Bitchelor Party.

I hate The Bachelor. I’ve actually never watched a single full episode (which is obvious, otherwise I would have hung myself from my shower curtain a while ago), but I’ve gathered enough from promos and commercials to give me a good enough understanding of the whole thing.

Tell me something: what are the odds of 20 women showing up to meet a random single man, and every single one of them liking, dare they even claim “loving” the random single man at first sight? Odds? Let me just say that I would rather bet on Charlie Sheen leading a Sunday school class than betting on every woman “falling in love” with rando-man on television.

The crying? There is so much crying on this show. Either these women are REALLY good actresses (doubt it), or they are stupider than Kate Gosselin and more unstable than Winona Ryder for getting that worked up over a man whose middle name and favorite color they don’t even know yet. My, god.

I almost threw up on a boat today. This had nothing to do with The Bachelor. This morning in Lake Tahoe, we arose early, geared up, and walked 3 blocks to the Heavenly gondola, only to find out it was going to be closed all day due to rowdy winds up to 100 miles per hour. Since we couldn’t ride, we decided to go blow a bunch of money on hoodies and t-shirts before our Lake Tahoe fishing excursion at 1 pm. We arrive at the marina around 12:30, and the captain warns us that if we choose to go out on the boat today, it was going to be rough, cold, windy, and probably not great for fishing. He offered us an out, but the other two men and Trent and I decided to “give it hell” and go out anyway.

The first hour out of four was pretty good. Mild/cool, mid-50s temperatures, a steady but not overbearing breeze blew across the lake, partial cloud cover broken up by breaks of sunshine, generally pleasant conditions, all things considered. I hooked three fish, all of which I lost (great). Then the wind shifted and started hauling ass out of the southwest, and things got rough.

The boat was aaaRRRROCKIN’ AND A-ROOOOOLLLIN’!!!! I spent the next three hours shifting my gaze from my quivering fishing pole, and the unmoving, landlocked, stationary and mountainous horizon in an effort to not fall victim to sea sickness and vomit all over the deck. It got colder and colder, dark, dismal, and the harsh winds drove the cold rain at us like tiny needles until we finally decided to call it a day and head back.

Oprah Winfrey’s eye-bags are large enough to park two Ford Excursions on, even under 9 pounds of foundation. Does she not know this? Does she not also know that she has enough money to give everyone in the entire Western Hemisphere face lifts if she so chooses? Someone get this woman some cucumber slices and some ice cubes. Get those puffies deflated, Op. You don’t have to be stuck looking like a haggard old woman if you don’t want to. Just ask Joan Rivers.

Alright, time to go.

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Q: How much cocaine did Charlie Sheen do?

A: Enough to kill two and a half men.

¡Pura Vida!

Alright boys and girls.

…and whatever gender category people like Lady Gaga fall into.

I understand you’ve all been sweating profusely, having cardiac-arrest-inducing night terrors, and wretching in pain due to blog withdrawal, but don’t you worry, I’m back in the 66206 and ready to write your ears off again.

….of course when I say “ears” I mean “eyes.”

Anyway.

I have been making like Magellan, hop-scotching all over the western hemisphere for the past several weeks. Cabo San Lucas was a good time, although it would have been better if mi esposo futuro had been along for the trip (only moment of mushiness for the next month at least, don’t worry), but Costa Rica was a whole ‘nother animal, people. Let’s begin.