This really blows. No, I do not accept this rose.

I've always been fascinated by "The Bachelor" as social commentary. Who are these women who are dating the same man as 24 other beautiful girls, when not given a rose after a 30-second encounter, cry on camera in utter shock? Really? There were 24 other hot chicks and you thought your split-second meeting was meaningful? That's why so many of them make really poor first impressions. They're so afraid Andy/Aaron/Alan/Alex won't remember them come thorn time, they get drunk/talk about feet/boil a rabbit and get shut in the limo, their dreams of falling in love while the world watches dashed.

Granted, that show flies in the face of feminism. What self-respecting woman would subject herself to that cattle call? Most of us get rejected enough on our own when the men in our lives are only dating one or two other people. And then you're pretty much alone in your rejection. Ocassionally there's a waiter who witnesses your shame, but he'll usually avert his eyes and pretend not to notice that the boy can't wait to get out of there and on to his next victim. I don't think I want to be the girl less attractive than 20 other women while my grandmother and first grade teacher watch. With popcorn. Humiliation: film at 11.

My 84-year-old grandmother is obsessed with the show. She and her spry 82-year-old sister watch it faithfully, then call early the next day to discuss the rose ceremony. A few months ago, before the last couple got engaged and subsequently broke up, she was discussing the show with me. (Sidenote: three years ago I met Andy Baldwin at Pearl Harbor, found out Tessa was going to win, and told her before the finale. Now she thinks I've got Bachelor clairvoyancy.)

She says to me, "You think it's terrible that I watch that, don't you?" I responded that while I watched trashier shows than that (read The Hills), I just don't get the Bachelor appeal. Further, I said, "I'm surprised you like that show. Doesn't it bother you that he's sleeping with all of those women at the same time?"

"Not all of 'em," she replied. "Just three."

People, how desensitized has this show made us that my Baptist church preacher's wife grandmother thinks that three concurrent intimate relationships is appropriate? The sky is falling, chicken little.

The reason for this rant is because I've been thinking today about the value of the one-on-one date versus the group date on that show. One-on-one time is better, right?

So why am I so bummed to find out that LB can't come to my birthday party next week? Sure, I get that it's a mandatory work thing and I get that he feels really, really bad about it, but it makes me sad. Consolation is that I get a private dinner instead, but it somehow seems tainted now. Rather than dinner and dancing on a Friday night with all of our friends, I get Tuesday night after work. But at least I'll still be 36 for that outing.

This never happened when I was dating mechanics.

I told him that next time I'd try to be born on a more convenient day for him. Then I let him off the hook. This had better be the most dramatic Tuesday ever, Chris Harrison.

An officer and a cheeseball

My pal Susan tagged me in her blog to post a pic, so here you go. I was supposed to open up a photo file and upload the fourth pic in there, and this was it. So here's a pic of me and Andy Baldwin at Pearl Harbor. He was pretty.

He gave her a rose, she gave him a fat lip

Evidently bass fishing doesn't keep you from getting beat up by your girlfriend. And to think, they're one of "The Bachelor" success stories...

Scrub the Floors, Cindarelly

I've been cleaning the ol' casa for three and a half hours. I just don't understand how I accumulated so much filth. I live alone. I'm reasonably neat. How is my place so messy? I vacuumed up five pounds of hair... part of it mine, part of it the cat's. Granted, hair loss runs in the family, but unlike my dad and my brother, mine seems to grow back.

Now I'm watching Barely Manenough sing "Mandy" on "Dancing with the Stars." That's actually a good song. Barely looks like he's had almost as much work as Wayne Newton.

And allegedly Sabrina Bryan's departure on "Dancing" is the biggest shock ever (kinda like "the most dramatic rose ceremony ever" every week on "The Bachelor.") I for one am happy not to have to hear anymore adjectives like "cheetalicious."

I'm excited about tomorrow 'cause I'm meeting my friends Joe and Estella in Little Rock for dinner at PF Chang's then shopping at Williams Sonoma and the Fresh Market (my two favorite stores). I'm also hoping that the kids from the child center eat all of the Halloween candy I've been stuffing my face with at the office when they trick-or-treat in the morning.

Wow. I just realized how very random this whole entry is. Sorry... I'm exhausted from the hair extraction.

So, what's everyone going to be for Halloween? Hope's going as her favorite movie character, "Cindawewa."

Ride 'em, Cowboys!

I was on my third cup of coffee before 8 a.m. this morning. Why? Because I was woken up not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES last night, and I'm very sleepy.

After a nice dinner at Mike's last night to commemorate my boss' last week, I headed home to settle in for a good, old fashioned butt whoopin' of the Bills. Um, that didn't happen.

Romo threw four INTs before half (two of which were ran back for TDs), and the undefeated Cowboys appeared to be caught looking ahead to next week's showdown with the Pats. So when the Bills went ahead 24-14, I gave up and went to sleep.

My pal Ryan called at 11 p.m. to talk some smack about the "Cowgirls" (his term). His glee was short-lived as the impossible happened... on-side kick and not one but TWO 50+ yard field goals made to win the game for America's team.

One of the bloggers on si.com called it the "greatest regular season game I've ever seen." I don't know about that. Exciting? Yes. The sloppiest game that the winning team didn't deserve to claim? Perhaps. The #1 play on SportsCenter's top 10? Absolutely. But the best game ever? Doubtful. The best game would infer that someone deserved to win. Last night's game was a showcase of who wanted to give away the game more... the Cowboys who had six turnovers, or the Bills, who only had three offensive points.

We'll take the "W." And deserved or not, the 'Boys are 5-0 for the first time in over two decades.

So I finally got back to sleep after midnight. The cat woke me up for attention (and subsequently being thrown off the bed) at 3 a.m., at which time I reset my alarm for 7 a.m. My dad called at 6:35 a.m. to talk about the game.

See, I do dearly love my Cowboys, but let's talk about it when I'm awake, okay?

And for those of you waiting for my "Bachelor" reviews, my apologies. Monday night's when my testosterone leaks out and I trade giggling girls for bumbling commentators. Sorry, Emmitt. Perhaps you should stick to the paso doble.