Michael Phelps' finals schedule is written on Post-its and stuck to my TV.
Last night, I literally ran through Walmart and begged my husband to drive over the speed limit on the way home so that we wouldn't miss the 200m freestyle finals.
I ignored my friends at their house for a full 30 minutes while I read the cover story about Phelps in Sports Illustrated.
I have joined a Michael Phelps facebook group and have Phelps Phan flair.
I have spent too much time on the internet reading stats and bios and checking his times against people like Basson and Cseh.
In spite of his large ears and the fact that he kind of looks like a cross between the ugly New Kid on the Block and a friend of ours with cerebral palsy, I find him strangely attractive.
Brendan's been making fun of me for days because of my new "boyfriend." He asks me if he should start lifting again, learn to swim, and run around in a tiny speedo all day to keep my attention. I promise, this will all go away in ten days, when the Olympics are over, and Brendan will have my undivided attention ... for the next 206 weeks.