Just today, as I was computering, as I am wont to do - (Grammar?! Fuck GRAMMAR!) I ran into one of my best college friends, The King of Hearts (who from this point on shall be known as TKH).

"Hey Poodle," he says.

And because I love this wedding crasher to the tips of my toes, I just said,

"HEEYYYYY!".

I don't think that I have to explain to you all what kind of relationship we have. I am the girl who socked the poor boy who told me that he thought I was a princess. And really, let's not kid, kids - what kind of positive connotations does poodle have? Curly hair? Anxious? Pees all over the place? I guess two out of three ain't bad. And I don't have curly hair, last time I checked.

But having him call me poodle, and me accepting it! reminded me of that meme, if you know me as...(hee! I just typed ass. If you know me ass...)

TKH and I happened upon each other one hot steamy summer in Orlando. As Spanish majors. He was RRRRRRIIIIIICCCCOOOO. And I was, SSSWWWW...EAAAATTTTY. Damn, a girl just can't do enough to look good in 100 degrees.

We went on a study date where we took advantage of Chili's 2 for 1 margaritas and it was love at first sip.

He was my bridesmaid in my wedding, looking dashing in his suit. He held my dress while I frantically ran to the bathroom. Where is the wedding photographer when you need him, anyway? He in his tux, I in my bodysuit, unsnapping gazillions of buttons so I didn't wet my dress at the altar, not like you would've been able to tell, with all those layers of fabric-y crap.

So here we are. Me poodle, and you, Will.

I love Bebe Neuwirth. And I know that he would love her, too.

Because that's how we are.

Our own version of Will and Grace. Except I have bigger boobs, and he is way cuter.