Confession Time.

I'm finally going to admit to a fetish I've had for awhile now, but is bubbling to the surface with force as of late.

I'm not usually attracted to older men. By older, I mean over the age of like 40. I don't see the Sean Connery appeal. Sorry Harrison Ford. I've never really had a thing for Clooney the way other people do. Even Daniel Craig does nothing for me.

I nod and smile when people bring up their old man crushes, but there's nothing I can say because I just don't see it. This is mainly because my old man crush is an... unusual one.

Here you probably think I'm going to say it's my grandpa or something weird because I'm from Alabama, but I'm sorry to disappoint you.

It's Bradley Whitford.

I don't understand it. I don't try to. I just sit and stare at his fluffy hair and try to contain my love while sardonic cynicism drips from his mouth. It's like I'm under a spell.

I've spent my last few weeks living in the Bartlet White House and continued this right into my old stand-by, Studio 60.

I tell you all of this, because I've realized I should just be proud of it. Maybe he's no underwear model. He's no James Bond. He's older than my parents. But his timing is impeccable.

I'm also telling you all of this so I can share this gem: http://fuckyeahbradleywhitford.tumblr.com/

I swear I didn't make it, but I fully support it.

"If you want to run, I understand, but you'd better get a good head start 'cause I'm coming for you..."