The Bachelor

It’s just another Monday night alone on the couch watching “The Bachelor.”

That’s right: season eleven of ABC’s dating jaggernaut starring Brad Womack, the 34-year-old Austin, Texas-based self-made entrepreneur (aka bar owner), is winding down. And I’m watching it.

I’d like to state for the record that, while I’m sure Deanna’s heartfelt “When I look at you during that rose ceremony, know that I’m thinking that I love you” was sincere, I’m dubious that a six-week, on-camera courtship in Cabo San Lucas is much of a foundation for releationship. But then the show’s track record (0/10) probably speaks for itself.

Still, I am looking forward to the “Women Tell All” episode next week when “The rejected bachelorettes dish about their time with Brad and make their predictions about the final two.” Sweet!

You know I’m kidding, right?

What can I tell you? “The News Hour” is over, and “Charlie Rose” isn’t on yet.

This is how I follow the single most challenging day of the year. “The Bachelor.”

Actually, until Friday, I’m The Bachelor.

After our customary day-after massages (this year at Exhale on Central Park South), Abbi caught a flight to Mexico City. I spent the rest of the afternoon napping and watching Ken Burns’ “The War.” That’s how I do: documentaries and Gatorade.

I’m obviously not going out and painting the town whatever color a bachelor paints a town. (Red? Black?) I already miss Abs. I’ve already texted her twice, and emailed her a silly photo from yesterday’s finish.

Nah, all week long I’m gonna’ eat cold pizza for breakfast, pickle sandwhiches for lunch, and ice cream for dinner. I’m gonna’ keep the toilet seat up 24/7. And I’m gonna’ rock.

In fact, Chris, Tony and I just rehearsed. We’re playing a Lifebeat Hearts & Voices gig on the Lower East Side Thursday night. Next Wednesday, we’re performing with young Ryan at Rockwood Music Hall (where, on his monthly calendar, Tommy Merrill — bless his heart — has characterized Abbi and mine as “Rockwood’s First Marriage”).

So, nothin’ crazy for me this week. I’m way too tired. My quads are way too sore. And I’m no fun without Abbi anyhow.