My day just exploded yesterday afternoon. I discovered that, at the ripe age of 28, I can still blush. Furiously. I also learned that there are still, um, expressions that I'm not familiar with, and when I learn what they mean, the blushing happens. It was hardcore, people. I felt like I was 8 years old again, and my older sister was revealing some truly horrifying facts about boys. (She was just kidding, right?)
After that illuminating conversation, I had an amazing interview with Alicia Erian, author of The Brutal Language of Love. Not only is her writing crisp, funny, honest, and sexy, but she is as well. I'm putting in my request to be her when I grow up. I'd tell you more about the interview, but I have to save it for the printed page. (Okay, I will tell you this: She said writing is hard, and essentially, she doesn't like it. I've said that a million times and no one believes me. I hate writing. It's excruciating. I just can't stop doing it. She also said that honest writing is like being naked. Did you hear that? I'm naked here, people.)
I make my way home, thinking all the while about the aforementioned amazing writer and horrific blushing incident, and when I get there, my roomie is about to head out to walk the Sam. Yeah, I'd love to go, if only so I can get the last two hours off of my chest. But this is no ordinary walk in the arboretum, folks. Oh, no. Jen is walking with Pam, who has brought the world's most adorable beagle puppy with her. A puppy. A cute, squirmy, fluffy puppy. I practically melted into a puddle of joy.
I tried to watch some Olympics and the Sox game after that -- you know, to calm down -- but I couldn't do it. The Sox were down, the gold-medal pressure was too intense. So I watched an incredibly bad movie instead. And now I want to know this: Where the hell is my hot prince from Denmark?
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