I have a problem.

Okay, so here's something you don't know about me. (which, given my penchant for over sharing, there's probably not much you wouldn't know.)

I have a serious addiction. And that addiction has a name: Ed Robertson.

Ed is the guitarist and singer for the band Barenaked Ladies. (Yes, I realize some of you reading this may not even know who that band is.) ((No, I do not care.)) And, while they are my favorite band of ever, really? Ed is just the yummiest thing since.... well, since Paul Rudd.... although he pre-dated my Paul Rudd addiction.... so he's basically the yummiest thing since boys stopped having cooties.

I heart him.

I heart him BAD.

I realize he's not the typical love-muffin stud most women would swoon over. But me?

*swoon*



Yeah. It's bad, people.

How bad? Well, today in a vo-tech meeting, a counselor from another district walked in and I almost stopped breathing.

I shit you not - he looked just like Ed.

So much so, I don't even know what his name was. I know I was introduced, but in my head all I could hear playing was a looped track of every BNL song ever, all overlapping one another, all overlapped by my inner fan-girl squealing with delight.

(Let's just bear in mind that this was not actually Ed, kay? Cause clearly I am sick.)

Turns out, he sat right next to me at the conference table, which, while that might sound good, actually made it very hard to come up with reasons to turn to my right to gaze at him with a lovesick look that I am sure was freaking him out. Not to mention, I was so jazzed at his mere presence (again, NOT ED), that I could have slid off my chair.

Seriously.

It's bad.

So, as I am daydreaming about if he plays the guitar or not and how I am going to whisk him away from his wife (yes, I saw he was wearing a wedding ring... which, since clearly my own ring wasn't stopping my fantasies, why would his? Come on, people. Keep up.) and what our beautiful dark haired, greenish-blueish eyed children are going to look like (my husband looks nothing like this, btw.) ((sorry honey, but you already know what's up.)), I notice something that - again - took my breath away. Just not in a good way.

You guys? He was wearing a W. W. J. D. bracelet.

Seriously.

Yeah. I am pretty sure, should he consider what Jesus would do, that he was not going to let me climb in his lap mid-meeting and make mad use of that fabulous leather swivel chair he was sitting in.

However, despite my disappointment - deep, deep, disappointment - a plan began to hatch in my mind. It involved me getting a job in his school, coming up with pointless questions just so I could go ask him, not really listen to his answers as I stare deep into his eyes, and then - after an appropriate amount of time - jump his ass and convert him to the godless heathen that I am.

I mean, it could totally happen.

*sigh*

Ed.

(or, not-Ed. Whatever.)