Perpetrating a Fraud…

National Blog Posting Month is here. I am going to participate  and attempt to post every day for the month of July. What Fun. Ha! My random thoughts everyday for a month. This is going to get interesting. Well let’s get cracking and I mean literally because I am flexing my intertwined fingers out in front of me now. What will I talk about today?

Ah! I know…

I am so late on this, but I have to speak on it anyway. Plus, I am late for obvious reasons the death of the King has me unconcerned about reality tv stars. However, while watching Chelsea Lately and dozing off to sleep, I saw a commercial for E! News. The commercial promised pictures of Kendra’s wedding at the Playboy Mansion. WTH?!?!?

I woke up and pulled the spectacles from my bedside dressing table onto my nose. I was certain I had heard the wrong thing. Chelsea comes back on and I am hoping that she is about to shake hands with the audience so we can get to the news. This is the first time that I’ve ever wished I had internet access in my room. Why am I concerned about Kendra? Of all the causes to support, problems to resolve and subjects to research why would I pick one so shallow, misguided and without any redeeming value? Because I have a strange fascination with the Girls Next Door and their cohabitation experiment. It was the first reality show that I made sure I was home to watch. I was actually sad when it went off since all the ladies left the house to go explore the wider world. The story was as advertised, Kendra was indeed married at the playboy mansion and the proof was in the pictures. I know Kendra is all parties and booty shake, but even she had to know you don’t get married at your Ex’s house. I mean doesn’t she know this? Shame on Mama Kendra if she did not.   

The pictures left me with two thoughts…

First Thought…

Is Kendra Crazy? What kind of woman gets married at her Ex’s house where God only knows what happened and they cohabitated? And what kind of man stands for it? Even if Kendra had a wonderful relationship with Hugh and the break up wasn’t bad it is still not appropriate to marry your NEW man at your OLD man’s house. I don’t care how much you care about him it’s disrespectful to your NEW man. There should be a clear divider between relationships and conducting your nuptials at your Ex’s place certainly blurs the lines. Closure is not saying I do on OLD man’s lawn. Hmmm….always thought Kendra’s airy-ness was merely exaggerated to portray her as a carefree, young spirit, but maybe she is a little off.

The second thought…

Wait! Ohhhh NoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo! It can’t be true, but it has to be? The Girl’s next door was a SHAM! Oh the tragedy of it. I put my hand to my forehead and fainted into my fluffy pillows. I was outraged! I was deceived, hood-winked, duped, 52 faked out, bamboozled and swindled out of my precious time. The playboy mansion was merely an apartment building for blondes. Holly claiming that Hugh didn’t need viagra cause she snuck up on him a few times just fabrications to prop up his swinger lifestyle. It was a marketing ploy to make Playboy relevant again and accessible to younger generations. A cheap, simple, savvy way to revitalize the brand. No wonder those ladies didn’t have any cat fights (I witnessed a few side glances), they were NOT sharing a man. They merely shared the same residence. I was convinced of this last night lying in my bed. I suspected it, but Kendra’s playboy mansion wedding pictures made it perfectly clear that their show was a fraud. I spent Sundays watching this scripted, fictitious, soap-opera farce passed off as a reality show. I will admit I was entertained, but reality tv does not require willing suspension of disbelief of it’s viewers because it’s supposed to be real. I mean I know there is “light” scripting and some editing, but the whole premise of the show was not real. The audacity of them all. I was merely a pawn in their ploy to gain tv ratings and publicity. Fooled me once, but it’s shame on you Hugh. What I was watching was a sham and you know it! I want an apology and some sort of consolation prize for playing along.

You gotta draw the line somewhere…

I’m prissy, I’m delicate and I don’t like to get my hands dirty unless I’m making cupcakes. I’m not the quintessential girl next door who can hang with the boys, but I do have some qualities that I’ve been told make me endearing. I love to eat and don’t hide it when I’m out on a date. I love action movies. I like big explosions, unbelievable fight sequences and macho men. I like sweaty men. I like hairy men. I like going to home depot, just love the way that place smells. I don’t scream or flinch at the site of bugs or blood, kill em or plug it. I’m not into sports, but will watch (and be quiet or call you afterwards) because I understand it’s like reality tv for guys. I really thought I was open minded. I thought I was progressive. Until today. Today I realized to hell with trying to be accommodating, dudes are straight trippin with this sports stuff and they need to be called out on it. Well one dude in particular.

I was invited to watch Extreme Fighting with a guy that I’ve gone out with a few times. Saying that I was invited implies that I showed up on my own, but that’s not accurate. We had planned on dinner and a movie, but the movie was sold out. We were trying to decide our next move when his face lit up and he announced that he knew exactly where we could go. A friend of his was having a fight party. I agreed to go despite not being able to think of a single boxing match that was coming on that evening. I thought well maybe he knows something I don’t know. Plus I actually smiled to myself because I had mentioned very briefly during our dinner conversation that I watched the Manny Pacquiao documentary on HBO. Yes! He was listening. So I believe this prompted his eureka moment of “I’ll take this lady to the fight party, yeah that’s just what I’ll do.”

When we arrived, the fight had already started. The host offered us food and drinks, but since I had just eaten I asked for a glass of wine. I could hear the fight, but I couldn’t see the screen. It was very crowded and people were standing all around, but they were all very enthusiastic. Yelling and carrying on like this was a title fight in the Tyson era (those were the days). My friend asked if I wanted to sit down and of course I said yes, so he took my hand and led me up some stairs to a little nook overlooking the den. Perfect. I could people watch and watch the fight.

We sat down, looked at artwork on the walls of the little nook (which made me want to start really paying attention to art and collecting) and then the host came up to make fun of us for separating ourselves from the crowd. We giggled, chit chatted the host then he called everyone’s attention down below to our secret hide-away. After being put on the spot I said that I was here to watch the fight and I was being distracted so “Shoooooooo!”

When I actually looked at the tv I was confused. The dudes on the screen were rolling around on the ground and punching one another. I sat my glass of wine down and peered at the screen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The guys were in a drag out, “organized”, street fight. The only thing that separated them from say a street brawl were their little multi-logo emblazoned shorts, a ref and a cage. WTH?!? A CAGE? A CAGE! Actually a metal fence, to contain all the scrapping that was going on. What was worse is that when they weren’t rolling around on the ground entangled in one another’s crotch and legs, they were punching the stuffing out of one another bare fisted. I’ve never been in a fight, but I’ve seen enough fights to know that bare fisted punching is brutal. Plus they were both bloody, lumpy and in need of a trainer to treat their wounds and squirt some water in their mouths.

After about two minutes I couldn’t watch it anymore. I walked to the other side of the nook and looked at the art. First, I thought why would he bring me here does he think this is what I find entertaining? Second, what made him think that I would enjoy watching men savagely beat up one another? Third, was I the only one in the house completely repulsed by this? It reminded me of mortal combat they just didn’t pull a heart out of a rib cage while I was watching, but I bet they would if they could.  As I thought through what I might have said besides the Pac-Man doc, I started to consider that he might actually really be into this Extreme Combat Fighting.

About a minute passed before he came over to me, but he arrived at the exact moment that I was becoming alarmed about the possibility that he might really be into this. The alarm of my realization must have shown on my face because he immediately asked if I was okay. I started shaking my head no. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wasn’t going to last too long. Watching those two minutes had actually made me sick to my stomach. He asked if I needed to sit down, I must have been ashen faced too. I nodded yes. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions that he was Extreme Fighting’s biggest fan, so I told myself he just wanted to see his boys and it was close.

I didn’t know what to say to him so we just sat there for a few minutes listening to the cheers and the sound of flesh being pummeled to a pulp. Then there was a collective “Ooooh” from the crowd downstairs and he jumped up to go see. I thought oh he likes this. So I said “Do you like this extreme fighting?”

“Yes, it’s like fight club.”

“Do you watch it often?”

“Yeah, I’ve even been to a couple of matches.”

Yikes wrong answers. I was trying to think what excuse I was going to come up with for having to leave. I know guys like sports and sports are a way to release the bottled up aggression that many of them carry around. However, I have to draw the line at modern day gladiators who look like they are literally trying to maim and kill each other. I also draw the line on men who are into this sport. Dude should have kept this underwraps like whatever porn he had at the crib. I can’t with a clear conscious watch one man try to kill another man and cheer. I don’t find it entertaining at all. I can’t even humor someone and watch a little bit. Even if he was the perfect guy for me the fact that he enjoyed this took him out the running. I know guys like guts and gore, but geeze this was on a level that I was not able to tolerate. I believe boxing and football are about as extreme as I can go. So I texted a friend and ten minutes later I told him that I had to go. I was tired and repulsed by the extreme fighting. Good Night and Good Bye. No further explanation.