I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (29 page)

The
Bachelor Pad
franchise has been a breeding ground for cross-pollination as well. At least two of my cast mates have dated Polish pretty boy Chris Bukowski (Emily Maynard’s season). Rachel dated a Stagliano and Jaclyn dated Ed Swiderski. Lindzi dated her
Bachelor Pad 3
costar Kalon McMahon (also from Emily’s season), but that went down in flames, too.

As we all know too well, being on
The Bachelor
and/or
Bachelor Pad
doesn’t guarantee everlasting love. Several of the women who were on my season are still single: last I heard Jaclyn, Lindzi, and Jenna were still on the prowl. It’s a lot different for the guys though. They have women coming out of their ears after being on the show. They get stalkers and marriage proposals, and their mailboxes overflow with X-rated e-mails and tweets. One guy I know even got a request to strip at a bachelorette party.

There is sort of an unspoken rule in Bachelor Nation that we don’t bad-mouth each other and keep it in the family. Which is why it was so nasty when Trista Sutter trashed me on Twitter and Ben’s best friend Constantine Tzortzis wrote, “Never respect a girl who takes her clothes off” on his blog. And yet, in April, Ben dragged me to Atlanta to visit Constantine, which was really uncomfortable. We slept in his basement next to their other BFF from their season, bartender Mickey McLean. That was one of my biggest concerns about Ben. It seemed like we were never alone.

By the time Easter rolled around, the honeymoon period was long gone and there were more serious problems. Before, my main concern had been the tabloids judging me, but now, I often felt like Ben was the one cutting me down. It was so blatant that I asked him if he’d studied a book called
The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists
, in which a guy insults, or “negs,” a woman to make her more vulnerable. Ben almost never complimented me and anytime I said I wanted to do something out of the norm, he’d poo-poo it and give me five reasons why I couldn’t. I told him I wanted to do a vegan cookbook and he laughed. I told him I wanted to write a memoir and he said, “Don’t you think you’re a little young to write a memoir? They’ll never let
you
write a book.”

Ben also didn’t respect my modeling career, which was hanging by a thread after the show. He didn’t understand that part of my job is to take care of my appearance, which meant going to the gym, getting a facial, or getting my nails done. When we’d be apart, he’d call me and ask, “What are you doing today?” When I told him, he rarely liked the answer. He seemed annoyed and resentful. “Why don’t you do something dynamic? Why don’t you paint? Why don’t you go to a museum?”

He’d also quiz me about my financial situation, which was not great at this point. “I thought I fell in love with a successful model and I’d get to travel with you,” he complained once. I needed him to be understanding of my situation and support, not criticize, me. I was still living off the Ketel One residual and building up a little bit of credit card debt. But I wasn’t too worried yet. I knew if I booked one good job, I could pay it off completely. “You’re too young to have credit card debt,” he’d lecture. “We need to talk about your spending.”

My spending? How about his spending? While the show had only given me a small amount after the finale to cover some bills, Ben made much more. He’d also made more than $1 million from an online marketing company he sold when he was younger, but he’d blown a lot of the money living large and traveling all over Europe. So, it’s not like he was as fiscally prudent as Suze Orman or something. He always bought himself nice things, especially cars. He’d recently won $5,000 gambling in Vegas and used it to buy himself a used Jeep Cherokee, even though he already had a new BMW and would buy another vintage BMW during our relationship.

I was also having money issues because I was constantly paying to fly up to San Francisco. That was the only way I’d get to see Ben. He hadn’t once made a special trip to L.A. to stay with me, and he had not yet offered to pay for even one of my plane tickets to see him.

I almost always went to him. For Easter, Ben threw a big party for about twelve of his friends on a ranch/winery near Solvang, California. Because that’s what people do on Easter. They party really hard.

As usual, Ben spent more time hanging out with his friends by the grill than by my side. At one point, he blasted a rap song he had made between the
Bachelorette
and the
Bachelor
seasons. Apparently he was so horny because he wasn’t allowed to hook up with anyone that he channeled his sexual energy into a vulgar song (and video) called “Cream Dreams.” Yes, it’s about exactly what you think it is. He obviously was trying to emulate Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake’s “Dick in a Box,” but Ben’s song wasn’t clever, brilliant, or even funny really.

You can Google it, but if you don’t want your ears or eyes to bleed, just picture Ben naked in a bed with lotion and a box of Kleenex, singing:

Well, if you just let me fuck you right

I can be your cream dream every night

My dick can fulfill your bedtime fantasies.

It really turned me off, but I just put on a happy face whenever he played it because he was so proud of it.

You may be asking why I was still with Ben. It’s hard to explain. On one hand, I did really love him. We had that unexplainable connection and I wanted to get married. On the other hand, I kept learning new things about him that I really didn’t like.

KEEPING IT REAL

Confessions of a Villain

by Michelle Money

While filming the show, I was absolutely true to myself. I am a confident woman. I am sarcastic. I am not easily offended. I have no problem making friends with girls. I am not dramatic. I don’t take life too seriously. I know who I am, which is the furthest thing from a villain.

I decided to go on
Bachelor Pad 2
to show America the real me. It was a huge risk, but in the end, my dad, who was battling the later stages of colon cancer, convinced me to do it. And it was the best thing I could have done.

Graham Bunn was my partner from the start. He still is to this day. He saved me. He helped America look at me with different eyes. While the show was airing, my sweet father passed away from cancer. It was Graham who came to my side through all the heartache. He and his company helped me raise money and awareness for colon cancer. He taught me how important it is to give back and do good in this world. I’ve now raised $200,000 for the Chris4Life Colon Cancer Foundation. I look at being a villain as a huge blessing to me now. Do I wish I could have been remembered in a different way? Yes. But I am happy people remember me. It gives me an opportunity to talk about much more important things then reality TV! And people listen. And since I have your attention, please remember to get your colonoscopy by the age of fifty, if not sooner. It can save your life!

In mid-April, we took a trip to the East Coast together to see Ben’s friend, who played for the Boston Red Sox, and to see his grandma, who was very sweet and lived in Connecticut. We also went to NYC to attend the launch party for Mark Zunino’s wedding gown collection for Kleinfeld Bridal. Ben was rude to the organizer, who was my friend, and barely said thank you when he was given a custom suit. He was so used to getting free stuff by now that he didn’t think anything of being handed something so extravagant.

We had dinner alone at Benjamin Steakhouse in Grand Central Terminal but the sparks weren’t flying. We had very little to say to each other, other than recapping the trip or talking about the food. Kris Humphries, who had just broken up with wife Kim Kardashian after seventy-two days of marriage, was at a nearby table and I remember feeling a kinship with him for some odd reason. Maybe it was because we were both in made-for-TV relationships and both got the raw end of the deal.

Making matters worse, Ben sprung it on me that he’d arranged a double date with Ashley and her fiancé, J. P. Rosenbaum, who lived in New Jersey, on our last night of vacation. I was so disappointed. The mush in me wanted to explore New York City alone with Ben like in a romantic comedy: a walk through Central Park, maybe he’d spring for a carriage ride, kissing at the top of the Empire State Building. Instead, Ben spent our last morning in the hotel lobby on his laptop and we spent our afternoon at French Connection so he could buy a pair of socks.

So when I heard about J. P. and Ashley taking over our final evening, I snapped. “I think it’s weird that you want to hang out with them,” I told Ben.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m good friends with J. P.!” he snapped back.

“Well, it’s weird for me,” I said.

Clearly, I had no say in the matter. That night we met the couple for cocktails at Mulberry Project on the Lower East Side. Ashley, like the last time I met her, was still a miniature bubbly Energizer Bunny. She was very handsy and playful with J. P. and kept slapping him in the face with a french fry and pinching his cheeks. His eyes would twinkle and he’d just smile that Cheshire Cat grin that could melt butter.

Not to be outdone, Ben was very handsy with me and I felt like we were in the middle of a cute-couple competition. I really did not want to be there and I was grateful we were only having one drink with them before they left to go to another dinner. But then Ben invited them to our next spot, my favorite restaurant, Freemans. Ugh.
Fine
.

Once we all got to Freemans, Ben had another surprise for me. He’d also invited his manager, a college friend, and his cousin to dinner. Everyone ordered a ton of food and Ben, acting as sommelier, made a production of choosing an expensive bottle of wine. “Babe, this is sexy,” Ashley said to J. P. “I wish you knew more about wine.” I thought it was a little inappropriate, but J. P. just laughed it off. They left after a glass.

When the check came, after rounds of drinks, appetizers, and entrées, Ben looked at me and mouthed, “Should we split this?” I was so pissed off. These were his friends and he had the gall to make me foot half the bill, which was more than $800! I was already annoyed that he’d let me pick up the tab for the hotel. I didn’t want to make a scene in the restaurant in front of his friends, so I tossed my card down.

After dinner, we went dancing at a club with Ben’s entourage. Ben ignored me all night and kept disappearing into the crowd. He was wasted and as we walked back to our hotel, he got the munchies. We ordered pizza and meatballs from one of my favorite late-night spots, and sat on a nearby stoop to wait for our food.

“You look so sexy,” he slurred. “I love that you know your way around this city.” Finally, Ben had complimented me. But he was drunk and it was too little, too late for damage control. I couldn’t wait to be away from him.

At the end of the trip I went to the airport alone, which was fine by me because we were recognized more when we were together. Sometimes when
Bachelor
viewers spotted us they’d follow us. Ben hated this side effect from being on the show and often told me, “Pick up the pace,” so we could lose curious fans. We couldn’t avoid everyone though. Every time we were asked to take a picture with fans, Ben would clam up and leave it to me to chat with them and be friendly. I never minded taking pictures. I appreciated anyone who supported us, and I knew it wouldn’t last forever.

I once even took a picture with an emergency room doctor when I went to the hospital for a painful UTI. “We’re not allowed to ask patients for pictures,” he said. “But …” I took the darn photo, even though I looked and felt like shit. You know who the guy turned out to be? Dr. Larry Burchett,
Bachelor
superfan and future cast member on Desiree Hartsock’s season. He was cut in the first episode.

KEEPING IT REAL

Tales from Bachelor Nation

by Chris Bukowski

My craziest encounter with a fan happened on a flight from L.A. to Chicago. When the plane landed, the flight attendant announced over the PA that someone on the plane had a big announcement. I was at the back of the plane, anxiously waiting to get off. A girl, who was in tears, got on the PA and asked me to marry her. She said she was in love with me since I walked out of the limo. Everyone was staring at me so I said yes jokingly. The whole cabin was applauding and then it got dead silent. The girl got back on the PA and asked if she could have my babies and if we could start right now.

When I finally met her in the terminal, she literally got down on one knee and proposed to me again. She got up, grasped my arm, and wouldn’t let go. Her mom finally got her off me, and then told me it was her sixteenth birthday. Ever since then I will no longer sit in the back of the plane.”

The only time I ever had to say no to a photo op was during an event in Las Vegas. Ben and I were hosting two parties: one at Pure in Caesars Palace and one at Wet Republic at the MGM Grand, for $10,000 each. When we arrived at Caesars Palace, Ben sprinted ahead through the lobby when he saw we were being trailed, leaving me behind to deal with the eager fan.

“I’m so sorry. We’re in a hurry,” I said.

“How rude!” she sniffed.

When I caught up to Ben, I told him I felt really bad about leaving the fan in our dust. “I think we should go back,” I pleaded.

“Oh, whatever!” he said dismissively.

Ben invited two of his friends to tag along for the weekend and they had one of those adjoining rooms where they could walk through a door into our room. And they did. Frequently. Casey Shteamer was in town for a bachelorette party and joined in as well. Used to being surrounded by Ben’s entourage, I was so happy to have one of my friends around to hang out with. During the day, we took over a private pool at Wet Republic that overlooked the whole club. We had such a blast splashing around, taking pictures and drinking cocktails together.