Enough with the rejects!

I was as excited as the rest of you Bachelor[ette] fans when our favorite reality host Chris Harrison announced (to no one's surprise) that the next bachelorette would be none other than our favorite Canadian hot dog afficionado, Jillian Harris (or, as one well-spoken and brazen bachelor called her last night, "Hot Tub Harris").

Fast forward to last night, when I was forced (work with me, here) to watch the worst two hours in The Bachelor franchise's history. There was just so much wrong with this new season already...

The least of which, let's cut to the chase, was not that not one single one of Miss J's potential suitors was even attractive. Ok, so there was a hint of cute here and there (hello, Juan) but, overall, there was not one man who stood out (as, I hate to admit, Ryan the Fireman did on the first season of the show) as a potential husband or, even, romantic interest. Yes, they all had interesting careers. They seemed relatively successful. All were obviously interested in her. But they were also bad dressers (the hipster from Brooklyn as just one example), had horrible senses of humor ("You are a great catch!"), were already pulling the wool over her eyes (I'm talking to you, Mr. First Impression Rose--you lost your words? Really? I already forgot your name, so great first impression.), and had fetishes (Feet?! Already?! On the first episode?! For the world to see?! Way to go, Tanner P.).

Ok, so back to my point. Whatever that may have been. Yesterday's episode was just bad. And, in all honesty (and I say this with "expertise" as I have watched almost every season (I took an unintended reality dating tv break in 2008), that Jillian didn't really seem all that stoked to be there. Sure she was excited. But she also was (1) on tv (2) had a great new wardrobe (3) was living in an awesome mansion and (4) [despite their quality] eventually had 30 men swooning over her.

...three of whom allegedly have girlfriends. And one of whom agreed to be on the show because he thought it would give him a better chance of becoming the next Bachelor. Which brings me to my REAL point: WTF with the choices for America's bachelor and bachelorette? I, and others I know (Hi, CB! Hi, Jacqueline!), long for the days when our lovelorn contestant was someone of relative significance--a military doctor, a 24 year old who started and ran his own bank, a son of a member of a prominent family. Now? Now we have random Canadians and unremarkable ahole single dads. Now we have cast offs who weren't good enough the first time around and are now getting a chance of their own...in which their rejects will undoubtedbly move on to star in the next season. Is that what we want?

No, it's not. But stay tuned for next week, anyway, when I complain again about wasting an hour of my life watching this dribble [and loving and hating every second of it].

While we're on the subject of Facebook...

So, before I was on the Facebook bandwagon (OH how I resisted), I still had a slight interest in what was going on in that part of cyberspace. Ok, it was more than slight. (And my resistance was admittedly more out of spite than anything by then.)

ANYWAY, even though I refused to legitimately sign up for Facebook, I did sign up illegitimately, if you will. I created a persona--no pictures, no real details--so that I could peruse the profiles my friends were talking about (assuming, of course, they were public and/or within my network). This girl, let's call her Marisa (DOB: 2/24/84), never made any friends, didn't post status updates, wasn't tagged in photos...she just sort of existed. She did do me and my other non-FB friends well for some time., allowing us to--ok, fine--stalk to our hearts' content. Soon, though, we sort of forgot about her.

Until this week when she appeared to me as a friend suggestion. What?!? How did THAT happen? Why would FB think I wanted to be friends with her? She has no friends, we have no connection whatsoever except our broad Washington, DC network. I. Don't. Get. It. Is FB trying to tell me it's on to me and my not so wily ways?

And, please. Don't think I don't think you have or have had a fake FB profile, too. Or know someone else who does. Or, at the very least, considered it. I have a theory that, if it weren't such a privacy enabling social network, there'd be tons of fake profiles floating around. Am I wrong?

You have the right to remain silent (anything you say may be used against you).

Facebragging verb: a facebook status update with the purpose of self-promotion or boasting about one's accomplishments or experiences (or that of their offspring).

In the age of Facebook, where everyone and his mother (literally) is online and sharing their lives with the world, we have come to be inundated with the goings on of these people's lives. Every last detail is, well, detailed for the world to see, whether in status messages or through photographs.

Don't get me wrong--I'm not trying to be a Bitter Betty here. But there are some things that are better left unsaid, that people, frankly, don't care about. I will admit, I too am a perpetrator of this act of exposing the world to this insignificant (to them) information. But, since realizing my extreme abhorance to such statuses (sometimes the strangest things rile me up), I have made a conscious effort to not share certain things with the world...even if sometimes I do just want to brag.

Do you really have to send a mobile update extolling how your romantic husband is taking you to the most expensive and romantic restaurant in town? You are on a romantic date. I'm happy for you, I really am. But leave the cell phone at home. And enjoy your effing romantic and expensive dinner, because eventually, you're going to have to go home and deal with those kids of yours. You know, those ones we all know all about because we have read that they made the dean's list for the 14th quarter in a row, pooped in (or out of) the potty before any of their peers, and rode a big wheel before they could crawl. By the way, I don't want to read about poop. Or big wheels. Unless there's a funny anecdote attached to it. Maybe it's because I'm not a parent. And a "baby-hater." But ew.

I don't want to read about how perfect your life is. If you wax poetic in your status messages, painting a picture perfect vision of your life, about sitting by your stone hearth sipping a perfectly aged glass of cabernet while the snow falls gently outside and your homemade soup boils on the stove...I'm not going to believe you that it's so perfect. Because why? WHY? Because if your circumstances were that picturesque and wonderful, you would not likely be taking the time to update your status message. You'd be enjoying it.

While we're at it...let's talk about Faceboring. I know it's the age we live in...where we feel the need to overshare. But come on, people. You're driving to work? Awesome. So are 8 million other people at exactly the same time. I? Don't care. Guess what, unless you tell me what you're making for dinner, I don't care that you're making it. I eat dinner, too. And you know what? You already know that about me. Without me telling you.

Also, don't just say "John Smith had a good weekend." Tell me why or don't tell me at all. Because while I'm glad you had a good weekend, I will assume so whether you tell me or not, unless you tell me otherwise.

Now, I'm not saying I'm not guilty of either of the two above mentioned taboos. I know that sometimes I fall victim to oversharing or undersharing. The problem arises, though, when it is constant. I'll let it slide (for myself and others) every now and then. But when every, single, solitary status message falls under the definition above? That's just TMI in the greatest sense of the acronym.

You have to admit, I might have a point here.

By no means am I trying to squelch anyone's creativity here, or deny you your First Amendment rights. Just know that I, and others, are watching. And taking note. And maybe even vomiting a little. But, don't worry. I won't status about it.

Special thanks to Marty Farrant for coining the term "facebragging" and to my pal, Ada, for contributing to the examples.

A Review, Or Two

Since BaCT's rebirth, I've come to realize that I'm just going to write about whatever strikes my fancy. No more fear of being ostracized or judged. I think it? I write it. There.



So, for your reading pleasure, I'm going to embark on my first blog reviews. Today's installation will be a spa review and a restaurant review...all rolled into one!



This past weekend I had the pleasure of partaking in my cousin in law's babymoon. For those of you who do not know, a babymoon is like a honeymoon, only you do something fun before the baby comes rather than after you get married. Make sense? Okay, good.



Since she is almost about to have this kid, we had to do something low key and local. How about a spa day? Um, okay.



So off we went. Note to spa goers--Costco (or the Price Club, as we old schoolers like to call it) has spafinder gift cards. This means you pay $79.99 for a gift card that can be used at any particpating spa (which can be found at http://www.spafinder.com/). But here's the great part--the gift cards are worth $100! For you non math majors out there, that's a 20% discount.



Our spa of choice was Comfort and Joy Spa in Fairfax (http://www.comfortjoy.com/). Don't be fooled by the fact that it's in a half empty strip mall...or that you are greeted with a big sign that just says "Day Spa." The place is amazing (and has been written up numerous times in The Washingtonian, in addition to having great (albeit four) reviews on Yelp.com).



Everything the spa uses is organic, so you can feel all special and green and not indulgent in the least. You're protecting the environment, dammit! The inside of the spa is bigger than it looks from the outside...it's not as serene and spa like as others I've been to (ie Lansdowne and Hershey) but it was agreeable. What was not agreeable was the lipstick all over the glasses of water we were offered. Gross.

On to the treatments. My companions each had a one hour massage--one regular, one prenatal. The prenatal massage was executed by a very small, female masseuse. As such, it wasn't as beneficial, tough, or relaxing as it could have been. The other massage was without complaint.

As one who does not enjoy massages, I opted for a scrub/wrap combo. Specifically, the One Hour Cornucopia Head to Toe Wrap. Here's how they describe it: "Relax as your body is buffed from head to toe with Amaize Organics© products. Begin with a blue cornmeal foot scrub, follow that with a red cornmeal body scrub, then enjoy an aromatherapy wrap and top it all off with a yellow cornmeal body crème application. Includes a mini facial." It was, to say the least, amazing. I had a great masseuse who applied just the right amount of pressure. Everything from the scrub to the added bonus of the facial was fabulous and I felt extremely relaxed. I was able to free my mind of the stress I had been feeling and enjoy my hour (it was really 75 minutes) of pampering.

All in all, and for what it was worth, this was a great spa experience. Taking all of our treatments and our opinions of them to come up with a median rating, I'd give it a 7.5 out of 10.

Since my computer keeps telling me it has graciously detected a virus, I'm going to save my review of our lunch spot, Ray's Hell Burger, until later...

I know I have good taste and all but...

Dear Mr. President and Mrs. Obama,

I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the fact that you're getting out there and enjoying the city which you now call home. Why are you all of a sudden going to all the restaurants I really like? And making the lines hours long for weeks afterward? I know that Ray's Hell Burger and Good Stuff Eatery are delicious venues from where to grab a burger. Trust me, I know. But, please? Could you start enjoying your White House chef a a little more? Or at least let me know the next time you'll be venturing out...so I can be there, too.

Thanks,
Me