Oops. My friends are holding me at arms length this afternoon. Not because I publically shared a profoundly intimate moment with Jacob (who holds his words more sacred than his flesh just like I do) but because I admitted that I'm still listening to a song that came out when I was thirteen years old.
I know.
Then you won't be surprised either if I told you I keep Kansas, Bad Company and Bon Jovi in heavy rotation too.
And I didn't grow up to be embarrassed of my pictures in off the shoulder shirts and parachute pants and giant plastic neon jewelry, oh no. My wardrobe was a heavy rotation of Metallica t-shirts and incredibly tight jeans. Black high heels, eyeliner and a whole lot of hair. My dream? To follow in Tawny Kitaen's footsteps and get paid to roll around on the hood of a car.
Go big or go home, Bridget.
(As you can see, I went home.)
And pretty range wildly between gypsy lovechild and metal queen now. Okay. Shut up.
