The conclusion of Eric Schaeffer's "I Can't Believe I'm Still Single." (Season One)

So. We finally made it.

We all finally saw Eric Schaeffer finally get to Mecca -- Maine to meet the one of two women he obsessed about ad nauseum for weeks, now. (One of whom was Liza O'Brien, now married to Conan O'Brien, and the other was this mystery woman he once met and thought now might be perfect for him.

Gee, that sounds like another old guy's delusional hopes riding on a younger woman...Who is that? Oh, yeah, McCain.

In any event.

Eric's show is officially over and done with. It ended unceremoniously, but I feel obligated to write about the last show. Some sort of conclusion to my reaction to his Showtime series.

And I'm going to make this my last post about this guy, who, surprisingly, has quite a following, let me tell you.

Anyhow. What did I think of his show?

Here's my Un-Review.

First of all: This guy can make money. Seriously. He knows how to sell ice to Eskimos, is my first reaction, because he always gets funding. And he always delivers something that come hell or high water, we watch. If I were a producer, I'd pay attention to that. Forget art. He sells stuff. Bottom line. Somehow, whether or not it's "a good thing," this guy delivers. So, kudos, to Eric Schaeffer.

But, what did I personally make of having hung in there with him on what seemed like one very long, very lonely journey? I don't know...I feel like whacking him in the head, but that's the yenta in me, I guess. Which isn't saying a lot since I'm a total WASP.

But, it's just irritating to watch someone so convinced he needs one certain kind of woman and really isn't that open to veering away from the obvious.

Okay, I digress. I just helped the kids out with their homework and I'm cooking pasta (oh, no! It's white pasta! Aaah!) with non-vegan flakes of garlic salmon. And after that I'm probably going to pour myself a glass of Chardonnay, when I'm almost done with the dishes. I know that in Mr.-Perfect-Hippie's-world, these kinds of choices just render me just one lush, sucky mom. Que sera, sera.

But, whatever. What's the alternative? Feeding a family on organic produce (which doesn't really last too long in the kitchen), plates of heaped high with vegan meatloaf served with a tall glass of tepid spring water? My poor kids. Not to mention that I'd probably be one cranky mom, if I were that "Brattleboro, VT" 24/7.

No, I do the best I can. I may look boho, but deep down I can be something of a TV & Target girl, as well. So, sue me.

Don't get me wrong: Hey, I think living that pure is great.

But that kind of purity is costly. So...if you want to live that well, you probably need to have beacoup de moola. The kind of money filmmakers and TV show hosts make, not newspaper reporters.

I digress again: I'm trying to finish this post before I serve dinner.

So, Mr. Schaeffer's final, last show.

We missed it the night it originally aired out here in California, and so we didn't actually get around to seeing it on the DVR till last night.

My reaction? Let's just say I'm not too surprised he's still single.

Truthfully, yeah, I felt a little sorry for him. He didn't find true love. We all root for the underdog, and he struck out. That was, well, sad. He was so convinced there was a pot of gold in Maine at this wedding with this cute, skinny yoga-loving, younger woman.

BUT -- Turns out she just kind of broke up with someone.

AND -- The first question out of this guy's mouth was something like "Do I look fat and ugly to you?" Or something equally not so great a thing to start conversation at the get go.

AND -- He comes on way too strong.

AND -- He seems way too scary needy to give any kind of relationship a chance.

AND -- Even his unusual family member interviews reveal he's a guy who has a very narrow ideas about what he wants in a relationship...

But, did anything surprise me? Touch me at the end of the show?

Yes.

Yes. I was surprised that I finally saw a guy at the end of his show who was shy, but lovely inside. Unfortunately, it wasn't Eric Schaeffer.

I was touched by the sweet openness of one of his last interviews. Of a guy he seems to have met by random chance at a yoga class. A man who lives alone with his dog and his cat in New Jersey who happens to be a retired fire fighter.

I have to tell you, this is the man who made my eyes tear up.

Here was this seemingly chance converstion "Mr. Me Again" was having with a stranger he met towards the end of his personal journey to find love on his book tour.

And the one man who turns out to be surprisingly open and nice and didn't have selfish expectations about the universe owing him a mail-order bride precisely the way he wanted her: (You may have heard this before, Cute, pretty, skinny, young, sexy, smart and sober with a big helping of hippie-chick on top.) -- The guy wasn't even Eric, it was a stranger. Did Eric even know how he upstaged himself with this clip? Who edited this? Oh, never mind.

Okay I digress.

But, since this is my own damn, blog, let's just pretend I'm really talking to Mr. Schaeffer. (And why not? He seems to have had an intimate conversation with every other woman between 12 and 70 on the planet.)

So, If I could really talk to him right now -- at this moment I'd probably tell him the following:

Imaginary conversation:

"Look, Eric, just work. Let her come to you. Focus on doing good work and the person will find you.

"A relationship can only happen once we get out of our own way. Whoever you inevitably find will probably not look like you expected her to. That's real life. Life isn't a script...bla, bla, bla...You know all this. BUT then WHY do you obsess about not finding true love?

"I'll bet one tenth of the fish you threw back in the sea would be enough to keep Mr. New Jersey Fireman happy. All he wants is real companionship. You want the moon. So? So, okay. But, don't throw a pity party when the mail-order bride doesn't materialize just because you wish she would."

If he cried, the way he did in the last three shows, then I'd probably say it in a gentler way, but, I'd still say it. Someone should.

Right now my message to any single women who might be reading this because they're still a tiny bit curious about who "the real Eric Schaeffer is" (and I do know you're out there, because some of you have written me.)

Well, I guess my message to any women considering Eric as future relationship-material, is this:

Find the fire fighter! (Just tactfully bring along a box of Crest White Strips, too, that's all.)

Fire fighters have pretty hot bodies and this guy already knows how to form a commitment (True, it's with his dog and cat, but that's still saying a lot!)

And if he does yoga then he's probably into being in touch with his feelings and lives a fairly healthy life: FIND THE FIRE FIGHTER!

I mean, hello? He might not be rich and famous, but he holds his own! He owns a house within driving distance of NYC, for God's sake. No, he's not famous, he's nice.

Like I said, I can be a real yenta, I guess.

And my message to Eric? You only think you want a wife...If you really wanted one, you'd have one by now. That's what I think.

Whatever. It's time for dinner.

By the way, considering the way Eric Schaeffer continued to obsess about the long-dead romance he had with Conan O'Brien's wife, I had to admit, I was curious about what kind of goddess she must be. So, I found these photos of her.

She's very pretty. She's certainly tall and skinny.

She sure beats an escort in clown make-up.

OH, look! Whole Foods? I rest my case.