Florida Chick's Poison

So, here is my confession...

I cannot stop watching Bret Michaels' Rock of Love on VHI.
I know, this confession is probably less exciting than if I were to tell you that I were growing pot in the basement or something equally oh, I don't know...illegal? But seriously, if you grew up like me, listening to Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant, you will understand my complete fascination with this amazing subculture of women who feel the need to flaunt the fact that they have chosen stripping as their career in order to attract the likes of a severely needy rocker who is obviously in need of a reality show to boost any sort of music he may want to write in the future (yes, I know that was a very long sentence).

Let me start from the beginning for those of you unfamiliar with "Rock of Love." You first need to know that Bret Michaels is (or was) the lead singer of Poison - you know, big hair band, eyeliner, drugs, etc. It is quite possible that some of you may not have been able to listen to Poison because again, like me, your parents probably thought that they were Satan worshippers (although c'mon, Every Rose Has its Thorn? One of the best rock ballads of all time - I danced to it with my 7th grade boyfriend in Kevin Crandall's basement - yes!!) Apparently Bret, who is on the road a lot and loves to party, has had a difficult time finding that one special woman to call his own. Now seriously, is this a surprise? You're in concert every night, women are throwing their underwear at you, you have an unlimited supply of vodka and whiskey and through the haze of marijuana that you have been smoking all night you can't find the woman that you want to spend the rest of your life with? Shocking.

So anyway, Bret has decided to follow in the very classy shoes of Flavor Flav (who I am proud to say, I never watched) and decided to star in a reality show similar to The Bachelor - except that he has added to the Bachelorette house an unlimited supply of vodka and beer and I'm not positive, but it seems like one of the requirements just might be that the women are required to dance around in their underwear at least once a day. So far, there have been a lot of tears over the fact that Bret has made out with all of the girls at one point or another leaving someone with hurt feelings, and there is a lot of cattiness over who has real breasts and who has fake as well as whether or not being a stripper makes you a "ho." Hmmm...good questions.

OK, so I'm making fun, but there is something completely addicting about watching tacky drunk girls cry because Bret slipped someone else the tongue and they only got a peck. Maybe, I like watching because afterward I feel so much better about myself knowing that I would never be caught dead trying to get Bret Michaels into bed - especially on TV. And then again, maybe I just like it because it makes me laugh and gives me something to watch that I don't have to think too hard about...I don't have to call in my vote or become emotionally attached to one of the contestants and then become heartbroken when they are voted off (think Daughtry or Melinda Doolittle). So OK, I confess, it's tacky, it's tasteless, it's just plain wrong...but I love to watch it - and next Sunday night, when there is another episode and two more girls go home, completely shocked that they haven't made a connection even though they've spent countless hours in a liplock with a hopeless badboy, I'll cuddle up with Chris and feel a little better about myself knowing that at least I didn't have to throw my underwear on stage to get my husband to marry me. Until next time...

Lots of Love from the Florida Chick