I Love You Like Paula Deen Loves Butter
I love you the way Paula Deen loves butter, the way she loves finding new uses for it at every corner, and never turns away or plays its significance in her life down, no matter how unpopular to medical professionals or detrimental to her health it may be. I love you the way the Food Network loves her for jumping on the station-wide grenade and being the one to make all the horrendously unhealthy foods that we all love but want to pretend we don’t. I love you the way she loved looking at that pan-sized lasagna between two loaves of garlic bread that she was about to eat as a sandwich. I love you.
I love you the way broke college students love when their parents are in town and take them out to eat a legitimate dinner and are mercifully planning to pick up the check for afterwards. I love you the way the student knows he can order an appetizer, some drinks, even a dessert — and not have to live in grave, grave fear of the moment when the bill comes at the end and he has to pay for all of his myriad sins.
I love you the way a lazy shopper loves it when she goes into the store and sees a huge-ass line for the changing rooms and she’s like, “Hell, no,” but she really wants to buy this one dress that’s on sale and she’s pretty sure that it’s going to fit without trying it on, so she just kind of holds it up to herself in front of the mirror and buys it and then at home — lo and behold — the thing fits like a glove. I love you the way that shopper loves when something was on sale and it wasn’t even marked down on the tag so she got an awesome surprise at the cash register, and being that the store is Forever 21, it’s not like it was exactly a mortgage payment to begin with, so she basically got a dress for the price of a smoothie.
I love you the way people love running to catch the subway and getting on just milliseconds before the train doors close and they’re just like “Yes whatever I don’t care if I looked like a flailing clown running to catch this thing I did it yisssss.”
I love you the way people who love The Wire love talking about The Wire, telling everyone they know in utter futility that they need to watch The Wire, and describing in detail the various aspects of human nature and the nature of corrupt systems that it manages to show in complex ways while never losing its firm basis in day-to-day life. I love you the way The Wire fans love Omar, especially that one scene where he takes the stand with his absurd tie and completely owns Levy in front of the openly amused jury. Come on guys, let’s all watch that show together and talk about our feelings.
I love you the way fans love practically peeing themselves when Jason Bateman tweets something about the upcoming Arrested Development movie. I love you the way society continues to love Michael Cera, despite having played the same awkward teenage character for the last twenty or so years.
I love you the way drunk people love karaoke, the way it it suddenly transmuted from something that would be incredibly embarrassing in the sober light of day into something that is not only fun, it’s a way to show everyone this talent that you suddenly have. I love you the way bros love ironically singing “Call Me Maybe” and secretly enjoying it more than they would ever let on. I love you the way bar owners love how much patrons do shots to encourage each other during karaoke night.
I love you the way a drunk person loves magically finding a 24-hour McDonald’s when they’re stumbling in a state of profound hunger at three AM, to settle in and eat a 10-piece Chicken McNuggets with fries and several sauces, and find out that everything is literally right out of the fryer and thus scaldingly hot and in its perfect McDonald’s state. I love you the way the drunk person loves not even feeling the burn on their tongue from the anesthetic effects of the alcohol and therefore being able to consume their nuggets at a rate otherwise considered unsafe.
I love you the way Anthony Bourdain loves being nice to his hosts, and eating things that you just know watching the show must be unbelievably gross, but which makes the locals happy to see consumed by someone genuinely interested in their culture.
I love you the way people loved complaining about how absurd it is that we need a new Spiderman franchise a mere five seconds after the other one hung up its spidey suit, but totally went to see it anyway, because come on, Andrew Garfield is like looking directly into an orgasm.
I love you the way dogs love a warm summer day with lots of sticks to play with, the way nerds love fighting over Avatar: Legend of Korra, the way hummingbirds love it when a new earthy middle-school teacher moves into the neighborhood and hangs up a bunch of sparkly nectar-feeder things. I love you in the only way I can, in the only way I’ve ever known, which is with the love and tenderness and profound appreciation that internet fangirls love pictures of Ryan Gosling with his shirt wet.
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You had perfect almond eyes that were colored dark chocolate.
It was excruciating. I was so bored. All we did was hold the throttle and sit there. All the coffee in the world couldn’t have kept me aware and upbeat. I stared at my odometer. Miles passed so slowly while time raced on.
He holds my hand in his lap, looks me directly into the eyes and says, “I love you more than the amount of sperm a blue robin makes.”