CRISPY!

“I was going to write a nice speech about all the things I like about Sarah Paulson. Sarah Catharine Paulson, she likes when you use her middle name, or Powell-son, as my 5-year-old calls her. But it’s been a crappy few weeks. My dad died, both of my dogs died. You turn on the television or computer and it’s endless tragedies and it seems like more than ever now if you have a vagina, you have to be a fighter as well. So I don’t feel nice. So I decided tonight I’m going to talk about all the things I don’t like about Sarah.

I don’t like the fact that she can wear things that look like a child threw a box of highlighters. Or that she dissembled her grandmother’s couch and reassembled it with safety pins. And still takes your breath away the minute she walks on the red carpet. I don’t like that bravery and I don’t like that it’s inspiring. I don’t like that she loves so deeply and so openly. And I don’t like that she is loved so deeply and so openly by extraordinary people because it only shines the light on how I just need to be better. I don’t like her work ethic. It reminds me that I need to work harder.

I don’t like that her and Holland’s joy for life and each other reminds me that I need to be a better girlfriend. I don’t like that she’s the kind of person that after a long day of flying and fittings will sit in your hotel room after you believe she has nowhere else to go when in fact she is fully aware that you’ve been stood up and she doesn’t want you to be alone. Just like I didn’t like the dozens upon dozens upon roses with little white poppies intermingled in them mere hours after I put my dog to sleep, whose name happens to be Poppy. So if that is the type of person you want for your icon, then I think you have chosen well.”

“Oh honey, is this a proposal?”