My Secret Obsession

I get overly excited. About people. Some people have posters of Julia Roberts, Colin Firth, or Justin Bieber hanging on their walls. I respect that. But, I don't share it. I've never met a celebrity. They might be pretty cool, but I can't imagine what we would talk about. Don't get me wrong, I like movies. I like actors that are good at acting, and singers that are good at singing. It is neat that people get famous and then the paparazzi makes money off of selling their pictures. I do get insanely excited about people I know. People, this is awkward for me. It is awkward for you, too.

I love you.  You normal person, you.

I get celebrity level excited about normal people that I know. I see them. Often, I see them frequently. Like every week at church, or every day when I pick my kids up from school. My demographic is difficult to pin down. It ranges. I have a 50 year old woman, and a 5 year old little girl with curly hair in there. There's a mom of 6 kids I am a huge fan of. There is a 21 year old young man in the mix. You can see how this is an impossible situation.

If you see this face, be flattered.  And run.

The problem is I have "teenage girl at an Adam Levine concert", and "I am going to name my next child after you" excitement levels, but the people I am going nuts over are not celebrities. They certainly do not reciprocate the emotion back to me. For the most part, these people have been living their lives in a normal way and have somehow gotten onto my radar as AWESOME.

I try to look like this.

On the inside I am this.

It is difficult to pinpoint the exact cause of the Evelyn obsession flip being switched. Maybe, like a cute puppy who has come to your doorstep, I have been given a tiny amount of encouragement. Perhaps you laughed at one of my jokes, or responded in-kind to a compliment I've bestowed upon you. Most likely, you are intelligent and entertain me in some way. I bounce into your life with my fan-love, and it makes you understandably uncomfortable. I honestly try to tame my emotions, but sometimes the crazy breeches safety levels and infiltrates my regal demeanor.You surely didn't ask for my obsessiveness. Likely you have tried to politely discourage my advances. I probably didn't pick up the hint. Or I did, and now my heart is broken.

Good news, objects of my obsession. The obsession usually tapers off after a brief time. One, maybe six months, and I will be out of your hair. We either become friends or the weirdness is just too much for you and we remain distant acquaintances. I will think of you fondly. I won't keep asking for your autograph.

Awkward.

I will keep your picture on my wall.