I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (10 page)

As an ultimate fan of the
Bachelor
and
Bachelorette
franchise (I have watched every episode since the show’s inception), one of my favorite things to do during the season is to get my girlfriends together and watch the show. Here are my top five tips for throwing the
most dramatic
viewing party in
Bachelor/Bachelorette
history.

1.Nicknames Are Key
Especially early on, it is hard to tell the contestants apart and remember who is who. I recommend you and your friends come up with little nicknames or phrases for each person that remind you of what they do (free spirit, cruise ship entertainer, I’m a model!), what was unique about them (horse girl, girl with two kids, guy on the skateboard), or when necessary, notable fashion mistakes (too spray-tanned girl, bad-weave girl, guy with the ascot).

2.Create Some Friendly Competition
I recommend a drinking game in which each person drinks at certain words (rose, drama, house, date, love) or when certain inevitable things happen (like when a contestant suddenly seems to realize that he or she is not the only person dating the Bachelor/Bachelorette and gets upset—hello, don’t these people know what the show is about before they go on it?). Another idea is creating a bracket and getting some friendly wagers going on who will go home on a certain episode or who the ultimate winner will be!

3.Set Some Ground Rules
With a room full of women, it is quite possible someone will want to talk throughout the entire show. I had to set some ground rules with my friends, especially when Courtney was on. Example: no talking between commercial breaks, unless we paused the show! Another boundary to decide on is whether or not you want to hear spoilers. Like it or not, and accurate or not, Reality Steve is out there and some people may want to tell you exactly what he says happened. I personally prefer the element of surprise, as it makes the whole experience more interesting.

4.Roses, Hot Tubs, and Some Other Ambience Ideas
While you don’t want to creep out your friends by creating a Fantasy Suite, it is fun to incorporate some Bachelor-related decorations or settings into your viewing party. When Courtney was on the show, my girlfriends and I created a foam board where we had pictures of each of the girls and we would remove them one by one as they were sent home. Or you can never have too many roses or bottles of champagne at a viewing party. And, of course, if you can host a viewing party in a hot tub, all the more power to you, girl!

5.Use Your DVR to Your Advantage
I can’t tell you how many times we have watched the preview for upcoming episodes of
The Bachelor,
and particularly the final episode, in slow motion, with frequent rewinds. It is incredibly fun to try to piece together the tiny details to predict who is getting the final rose, and who will be crying in the back of the limo.

3

MALIBU BARBIES & BEN

M
y hunch was right. On August 1, 2011, Ashley chose J. P. instead of Ben as her future husband in the season finale of
The Bachelorette
. I genuinely felt bad for Ben, who was furious and embarrassed after Ashley let him get down on one knee to propose, only to lift him back up by the elbow and reject him. I wondered if he’d ever recover from such a humiliating and cruel public dumping. The rumor was that the show’s fans desperately wanted him to be the next Bachelor, but he was so pissed about being humiliated he was playing hard to get with the producers. Nothing official had been announced yet, not even on the “After the Final Rose” show, when he faced Ashley graciously and stoically.

In my heart, I truly believed Ben would be the next Bachelor and I wanted it to be him. In my very first meeting with the show’s producers, they actually asked me who I’d like the next Bachelor to be and I, of course, said “Ben.” After having my picture taken, a producer handed me a huge packet and I thought I was in. That was easy! Not so fast. Next, I had to make it through Finals Weekend, which took place just five days after
The Bachelorette
finale aired.

When I showed up to the nondescript hotel, I was told to keep a low profile. Nobody could know that I was there for
The Bachelor
. As soon as I arrived I was escorted from my car and then whisked straight to my own room by a producer. If a random guest asked what all the commotion was about, we were supposed to say, “We’re filming a movie!”

Finals Weekend is a twelve-hour audition meant to whittle down the potential dates for
The Bachelor
to about thirty women. But it’s also an important test to see who can make it through the intense interview process without cracking, crying, or showing their true (ugly) colors. They shuttle you to various conference and hotel rooms for different parts of the audition. Not once during the entire day did I see another contestant. From the very start, producers want you laser-beam focused on the show. There are absolutely no distractions.

The first leg of the marathon day was a 150-question personality test. After the personality test, which I decided to answer as honestly as possible—as opposed to answering strategically, or what I thought they might want me to answer—I was taken to the show’s resident psychologist. I didn’t know this at the time, but the curly-haired shrink from Beverly Hills travels with the show and is a permanent fixture on set. I guess she must have thought I was one of the crazy people because she looked over my personality test then peppered me with questions about my drinking habits, asking if I thought I had a problem and if I’d ever had a fight after a night of boozing.

After seeing the psychologist, I shot my very first “scene” on-camera. Now, while most girls may have agonized over their outfit for this monumental occasion, I simply wore jeans and a white T-shirt, a little eyeliner, and threw in my weave. I knew it was going to be a long day so comfort was king. After getting miked up, I was led into a hotel room filled with candles, blue lighting, knickknacks, and a chintzy Chinese wall divider.

I was asked two questions by a lone producer:

1.Will you tell us a little bit about yourself?

2.Who do you want to be the next Bachelor?

I gave a spiel about how I hoped it was Ben because he was a nice, normal guy and I liked his hair because I’d dated some bald eagles (Chris and Cavan). I said he likes wine and I like wine so I think we’d be good together.

“Okay, you’re done!” the producer announced. I was shocked it was over so quickly, until he led me through a door into the next room, where—surprise!—the producers were crammed around a big, U-shaped conference table and had just watched my Academy Award—winning performance on closed circuit. Up until this point, I hadn’t really been taking it all that seriously. But now I was in it. And I was terrified.

It would have been understandable for anyone in that intimidating situation to start shaking or sweating profusely, or maybe even faint, but my modeling auditions had prepared me for this exact moment. I did my signature double-handed wave and scanned the room, making eye contact with as many people as possible without looking like a phony politician. I sat in a chair in front of the table and was promptly drilled with questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Where do you live?”

“Who have you modeled for?”

“Who do you want to be the Bachelor?”

I told them I was only interested in Ben and if it was going to be any of the other guys from Ashley’s season, like Ryan Park or Ames Brown, I wasn’t interested.

“What’s your personality like?”

After I answered that I thought I was funny and liked making people laugh, I looked to a handsome producer sitting against the wall for a scintilla of support. But he went in for the kill.

“Oh, really? You’re funny?” he mocked. “Tell us a joke.” I didn’t flinch.

“How do you make a handkerchief dance? Put a little boogie in it!” I said, shimmying.

The room totally cracked up and I looked back to the handsome producer. He gave me a private little smile. During the rest of the Q&A, I tried to charm as many producers as possible, asking them questions about themselves and making jokes like “Know any single guys?” before I was ushered out, again doing my signature double-handed wave.

I thought I killed, but back in my lonely hotel room I was only rewarded with a soggy Subway sandwich. I ate it because I was starving. And I had nothing else to do for another two hours.

Next up, I met with a lady private investigator who bombarded me with the most personal questions yet:

“Have you ever gotten a DUI?”

No.

“Have you ever been arrested?”

I took a deep breath and decided to come clean. In sixth grade, Sara and I had stolen Coca-Cola shirts with polar bears on them from Robinsons-May and we got busted. I was banned for life from the department store chain. I thought my mom was going to smack me when she picked me up, but she was surprisingly cool about the whole thing and only grounded me for three months.

The lady PI looked bored.

“Do you have any nude photos?”

Um, yes,
I thought, panicking. I had taken hundreds of them. But I didn’t tell her the eye-popping number. I just blushed and said my ex had some.

“What’s the raciest picture he has?”

“Oh, he would never sell those.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, definitely,” I said, not totally convinced.

“Do you have a sex tape?”

“Yes.” I had at least three. In fact, one was with an ex, who told me after I broke up with him that he couldn’t stop watching it. I said that was really creepy and to delete it immediately. He promised he would. (Foreshadow alert #1!)

“Do you have any enemies?”

“Not that I know of.” (Foreshadow alert #2!)

After the inquisition was finished, I had to get my blood drawn to make sure I didn’t have any STDs.

She wanted to know if I was on the pill. I’d been on the pill since I was sixteen years old. My mom actually took me to get them, if you can believe it, but it was to help cure my pepperoni pimple face, definitely not an endorsement to engage in sexual activity.

After the blood test, the day was finally over. Many of the women had flown in from faraway places like LaFollette, Tennessee, or Kissimmee, Florida, so they stayed overnight in the hotel. But since I only lived a few miles away, I drove home, exhausted and in shock.
Wow, what was that?
I thought.

As soon as I made it through my front door, I walked to my toilet and puked. I wasn’t sure what it was. After I threw up, I sat on my bathroom floor stressed out and confused. My body was literally having an adverse reaction to all of this.

I must have done okay because two days later I got a call from a casting producer and was told I passed Finals Weekend and officially chosen to be on
The Bachelor
. I was sent a gigantic, inch-thick contract and told to sign it and drop it off at the production offices as soon as possible. Instead of being thrilled, I felt a sense of dread. I just couldn’t commit. For the next two weeks, I blew off their frantic calls and e-mails as I agonized whether or not to be on the show. I talked to my sister, who, of course, as a huge fan of
The Bachelor
said to go for it. I talked to my dad, who was really excited and thought it was a great idea. Even my agent, Steve, wasn’t worried about the temporary hiatus from the modeling world. “I don’t think it will help your career, but it won’t hurt it,” he told me. (Foreshadow alert #3!) I scoured Ben’s Twitter looking for signs that he was “the one” and still I couldn’t decide. I made a pro and con list, which included:

Only two people were totally negative about the show. My best guy friend, Matt, didn’t think I should do it. And, not surprisingly, my mom was vehemently against me going on the show. My sister had shown her the Hometown Date episode from Ashley’s season and my mom thought Ben wasn’t my type, and she was leery of his mom, Barbara.

“You don’t need a television show to get dates, Courtney,” she scolded. I think she was still holding out hope for Jesse and me to make it work. “Do you even want to get married? You’re not ready to settle down. It’s not a good idea.”

My mom had a point. I was confused.