The Bachelors

I've never seen the show "The Bachelor" because we don't have T.V.  Well we have A T.V., a great big plasma screen with Blu-Ray and six point surround sound, we just don't have cable.  About 8 years ago, right when all the "reality shows" were crapping up (the typo stays), I decided to cancel our cable.  I didn't do this out of any moral objection to the networks exploiting attractive mentally disabled people but rather I did it for the same reason I throw a day-old doughnut that I find at work in the trash then squirt ketchup on it for good measure, because I'll eat that shit if I can.  Plus I wanted to see what I would do with all the free time I'd have once T.V. was gone.  It turns out I enjoy cooking.

Finn holding court poolside

I'd bet a reality show about me and Finn living the REAL bachelor lifestyle would crush "The Bachelor" in the ratings.  This past weekend Erin and Liam took off for four nights, leaving me and Shotgun Finn to fend for ourselves.  So naturally we did what any unsupervised young red-blooded American men would do, we pined for the woman we love.  While we weren't pining though we were living like rock stars.  That is if rock stars sit around in their underpants all day watching movies and eating pizza.

There were productive moments.  I managed to spread 6 hours worth of house cleaning and yard work over three days, but it got done.  The time it took me was irrelevant, though I think the first weed I pulled had grown back by the time I'd pulled the last one.  The garage got converted from it's usual use as a place where things that aren't immediately needed get piled on top of one another, to a sleek game room featuring ping-pong and darts, and the back yard was transformed into something out of a Maxfield Parrish coffee table book, complete with hot chicks in short shorts and bikinis (they were Finn's friends, I had nothing to do with it).

Not only did I get some quality time with my baby boy, I also got some quality time with my baby sis Maggie who was in town for her birthday.  Now that my 5'11" sister is 30 years old should I omit the "baby" and just call her "sister"?  Nah!

All in all it was actually a pretty wholesome weekend considering.  It probably would have made for some pretty crappy reality T.V. come to think of it.  Perhaps the camera crews should have followed Erin around.  God only knows what kind of twisted stuff she got into.

What happens in Mos Eisley...