Written when she dropped by the country. I don’t even remember when. And I’m too lazy to check my planner:

Awhile ago, I attended a roundtable interview with American Idol Season 8 finalist Allison Iraheta. I got to watch the season she was in, but I was never really her fan. Naturally, I wasn’t excited to attend the interview. I didn’t even want to go, but there was no one else who could so I just had to go.

At the interview venue, I had to kill time: 30 agonizing minutes, which I spent staring at my rubber shoes, and munching on a moist muffin.

When Allison finally arrived, she sat beside me, and the interview started. Everyone excitedly asked questions, some of them even trying to beat one another at asking the red-haired singer first. I on the other hand just continued to stare at my rubber shoes. It was surreal. I felt like I reverted to my old angsty teen self. There I was bored to death, staring at my shoes, surrounded by all these happy, giddy, enthusiastic and interested happyhappyjoyjoy beings. I just couldn’t wait for it to end. I didn’t ask her a question. I didn’t have a photo taken with her. I just wanted everything to end.

It eventually did, and I went back to the office. And saw my crush.

I was happy.