So, I have to tell you something. And by tell, I mean admit. It’s not that I did anything bad or wrong. I just did something… out of the ordinary, at least for me. I branched out a bit and had myself a little adventure.
Now, keep in mind, I only did it for the sheer use of blog and story-telling material. I never would have actually considered taking it seriously.
I might have gone to The Bachelor/Bachelorette auditions. And by “might have” I obviously mean “I did.”
I went with some girlfriends and, this is truth y’all, we were not going because we had any aspirations to be the chosen one. We went because (1) the people watching was top notch and (2) we had nothing else to do. Let’s talk about the “competition” shall we?
Now because I didn’t care (nor do I care the vast majority of the time) I showed up in jeans, a white v-neck, and a cardigan. Nothing flashy in the least, so it was perfectly me. You could say I was channeling the casual-weekend-librarian. *furrowed brow* Actually, let’s not say that. That’s pathetic. Moving on.
I told you that to tell you this–I stood out like a sore thumb. If I counted correctly ( and I make no guarantees) I think I was the only one not in stilettos and a mini skirt, with fried blond hair. Now I don’t mean to knock that look; for some, it is fitting. But yours truly didn’t have a shot.
And apparently, I didn’t get the memo that cattiness and competition were in full swing while standing in line just to sign up. As I stood and waited to put my name on the list to be interviewed (in front of cameras and everything) I got “the look” from every girl that passed by. When I say “the look” I am referring to the look that screams “if you touch my man (who has yet to be named) than I will claw your eyes out and hide your body somewhere no one will find it.”
Now, I’m not a genius ( I know, shocking) but if you are standing in line with hundreds of other hopefuls, by technicality, the competition has not even started, so there is really no need to be playing class bully.
Then… there were the men. God love ’em, they were dumb. Dressed in suits and sneakers, the majority of them wore glasses and I have to be honest, I have a feeling none of them needed it. They stood around in herds, giggling like school girls, gawking at the playboy bunnies blonds.
Is this what I would be fighting for? A never-graduated-frat-boy? Negative ghostwriter.
After losing too many brain cells to overhearing the fribee-dish-deep conversations, we called it a night and headed home.
Could you have seen me on TV? Probably not.
Do I care? Not in the least.
Will I watch the show anyways? Heck yes.