The reality of reality television...

is that it isn't real. Bless the hearts of those souls who believe it is. Last night I gave ABC three hours of my life that I will never get back in order to witness "happily-ever-after in the making". Of course I always roll my eyes right out of my head at the ridiculous drama of it all but maybe that's because I'm far too jaded for my own well-being. Beautiful, seemingly intelligent women crying over a good looking stand-up guy asking him to love them. [Insert incredibly romantic scene in Notting Hill when Julia Roberts shows up in Hugh Grant's bookstore here.] Thank you major media markets for perpetuating gender stereotypes. But who doesn't love the idea of a happy ending? We all do. So that's why we watch. As for the people who go on these shows, who am I to question the decisions they make? Just because I would never be caught dead on national television wearing my bikini making out with the same dude that was smooching on a dozen other women in the same afternoon only for my grandma to watch with the other deacons' wives six months later doesn't mean I'm entitled to judge them. [Yet I do. Which I'll talk about another day when I'm feeling especially convicted and introspective.] For now, I'll leave you all with this. Jimmy Kimmell keeping it real with Jason the Bachelor last night after all the prime time nonsense...