I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends by Courtney Robertson Page A

our first conversation that never aired. After asking me where I was from, Ben’s next question flummoxed me.
    “What school did you go to?”
    Yet another ominous foreshadow (I’ll stop counting now). I’d always struggled in school and believe I may be dyslexic. I’d finished some community college, but stopped when my modeling career demanded all of my time. Thrown off, I answered, “Oh, I didn’t.” I wasn’t planning on mentioning that I was a model the first night, but now it was out of my control.
    As I walked away, Ben said, stunned, “Now that was a pretty girl.”
    When the show aired, I noticed that the arrival order had changed. Lindzi Cox appeared last, showing up on a giant rented horse named Levi. Levi needed to get in and out as fast as possible so Lindzi, in reality, had gone earlier. In the episode, I was in the middle of the pack.
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    KEEPING IT REAL
    Actual Rejected Greetings for Ben from My Journal
“God, you’re adorable!”
“I have this feeling I might be your girl.”
“I love wine.”
“I’m in it to win it!”
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“I love long walks on the beach, red wine, and boys with long, dark hair named Ben.”
“I really want the first impression rose. You won’t be disappointed. Trust me.”
“The search is over …”
“If you need saving in there, I’m your girl. Just give me a look and I’ll scoop you up and swoop in.”
“Let me give you a good squeeze!”
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    I was giddy from my first encounter with Ben, but as soon as I walked into the mansion, it hit me that for the last few hours the women had not only been boozing it up, but more important, they’d been bonding without me. It got eerily quiet and twenty-three sets of eyes burned through me (Lindzi, metaphorically still on her high horse, actually refused to look at me). Then I heard somewhere in the crowd:
    “Oh God, that’s not fair! A model?”
    Nope, this was not going the way I’d planned at all.
    “Hi guys!” I chirped, trying to be friendly, even though as I scanned the room, I was shocked at how average this motley crew of women seemed. Ben walked in not long after I did and gave a welcome speech that kind of blew me away. He was so well-spoken and really cute. We locked eyes and smiled at each other right then, but I’d have to wait a long time for my turn to talk to him, as the other ladies shoulder checked each other like toothless hockey players to get his attention. So, while Ben made his way through the lot of us, I tried to make some early alliances.
    I walked over to Kacie “B” Boguskie, from Tennessee, and complimented her dress. She pretended she didn’t hear me. “What do you do?” I asked so loud that it was impossible to ignore me.
    “I’m not going to tell you that,” she sniped.
    So much for Southern hospitality.
    Samantha Levey, a tiny little pageant queen from Pittsburgh, asked me about my dress. I made the mistake of being honest. I told her it was Dolce and Gabbana but didn’t have time to clarify that it was busted and marked down before she cut me off and sneered, “Oooh, Dolce and Gabbana!” like I was some sort of big shot.
    I’m all about first impressions and I hadn’t received very many warm welcomes so far. I hadn’t planned on drinking a lot, but I needed a lot more liquid courage if I were going to make it through this night. I got a glass of red wine at the bar, which was fully stocked with every drink imaginable. A few of the girls bellied up to the bar a lot more than the others. Jenna Burke, a blogger known as the Over-Analyst, was drowning her sorrows after her awkward introduction with Ben. (She misquoted his poignant statement to Ashley Hebert: “Things don’t end, unless they end badly.” She said, “Good things end badly.”) Elyse Myers, a personal trainer with a bangin’ body, and Jaclyn Swartz, an ad account manager from NYC, were both partying like they were on Jersey Shore .
    It was