Are you guys keeping up with The Bachelor? Because it’s pretty much the highlight of my week. And yes, I realize how much of a loser that makes me.
Here’s my thing with The Bachelor, in general. When I was younger, my mom and I used to get such a kick out of these bitches fighting over a man they “love.” In college, I still watched it, you know, in the sorority house…hrmm.
Okay, and after last season, I swore I wouldn’t watch it. They show these men as soooo perfect, woe is them, they can’t find love, blah blah blah. It’s because they are crazy, selfish, assholes!
But then this season comes along, with Brad Womack (hiss, boo, wwaaaamp) and I was like….OKAY ABC, you’ve sold me yet again! And really, I couldn’t care less about Womack. It’s a good thing he was honest with those whores the first time and said, hey I’m crazy and completely fucked up and it looks like I need counseling for about three years. So have a nice life!
This season, I’m trying to go into it knowing that it’s a show all about ratings, and just hope it entertains me come Monday evenings. And I’m trying to spread the joy with my live Tweet sessions on #The Bachelor, so if you haven’t joined me yet, please do!
Last night’s episode is a perfect example of why the show pisses me off—the dates. Brad takes this chick Ashley to Capital Records to record Seal’s Kiss From A Rose. Really? And of course, she wets herself, and wants to drop her panties right there in the recording studio. Guess what whore bag? He didn’t plan, pay for, or even think about this date AT ALL. Yet, oh wait, she wants to have his children because she sang that song really loud when she was 10. Hmph.
Anyway, this weekend I vowed to myself I was going to do nothing. I had a stressful week last week and I really needed a break. And that’s exactly what I got. I left the house a total of one time to go to a writer’s meeting.
Needless to say, I got plenty of sleep. Yet, every freakin’ time I closed my eyes for sleep, I had some kind of crazy dream! I’ve been known to have weird dreams and remember lots of details about them for days, sometimes years, to come.
But this dream…was just….strange. Because it was pretty real. Imagine the Wayne’s World fingers with the ~*~*~*~*~doo-doo-loo-doo-doo-loo….*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was back in my hometown, and my mom had told me months before that the attorney she works for had a son who was attractive and single. I told her she was crazy, because I lived so far away.
However, I was in town visiting and my friend wanted to take me to a rowing competition. Never been to one of those in my life, but hey! Whatever. She insists we go to a party before the race to have a few drinks.
When we arrive at the party, the entire cast from Jersey Shore is there! But they weren’t the stars from Jersey Shore, they were just typical people. So we have some drinks and head over to this massive arena where the rowing competition is.
Of course, we had nosebleed seats, so I really couldn’t see what the hell was going on. It was people rowing tiny boats in a damn pool, using these giant orange paddles to pull themselves across.
When the race was over, I just wanted to get out of there. So I went for a walk downtown, where my mom’s office is. It was a Sunday, so the office was closed and there were construction workers doing some work on it. Out of a back staircase, walked one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life (or, in my dreams). He was tall, muscular, lightly tanned, with a very close haircut.
When he cleared the stairwell, I went up. I was wandering around the building, a building I haven’t been inside in probably 10 years, but it was exactly how I remembered it—floral wallpaper, cherry wood trim, ornate furniture…and then people were wondering what I was doing there.
Just as I was about to explain myself, the hot guy came back.
“Hey,” he said.
“So what ARE you doing in here?”
“Well, my mom used to work here…and she was telling me about an attorney’s single son…I saw you outside and I just knew it was you,” I said.
“Really? I was about to send you a text message,” he said (didn’t matter how he got my number).
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“My name is John, but some people call me Adam.”
I woke up genuinely thinking I was going to have a text message on my phone from John Adam. I was very disappointed. Yep, that’s how pathetic my life has become. Dreaming about John Adam. Am I a pathetic single loser, or have I been reading too many romance novels?