Juan Pablo is everything that’s wrong with men
I’m a reality TV junkie. I hate it and complain about it, but damn it if I’m not parking my butt at my TV with my laptop for all the Teen Housewives of Bachelorette County.
When the whole “Bachelor” Juan Pablo gay/pervert comments came out, I was already disgusted enough with the show (and my addiction to it) that I tuned out.
But last night I did tune back in to see who won.
And the winner … is the one who got away.
- I’m angry at him for being a selfish prick who’s full of excuses (No. 1: “I have a daughter.” Excuse No. 2: “See Excuse No. 1”).
- I hate that he says “It’s OK” when someone is trying to have a real discussion with him.
- I’m astounded that his family TOLD these googly-eyed girls that he’s a moody piece of shit who is going to shut you out and do his own thing. AND THEY ARE STILL GOOGLY-EYED.
We’ve all dated him. That pretty boy with issues we thought ONLY WE were strong enough to handle. I don’t think I ever believed I could change someone … but I know I figured that I could love someone despite their ridiculous walls that they put up.
Since, you know, I have a way of constructing my own with the most weather-resistant materials ever crafted.
What kills me is that both girls KNEW something was wrong. Their guts told them. Hell, in Clare’s case, he was a fucking DICK to her on two occasions, between the slut-shaming and the “I loved fucking you” comment in the helicopter when the cameras were off.
I have told you about a guy UF who continues to ask me out. I told you I just get a … feeling. Not a good one. He may be wonderful but I don’t need to take the time to find out he’s not.
I have told you about another guy Jupiter who, well, is Juan Pablo. Handsome, charming, determined to make me feel at ease and special … someone who may have put it out there that he’s looking for a wife and kids, just like his TV counterpart.
Maybe I let Jupiter get me relaxed enough to dream with him. Only to get tortured because suddenly I want all these things and he’s like, whoa, where did all that come from?
FROM YOU, ASSHOLE.
I don’t recall wanting babies. I don’t recall dreaming about wow-ing his parents or weddings or white-picket fences or Sundays at Grandma’s house when the babies are old and good enough to travel.
But I don’t put those things into the universe because what I WANT is a guy with a good job and an investment account and who wants to explore the world with me and who loves my mom and who doesn’t annoy me too much.
That I would think of babies and homes and meeting parents, trust me, someone would have to PUT THAT INTO MY HEAD, JUPITER.
Anyway, that’s what Juan Pablo did. He went on a TV show whose end goal is a proposal. He told the women he needed a mom for his daughter Camila. He said he wanted the whole fairy tale.
He didn’t want a fairy tale. He wanted a henhouse where he could park his cock. He says he’s honest … that’s honest.
He says he has a language barrier, so he can say stupid things and tell others they misunderstood him. Hell no he doesn’t.
He lives with his mother, probably so she can take care of his daughter so he can go chase tail. Be honest, Juan Pablo.
That’s the thing — all these guys pretend to be something they’re not. You may have heard me use the phrase “Flash, Dash and No Cash.” I assumed Juan Pablo might be somebody. I’m thinking he’s not.
He’s no prize yet these gorgeous, brilliant and effervescent women (OK, Clare, not Nikki) are competing for THIS DUD? For real?
This is too close to real life. “Pretty close to resistible, lover man,” as Whitney Houston said in “Waiting to Exhale.”
I often say I put up walls and don’t let love in. That’s to keep these kinds of creeps out.
God, how do we keep the faith that we will find a good man when we’re seemingly surrounded by everything but?
Juan Pablo is a brilliant reminder that — when we run for the hills and have that awful feeling of, “What if I just left someone great?” — we were right to run.
Praise all of us (men and women) who recognize that “the one who got away” … was us. Not them.
Next time the “Bachelor” promises an ending we’ve never seen before, someone please promise me that we’ll see Chris Harrison pushing him off a cliff …