If that ain’t love then tell me what is
Liz is promoting Loretta Lynn’s new album, so this weekend we rented Coal Miner’s Daughter, and I cannot believe that I have lived this long without anyone ever bidding two bits on a picnic basket full of my baked goods. Everyone knows you end up married to the guy who outbids the other guy in the hot bidding war for your basket, and then you get fantastic hairpieces and your own tour bus and become best friends with Patsy Cline and addicted to dolls, but then Tommy Lee Jones builds you a house in the mountains and you go on to sing an awesome duet with Jack White when you’re 70. You should get this album, because it fucking rocks, and it’s all I’ve listened to for the past 48 hours.
In other news, my new temp assignment is basically me and this guy my age in a small room together in an abandoned building playing solitaire. He looks like a hot Steve Zahn, or a young blond George McFly with five o’clock shadow in his flat-front dress pants and tie, and he has the squarest jaw in the history of history and I’m pretty sure this can only end with us frenching. When I walked in this morning, he said, “Oh, are you the new secretary?” and my heart leapt and hoped he meant it in a James Spader/Maggie Gyllenhaal kind of way because internet, I have been practicing for that for only my whole entire life.