It's Like It Was Meant To Be

I cannot ignore all of the signs telling me that Rob Pattinson and I are destined to be together.

Not "together," together.  I am happily married, after all.  No, by "together" I mean that Rob and I are destined to be best friends, and that I will be the ideal, unattainable woman who he will admire his entire life and, while dying, pay tribute to in song.  I will be Clara Schumann to his Brahms, if you will, except Sven won't have to go to a mental institution.  It's an ideal situation for all concerned.  

Sign #1: I took the quiz "Which Celebrity Will You Marry" on Facebook, a scientific tool designed to match celebrity men with the women who admire them in a purely intellectual way.  My result: Rob Pattinson.  I cannot ignore this scientific evidence that we are ideally suited for each other.

Sign #2: Rob is a musician.  He sings, plays piano and guitar, and composes music.  I am a musician.  I sing.  I play the piano.  I can play a couple of chords on the guitar.  I have written music.  It's fate.

Sign #3: In his commentary for the Twilight DVD, Rob heckles.  He heckles himself, he heckles the extras, he even heckles other major players.  His heckling is so good, it renders any I might offer superfluous at best.  He heckles his eyebrows, speculating that Edward's depression may manifest itself in overgrooming.  He refers to Edward's hairstyle as "the bouffant" and imitates himself using a very prissy voice.  He even stole some of my lines.  (Guys, stop eating the cookies.  We're vampires.  Read the script.)

How can I ignore this?  Rob Pattinson, you and I are destined to be together in a totally platonic non-physical way.  Call me.