An ex-girlfriend introduced me to Hannah Hart, and life will never be the same. But who gets her in the divorce?
So I’ve been wanting to write about Hannah Hart for awhile now, but when I think about doing it, it’s basically:
“Hannah Hart, am I right?”
Like, it’s Hannah Hart, this is the queer internet, what do you even say? It’s like introducing Meryl Streep at the Oscars. Meryl Streep doesn’t need any fucking introductions at the Oscars. Meryl Streep IS the Oscars.
But, Hannah, just in case this is unclear, I love you. Ok, I see how that looks, but not in a stalkery way. I’m not typing this on my iPhone as I sit beneath your kitchen window or anything. I have a basic understanding of boundaries, and anyway, I live in Northern California, and I’m afraid of how on the freeways in your city EVERYONE GOES 120 MPH AND WANTS TO KILL YOU.
You have baked brownies with Mary Louise. You have made sea bass with Lance Bass. You have made more puns (and better ones) than every member of my entire, very punny family combined. You have magic hair. And I only discovered you like four months ago so I still have SO MUCH My Drunk Kitchen to catch up on.
Yeah, I know. I’m always late to the youtube party.
If you haven’t seen her–if you’ve been living under a rock that’s even bigger than mine–check her out NOW. Watch the series. Read the book. Love the lisp. Bonus: she’s a total smartypants. In all the best ways. And I wish I knew where she got her shirts.