This small intestine's for you, dear

I’m sitting here drinking a tall glass of wine from a $10 bottle and thinking about TV. There are deep thoughts happening over here, folks. And expensive ones. I’ll admit to watching some fairly lowbrow stuff on TV. And some stuff that is probably no-brow. But I successfully stayed far away from MTV’s A Double Shot at Love until the final episode last night. I had no idea how this was all supposed to play out, it seemed to me that these bisexual twin Barbie girls had already narrowed the search for “love” down to two contestants so shouldn’t that be the end? But no, they each separately chose the contestant who still had a shot at love with them and wouldn’t you know it, Vikki and Rikki chose the same boy! Who then had to choose from 2 bisexual blonde identical twins! And the rejected girl caused drama! How did these sisters ever think that this show was a good idea? Girls are catty enough when it comes to boys. And well, everything else. Why pit yourself against your twin sister? Although I’m still not convinced both Rikki and Vikki weren’t played by the same girl with the help of a talented makeup artist.

But none of this is really the point. We all know MTV puts out some questionable programming, I mean, come on, there have been 3 reincarnations of Laguna Beach, 4 if you count that abomination with Brody Jenner. (Note: this does not mean that I refuse to watch quality programming such as True Life: I’m in a love triangle or that ridiculous show with Paris Hilton and a bevy of women and one Asian man-woman trying to become her next fashion accessory.) But my point. Throughout the whole hour long shenanigans, both contestants continued to profess their love for the -ikkis. Until Trevor, the final winner, took back his love declarations and proceeded to tell the girls—and the cameras—that they had “a big part of [his] heart.” Over.and.over. Uh. Okay? He does realize that your heart isn’t actually the pink thing on the Valentine card his grandma sends him each February, right? And that it’s actually an organ full of veins and blood and pulsating ventricles? (Ventricles pulsate, right? It’s been a long time since Biology class.) So announcing that each of these girls has driven their –ikki flag into bits of his heart, claiming it as their own territory, this is no more romantic an organ than a liver or pancreas.

Now look, I understand that love is a four letter word of the damn, shit, fuck variety to some people. I get it. And to others it’s just uncomfortable. Their families didn’t say it, they had a bad breakup, whatever. But what is with dedicating parts of your organs? Is that what all the kids are doing these days? Or just the hippie skater/surfer/boat captain dudes who are incapable of adding inflection to their voices or expressions to their faces? I don’t get it.

I grew up in a family that peppered each good bye and good night with multiple “I love you’s,” but I’m probably not going to prematurely say it to two blonde bisexual twins on a reality tv contest. But maybe I’ll take a page from Trevor’s book and start dedicating my limbs to those I care about. Maybe.

And, uh, yea this post had more direction and better-ness before I finished that glass of wine.