I have a new-found love. And he may be married, and he may have three kids and he's probably old enough to be my dad...or an i-knocked-her-mom-up-when-i-was-sixteen-kind-of-dad, but nonetheless, I'm obsessed.
Drumroll please.....
Harry Connick, Jr.
From here on out, Mr. Connick will be labeled as HC Jr. because his entire name is way too much to type out 8 million times because that's how much I'll be talking about him.
He was on American Idol last week. OH. Time out. Different Wavelength... American Idol sucks this season and it's totally going to the pooper after this year because 1) the contestants just aren't that good 2) people are bored and 3) they continue to say the word "pitchy" and as we all know (and as HC Jr. quite bluntly informed the judges themselves) pitchy is not a word....
Okay, I'm done.
Why do I love HC Jr. you ask? Because I want to marry someone like him. Someone who is a total crooner and who can siiiiinnnnnggg lliiikeee thaattt. Someone who is hilarious in the most dry and almost jerkish way, but it's still really funny even though he makes you feel like an ant about to be squashed by the humiliation shoe. He also is totally in love with his wifey and melts when anybody asks about his three daughters. I know, right? And then on top of that he has this omg-awesome New Orleans accent and knows how to make gumbo and red beans and rice. Win. Winwinwinwinwinwinwin.
So from here on out, if you need me, I'll be in the Big Easy wearing my best attire and waiting for my HC Jr. to come along.
Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler :)
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