game determined who got the one-on-one dates, and who got screwed. Fabrice and J.P., to the dismay of Jen, got the love.

And then the worst date in the history of the world began. Cue the fabulous old-school limo and the gay bachelor and the scene is set. The lovebirds pull up to the Cotton Club where a sultry Vanessa Williams serenades them with a rollicking ballad. Not really. It was actually quite dismal, but she's old and we love her. Was I the only one who had "Saved the Best for Last" in his head for the remainder of the date?

The date was so horribly awkward I had to look away. Cue the "dun...dun...dun..." music. In the next scene, Fabrice (worst liar ever) relays the story about his "girlfriend" of yore. Then the tears came. But when we really thought things were bad, they had only just begun, because Fabrice felt the need to go in for the most unannounced, unexpected, and unruly kiss ever witnessed by gaykind (me). I died. And when I mean died, I mean I immediately yelped at the top of my lungs and then called a friend on whom I vented my pent up angst. Folks, you have all just witnessed Fabrice's infidelity. I bet his boyfriend screamed louder than me! Jen abruptly called the date off, and we figured Fabrice was history. But then we remember that ABC is in cohoots with faggy Frenchy. He's playing his role well, and he's sure to stay another episode after the producers force Jen to keep him on.

The second one-on-one found a macho J.P. picking up Jen for a helicopter ride to paradise. (Apparently paradise is a Native American casino, but that's fine.) As J.P. reinforced traditional gender roles by asserting his "manly side," the date went surprisingly well. J.P. told Jen about the company his daddy, I mean he, started, and they had a romantic night of food, massages, and hot tubs. As trusted bachelorites, I surely hope you all caught on when the cameras conveniently panned away each time J.P.'s body came into view. What did he convince the producers to hide? Obviously not a hot body.

Overall the date went well--but then again, we were coming off a horrific experience with Fabrice, and a night of eating dog shit would have been better than another night of tears and toungue-y kisses.


On the last date, Jen joined Wendell, Ben, Keith, Ryan, Jerry and Josh in the Sheep's Meadow in Central Park (i.e. the lawn on which you can find me on any sunny Sunday from spring to fall). Hmmm...what did we learn? Josh still has bad hair, Keith is still nervous, Jerry is still charming yet cocky, Ben is still off camera somewhere, and Wendell is the coolest cat in town. Although the kiss between Jen and Jerry may have been romantic to some, I think Wendell took the cake on this date. They have the best chemistry, and when Jen is with him all is very fun, easy-going and cute. We love you Wendell. You're fun, let's hang out.

Pre-rose-ceremony, Jen seemed to have her mind made up. But then the producers got to her and told her to keep Fabrice on for another go at it. Ben got his first on-air time ever, and he was cute. Jerry turned the charm up once again, but his suave, cocky smirk worries me a bit. I think all the time spent in the doorway at Harry Winston has rubbed off on him. There are only so many botoxed Upper East Side bitches one can take in a day, and I'm thinking Jerry took a lot of them in his day (and probably a few houseboys too, if you know what I mean).

So, when all was said and done, we are left with:

1) J.P. Will we forgive him for wearing no socks with his suit? Probably not, but tune in next week for the decision.
2) Jerry. Cocky smirk and all.
3)Ryan. Do we know you?
4) Ben. We love you.
5) Wendell. We like you a lot.
6) Fabrice. We all just died. Oh, and you're coming out of the closet to Jen next week at the rose ceremony. Thanks for stringing us along ABC.

Adios to Josh and Keith.

This week's awards.

1) Hot bod award: Keith. You can teach me some welding tricks if you're bored.
2) Most honest: Jen. We love your candid remarks on how much people suck.
2) Worst kiss: Fabrice's mouth-raping of Jen.
3) Worst date: See above.
4) Worst hair: Josh. Seriously, dude.
5) Worst speech impediment: Fabrice. When a word has a "th" in it, it's pronounced "thhhh." Not "f." Let's practice. "With" is pronounced "with," not "wif." Please practice five times daily.

Until next week's coming out episode, I leave you shocked and awed.

Mike