Don't make fun of Brad

I'm going to admit something (this confession theme keeps reoccurring, I think I may be reacquainting myself with my Catholic roots) Anyway....

I have a boo. And to be honest, after reviewing some older posts, it's hard to believe I met a man I actually want to spend considerable amounts of time with. I'm sorta but not really, kidding. Regardless, I believe the reason I've allowed this Quarter-Latin-Prize to make himself comfortable in my little world is because (and I'll say this one and ONE time only): My boo is The Best. Like the Best of the Best. No I'm not going to make that my status update. Calm down. What I'm not admitting right now is that I've been tricked into falling in love, but rather that the man I've fallen in love WITH...makes fun of Brad.

Brad who? Join me in 2011...Brad is this season's Bachelor. Let's explore together...

Brad is a sweet, southern gentleman, whose body is clearly the worst.

B-Rad is the first of the Baches, remember we're in season 15 (episode 6) here, who isn't a complete tool. The poor, except actually quite rich, guy is just trying to keep everyone happy; in other words preventing ELEVEN women from crying once they've started pouring their "heart" out all over his obviously hideous face. The boo (back to mine, not ABC's) finds it an absolute riot when his radio show pal Stern calls Brad a "retard" and pokes at his habit of saying, "Gurls....please" soaked in southern draw. *Please note that my opinion on the whole Howard Stern thing is...well let's just say I'm coming around to it. A wise woman once said 'tis better to have a man laugh at chauvinism, than act like a pig.

I'm gonna go with that.

While the opinion on Brad is something I'm willing to negotiate, I still feel I need to make a very strong "suggestion:"

DON'T MAKE FUN OF BRAD.

Comments

This ship's about to sail

Here in Man Diego there are a lot of...you guessed it, MEN! I've encountered a few. Although I've made some strides in my effort to leave behind "Blanket Statements" (which ironically can be shortened to B.S.) I still hold onto some of the reasonable ones. We've talked before, well I've written and you've read rather, about dating and the inevitable game of text messaging. Thanks to At&T's unlimited plan I haven't gone completely broke yet. Texting is by far the #1 men's choice for communicating. Those fellas just love it. It's less effort than a call and seemingly more friendly than an email. My point is texting is where it's at. You better believe that if you're in your mid 20's anywhere remotely in the vicinity you will be utilizing this technological beast. I went on a date about 2 weeks ago with a "Nice" guy. Note: "Blog guy" existed somewhere in the middle of nice guy's stint. Remember m...

Here's why I shouldn't have a dog

This week I'm babysitting...a dog. Notice I didn't say dog sitting. The first time I watched her she was a puppy, an "untrained" puppy. That means she did her business all over my apartment, for an entire week. The positive reinforcement give-her-a-treat-when-rarely pooping-outside trick was not successful. Since I was teaching a two week Yoga and writing course at the time, with flexible hours, I figured the availability to come home at lunch, take her back to school with me etc would make for an easy week. False. As those of you who've followed my previous dating life have already concluded, I'm not too quick of a learner. And so, I committed to babysitting this dog again. I'm on Summer break, why wouldn't I have a dog with me...all day long? One that is no longer under 20 pounds especially. In the past 24 hours I've decided I should NEVER have a dog because of the following reasons: 1. The noise created by said dog chewing a bone makes me wa...

Which girl are you gonna fluff?

I always envy those sales people who are so enthralled with their product that their enthusiasm nears eerie. After being fitted for my latest bridesmaid dress I was told I would be needing a very, very special bra...one nothing less than what can be purchased at The Perfect Fit in Tustin, California. We went to the shop and the saleswoman was one of these folks who LOVES what she sells. I was so blown away by her passion for undergarments that I didn't even catch her name. For now we'll call her the "Bra enthusiast (BE)." BE took me into the antique decorated fitting room. There was one of those old school, fabric stools, which was used to hold my current (and apparently ghetto) bra and a thick velvet curtain used to hide my shirtlessness. BE was very intense. Her bra-related verbiage was spoken with precision and seriousness. This was a no-nonsense matter. She started by measuring me. I asked if she needed me to take off the bra I was wearing, wanting an accurat...

Blonde Story Short

Search This Blog