My blog crush is Jenny Lawson. The Blogess.
I’ve even got her book.
Part One: I stumbled across her book while wandering in the airport lobby of Heathrow after an emotional send-off. I’m one of those odd people who actually like hanging out in airports. I take myself to breakfast, pick up a magazine or book, and walk around aimlessly people-watching. I wonder if airport security thinks I’m casing the joint. They eyeball me suspiciously – a girl with no bag wandering around an airport can only be one of two things: a drug mule, or she’s homeless. Or maybe she just likes airports. I hope I never get stopped for anything because how would I explain that?
Me: Yes sir, I just like to stalk (watch) people at airports while eating this airport pretzel and thumbing inconspicuously through this month’s issue of Marie Claire. No sir, I am not a weirdo. Or a terrorist. Or a drug mule.
But, I digress. Right, my crush. Anyway, a while back I ran across this post written by The Bloggess. I about lost my sh*t I was laughing so hard. And then, as with all things, I promptly got distracted by something shiny and went on with my day.
Part Two: At some point later I was wandering through a bookstore – I do that a lot as books are my kryptonite – and I came across Caitlin Moran’s How To Be A Woman. Read it, loved it, and promptly bought her second book, Moranthology.
And as some point even later, I was in Heathrow wishing my best friend a safe and pleasant journey back to the Lone Star State, when I wandered into a bookstore and came across a book by The Bloggess. And as Caitlin Moran had put her stamp of approval on the cover, I bought it for my tube ride home.
Note: Though her book is at times absolutely milk-out-your nose funny, I wouldn’t recommend reading it in a public place such as the confinement of a tube car. Also wouldn’t recommend drinking any beverages while reading. Wouldn’t want any milk-nose related incidents in a small, metal container stuffed with people. It gets hot down there and nothing smells worse than sour milk. Maybe wet dog. Or vomit. You get the idea.
Anyway, halfway through the book I came across the Chapter on Beyoncé. The chicken, not the celebrity. And it suddenly dawned on me that the woman who wrote the book and the lady who wrote the post on the chicken are EXACTLY THE SAME PERSON. Squee! Instant crush!
So anyway, I thought I’d write this post because even though I’m sure she’ll never read this, I’m gonna go ahead and put it out there on the off chance that we end up being great friends someday and she reads this post and we get all teary-eyed with nostalgia and choked up on how fate and destiny brought us together.
Oh, and she’s from Texas y’all.