About American Bridget

Where do I start?  
 Maybe with those derogatory voices in my head. Or with my continual wishing for better eyelashes and eyebrows.  Or perhaps, my self-diagnosed ADD.  Hey did you see that purple elephant walking down the street?  Needless, I’m just a gal documenting the crazed happenings in my life every once in a while.

I’m a perpetual singleton trying to earn a buck working hard for the money raising three incredibly gas-infested canines.  Two of which are rescue dogs and the third is the sweetest thing since Weight Watchers came out with their new dolce de leche flavor ice cream bars.  But is it really ice cream?  Who cares, in the words of Dora the Explorer, that shiz is delicioso.
I talk about hot guys on the treadmill next to me at the gym.  I talk about which toilet paper I use and which I don't.  I talk about dingle-berries upon necessity with said toilet paper brands.  If you want to make fun of me, get in line.  
I’m also on this running mission.  Not sure if I am running from the voices in my head, the fear of extra tubage around my waist as I age closer to 40 or to simply try and exceed Usain Bolt’s record of being the fastest man on Earth.  Needless, I’ve been an avid runner since, oh February of this year.  Okay, so I got a late start in life.  But until my knees blow out and my ankles stop being cankles, I’ll continue to run with the good Lord willing and as long as Gatorade 2 Series is still in mass production.
I work in advertising as TV commercial producer.  You can stop foaming at the mouth right now.  It’s not glamorous, and I haven’t yet met Don Draper.  I don’t take 2-hour martini lunches and I surely don’t get free tickets to the VMAs or Ellen.  But if you’d like to send me to one of those shows, please feel free to call me immediately.  Do not pass GO.   Just stop right now and give me a shout.

Perhaps my most important defining quality is my litany of horrible dating debacles.  I’m not proud of them, but my friends keep telling me that my short stories could one day end up on the New York Times Best Sellers List.  I’ve kissed my fair share of frogs and thus far they are deeming to be disgusting amphibians with slime-infested antics.  As you can imagine, I’m still waiting on my Prince Charming.  He’s out there.  I just know it.  Or so the voices in my head tell me so.

 Welcome in,
- American Bridget

P.S. Once in a blue moon I'll bore you to death with stories of my childhood which wasn't tragic unless you think that wearing fake Keds and not having Esprit brand clothes in the 80s is considered tragic and then, well yeah, perhaps my childhood was tragic.  Oh, and you know what else was tragic?  At 16, this is how I learned to drive.  
Baller.  Holla.