It’s no secret I’m a pop culture junkie. So when a guy can make a sly pop culture reference, I start rubbernecking. Do you casually ask people named Ben, Jack or Sawyer how they got off the island? Do you see an older woman out with her son and call her as Mrs. Bates? Do you dig discussions about Rubber Man, Bloody Face, and Jessica Lange? If so, I volunteer as tribute!
But please don’t call yourself Sean Lowe when the bar is full of ladies. Sorry, but I don't want my guy to know any contestants of "The Bachelor" by name. I just don't. I expend enough brain cells on this crappy rose-giving franchise, he doesn't need to do it too.
|It's not hot when he knows who these people are!|
And definitely don’t refer to yourself as Harry Styles because that makes my smile only go in One Direction: south to Frowntown. It confuses me when he knows who got kicked off "Dancing with the Stars" this week or constantly quotes "Teen Mom" (Farrah’s sex tape? Damn girl.) Nothing makes me awkwardly teeter away in my six-inch wedges faster than a guy who just knows too much about trashy tabloid pop culture shit. I know a ton about trashy tabloid pop culture shit; I have it covered for the both of us, I swear!
But if you saw Clinton on Colbert last week or downloaded the latest TED talk on your iPhone, hit me up. I love coconut rum shots with a diet chaser, men taller than six feet tall and Grisham’s early novels. Until then please excuse me, I think I just heard someone in the corner mention Leo as Gatsby.Not to be a dissenter, but I like it when my man can go toe-to-toe with me about the shit we see on TMZ. But I can see if he started spouting off with a ton of opinions about "Kourtney and Kim Take Miami," I'd be like, "Step away from the E! network, guy. That's my area of expertise. No need to chime in about Lord Disick's eyepatch."