Level One Girl Crushes: Rachel Maddow

Here, Level One (maybe 2) Girl Crush Jenna Marbles explains the concept:

Granted, it isn’t the language I would use, but the tiered concept of the girl Crush as outlined by Ms. Marbles stands as such:

  1. I wanna be friends with you. Let’s hang out
  2. I wanna be you. You are so awesome.
  3. You are so awesome, I would probably take the opportunity to makeout (at least) with you.

What follows is an incomplete list of my Level One Girl Crushes:

#1: Rachel Maddow

Just about anyone who has heard about our move knows that I am most excited about having cable again so that I can watch  Maddow first run before leaving for work.

I’ve been an avid Maddow watcher since 2007 when she started filling in for Olbermann on his vacations.

When she got her own show during the 2008 election cycle, I watched nightly–much to the chagrin of my coworkers. For me, the thing that appealed to me most Maddow’s show, eventually allowing her to edge out Olbermann for nightly political reviewer closest to my heart, is that she doesn’t yell at or berate her guests. Of all the segments she has done, this is the one that clinched my admiration of her:

This is her 1 to 1 interview with David Bahati, author of Uganda’s “Kill the Gays” Bill. She remained completely professional and unflappable while doing an in depth interview with a man who would have seen her correctively raped or executed. I cried watching this interview.

But being smart, funny and having integrity isn’t the only thing that puts Rachel Maddow on the Level One list. She is a prolific mixologist. I look forward to the Cocktail Moment on the show, especially knowing she has an affinity for gin.

She has an incredible glasses collection. Like, eyeglasses. Which I can definitely appreciate, being a glasses collector myself.

The blue ones, the Ray Bans, the glasses it always seems like she is wearing while drinking on late night tv.


And look at that library:


Rachel, I would totally violate my ban on entering Northampton to buy you an Ice Cream. I would actively try not to vomit on my (or your) shoes. No guarantees about the anxiety attack I would have trying to park, though.

Call Me.

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Fat Feminist Sex Educator.