Toxic Poison

Last night Fiancé and I spent the evening at a barbeque with his colleagues. Toward the end of the night we all got sucked into watching the season finale of Rock of Love, the reality television show that's like The Bachelor only instead of a young, handsome single man the prize catch is Poison's own Brett Michaels. You can imagine the classy contestants. It's awesome! After several weeks and just as many gloriously trashy eliminations, Brett's decision came down to a stripper and another woman who actually wasn't half bad. Brett chose the other woman. Which made us sad for the other woman, because she got... well... Brett Michaels. But happy because the stripper was a skanky b*tch.

The wierdest thing is that our colleagues are well-educated, interesting people. But we were all hooked, and none of us was new to the saga. Which means we've all spent at least one afternoon glued to the couch watching reruns on VH1. Fiancé's boss was the only one who was appropriately disgusted. I'm not sure he looks at us the same anymore. Which is too bad. Because normally we have very good judgment. Every rose has its thorn, I guess. Poison is so wise.