Ryan M. is thirty and he's from Santa Barbara. He hopes for a "fairy-tale ending." Well then, what's he doing wearing a shrimp-colored shirt?
Ian is Jerry Bruckheimer, who has come on this show incognito in hopes of stealing trade secrets from Mike Fleiss. For some reason, Meredith spontaneously sees fit to fix his tie. If only she'd thought instead to fix Skin.
And we're done. La la lee lee loo.
Getting to knoooooooooow yoooooooooooou. Getting to know all aboooooooooooout yooooooooou. Getting to liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike yoooooooooooooou. Getting to hope you never wear a shrimp shirt again in public. Okay. We've been together a long time, right? So I can speak plainly without fear of reprisal, okay? Awesome. Here we go: I literally hate this part of the show. I hate it. It's this aimless milling about, people bumping into each other, talking over each other, wandering. Twenty-six strangers not making eye contact. This segment could be acted out by cows to exactly the same effect. What I think should happen HERE is that, immediately upon her entrance into the big-ass ballroom, the guys should line up and Meredith should have to axe five of them on sight alone. And you know she could. Any of us could. In a group of twenty-five, there are going to be five people you're going to look at right away and think, "No way. Never. Nice shrimp shirt, dick." The last limo that dropped off the last guy should stay in the driveway, and five guys should have to get back in it immediately. Then they each get confessionals. We feel the drama of the axe dropping early. And...back to the party, which now takes place over the course of two minutes. Thoughts?
But here it is. So here we go.
Guys ramble. They call Meredith "beautiful." She makes Tchaikovsky feel "weak in the knees." Marcus likes how she carries herself, calling her "classy" and "timeless." Two of the guys from San Francisco tell Meredith not to get "the wrong idea," adding, "We like each other, but...." How weird that I never thought to use "casual homophobia" as a conversational tip for success on the first date. Maybe that's why all my dates are so shitty. In either case, shut up, faggots.
But of all the square heads on display, Matthew's is by far the squarest. He tells us that he felt "something there" when they talked, and one-on-one time is forthwith seen as "an advantage." Wow. Bruckheimer steals Meredith away, and they talk about how he's "the outdoorsy type." Oh. Maybe he's actually Richard Branson.