Game on, Emily.

Why I am excited for The Bachelorette, Season 452,628,465…or whatever:

Emily (Okay, I don’t actually remember her last name right now, but I do want to bring up how weird it is that every time a knew candidate is up for date, they always have ridiculously abnormal last name) … Anyways, Emily quickly went from someone who I pitied, envied and awed all at the same time, to someone who mysteriously annoys me with her cached bitchy side and blonde bimbo facade. So, to make it simple, Bachelorettes always get burned, and I look forward to watching egos get checked. Emily, your time has come.

This season promises to fulfill every Bachelorette tradition possible (meaning watching a would-be catch spiral into sad sap), because the men LOVE her. As proved by the aforementioned seasons past, competitive testosterone is undeniably good TV. Throw in the (anomaly) Chris Harrison is now (and the fact that he is a-gasp-bachelor himself), I can’t wait to experiment with new drinking games and sardonic catch phrases. The dates are over the top, and they’ve got to come up with something to top arctic dates, scaling national monuments, Tahiti and the weird breast cancer date where they had to make boobs out of pottery… for a good cause.

And I do have to mention that when (ABC is) in doubt of failing on outdoing any of the dates mirroring real-life romance, we’ve got the highly anticipated teasers for Jewish JP and always-forming-questions Ashley’s nuptials that will no doubt clog the commercials (and hopefully cut down on the recaps). Guiltily, it made be in the front running for why I am going to dedicate myself to this season. Strap in fellow masochists who can’t stand it but can’t get enough. Break out your best wine, invite over your most loyal viewers (and remind them not to talk until the commercials) and settle in for the glorious display of tears, terror and thorns…for love.