Note to Self: Find Cowboy STAT.

So I have been sick for the past five days. Miserably sick. I feel rotten. On the plus side, I mean, I’ve just been in my bed for most of the time, so I have an extra chance to get stuff done. Of course, since I’m sick and attention-starved and my mommy isn’t here to take care of me and I feel pitifully bad for myself, I have been rather self-indulgent [AKA: I watch movies and read InStyle and lie in bed, staring languidly at the wall] instead of utilizing my time wisely.

And of course this is the week that I decided NOT to get on Facebook, just to see if I could do it and to avoid distraction and to squeal in giddy delight when I see the number of Notifications on my birthday [which is Monday, the 8th, but the way. This Monday. December 8. Just to put that out there.] But since I was feeling so pathetic, I may or may not have meandered on once or twice yesterday [Yes, Furrow, I cheated. Shut up. I was sick. And I’m not going to do it again, because I made my roommate change my password so THERE]. I felt guilty though, so I logged off.

You know, unless I want to check my email or do something for academic purposes [which I was avoiding, you see], I don’t have any specific destinations online [disregarding Facebook, obviously]. I frequent InStyle.com, but I had just meticulously read through two issues of the magazine, and felt self-conscious enough in my sweatpants and greasy glory, thank you very much. So what did I do in my time of need? I Stumbled.

Stumble is probably the coolest thing in the world. You fill out a little profile that lists your interests, then click the magic Stumble button and boom! Instantly transported to a million amazing websites. I find the COOLEST websites for stories and writing and words and stuff like that, amazing traveling things, and oddly, since I listed cooking [more generically food, I think] as an interest, delicious looking recipes, some of which look easy enough for me to try.

That’s how I found it. A ridiculously amazing looking recipe for Crash Hot Potatoes hooked me [of course it was the potatoes. Then I looked at a recipe for beef tenderloin {AKA: Heaven on a Fork} and, even in my sick misery, I think I salivated a little]. Intrigued with the writer’s witty commentary that ran alongside pictures of the cooking process, I started to wander around the website a little bit.

Consequently, I have a new best friend. Her name is Pioneer Woman.

Well, her REAL name is Ree. And she is the antithesis of what you think of when you see the title “Pioneer Woman” on a website. She’s quite young and beautiful and funny and I LOVE HER. Her website has everything; a blog about her life as the wife of a cattle rancher [don’t judge me], a whole section of AMAZING and easy looking recipes, a ton of really awesome pictures of her rancher husband and their four kids and a lot of cows, horses, and chaps. You’d think I’d be repulsed, but I’m not.

I think I love this partly because Pioneer Woman used to be anything but – she was a huge city girl, then fell in love with a cowboy, and was swept away to the middle of nowhere to brand calves and raise babies for the rest of her life. The thing is, SHE LOVES IT. You can tell.

And because of my compulsive, go big or go home mentality, I have spent a solid 6 hours on the website in the past two days, mainly reading the serialized version of her and her husband’s story, which is quite possibly the most perfect and romantic thing I have ever seen. I love it. In the creepiest, most ridiculous sense possible, I honestly feel like I know this woman. I kind of hate myself for that, but whatever. I’m sick. My mind is probably delusional.

Anyway, I guess the point is that peoples’ plans can change pretty drastically. God can take people in directions that they never dreamed possible and it turns out better than they ever imagined for themselves. So let me just get this part over right now, so that if it happens one day, you won’t laugh until you die of cardiac arrest: if my plans pull a 180, whether it be sooner or later, and I meet some perfect ranch owner with dark, perfect hair, and he sweeps me off my feet and I end up in the middle of Texas working cattle and cooking for the ranch hands and homeschooling my seven children because we live in a giant farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and cow manure is a part of my daily existence and InStyle becomes as obsolete in my life as top hats have in fashion…I can see myself being very okay with that.

But the Rancher had better be really freaking hot, that’s all I’m saying.

And Pioneer Woman had better be my neighbor. Because we have unwittingly forged a cosmic bond. Be jealous. And don’t tell her yet – I don’t know if she has noticed…

PS: Furrow, I forbid you to comment on my wall about my alleged Facebook cheating situation. That’s right: YOU ARE FORBIDDEN.