Now I can die a happy blogger

Last Saturday, I met a rockstar. And y’all. I totally geeked out. Geeked. Out. I mean, 11-yr-old girl meets Hannah Montana geeked out.

And just in case you don't believe me, let me give you a brief rundown of my shining moment:

I’m pretty sure I called her a ROCKSTAR at least five times, spoke something like 10,000 words a minute (every other one being “inspiration!!” “nervous!” or “excited!!!”), proceeded to share half my life story, and then somehow got a perfect stranger to take our picture. And in the meantime, almost completely ignored her husband and totally forgot to introduce my friend because I just could not get over the fact that I WAS TALKING TO HEATHER B. ARMSTRONG.

But here’s the thing. During this entire effusive spectacle, Heather B. Armstrong never looked at me like I had three heads and a purple eye. Nor did she back away slowly while dialing 9-1-1. Instead, she complimented my rabbit fur-collared coat, sang a little Mormon pop and casually mentioned to me that she was an English major- as if I haven’t, you know, read every single one of the posts on dooce.com and also happen to know all about the Avon World Sales Leader and that a “crayon” is a “crown” and not a “cran.” Because the truth, my friends, is that Heather B. Armstrong, winner of four 2008 Bloggies and the one whose writing lit a fierce fire under my violin-scarred typing fingers, really is just as genuine as her writing is.

I finally know why it was meant for me to leave the birthplace of Neiman Marcus and move to the city that loves to suck all the fun out of good, clean materialism. I used to think that it was so that I could learn how to spend 36 hours writing 3 taglines only to watch my prof. look at them for half a second before crossing them out one by one. But now I know that it was so that I could be in Austin at the Halcyon Coffee Shop on Saturday, March 8th in my rabbit fur-collared coat TO MEET HEATHER B. ARMSTRONG.