Holy Mother of Hotness

Travis. Stork. Is. Absolutely. Incredible.

I'm officially in love with a celebrity--my first one since Joey Lawrence in the 6th grade. How could I not be? Watch The Bachelor ONCE and you'll be hooked. Totally ga-ga. Because he's brilliant, genuine, kind and gor-geous. And that's just scratching the surface. He just seems different than the other bachelors--not so into himself--like the type of guy who'd be just as content sprawled across a bed with you, mugs of coffee, newspapers, and a gaggle of dogs as he'd be at a nice restaurant. Okay, I'll stop obsessing now...

But for those that didn't watch the show, a woman on it actually uttered the words, "my eggs are rotting" and point-blank told him that she wanted to reproduce. As soon as the words left her mouth, I got cold chills. It was awful. Absolutely awful. Maybe she was lulled into a false sense of security by his last name...but there really are no excuses. What was she thinking? You just don't do that. I don't care how loud that maternal clock is ticking...ignore the damn thing and attempt to talk to him like a normal human being for godsakes.

It's just so fun to know that he and I live in the same town. He works several blocks away from me...he could live right down the street (but I'll never know because he's not listed in the phonebook. What? So? I looked. Big deal. I was just curious. You would've done the same thing). AND I have access to his email address...but am too embarrassed to ever do that again.

On an optimistic note, there's actually a chance that I'll run into him in the grocery store, or running in a park or...with Andrea and Jennie (in their borrowed scrubs) as we stroll through the Vanderbilt Medical Center trying to look official.

What? Yeah, I said it...