An Escape from Reality (Steve)

I hate surprises.

I hate hate HATE them.

If you know me, you absolutely know this to be true. I read the last page of a book first. I feel a deep sense of betrayal when a pregnant friend won’t find out the sex of her baby as soon as is humanly possible. I look on Amazon to see what Ben has bought me for my birthday. And I always, ALWAYS, ask Reality Steve who’s going to receive the final rose on this season of the Bachelorette.

By the end of the first episode.

Who’s Reality Steve, you ask? Well, he’s basically the yin to my reality tv yang. The other half to my unscripted-trash-loving heart. The wind beneath my glass-of-rosé-thrown-in-Jeana’s-face-at Tamra’s-pool-party wings.

But before I introduce you to my good friend, Reality Steve, I should make sure you know the extent to which I love reality television. I’m not proud of this, I don’t think it makes me look very smart or very mature, but it’s a very real part of my life, and, in fact, is probably the only thing that even comes close to being a hobby for me.

I watch reality tv with a passion and a commitment that only comes with true love, and it’s worth explaining why.

I do not think it’s real. I don’t not think it’s “good tv.” I do not think I learn anything from it, am a better person because of it, or am inspired to improve my life in any way as a result of consuming it at a pace that is neither impressive nor healthy. However, it makes me feel SO MUCH BETTER ABOUT MY LIFE.

Honestly.

It makes me feel normal. And calm. And in control. Because my life is anything but normal and calm and controlled. But I can honestly say that I’ve never had a plate of food thrown at me. I’ve never screamed at another woman at a dinner party (and not only because I’ve never really been to a dinner party… unless fondu counts?).

I’ve never missed a flight, or pulled a former friend’s hair, or fallen drunk into the bushes in a Mexican resort (I had to think about this for a second but I’m pretty confident now), or had to ask my lawyer to send a cease and desist letter. I don’t even really know what that is, to be honest, but I know I don’t need one. (I also don’t have a lawyer. But I do have some really smart friends who are lawyers so if I ever become a reality tv star, I’m super covered.)

My life is much more normal than reality television and so it gives me a sense of comfort. And the more I watch it, the more comforted I become. And so, it’s become part of my daily life.

The only downside to reality tv, however, is that it thrives on the element of surprise. It has mastered the art of the cliffhanger. It relies on the twists and the turns and the holy-crap-I-did-not-see-that-coming! moments that keep us coming back every week to see what happens next.

But this is a problem because I don’t just like to know what’s going to happen next, I need to know what’s going to happen next. Somewhere deep down inside of me. Because I hate surprises. And so, the only way to continue making myself feel better about my life by watching beautiful people implode on national tv is to have a way to “read the last page” before we actually get there.

Enter Reality Steve.

Reality Steve is a reality tv blogger who uses actual spies to help him blast spoilers about reality tv episodes before the episodes even air. So when the world is first meeting the Bachelorette’s 25 men who are somehow already all falling in love with her on the first night, I’m already googling “Who will Claire give her final rose to?”

And my good friend Reality Steve will let me know. Because his spies have already told him. And then he tells us. And this way I can continue watching the rest of the season without the horrible element of surprise but while still receiving all the perks and benefits that come from watching grown adults meltdown and act like fools.

But my escape-from-reality meets Reality Steve winning combination has been threatened recently. I imagine that wealthy tv executives aren’t too keen on Reality Steve giving away the endings of their (highly scripted) unscripted television shows. I’m sure it makes them lose money. And, as a result, I’m pretty worried that he’s become compromised. Or maybe his spies have become compromised. Either way, I suspect foul play.

You see, he’s made some uncharacteristic “mistakes” over the past few seasons. Or he’s given some half-truths. Or he’s left out really important, incredibly vital information. First it was the wrong girl receiving the final rose. Another time it was my favorite guy getting sent home unexpectedly without the heads up that it was going to be ok, that he’d return again next week. I’ve experienced the twists and the turns in real time, with the masses, and it has shaken my faith and trust in Reality Steve and Google at the same time. And if I can’t trust Reality Steve, famed reality tv blogger, well then…who can I trust? My husband???

It’s also left me feeling a little betrayed by my good friend, if I’m speaking with the same raw honesty and vulnerability that a bachelorette speaks with when she’s interviewed by a producer in front of a hundred warmly-lit candles right after she’s been denied a rose by that man she fell in love with on the first episode.

And, to be honest, after all the reality tv I’ve watched, it also makes me wonder what might happen if my friend Reality Steve, who I am now wondering if I can even trust, and I both showed up at a dinner party together. Where they were serving food on dinner plates. And rosé in wine glasses. Next to a pool.

You never know. Maybe I am a reality tv star at heart. Maybe I do need a lawyer. I wonder if my friends will accept payment in (boxed) wine...