I am hereby officially and dramatically slamming my professional and personal worlds together. Before now, I'd limited access to my corner of the blogosphere to a select few friends who I knew wouldn't judge my offensive language, my love affair with the grape or my tendency toward the dramatic.

Now, thanks to author Hollis Gillespie (aka Bleachy Haired Honkey Bitch) via my tenacious, bite-sized friend Natalie, I realize that my success depends on sharing a piece of my "energy" with the world.

So, here goes. Welcome to the buttoned-up side of K.

http://www.streamingfaith.com/news/family/story/peace-and-love/

http://www.askprimerica.com/the-adventure-continues/

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I want Zachary Levi to have my babies.

PLEASE do not interrupt my fantasy with reminders about anatomy and probability. The sad fact is this: I have an unlikely fetish. I really "dig" nerdy white guys. Don't judge me.

Now, before I go any further, forget your black mail aspirations. Mr. Do Right is well aware that geek chic gets my motor running. He's OK with this -- probably because, he's tall (6'3"), dark (as in "black is beautiful") and handsome (bald-headed yummy-ness!). And because he could squish any curly-haired, tongue-tied geek who'd step out of our plasma TV and into our living room.

That said, the Zack Braffs, Paul Rudds and, yes, Zachary Levis of the world could clumsily spill soup on me any day!

BELOW: Levi as Chuck .... and Levi as himself. See? SEE?!

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I am absolutely and undeservingly blessed with friends who keep me off the edge. I don't mean every now and again. I mean that way too often I find my friends protecting me ... from myself.

Today is a prime example.

I had an awesome lunch with

some of my closest gal

pals --

something we haven't done in many, many moons.

During the lunch, we shared awesome fake Mexican food and some primo mid-day Margaritas. (Mine was something called the Texan. It's said to loosen your lips without making you need to call a cab.) I mean, all was right with the world. Then I got the email.

It was one of those passive-aggressive deals. You know the ones that accuse you of something without displaying the balls to actually call you by name. What's worse is that it was a group distribution. Yeah. One of those.

After I checked myself for needing to be checked in the first place, I thought of a few things to say to the sender of the email. It went something like, "Grow an effing pair. Call me out. Be authentic and let's work from there." Of course, my email was nothing like that. That's what I would have liked to say, but my substantial social graces (and a small angel on my shoulder that bore a striking resemblance to my husband) edited my email to read something more like, "Next time, just call me out personally." Neither email saw the light of day. Wanna know why? Because, as I've said in the header of this blog, my friends rock. More descriptively, they kick ass.

I called one of those kick-ass friends to vent -- as I was typing the email. I asked, "Am I wrong for sending this?"- fully expecting her to answer, "Hell, no! Check that trick!" Instead, she asked, "Did you already send it?" "No," I answered. Her reply? "Don't push send." While my aggravated ego wanted nothing more than to reply to all and then push send (over and over again), I heeded the warning of a wise, "tenured" friend (See how I avoided the word "old?" I'm a genius like that.) and canceled the email.

I thank God that I have friends to remind me every now and again that I'm being impulsive or stupid or hypocritical or over-sensitive or neurotic or any of the many disturbing things I tend to be from time to time. In fact, everybody needs someone in his or her life who can look said "one" in the eyes when necessary and say, "Hey, stupid. Don't push send." I'm glad I have friends like that. Now, the real question is why they're having to say it to me so often. Hmm. Self-reflection makes my head hurt.

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