A (Very) Few Good Men

Welcome back, rose lovers! How’s everybody doing? Have we all recovered from the emotional holocaust that was The Great Melissa-Mesnick-Molly Scandal of Early Aught Nine? (Hmmmm, I wonder what those crazy kids Molly and Jason are up to now. Probably getting used to the fact that no one cares about them anymore.) Well, TV Watchers, I hope you’ve recovered, because I’m going to need you with me for the next 13 weeks of The Bachelorette: Canadians Need Love, Too. So let’s get this party started, shall we?

In case you didn’t know (and I’m guessing you do), we first met Jillian on The Bachelor— she was the perky girl with the quirky Hot Dog Theory about men who had the extreme good fortune to be dumped by Jason Mesnick. ”When I got back home from Vancouver, I felt defeated,” she says. ”It took me weeks to sort of get back on my feet.” (Makes sense, given that it only took her weeks to fall for the guy.) But that’s all in the past now — just look at her shopping for pink ankle boots and giving her red beret a you’re-gonna-make-it-after-all toss! This is a woman who has successfully repressed the memory of her public mortification. ”I am 100 percent ready to find love again,” she says. ”I think I’m gong to find Mr. Right. But I’m going to make the right decision the first time.” (Actually, I think that’s impossible, unless she travels back in time and never goes on The Bachelor in the first place — but, you know, more power to her.)

And then she’s off, ditching the gray skies of Canada for the sunshine-drenched dream factory called Los Angeles — a perfect setting for the Object of Desire Montage! It’s not enough that Jillian is a smart woman with a career and a sense of humor; the producers need us to know that she’s a babe, too. (Cue the electric guitar!) Thus, we’re treated to shots of Jillian’s sizzlin’ bikini bod as she emerges from the pool in sexy slo-mo. And hey, getta load of how she works that power hose as she washes a vintage convertible in her cut-off shorts and high heels! I guess the scene where she greets the cable guy at the door wearing nothing but a G-string and a smile got cut for time. (Yes, I know that complaining about sexism in The Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise is like complaining about the lack of diversity at a KKK convention, but hey, it’s my column and I’ll bitch if I want to.)

I’m going to be honest, TV Watchers — I’ve never been as interested in The Bachelorette as I am in The Bachelor, because groups of male contestants just don’t bring the same amount of crazy as the ”ladies” do. Rather than tears and desperation and acts of self-esteem terrorism, you get chest thumping, dude-bro posturing, and the occasional glimpse of a genuine human emotion. Plus, there are bound to be far fewer fashion disasters when the contestants are men. But just like the relentless optimist Jillian — ”I am going to have my fairy tale ending!” she insists — I’m going to stay positive. I choose to believe that among these 25 men there are at least a handful who have truly entertaining personality disorders.

NEXT PAGE: Did he really just call her ”Hot Tub Harris”?

First we meet Kiptyn, a business developer/event planner from California who spends his down time changing his clothes by the side of the road. Yeah, he has nice abs, but can he break dance? No, that skill set belongs to Michael from New York, who teaches kids in East Harlem and has non-threatening street cred just seeping out of his all-American pores. (I’m not gonna lie, folks — this guy’s my favorite already.) Julien seems to have a real need to assert his masculinity, what with all the jumping out of airplanes and speeding down the road in a red ”No, my penis isn’t unusually small, why do you ask?” hot rod. Steve the New York lawyer has a kind of dorky charm (I don’t think he stands a chance — which is too bad because he’s a hoot); Juan from California builds houses and has a pushy mom; and Mark from Denver is identified as a ”pizza entrepreneur” (which, as my colleague Lindsay Soll suggests, might be something like a ”Sandwich Artist” at Subway).

Some of the artsy types include Kyle from Brooklyn; he likes to shop for clothes at thrift stores and thinks Jillian will fall for him because ”I look good, I smell good, I make love good.” (I highly doubt the second part of that claim if most of his wardrobe is pre-owned, but whatever.) Wes is a sensitive musician who apparently doesn’t know that obnoxious gold chains are for rappers, not country singers, and whose claim to fame is having a No. 1 hit single in Chihuahua, Mexico. Greg, meanwhile, is a fitness model from Scottsdale who goes by ”Billbro.” In Billbro’s estimation, he is a ”perfect 10,” which I can verify, if the scale measures his ability to gallop on an imaginary horse. Finally, Jake the pilot from Dallas says ”flying is my art,” and ”if things go well with Jillian, I would absolutely die to make her dreams come true.” Well, at least we can’t call him a commitment-phobe — maybe just a boundary-phobe.

Finally, it’s time for Jillian to meet the dudes. Our Bachelorette tells Harrison that she wants a guy who is ”a great communicator, somebody who can tell me when they’re uncomfortable or happy or when they’re sad or when they’re in love” and that she’s there to find ”Mr. Invisible” — the man who’s heretofore been hidden from her sight. And if that man is going to turn up anywhere, it’ll be on TV, right?

The limos start arriving, and once again the first man up is Kiptyn. Something about this guy just rubs me the wrong way — maybe it’s how he oozes condescension, especially when he tells Jillian he’s ”impressed” by her, like she’s a job applicant applying for the position of Mrs. Awesome. (To be fair, Julien also tells Jillian he’s ”impressed” by her accomplishments — it seems the I-word is a term of endearment among alpha-males.) Bryan the football coach from Oklahoma is the first to violate Jillian’s personal space: he scoops her up into his arms and holds her awkwardly for a few seconds. Someone in the limo must have talked him out of hitting her over the head with a champagne bottle and dragging her by the hair into the bushes. But the Worst First Impression Award definitely goes to Brian from Georgia, who struts out of the limo and greets Jillian with a sleazy, ”Hot Tub Harris!” (She brushes it off the first time, but after Captain Douchebag salutes her inside with another ”Hot tub!” comment, Jillian can’t hide her annoyance: ”Yeah, my parents really love that ‘Hot Tub Harris,”’ she deadpans.)

NEXT PAGE: Let the c—blocking begin!

Jake tells Jillian something about aviation being a huge part of his life, but I couldn’t hear him over his gold and black tie. Dave from Dayton, Ohio, brings his own one-two punch of awkwardness: first he calls her ”Gillian” with a hard G, and then, out of nowhere, he gets so tongue-tied he can’t speak (other than a choked out ”I, uh…” or two) for a full 13 seconds. To her credit, Jillian handles the encounter with grace — she doesn’t even correct the guy for getting her name wrong.

Moving on, a glassy-eyed John from Boise looks like he might have done a little too much pre-partying in the limo; Mathue emerges sporting his prized collection of country-music autographs on his head; and poor Simon from Yorkshire gets subtitled because…producers are trying to appeal to the foreign film audience? I can’t think of any other reason they’d give him the special chyron treatment — I closed my eyes while he was talking and could understand everything coming out of his mouth. If America can decipher Jillian’s exotic speech patterns — ”aboot,” ”sore-y” — surely they can handle an English accent. Steve breaks the ice with a joke (”Thanks for going to all this trouble for me”); Adam from Long Beach bossily tries to claim the ”first five minutes” of Jillian’s time (but she wisely does not commit); and Mark is, surprisingly, the sole guy to bring up Jillian’s Hot Dog Theory, if only to posit his own, not-quite-fully-formed Pizza Topping Theory.

Even as she’s about to enter the Macho-dome, Jillian keeps her wits about her. ”Easy on the h-word!” she admonishes Harrison, after the host asks her if her ”future husband” is waiting inside. Kicking off the party with a jubilant ”Cheers, guys! Right on!” our Bachelorette wades into the sea of testosterone. Jake is the first to steal her away for some one-on-one time — much to the chagrin of the rest of the herd. This bold move sets off a chain reaction of c—blocking activity: The pilot is cut off by Jesse the wine maker, who appeals to Jillian’s national pride with a clever ”Aspiring Canadian” t-shirt — only to send his stock plummeting by referring to red wine as ”love juice.” Tanner F. moves in next, but Jillian’s mind is elsewhere: as soon as she has a chance to escape, she pulls Kiptyn outside with a brisk ”Let’s go!” After telling Jillian once again that he’s ”impressed” with her, Kipper confesses to the camera that the Bachelorette is ”a lot more attractive in person than I expected.” That’s right, folks, we’ve got a classic self-esteem underminer in our midst! Oh, Jillian, if you know what’s good for you…yeah, there’s no point in finishing that sentence, is there?

The swordfight continues as Juan appears and sends Kiptyn packing with a ballsy, ”Your time’s up!” He hands the Bachelorette another glass of wine — is it me or does Jillian slur her words when she tells Juan being an uncle means he can ”get ready for the next step”? — and then Harrison walks in with tension on a platter: the First Impression Rose. ”Has anyone kissed her yet?” bellows one bachelor. ”Because I’ll punch you right in the face.” (Hey Jillian, the search is over — I think you’ve found your great communicator!) With emotions on the rise, Kyle decides the best way to woo a woman in a white evening gown is to come at her with a black Sharpie marker. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed how he completely steamrolled over Captain Douchebag, who can’t really get a word in except to let Jillian know that he doesn’t care for ”ethnicity” or New York City. (New York and all of non-white America to that guy: Right back atcha.)

NEXT PAGE: More men arrive, including a possible serial killer

Suddenly Mathue lumbers up and with a ”Grrrr, Bachelorette, mine!” grunt, he snatches poor Jillian into his arms — to which she meekly replies, ”Oh, you’re not going to throw me in the pool, are you?” No, he just wants to know what she’s looking for in a guy. While she’s probably thinking Someone who does not remove my feet from the ground without permission, Jillian rattles off the standard single-lady litany: ”open and honest,” ”good sense of humor,” ”connection.” If her list also includes ”to be someone’s trophy wife,” then she may want to consider Wes instead. ”I didn’t just come up here to stay for three days and go home,” he tells the camera. ”I came for the prize.” He’s in it to win it, folks, and he’ll even write Jillian a generic sounding country song to prove it. Too bad he’s about to get majorly skooled by Michael the break dancer, who — after a little playful urging from Jillian — teaches the Bachelorette how to bust a move. But wait, what’s this? It’s Billbro challenging Michael to a throwdown. As expected, his stiff spins and weak worm can’t compare to Michael’s moves, especially that acrobatic one-armed handstand maneuver. Sorry Billbro, but you got served.

Eventually, Harrison walks in with his Butter Knife of Bad News and a message for the bachelors: Their odds just got 20 percent worse, because there are five more men arriving, all of whom have their eyes on the prize Jillian. One newbie makes up for lost time by tossing a ball at Jillian and declaring her a ”great catch,” which, to my surprise, did not make me want to barf, and Ed from Chicago tells Jillian that his mom, at the very least, thinks she’s awesome.

And then we come to Tanner P. Twitchy and shifty-eyed, the financial analyst from Dallas confesses to the camera that he has a pathological need to see Jillian’s feet. ”I’m a big foot guy,” he explains. ”Gotta have high arches, that’s the key. If you have low arches, it’s just kind of manly. Gotta have the painted toenails… No toe jam hanging out, no, uh, corns.” He drags the unsuspecting Bachelorette to the edge of the pool and suggests they dangle their feet in the water while they chat — and even though she’s obviously cold, she agrees. (Jillian, honey, repeat after me: ”I do not always have to put others’ needs before my own.”) After sneaking surreptitious glances at her toes, Tanner P. declares them to be ”not mangled” — high praise indeed from a creepy jerk with misdirected sexual urges. Now, I love a good foot fetish joke as much as the next person, but this was more horror show than comic relief. It’s all fun and games until someone orders someone else to put the lotion in the basket. (Jillian, who’s psycho-dar must be on the fritz, tells us that she finds Tanner P. ”really cute” and that she ”felt really comfortable with him.”) Their nauseating encounter ends only after Mr. ”Great Catch” — whose name, as far as I can tell, has not even been mentioned yet — sweeps Jillian away to dry her feet, far from Tanner’s prying eyes.

The only thing that kept me from weeping openly was what happened next: Jillian retrieves the First Impression Rose from the living room and gives it to…Dave from Dayton! I have to tell you, I was certain Kiptyn had it locked down, but somehow Dave and his bumbling sweetness managed to triumph over Kipper’s Game-theory antics. ”You really blew me away the second time I really got to sit down and chat with you,” Jillian tells Dave.

NEXT PAGE: Ten men take the walk of shame

Wow, is it rose ceremony time already? Those two hours just flew by, didn’t they! I was thrilled to see my favorite, break dancin’ Michael, make the cut, and cheers to Jillian for giving Simon the Subtitled a rose despite his awfully foreign accent. (Oh, and by the way, it turns out Mr. ”Great Catch” is named Mike. And guess what, guys? His line worked!) It was extremely depressing, however, to see Jillian hand over a bud to Captain Douchebag — that guy gets a rose but Steve the dorky-cute lawyer doesn’t? (At least Steve can take comfort knowing that he had the best line of the night: ”Maybe she doesn’t like awesome guys.”) And honestly, I don’t even know what to say about Tanner P. advancing to the next round. For Jillian’s sake, let’s just hope the producers had the FBI on speed dial during filming.

Enough about what I think — I want to hear your thoughts on the big Bachelorette premiere. Did the right guys go home? And do any of these dudes seem like husband material to you? Post your comments now! Okay, folks, let’s talk Bachelorette!

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