Abounding love

My relationship with the L-word is laughable, but things are happening. Wilmington changed me. For some reason, I've let myself go. The L-word just flies into the air at random and I'm unable to stop it. The logical side of my brain resists, but I can't fight it for long. I think I've turned my lonely homesickness into pure, raw emotion that explodes into outbursts of love. People use that word for their husbands and wives, but I just throw it around these days. It's not right. I need to clear the air around here, so I'm using this post as a confessional:

Rupert Friend has been on like three episodes of Homeland and I'm already OBSESSED. He's gorgeous and mean-- my type. 

Stephen Amell. No explanation needed.

When he proposed to Leslie, I answered thinking he meant me. 

Sometimes I laugh so hard an L-word or two slips out.

He makes me laugh like none other.

Reese or Danny, I don't care. Chris Messina is gorgeous. His dry humor is a perk.

Matthew makes me want a commitment. Perfect husband. Where are my hot cousins? 

I want her life. 

Who doesn't love Connie Britton? GODDESS.

I watched Mean Girls, okay?

The Alabama Crimson Tide. Obvs.

I think everyone already knows my soulmate. He gets the L-word at least once a day.

Look at that face y'all. 

My name is Lauren, and I have a problem.

To paraphrase Amy Winehouse, there will be no rehab.