I’m going to be rich and famous someday.  Don’t laugh, it’s true.  (Those of you who laugh will be cast into the pit of burning sulfur known as Camden, New Jersey when I possess the power to do so).  Anyways, like all young men of my age group who are bigger, stronger, handsomer, richer, and more talented in their daydreams than they are in real life, I’ve already compiled a list of celebrity females I would attempt to woo in an undoubtedly futile attempt to fulfill some type of psychological yearning for self-respect and self-worth.  Included on this list are (in no particular order):

Those of you who know me, or those of you who are only aware of my existence because of this blog, would probably agree that I possess nothing outside of an underdog quality that would draw any of these women to me.  Most of them, with the exception of one (the animated, fictional one that doesn’t actually exist…), would probably quickly slap me with a restraining order after mistaking my looking through their windows with binoculars and shipping myself in a box to their houses for stalking.  Can’t a guy be romantic anymore without babble about “personal space,” “illegal,” and “you need therapy?”

But none of that matters.  All the ladies listed above are my silver medals.  They can’t compare to the apple of my eye.  Remember when I said there was no particular order?  Well, for them, there isn’t; they’re all just scrambling for second place.  But there is definitely a number one – the cream of the crop, the tip of the iceberg, the one who makes my boat float, the one for whom I would punch puppies in the face (which is saying a lot because I really like puppies).  That one is Tina Fey.

Yes, the 38-year old SNL alum and Emmy-winning genius behind 30 Rock is the one woman who I hope will someday choose to share her life with me.  She would be the Juliet to my Romeo (without the suicide), the whoever-Rachel-McAdams-plays to my whoever-Ryan-Gosling plays in The Notebook (without the Alzheimers), and the Lindsay Lohan to my Samantha Ronson (without me being an unattractive lesbian and her not being a walking anti-drug commercial).

Tina Fey was the first female head writer on SNL and is the creator, star, and a writer on 30 Rock, which in my opinion, is the best show on television.  She’s a talented writer, she’s humble, she makes glasses look sexy, she’s got a hilarious self-deprecating sense of humor, and also, she’s kind of smokin’ hot.

She’s also married with two kids.  Now, I’m not the kind of guy to condone extra-marital affairs, especially when kids are involved, so my solution is simple: Tina, if you’re reading this (because I’m sure she regulars the obscure blog postings on CHUD.com), then consider this blog to be my impassioned plea to you to leave your husband and run away with me.  I know that I’m nowhere near as successful or talented as your producer/composer husband, and that I’d pretty much ride your financial and social coattails, and that I hate kids, and that I could never support you should something happen to your career, and that I never actually watched SNL when you were on it, and that my physique inspires children to laugh at me in public places such as pools, beaches, and city streets, but we can work through all that.

For one thing, I’m really tall.  Have you ever needed to stand on a chair or a pile of precariously stacked books to reach something – like a pan for cooking or another book for that precarious stack – off a high shelf?  Those days are over.  I’m also a pushover.  Tired of having people disagree with you or have their own ideas?  I will agree to anything you tell me with a smile and forfeit all rights to any dignity or self-respect if you would just hold me gently later on.  Do you need somebody killed?  I mean, I can’t do that.  But, you know, I know some people who know some people…

Alright, Tina, so I realize that in comparison to what you already have, I’m no improvement. In fact, I’m probably a step or two (or twelve) backwards.  But a guy can dream can’t he?  If nothing else, we can always roleplay – I’ll dress up like Tom Palin and you can show me that the only difference between a hockey mom and a bulldog is that there’s no bulldog in bed with me.

Jim Rohner

Jim Rohner pays his bills as a film critic and associate producer for Zoom In Online