I have a confession to make. Now this is just between you and me, okay? I am absolutely in love with Russell, the 30 year old IT consultant/writer who was tossed from The Bachelorette series. Given the fact that I've experienced every situation and date along with Trista, the bachelorette, and of course, the American viewing public, I believe I have every right to feel what used to be a delicate personal emotion, based upon a couple of episodes of edited 60 minute action.

You're thinking this is all pretty foolish, right? How could I possibly fall in love with a man I don't really know? What about the new genre of love, reality television style? Is it anymore sane to think that a person can find true love within 50 men or women plucked from their normal lives by the hands of money hungry television producers?

Reality television has done for love what fast food chains did for the square meal. It has re-shaped, re-structured, and simplified the process in order to sell a quick-fix version of the real thing. But like that two-minute burger that just isn't as plump or juicy as that which has been slowly marinated and cooked over the coals, much will be lost in quality with a love found in six episodes.

This article presented in partnership with Bandwagon 'Zine.

By: Jimmy Turnpike

Some things go together. Some don’t. Certain girls go together with certain guys. Guys know this. Girls know it too. As is true throughout the animal kingdom, the male can make all the noise he wants, but it is her choice. Arguments have been made. Lines have been crossed. Women have claimed to have problems getting any. It’s all nonsense. It has been my experience that if a woman decides things are going to go together, things are going to go together. It is her choice.

The date from Hell. We may or may not have been through it, but there are definitely ways to prevent it. Not only are you in control of how certain situations may explode, you may also be the catalyst. Here are some ways to avoid dying in despair at the dinner table.

Showing Up Unprepared

Don't just show up at her door and say "So, any ideas?" If you don't have some sort of order of events hammered out you're probably going to screw it up. A little spontaneity never hurt anybody but you can't count on the two of you coming up with an idea on the spur of the moment. Besides, chicks really dig a guy who can take charge sometimes. Get an idea of where the date is going to take place (i.e. this restaurant at 7, that movie at 9, etc.), then you can move on to actually getting something going with the other person. You can change the plan on the fly if you're both in to it, but you've got to have an idea first.

"Will find nice, sensible boyfriend to go out with and won't continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitmentphobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts."
~Bridget Jones Diary

There exists on the forehead of every unsuspecting male a flashing billboard that serves as fair warning to any woman approaching the busy, male-dominated interchange. A signal like a bumblebee-hued pedestrian crossing sign, those aiming to take the plunge into couplehood are clued in to just what make and model is about to zoom across their path. Like any gasoline-powered vehicle, the male gives off early indications as to the recall factor prior to purchase. Just as the lone Yugo sitting on the back of the lot reeks of poor running capability, these signs specify whether or not the approaching male will sometime in the future need to be returned for replacement of worn parts due to slow performance, premature oil leakage, or the secretion of some foul odor. This pre-purchase warning clause is a truly important enhancement in the Male Automobile manufacturing label, as unfortunately there is no lemon law return policy for men.

It's November 9, 1620 and I'm a mighty Pilgrim about to embark toward an unknown land via my only means of transport at the time. With no electronic navigational device, no high-speed engine to propel me forth at some expeditious rate, and no phone home capabilities, I, along with any family members, embody my sole possession. Therefore it is my humanity alone for which I'm thankful.

It seems that as a society becomes more civilized, our mighty technological glories abounding, we the civilized, begin to transgress into mindless, thankless creatures no longer aware of what it's like to be a have-not. We as a society are so accustomed to having those items we rely heavily upon to keep us moving at our constant, steady pace, that one minor infliction upon our dependencies sends us into whine mode.

The first true Thanksgiving occurred in 1623, after a providential rain shower saved the Pilgrim's crops, their life's bread. The salvation of their sustenance being a truly great reason to be thankful, they celebrated with a harvest festival. Nearly 480 years after the fact, do we even have the ability to give thanks in this fashion? If forced, would we even know how?