Crush #47 (this time on a famous guy)

The snow, it has not arrived. Unless you live north or south of me and all of you people are at home in your pjs eating pop tarts and watching all the goodies TiVo caught for you last night. It's okay, I don't hate you. Even though it's been four o'clock for, like, hours. You go ahead and start Lost without me.

Also, no one is here. Last weekend was the three-day weekend, people. No fair going home early.

It's just me and The Mountain, the station that refuses stop playing Modest Mouse songs, no matter many threatening letters I send.

Right now, however, we are being treated to the adorably conflicted John Mayer, he of the dreamy eyes, lush voice and crazy bouncy leg issues. Really, John. What is up with the pyscho leg?

I used to be in love with John Mayer. Seriously. I kinda missed out on the whole crush on Kirk Cameron thing when I was a kid. Okay, I might be a little too young for Kirk Cameron. But there were no Tiger Beat pictures of Jordan Knight and Joey McEntire in my bedroom and I never wrote "Mrs. Brandon Walsh" on the cover of my notebooks. I had no preteen romantic fantasy outlet whatsoever. I blame this on my parents, who might have been running a convent as the most dangerous influence to ever enter our home was the Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff tape my best friend used to bring over so we could listen to it on my two-deck tape player (that I got for Christmas when I was 11 and thought was the absolute coolest thing EVER.) And the first time a boy ever called me, my dad demanded to know who was on the other end and when I silently stared at him with complete and utter horror, he took the receiver, coldly announced that his daughter was not allowed to be receiving phone calls from a willful and audacious young man like my caller, and hung up. I can't even remember who called, such was the chilling fear running down my spine. Okay, maybe I lied and said it was my friend down the street and then my dad went all Psycho Dad on the phone, but still. How are you supposed to have an unrequited teenage crush in that kind of environment?

I had to wait until I was twenty-three before finally experiencing the wistful pining anguish one can feel for a super cute extra-talented Rock God. And John Mayer? That summer? Most certainly a Rock God. Of the dreamy, droll, mellow and self-deprecating variety, of course. He was my Adam Brody before there was an Adam Brody. (Although there was Dave Rygalski. Sigh.) That was the summer his first big album came out and all the college kids were making out to "Your Body Is A Wonderland" and I was in Majorly Deep Like. With a famous person. Who I knew from TV. Who might have been dating Jennifer Love Hewitt. Ew. Did I mention I had a boyfriend? A serious boyfriend? A boyfriend who became my fiance mere months later?

Right. Whatever. What really mattered was that my kick ass friend Sean took ME to the John Mayer Private Concert at the EMP when he won two tickets off the radio. I prefer to think that Sean chose me to attend this most joyous and overwhelming event because we're tight, man, and he knew- he knew- about unrequited crushes on famous people. But I may have threatened him with bodily harm. Either way, he took me, and that's why I'll refrain from telling the Internet about his famous 'girlfriend'. Heh.

But anyway. He is totally going to kill me. Whatever. So I go to the show, right, and I was way nervous and totally aware of how every single girl there had hotted herself all up. We all wanted to know what happened to our lunch boxes. I knew I wasn't going to be, you know, invited for a drink after the show or anything. Mostly. Yeah, I was just there to soak up the dreaminess. And also to catch the Crazy Bouncy Leg in live action. Dude. You should really get that checked out. But the most important thing is this: John Mayer shook my hand. Eeeeeeeee!!!

So suddenly I am writing Maggie Mayer on my notebooks and obsessively reading the funny-when-it-first-got-started road journal over at his website. Because, you know, I was going to run into him again. And this time I might get to even introduce myself.

Then, like I said, I got engaged. Phillip even knew about my secret boyfriend, that's how much he loves me. And let me tell you: planning a wedding sucks the very life soul out of you and that's includes any and all hapless crushes on Rock Gods, Movie Stars, or That Cute Guy On That TV Show. (Future post topic: Why a newly engaged girl should drop everything and RUN in the face of the Wedding Magazine Industry.)

And now? I am crush-free. Oh, I still get a warm fuzzy feeling whenever I hear 'St. Patrick's Day', but ever since I saw a Crossroads episode with Brad Paisley and John Mayer, there's no more love. Because John? Was kinda arrogant. In the whole "I know there are a million girls dreaming about me right this very moment" kind of way, but I'll be happy to note that I was so not one of those girls. And you watch out, Adam Brody, before you get all into yourself too. But Brad Paisley? Call me!

Now I'm going to be all red-faced because aren't these things only supposed to happen when you're twelve? And the Internet KNOWS. The Internet also knows that I watch the country music channel. Because it's awesome. Shut it.

Comments

[Sean]

MAGGIE!

I can't believe you actually referred to my famous girlfriend on the oh-so-very public internet! If my real girlfriend were to ever find out about my famous girlfriend--not that my real girlfriends isn't famous, mind you--I'd never hear the end of it! AND YOU KNOW IT!

Sigh. But alas, you did mention me in your blog, and that fact that I was (am?) a "kick ass friend" so I have no choice whatsoever but to let it go. And I s'pose I'll just have to deal with the real girlfriend if ever she finds out the truth. :)