Bachelorette
You're All I Overthink About

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The Biorhythm Method

Back downstairs now, Rhymin' begs that the limo driver travel "a little faster," and in the back of the car, he puts an arm around Trista and continues to outline their impending night of passion: "We're taking the phone off the hook and locking the deadbolt. They won't be able to get us out." Entering the suite, Rhymin' and Trista mutter various permutations of "wow," Trista's exclamations underscoring her appreciation of her aesthetic surroundings, Rhymin's a soaring tribute to the fact that he can't believe he's actually about to get laid on national television. The candles are lit, the wine is poured, and Rhymin' lays his hand out on one of the many deco-according-to-Ikea tables, whispering reverently, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world." In interview, he tells us, "I'm not falling in love anymore. I'm submersed in it." And...smacky kissing. Should we be watching this? Because I'm not V.C. Andrews and this recap isn't that book your creepy older cousin or a precocious camp friend or maybe Russ had stuffed between a mattress when you were in grade school, so I can't recap it. I can't write a sentence that begins, "Trista's hand runs down Rhymin's sweater and around his back, fiddling with the..." No. No "fiddling." I'm sorry. This is their private moment, and I'm not invited. Finally, decorum steps in, and the W's "Do Not Disturb" sign swings into view as the cameras pull back and Rhymin' finally gets to use that sentiment that's been building up since so very long ago when the day first became so hard: "Oh, crap, that was fast. I'm so sorry. This almost never happens." It's gottta be time to blow Seattle; it's gotten less hard for Ryan now, and it's Space Needle no more.

Anyone ever been to Sedona? It's gorgeous. It's mystical and old and makes you say words like "vortex" and "energy" and "healing stones" and "is anyone else hungry for something vegetarian stuffed into a whole-grain pita, or is it just me?" without the slightest trace of irony. The mountains are red and the sky is endless and stars are big and bright without it making you feel like you have to clap about it in obnoxious song form. It's spirituality for rich people, and I wouldn't have it any other way. They always know how to serve a dinner in which the color of my wine won't clash with the color of my aura.

And Russ's bracelet, not made out of healing green garnet, has no power here. We arrive in Sedona and hightail it straight to the Enchantment Resort (you can practically hear half of vacationing Hollywood lowering their blinds and muttering, "You're sure there's nothing left to see in Seattle, Fleiss?"), where Russ waits to meet Trista and glances around nervously. Trista, meanwhile, seems mentally to give Russ one more chance, voicing over, "Meeting his family showed me who he can be in a comfortable situation." But? "But I'm not really sure if I know the true Russ and if he shows his true colors when we're together." Russ and Trista hug like estranged siblings, exchanging chatter of the "good to see you" variety, each doing justice to his or her increasingly familiar stage direction of "insincerely" or "about to get humiliatingly ditched-edly." Trista needs to find out "whether or not the connection [she] feel[s] with Russ comes from true gut feeling." Or whether those selfsame "guts" to which she refers are the ones she "puked up" after one too many shots of Rocket Fuel. Damn!

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