Previously on The Bachelorette: Nearly four full minutes of previouslys that show all four episodes, in their entirety, in rapid succession. Actually, sort of not really that. Instead, something else. What's another word for "not that rapid"?
Space Needle! Space Needle from the ground! Space Needle from space! Space Needle in repose! Bride of Space Needle! Space Needle Goes to Monte Carlo! As the French would say...Le Needle Du Space! Such are the establishing shots of (what's this town called again? Space Needlesville?) Seattle, where we find ourselves at the beginning of this week's episode. As we take a final helicopter panorama around the (natch) Space Needle, you can just barely make out the Seattle city legislature angrily meeting to protest this garish misuse of their Reality Show Product-Placement Budget, scribing a strongly worded letter to Mike Fleiss which includes the statement, "There are many other fine buildings in our fair city that you may see fit to capture on film as well. The Space Needle Museum, for example." They're called establishing shots. We're established. Move on.
A small aircraft of some kind heads straight toward the waters of Space Needle Harbor (look out, plane! Oh, wait, Trista's in there? Then steady on into the sea, boys!), and we cut inside said craft to find Trista "Ms." Rehn "If You're Nasty" telling us, "Today I am flying to Seattle to meet up with Ryan." Meanwhile, back down on earth, Rhymin' stands on a dock wearing a gray shirt, a blue long-sleeved shirt underneath it, a pair of khakis, sunglasses, and his heart on his sleeve. The plane hits the water and pulls up to The Space Needle Heliport, Trista continuing in a voice-over, "I was really excited to see him waiting for me on the dock. The butterflies started brewing in my belly." When she says this, Trista once again employs the onerous use of baby talk at its most annoying. Seriously. I rate its sheer annoyance level at four pacifiers out if a possible four. As she steps off the float plane and into Rhymin's arms, his interview admits, "Trista is such an amazing girl to me, and I would like nothing more in the world than to be able to somehow steal her away and not tell anyone where we're going." Rhymin's lack of command over the English language really does leave him with an inadvertent flair for the dramatic, doesn't it? And when you meet a girl who doesn't insist on being followed around by an entourage of video cameras to capture and legitimize her every movement, utterance, and tear (because you don't even know how hard this process has been for her, y'all), that's actually a luxury you get to exercise whenever you want.
After taking a moment to muse on the beauty of the weather (partly cloudy) and the general goofiness of Rhymin's happiness to see her (partly clod-y), we cut to a water taxi motoring down The Space Needle Causeway and up to the front door of a brightly colored house right on the water. It's all pale blue with giant windows and a big outdoor deck, but it maintains that funky look of the houses that sit on the Venice canals in L.A. that their owners bought twenty years ago for seven bucks, way back before gentrification was invented. On their way in, Trista lapses back into her Miami Heat days, noting loudly and with jarring cheerleader relish, "Look at the hot tub!" in much the same way she might once have implored large, sports-going audiences, "Gimme an 'M!' Gimme an 'I!' Dude, just don't give me some loser with no money or a small place, 'cause I mean look at this hot tub!" Inside, they continue to admire the décor, as Rhymin' notes in a interview, "Hopefully, the natural course of events will lead to a progression in the romantic mood of the evening." If you mean, "near things and people that indicate a certain great level of cash" as the kind of thing that helps at least one of you get into that "romantic mood," I think you're well on your way.
Outside on the deck now, Trista inexplicably -- almost incredulously -- asks, "Do you want to eat now?" as if a really aggressive waiter is suddenly her Billy-Madison's-penguin kind of hallucination and he keeps following her around Seattle, repeatedly trying to sell her on tonight's specials. Geez. You don't want to eat, don't eat. It looks like it's been a while, anyway. As an alternative to this odious prospect, Trista Baby hurries down the chimney tonight and instead suggests, "Do you wanna get in the hot tub?" Rhymin' saw this kind of thing happen in a movie once (actually, he's too pure of heart ever to have seen that kind of movie; clearly, Rhymin' has merely had this movie described to him by a creepy older cousin or a precocious camp friend or maybe Russ) and responds with a subtext-free, "Uh, sure." Trista uses his sincerity as a weapon, setting phasers on "mock ruthlessly," as she imitates his eagerness with a mimicking, "Er, hmmm, let me think about that." Jerk. "Whatever," Rhymin' thinks as he follows her into the house. "She's kind of a bitch, but I still get to see her naughty bits." Or so his creepy older cousin or a precocious camp friend or maybe Russ has taught him to think.
Good god, woman, I thought y'all were going to get in the hot tub. Cut to Trista fully submerged in the hot, cleansing water, while Ryan sits on the ledge behind her. He dares to dip one toe in the pool while planting the seeds for the inevitable "I hate you, you bitch" heartbreak poem that will come after his ouster, quietly wondering what rhymes with "this little piggy...is the only thing in the hot tub." Too bad it's going to be so hard for him to grow those seeds when he's not allowed anywhere near the water. And so, Shirtless Ryan -- so far my very, very, very favorite Ryan of all -- speaks through the blue lips of one sitting near naked, outdoors, in the Pacific Northwest, in October, telling Trista, "I hope that you know how I feel about you." Compensating for the loud, water-spraying jets, Trista cranes her neck back to read his lips in an exceedingly I'm-sorry-it's- so-hard-for-me- to-hear-you- over-all-of- your-not-pleasure kind of way, responding, "I do." Too bad that's the last time you'll ever hear her say those words, oh ye silver medallist of her heart. But don't count Ryan out just yet: he's learned a lot more words and he's eager to say them all out loud, in a row! "It's frustrating, 'cause I don't, like, get to talk to you and feel, like, how you're feeling." He adds that "at this last Rose Ceremony," he was "on Cloud Nine," but was disheartened to see that the other guys all came downstairs glowing after their own private conversations with Trista. There's even a gauzy montage of it, each of the guys walking back into The Room With The Rug, looking very smug. When Charlie comes into the room, he even winks at the camera, and a thousand slugs follow in his wake on the trail of slime he seems to leave behind. Ryan wonders, "Shoot. Maybe it's just how she is." Awwww! He said "shoot"! Let him get in there! Look at how cold he is! He could cut glass with those things!
Oh, but what Ryan says is much, much better. Trista sits on the edge of the now-empty hot tub as well (what is the matter with you people?), and as they begin smooching, Rhymin' unironically lets us know, "Seeing Trista in the hot tub, it's actually kind of hard...and sometimes, if we're kissing, or if she kisses me or something, that makes it even harder." Tee hee! Raise your hand if you're five! Last one into the empty hot tub is...the only person in the hot tub! Trista pulls away and cackles nervously as Rhymin' asserts his need for a "cold shower or something" and Trista insincerely agrees, "Yeah, me too." Come to think of it, that "Stock Footage Film Festival" blitz of the Space Needle that kicked off this episode is starting to seem more intuitive than ever.
Nighttime, where we learn from Trista that after their non-wet and non-wild romp near the hot tub, they "got ready and went to dinner at the Space Needle." The wha...oh, never mind. The elevator rises phallic-ly to the top, and Trista looks out in awe at the twinkling lights of The Space Needle Parking Lot, The Space Needle Child Care Facility, The Mall Of The Space Needle, and Montana. Rhymin' and Trista arrive at the top, and we find the restaurant completely empty. I guess the rest of Seattle was just as sneeringly unhungry as Trista was earlier and decided to skip dinner completely, seeing as this eatery (along with the slightly lower Space Needle Sky Lobby Café, for those on a budget) is the only culinary choice for miles. At dinner now, Rhymin' is clearly feeling he has an edge as he waxes about his feelings toward a long engagement (though never imagining he's just a few short days away from discovering that his only applicable couplet to that word is "shmengagement"), musing, "If she picks me and she's really gonna commit to the engagement, well then, let's just go ahead and get married." Oy. In sickness and in haste. And back at the table, he admits to her that the hardest part (heh) of this whole process is not knowing how she feels about him. "And it's still hard," he admits (still? That's gotta be a treatable medical condition, dude. And also, that's gotta make it very difficult for you to walk properly), "because things with you that I hope for and that I want to do with you and situations that I look forward to..." Trista asks him what kinds of things and situations he might be referring to, and he kind of adorably admits, "I just want you to be the person in my life, y'know, that I look forward to coming home to." Man. This could just break your heart. Good thing Trista left hers miles below at The Space Needle Coat Check, as she point-blanks in response, "I just don't know if things are going to change." Rhymin' seems dejected, but perks up again shortly when Trista unearths a sealed envelope from her purse, opening it up and reading aloud, "Hello, Trista and Ryan. Hope you're enjoying your stay in Seattle. If you decide to forgo your individual rooms, you can use this key to stay as a couple in our Fantasy Suite." Rhymin' doesn't even let her get though the initial intake of air necessary for reading the card before tossing his spoon into his doesn't-taste-as-good-as-sex ice cream and announcing, "Check, please." See, and he's being very cute, I will admit, but it can be a slight turn-off when you're totally eager and maybe a little oblivious to the fact that the other person isn't nearly into this whole "being with you" thing as you may think she is. I'm starting to see that maybe Rhymin' didn't need any time in the hot tub after all, so wet was he spending his entire date until this point taking a long, soaking swim in Lake Needy.
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!
And they're airborne again, once more wearing those giant we-are-the-world- we-are-the-children headphones and the mouth-inhibiting microphones that insure Russ won't be doing anything I wouldn't do. A few aerial shots of Sedona later, the doomed Russ and Trista are high on a cliff (my map of town says this one is called "The Futility Vortex") with a brunette woman (Shannon, will you stop at NOTHING?) who tells them, "What we're going to be doing today is aura photography." Snerk. Would that Rhymin's poetic prowess were available to find a way to elegantly link the words "hippie" and "dippy." The woman (for she is never given a name) asks Russ and Trista is they've ever heard of it, and Russ mutters something of either a "yes" or "no," but all other sound in the universe is spontaneously drowned out by Trista's twenty-minute, fourteen-syllable No Symphony. Like a three year-old. She explains, "It's energy. We're going to be picking up your energy field using biofeedback." Mmmm...jargony. "What I'm gonna be able to tell you is what you're going to do in this lifetime." Besides break up imminently? "Also, we'll talk about you as a couple." Yeah, well. See above. And so Trista sits down in a nearby chair and places her hands on small boxes set up on side-tables. Dora Of The Aura (fine, smartie...you come up with a better one, then) stands behind one of those big ol' I'm-gonna-shoot- me-the-first-ever- photograph-of-a- president-see-and- then-we'll-all- skidoo-on-down- to-the-moving- picture-show-see camera, pulls a cord, and tells Russ it's his turn. Lather, rinse, repeat with Russ. That must be some strong camera, to capture the aura of one who lacks even a reflection.
Oops! Instead of developing their aura photographs, Dora Of The Aura has accidentally returned with a set of blurry Georgia O'Keefe prints from the art history class she's taking down at Sedona Community College. She'll have to compromise with authoritative lies. First, looking at Trista's colorfully vaginal palette, we learn, "Gold is the intellect of the mind." That is so true, y'all. Trista has "a lot of boundaries around you" and she's "afraid to be vulnerable." From Russ's literally identical picture, we learn that he likes "freedom and autonomy," and that he's a bit more of a risk-taker in relationships, which Dora Of The Aura notes could be a "positive attribute" in a relationship with Trista. This information is apparently biorhythmic carte blanche for Russ to grope awkwardly at Trista's upper thigh. Gack. Raise your hand if you think Russ has egregiously misjudged the actual meaning of "ley line." In a whispery interview (the mountains are sleeeeeping), Russ tells us, "I wouldn't be surprised if I was [sic] the last guy with Trista." Totally.
Dinner. Russ and Trista patronize the finest eatery in Sedona and Russ patronizes his soon-to-be-ex-fake-girlfriend right from the toast, "Here's to you taking down your wall and me telling you why I'm one of the last three guys here." Complicit in this charade for now, Trista clinks his glass rather than smashing it against the table and brandishing the shards of the stem as a murder weapon, as I might have done if anyone dared to use information gleaned from a "What color is your aura?" Cosmo quiz against me, as he seems to be doing to her now. Still, she's not the most pleased: "Let's hear it." Russ blabbers on about their "connection," but notes an "issue" in the fact that she hasn't "opened up fully," and Trista correctly notes, "You're just listening to what the reading was about today." Fight FIGHT! Trista defends herself that she is "open to developing a relationship with anyone," and that she would not be on the show if that weren't the case. She all but mocks Dora Of The Aura's inherent quackitude, noting, "We were told that my walls were up and all these things," adding, "Were my walls up when I kissed you? No." Well, granted, but I think there's a physiological equation that doesn't allow for someone to have her walls up and her drunk on at the exact same time. Russ says that they didn't even touch each other all day today, and Trista pretends that this relationship isn't taking place entirely on Planet Sham, defending herself, "Yeah, but it's our third date." Russ flounders, "But it could be our last date." Could be. Trista brings up Vegas again, reminding him that she's not a fan of aggression, and he interrupts her, like, nine times in her attempt to, I think, communicate that, as she goes about her life's activities, "I won't be pulled away because that's what you want, when you want it, and you want at that moment." Trista takes a moment to fix her hair in her reflection on Russ's shiny, shiny forehead, pretending to listen as she yields the rest of her time to the senator from RoseFree Park. He tells her, "If you honestly think that and think that that's a possibility, we should honestly call this a night right now." Trista starts, "If you're upset..." totally using that circular if-you-don't-know- why-I'm-mad- well-then- that's-why-I'm-mad voodoo logic on him, but Russ is cool: "I'm not upset at all! I'm not upset at all!" Which is why he's still sitting, unsweatily, making absolute sense, not looking like he's going to leap off his chair and burst through the wall of the restaurant, leaving an exact, Bugs-Bunny-esque print of himself where he broke through. Except, the opposite of all that.
The thing he does that I hate is to use her name -- "You obviously don't know me, Trista" -- as a means of fostering intimacy or familiarity between them. The thing he does that I hate is to tell her, "I'm the most genuine, caring person," because clearly the best way to prove to someone that you are genuine and caring is to explicitly state it. As if his merely saying, "I do not have greasy, combination skin" will deter the team of Bush administration officials from abandoning their efforts in the Arctic to instead investigate new sources of oil by drilling on the seemingly plentiful reserves of Russ's face. Just saying it does not make it so. Most pathetically, Russ keeps on: "I still think that you and I should be together." Well then, maybe he should get together with the card in Trista's purse, because it's only entity within a thousand miles optimistic enough to think this is a good idea: "Hello, Trista and Russ. Hope you're enjoying your stay in Sedona. If you decide to forgo your individual rooms, you can use this key to stay as a couple in our Fantasy Suite." Russ tells her that there's "no doubt" that he doesn't want this to end, and we cut to the two of them walking reeeeeally quickly to the suite, Trista walking in first and commenting, "It's like a little house!" A little house...of lies?
And a cut to later, Trista lying in bed fully clothed, Russ taking her rigid arm and commenting, "This is what I wanted most, which was to kick it with you like this and relax, and just hang out." Trista looks away: "So we're doing it." Awkward awkward awkward. I secretly kind of love it. In a interview, Trista is wearing her Smart Glasses, noting that if this is the beginning of the relationship, she can't imagine "what kind of blowout, knock-down fights" they have in store. But he's a caring person! And genuine about it! Or were you not listening? Back in the suite, Trista tells him that she's "not ready" for this, and as they hug like estranged siblings, Trista asks, "Are you mad?" He isn't. Until he watched tonight's episode. As if he has the slightest bit of autonomy in any of this, Russ notes in a final interview, "I don't know what will happen at the Rose Ceremony. I don't know what'll happen. If she offers one or if I choose to accept one in the event that she does. I don't know what will happen." Well, stay tuned. For the Most! Shocking! Rose! Ceremony! This! Week!
They'll get there fast and then they'll take it slow as we cut abruptly to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Now we're on vacation, people. Up walks Charlie in a black tank top and...are those jams? The year is 1987 and the Ocean is Pacific. Trista tells us how excited she was to see him, that he "looked great, he always does." She describes further butterflies, and we cut to a interview in which...oh, no! Sideshow Bob has snuck into Mexico to kill Bart and take Trista for his own. ["At least now we know why he wears so damn much gel all the time." -- Wing Chun] Anyway, Sideshow Charlie tells us, "It was definitely good to see her." In their cabana now, Trista and Charlie have a heart-to-heart lie about his family having "such a good time" meeting her, and he thought it was "amazing" how well she fit in, basing his opinions on "some of the comments that they made." Was it "type-A" or "high-maintenance" that did it? Trista tells us that they -- no, really -- "connect on a conversational level, and I really like that about him." Like it's never dawned on her before that that might be important. Charlie apologizes for the "cliché question," asking Trista what she looks for in a guy. She turns it around on him, asking how Charlie sees each of the guys as being different. Charlie takes this opportunity to malign the kicked-while-he's-down Russ, noting, "I don't think Russ is a bad person by any means," but he doubts that his sincerity is...well, "100% sincere." Trista worries in a interview that "thinking about me with other guys on other dates is kind of getting [Charlie] overthinking things." I think we've plumbed the depths of Charlie's intellect, and I can pretty much respond in no uncertain terms that "overthinking" isn't too deep in his liabilities column. Similarly, Charlie and Trista walk on the beach holding hands, Charlie stating, "I always wonder what's going on in that head of yours." I've always envisioned it something like gerbils on wheels, running, running, running forever, while some quiet yet pervasive circus sideshow music plays somewhere. But that's just me. Anyway, beach-y smooching.
History will erase the fact that it did almost go horribly wrong for Trista and Charlie. We're out on a boat now, Trista wrapped in sweatshirt and sitting in Charlie's lap. He notes, "I feel like you're a hard one to read sometimes." Just sound it out, Charlie. Sound it out. Don't hesitate to use your context cues. You'll get this reading thing down in no time. Here. Try another SRA. She responds self-seriously, "People tell me that." His hair blows even more psychotically ("It's German! It means, 'The Trista, The'") as he gaffes, "I almost feel like I'm more distant now than I did when I came here." Vamp vamp vamp. What he means is, "I'm not as sure you're as comfortable around me." She assures him, "I totally am," as he digs for what her thoughts are on the other guys, which she declines to mention. "I mean, if I'm thinking too much into it, just tell me," he says. She tells him he is, and tells him to "stop analyzing all the time." They are the only people on the planet defining themselves as "too smart for their own good," wouldn't you say?
Dinner. Again. Snore. Tonight, we're eating in a tent by the water, Trista describing Charlie as "somebody who can light me up like a Christmas tree." Ew. And "somebody I can definitely see spending the rest of my life with." Talk turns to what will happen if Charlie is "the last man standing," Trista asking, "Do you see no ring? Do you see a ring? Do you just see a commitment?" Charlie tells her, "I would make that commitment to you, to be exclusive with you, and to just grow together and grow the relationship." So, no ring. Despite that, Trista's voice-over tells us, "I think we're on the same page." The page with Spot where he's running, Spot, run? You guys keep at it. You'll have this reading thing down in no time flat.
Purse. Card. Reading. "Hello, Trista and Charlie. Hope you're enjoying your stay in Cabo San Lucas. If you decide to forgo your individual rooms, you can use this key to stay as a couple in our Fantasy Suite." Charlie hems that "it's going to have to be on what your comfort level is," and Trista tells him that she pretty much thinks she'll be comfortable, adding, "It's all good."
Charlie? Charlie Trista lets into the hot tub. As the two of them sit in there together, they get started on some pearl-clutching pillow talk you'll have to send the kids to bed for: "My mom was English." Youch! Is it hot in here or is it just...zzzzzzzz. Charlie tells her that his middle name -- Coburn -- is his mother's maiden name. "Coburn," he drones again. "Charles Coburn." Ha cha cha! Chick-a-wha-wha! Gitchee gitchee ya ya here! This is foreplay like a recitation of British sports scores is foreplay. Groton beat Blixtonbury, one nil. Cambridge beat Oxfordshire, one nil. Manchester beat Edinburgh...one nil. Tell me it sounds any different than this: "I have to have Rose in the middle. Because my mom's name is Rosanne and grandma's name is Rosemary. So I want to have something Rose." Charlie, on the other hand: "You know, if my name wasn't [sic] Charlie, I would love to name my daughter Charly with a 'y.'" Trista loves it, musing dreamily, "Charly Rose." Ha! By the way, y'all? If my last name weren't "Blau," I would totally name all of my kids "Larry King." Back inside, a shirtless Charlie makes sure he has just a little bit of "handles" for her "love." He shuts the bedroom door as we hear Trista's voice from inside: "I'm going to bed." You know what else? If my first name didn't start with a "d," I would totally, inexplicably name all of my kids "Sally Jesse Raphael," and there wouldn't be a damn thing any of you could do to stop me.
Finally safe, back in the confines of G'u'y's' H'o'u's'e' (a possessive apostrophe in every pot!), we begin upstairs in The Room Of Reckoning. Trista and Chris "Love, Love Me Don't" Harrison assume the position (ew, not like that), Chris noting immediately, "I can't tell you how much it seems like you've changed in a week. It's very noticeable." Translation: Someone got laid. Twice, maybe! He adds that Trista looks like "a girl in love," and Trista admits that she is, "with probably more than one person." She was "always very skeptical" of people who said that because of how it makes you a whore or a citizen of Utah, but now she's kind of convinced. Chris reminds her of a "candid talk" they had before the show began, in which she apparently said, "You know what? If I want to sleep with these guys and that's what I truly feel, that's what I'm gonna do." Male paraphrasing is so brilliant. I'm sure what she really said was, "If I feel a connection with one of the guys and I want to foster that connection in an intimate way and see if the connection I felt remained the same as the relationship went forward, y'know, so be it." But Chris's cut-to-the-chase, "Me, I'm just in this to get boned" is secretly refreshing at this late date. Trista tells him that "nothing has changed" in that regard and that she needs to be true "to the process," figuring out "how intimate you can be with somebody" (see what I mean?). And so, Chris takes his leave once more, telling her, "You have a tough job tonight. Two roses, three guys." It is not a tough job. Stop insulting our collective viewing intelligence. Meanwhile, private video messages! Rhymin' rhymes again! And this time I promise to stick it out and recap the whole thing, as I am contractually obligated to do:
This won't take long, but I've got a quick tale
It's about a boy and a girl and a killer whale
It started one night with dinner by the sea
There was you, there was me, and Shamu made three
Nope. Can't. I know he's being "funny" and all that, but it's enough with the "Gotta Get a Gimmick" shtick already. Trista? Loves it. She LOVES it! He won't win.
Russ thanks Trista for the experience in Sedona. Their "fast start" (squicky date rape) has led to some "intense conversations" (hate-filled polemics), which he ultimately thinks will help them "in the future." Trista doesn't even crack a conciliatory smile.
Charlie calls Trista "sweetheart" (that's "Sweetheart Rose" to you, buddy) from the beach in Mexico, reading badly off cue cards, "The feeling that I felt when I woke up that morning was indescribable." No, no. We were there. We would describe it as "crippling boredom." But here's a hint: the 'e' in boredom is silent! It's an elephant word!
I literally told everyone I knew that I wanted that Trivial Pursuit 20th Anniversary Edition for my birthday. And how many did I get? That's right. But hey, mom? Thanks for the socks.
The three men stand downstairs, as Chris brings in the All of Me plate and puts it on the little stand. He tells the guys, "It's fair to say that all three of you have deep feelings for Trista." He clarifies the rules that someone is going to "say goodbye tonight." Trista descends the stairs, and speeches, "I really hope that you understand that I've been in your shoes and I've stood where you stand." She can't wait to shake that dead weight loose.
Ryan, will you accept this rose? Ryan Rose? Who's that?
Charlie, will you accept this rose? Charlie? Rose? Why does that sound familiar for some strange reason?
Chris walks over and bids Russ to "say goodbye," as Trista voices over, "I think that Russ has a lot of the qualities that I look for in a husband. And the fact that we had such great chemistry the first night shows me that we could have spark for a long time to come." But she doesn't think they can "communicate." Outside the house together, Russ and Trista sit, Russ telling her, "Like, I pretty much knew this was going to happen." Guh? You did? Twisted that around in a hurry, didn't you? You can practically see Germany sitting at home, taking notes on how to spin effective revisionist history. Trista responds, "I think that we're a lot alike." She knows they shared a "pretty strong connection," promising, "you're an outstanding guy." Who will never, ever, ever get a date again. Russ goes right on the defensive, telling her, "I think I probably pressed you on all the things that you probably didn't get pressed on with the other two guys." You mean "the winners"? You mean them? Stop thinking you're the best guy before her because you posed the most rewarding "challenge." I know it's television, and I know it's a game show, but it's not Double Dare and there's no big slide covered with jam and fake papier-mâché snot and a clock counting down from thirty seconds. But damn, could you imagine how much more engaging an episode this would be if there had been?
In the limo out of G'u'y's' H'o'u's'e', Russ ties on the crazy eyes and tells us, "I came here for her. I came here to explore a relationship with her, and I told her that right away." He finds it "amazing" that she couldn't "put her guard down," blaming her for an inability to deal with "what was happening between them." He closes, "I'll be in this as long as I want to be in it, and I think that happened. Whether it was my choice or not." Double on the "not" part. Dare. Double dare. Physical challenge. Sayonara, Satan. I hope you kept the Tiffany receipt.