As a huge Gilmore Girls fan, this was a labor of love (and silliness). I hope you all enjoy Gilmore Girls: “Aliens Attack Stars Hollow!”
And in case you need to know where I stand personally, Jess > Logan > Dean > Marty > Paul From The Actual Revival > Guy Who Rejected Rory In The Laundry Room at Yale.
Oh, and Luke > Max Medina > Alex The Coffee Enthusiast > Christopher > Gross Guy Who Hits On Lorelai in the Pilot Episode > Jason Styles.
In omnia paratus!
We’ve somehow made it to the highly anticipated Women Tell All episode, and let me tell you these women better spill the god damn TEA about each other, because this season has been super fucking boring so far and I’d like to feel the familiar tingle of some dark twisted bachelor dramz fresh off the press. (Longest sentence ever? Maybe!)
Also, why don’t I get invited to these Women Tell All thingys? I live in LA! They probably film it around the corner from my fucking house and yet I get no invitation. Is it because I called Arie a dweeb? Ugh, fine.
Guys, I’m going to be real with you because like Rachel Lindsay would say, I like to “keep it 100.” I missed last week’s recap because I was shooting a really cool project and was going to just recap last week’s here for you today along with the new one, but once you watch a new episode you’re kind of like, emotionally moved on from the previous one? So I’m not fucking recapping last week. Sowwy.
We kick off this week with the girls in Ft. Lauderdale, which Arie describes as, “one of the most beautiful places to fall in love.” Um, I can think of at least 50 places that are more beautiful to fall in love. Paris, Florence, New York, Miami, Berlin, Buenos Aires, Barcelona, Madrid, Tokyo, Costa Rica, Knoxville Tennessee, Savannah, Charleston, Amsterdam, Bali, Indonesia, New Zealand, Australia, Iceland, Machu Pichu, Telluride, Hawaii, Austin, Portugal, Bora Bora, Macau, Ibiza, Milan, Santorini, Cape Town, Istanbul, Rio de Janiero, Havana, Alaska, New Orleans, Maldives, Marrakesh, Rome, Kyoto, Chicago, Santa Barbara, Venice, Playa del Carmen, Oslo, Dubai, Cyprus, Holland, Prague, Bruges, and Gijón.
In case you’re wondering why all these betches are in black, it’s because they’re memorializing the death of the patriarchy. Ha! I’m kidding. But close! #TimesUp, shit heads. Donate to support women facing sexual assault in the workplace here.
So let’s get into it. The Golden Globes open with Seth Meyers’s monologue, which seems to really focus on the fact that men in Hollywood are scumbags, even though I feel like I’m looking at a man in Hollywood? Where the fuck is the female host, ya dweebs? Seth makes a joke about how they asked a woman to host, but none of them wanted to be in a hotel room blah blah and it’s like I get it (“it” being COMEDY!) but let’s be real. Y’all didn’t ask a woman to host.
Welp, my house is filled to the rafters with zucchini noodles, so you know what that means: HOMETOWNS!! Guys, we’re down to the final four and if you aren’t stuffing your face with spiralized squash and Paul Newman’s Sockarooni sauce, ya ain’t doin’ hometowns right!!
Eric’s up first so Rachel is in Balitmore, and is Eric maybe attractive now? He isn’t in a suit that’s twelve sizes too large on him, so now it looks like he mysteriously grew 2 feet.
And just like that, I’m back again. Like I’ve told all of my exes, “YOU CAN’T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY!! MUAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!” as I disappear into a cloud of smoke.
I can’t tell you how absolutely TICKLED I am that The Bachelorette has started and my girl Rachel is getting her moment, so let us begin. Since we last saw her, Rachel’s been living in Dallas as an attorney, as evidenced by the fake footage of a trial where they literally make her say, “Objection!” into camera.
We are all that judge.
Nothing screams Golden Globes like Sam Jarvis sitting on her couch with a whiskey, wondering where the fuck she went wrong. (If you’re already opening a new tab to Google Sam Jarvis, it’s me, guys, I’m talking about myself.)
We jump right into the award season action with a parody of La La Land, which is cute but a complete waste of Justin Timberlake. If he’s not going sing or dance, why did you show him to me? Jimmy Fallon, always a cock tease. What we do get a lot of, are close-up shots of Fallon’s fucked up finger that he ALLEGEDLY broke while bombed on the hooch.
Look how crooked that finger is. At the time he was like, “Guys I’m fine it’s no big deal!” Your sideways finger would beg to differ, bud.
Guys, as much as I’ve loved providing you with the absolute HIGHLIGHT OF YOUR WEEK with these insane ramblings, I’m sort of ready to get back to my regular life. (“But you don’t have a life…” –Everyone I know)
We launch into paradise with the morning after the fantasy suites, when everybody is sexed to all hell and hopped up on mimosas and fear about the future.
Here I sit, patiently waiting for a new episode with my arms folded neatly in my lap, wondering if Nick and Jen will go the distance even though I already know they don’t. Or if Josh and Amanda’s love can transition out of paradise, even though they’re on the cover of Us Weekly gabbing about how they’re living together now. SIGH. Are there no surprises anymore, guys?? Part of me is also like, remember Chad?
The most exciting thing going on in paradise right now is that apparently Nick got a care package from ol’ Robby that included a pair of Robby’s insane swim trunks.
I’m going to take this time to let you all know that on my deathbed, I would really love it if someone would blast the Bachelor in Paradise theme song, morning to night, up until my last breath. Like, I want everyone sobbing as I mouth, “ALMOST PARADISE, WE’RE KNOCKING ON HEAVEN’S DOOR. ALMOST PARADISE, HOW COULD WE ASK FOR MORE? I SWEAR THAT I CAN SEE FOREVER IN YOUR EYES… PARADISE.”
But that won’t be for another 70 years, so let’s focus on today. Continue reading
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