I will not accept this rose.

This weekend in a haze of NyQuil and snot, I turned on the television and discovered a television program that probably everyone else on the planet already knows about.

I'm talking about, of course, the amazing amazingness that is The Bachelor.

O. M. G.

So I start watching this show, okay? And apparently I'm watching the first season. And I get completely and totally engrossed, almost immediately. And I'm saying to the television, "WHY IS HE PICKING AMANDA? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM THAT HE'S PICKING AMANDA!" And Jason came in and told me to just lay down because he's afraid the NyQuil is negatively affecting my brain or some crap, and I'm dying! DY-ING.

Because this is the most horrible show I've ever seen, EVER, and I. can't. stop. watching. it.

First of all, and I honest to Fred don't mean this in an ugly way, at all, but why can these men not find women on their own without the benefit of ABC's big fat bankroll and a bunch of cameras? I mean, in the first season? The guy Alex? He was very attractive and seemed like a decent guy, but then everything he did was just so freaking dorky. And he went to Harvard and Stanford and said he liked The Simpsons, but at the same time he seemed way, way emotionally invested in what his parents thought. I don't know if that's normal because I don't really have a normal relationship with my parents and wouldn't expect them to give me relationship advice (my parents think if the guy hasn't proposed by the third date, he's just not that into you) or anything, so I don't know.

What disturbed me the most was that these women, who were all attractive and seemed reasonably intelligent and whatnot, seemed OBSESSED AND DETERMINED that this Man Would Be Theirs.

What. The. Damn. Hell?

Did some event occur on this planet that I am unaware of that has knocked out the majority of potential mates for these lovely women? Because, um, last time I checked (and granted, I've been off the market for a while, but still), there were plenty of men out there ripe for the picking. Granted, you have to weed through those wearing trucker caps which proudly proclaim "Rock Out With Your Cock out", but still. Those guys are easy to spot, right? They advertise, even. You can figure out their motivation right away.

I was disturbed by some of the women, who had known this man a scant few weeks, sobbing and crying and saying, "But I was falling in love with him!"

How? HOW can it be possible?

The night I met Jason I felt a spark. Okay, more than a spark. I had a strong, strong feeling that he was the one.

We did not, however, have cameras following us all the time. Nor was I sharing him with a houseful of other women that he was locking lips with on a regular basis. In five weeks, he did not propose. Oh let me assure you. It was much, much longer than five weeks.

And frankly? As much as I liked him and as much as I thought I had a real future with him? I would have freaked the crap out if he had proposed after five weeks. I can't decide on shoes after only five weeks, much less someone who has to see me naked and deal with my long-term relationship with Sallie Mae.

I mean I know it's just t.v., but that seems kind of flip. Don't you think?

Or has the NyQuil really affected my brain?