I love you.
Seriously. You make me laugh. You make me cry. You’re better than CATS.
I love that you HEART Sally Hansen nail polish when you *so* could afford to bathe in OPI.
I love that you were woman enough to admit that lowfat cheese isnt all that bad—–but that the portions are way to friggin small.
I love that you adoreth Top Chef so much that I was thisclose to becoming a fan (sorry. letcha down on that account.).
I love that you referred to a national diet chain’s prepackaged food portions as being equivalent to what’s typically left at the BOTTOM of the pan when you’re through serving yourself.**
I love page 242 in Bright Lights Big Ass. Your brutal honesty coupled with the fact you still made me laugh? Perfection.
I loved Candy Girl by Diablo Cody, saw that you’re reading it, and loathe that Im now
obsessed with knowing curious about whether you enjoyed it as well.
I love to pretend, late at night when my Renaissance Man’s snoring is precluding me from slumbering, that we would SO be BFFS if our paths would only cross.
You’d hit me with a Jenzinger and, unlike Fletch’s boss, Id not laugh but would zing you right back without breaking a sweat.
(cue montage of the two of us frolicking in a flowery field weaving garlands in each other’s hair while giggling nonstop)
I know this missive mightcould make things awkward between us, Jen, should we ever run into each other (you know, on those Very Important, Funny, & Famous Authors! panels upon which we both often appear) but Im willing to take that risk.
That’s the way I roll.
*What? You arent familiar with the writing, swearing, snarking, lucky charm-eating wonder which is Jen Lancaster? FOR SHAME, PEOPLE, FOR SHAME!
**Im paraphrasing here. Im a whacked out fan but not an organized one so I dont have the book anywhere handy.