The Bachelorette

or While the Cat is Away, the Mouse Will Build a Pillow Fort in the Living Room

Devoted partner and I are separated by a continent for the week and I have been using this time to really get in touch with my 21-year-old self. The 21-year-old who routinely forgot to go to class, ate doritos in a chemise while watching the next-door neighbors play Goldeneye, and considered a trip to Cumberland Farms worthy of the word 'trip.' The reversion began on Saturday when, while in Whole Foods I remembered I was cooking for one this week, I bought several different kinds of frozen hors d'ouvres and some pre-made chili. And let me tell you, eating chicken taquitos as dinner with no one around to wonder why is the t!ts.

And when there's no one around to judge your television watching, it is oh so easy to end up watching something truly vile. Picture the scene: 11pm, last night, me in yoga pants and a should-have-been-thrown-out-years-ago petit bateau t-shirt beneath my Dive Dahab hooded sweatshirt, and my shearling moccasins (blogger, I'm positive shearling is a word - that you think it isn't is troubling); I am eating ramen noodles - the actual ramen noodles we ate in college; and I am watching, for the first time, Bridezillas.

I know that my reluctance to experience the same pop culture as everyone else is troubling, but I assure you, I had never flipped to this show before. Because its very title is repugnant. I have also not seen any of the housewives for the same reason. Reality TV, in general, leaves me cold simply because of its caricaturish nature and utter lack of originality. Case in point: the last time I got really into a relationshippy reality show - and by really into I mean Jamie and I watched every episode maniacally giggling and drinking beer - was a one-season-only juggernaut of disaster called, I believe, Paradise Island. In short a number of married or nearly-married couples (6, 8, who remembers?) were invited to a sultry resort some place warm and promptly separated from one another. In come an equal number of, respectively, Hot Topic and Frederick's of Hollywood-type people who, for the remainder of the show, will attempt to hook up with members of the couples in an effort to see whose relationship is strongest and can withstand the promise of VERY MANY STRINGS ATTACHED sex with completely waxed strangers. It was the best piece of Rome is Burning television I have ever been privileged enough to watch. Nothing else comes close. Which is why I don't want it. That show was mean-spirited and end-of-days-y from the get go; the others try to have points and morals and tidy endings.

Much as I would like to say that my first viewing of Bridezillas won't be my last, I think, sadly, it's just not evil enough. I mean, yes, there's the evil aspect of knowing that none of the marriages will last, but that's just not evil enough. And yes, there is some small enjoyment that can be derived by watching women disintegrate before your eyes over trivial things, except that none of the women I saw last night was stable to begin with. Following a spoiled brat as she becomes more spoiled is hardly entertaining. Following a previously sane person as she spirals into chocolate fountain insanity? That I might watch.

On deck this evening in the Pillow Fort? A classic. I'll be viewing Airplane and snacking on either grape leaves or something unique from Trader Joe's.

Come home soon, baby. I'm obviously unable to care for myself in your absence.