There are a lot of celebrity women who I’d consider switching teams for – Ani DiFranco tops the list, with Sarah Silverman a close second. Almost all of them are brunettes.

Except Jennifer Aniston.

I’m not usually smitten, nor even mildly interested in mainstream TV celebs, but I am super sweet on Jen. I quickly and clandestinely flip through every magazine at the box stores with her face on it, scouring for photos and new information.

Although I watched plenty of episodes of "Friends" in the day, my crazy crush didn’t really materialize until I saw her in "Office Space." (37 pieces of flair!)

And then I saw her indie film "The Good Girl" and good God, I got it for her. Bad.

As a jeans-and-T-shirt girl myself, I like how casual she dresses. I like her smile, her sincerity and her willingness to be both vulnerable and stick up for herself in interviews.

She is the epitome of sweet and tough.

So here’s where it gets really corny. I don’t just ladylust for her, but I actually feel for her. I realize she chose her path in life, but I think about what it would be like to have your husband leave you for another woman – a younger one at that – and for just about everyone in the world to know it. It makes my heart hurt.

I also find myself actually hoping she meets someone, and to conceive a child – if that’s indeed what she really wants. 

My fondness for Jennifer might be, in part, due to her name. I do have quite a history with it, like many people who grew up in the '70s and '80s.

So now the cynic in me must chime in. Why do I care about someone who will, most likely, never know I exist? How can I claim to feel a connection to someone on the teevee? What next: a photo of her taped to the inside of my locker? Sheesh.

(Angelina has nothing on you, Jen. Nothing.)