Many of you who know me also know that I don’t follow celebrities. At all. I could care less and I am only able to point out probably a handful of celebs – Robin Williams, Julia Roberts, Ashton Kutcher, and Nelly.

My mother thinks I’m not her child, since she knows everything about superstars reading People and US weekly. I’ve made two comments that have sent her over the edge: First, “Who is Brad Pitt?” and second, “Is Anna Nicole Smith the one who died in a skiing accident?”

Disowned.

I’m not completely out of the loop though, Dennis Rodman was on my plane to Florida and I saw Mike Meyers filming Cat in the Hat when I was at Universal Studios. That’s close enough for me.

One celebrity that always has been and always will be at the top of my list is Nelly, yes the rapper.

This obsession started early in 8th grade when I got the CD Nellyville, my first explicit disc. I was officially a cool kid. Every time I have ever passed through St. Louis the iPod switches over to the albums Country Grammar, Nellyville, and Sweat and Suit. It’s nothing but Nelly for a straight three hours and 22 minutes. Every year we joke that we will get rid of the GPS, forget the trip to Florida, and find Nelly.

Then came the hands down, best day of my life.

My cousin got married this fall and her wedding reception was in St. Louis. I joked that I was going to find the big shot this time. I put on my best dress and walked into Luciano’s Trattoria, which is an expensive Italian restaurant downtown. I happened to overhear someone say, “The quarterback lives right there and Nelly lives close too.” I literally stopped breathing. I didn’t want to completely eavesdrop, so I put the thought in the back of my head and hit the dance floor.

Later, I walked towards the bathroom when I spotted them- pictures of Nelly with the bartenders. I had been frequenting the bar all night and felt comfortable enough to go ask them. I walked up cool, calm, and confident and asked straight up, “You know Nelly?” Both of them brushed it off like it was nothing,

“Yeah, he’s a regular here, comes about every Sunday,” they said.

Dang, it was only Saturday. I pushed on to see if they could get him to come just one day earlier! The first bartender said, “I’ll text him.”

“Wait, hold up. You have his phone number? Can I have it?” He gave me the look as if I was crazy and laughed. Well, if at first you don’t succeed just try again. On to bartender number two.

I started spilling my life story on how big of a fan I was and if he gave me the phone number I would probably love him and this restaurant forever. He was hesitant and then said, “I guess if you don’t tell him it was me, I’m cool with it.” There is a god. My hands were shaking as he scrolled down to the “N” section on his Blackberry. That’s when I sent the best text of my life.

1:32 a.m.: NELLY! Did I really just get your number? Or was it only just a dream?

I’ve texted him and tweeted at him a few other times, on his birthday and such. He’s never responded but that’s okay, I still feel like we are close. I realize I’m on my way to being a “Stage 5 clinger,” but not quite yet. I just ordered tickets to his concert in Waterloo on March 4 and found out the show is general admission. I’m planning on getting there a few hours early for front row seats, then we’ll see if this is an unhealthy obsession.