So. If you have read my "about me" section (and you know you have since you are all dying to know as much about me as possible, right?) you may have noticed that I mentioned my undying love for Jason Bourne -- not Matt Damon -- Jason Bourne.
Uhhh...yes please! Seriously Jason, you don't have to point the gun at me -- I'll do anything you want, just ask. (Boone, tell him how subservient I am. TELL HIM NOW!)
Yes, he is fictional, but that is why it's safe for me to have the hots for him.
Ode to Jason Bourne:
Oh Jason, how I love your guts out. You are a total stud -- all fluent in a bazillion languages/customs, with passport and cash stuffed boxes stashed all over the world. And guns, even though I am a Democrat and think they should be illegal(ish).
How I swoon over your totally kick-A marshal arts skills, super evasion skills, and wicked awesome espionage skills.
How I wish you would tell me I look tired and like I need a vacation, because at least I would know you can see me (hopefully through a scope, because dang...you look good behind a gun)(but I oppose them in real life)(mostly).
How I wish I could be a passenger in a car chase with you at the wheel, because seriously, how do you get away? H.O.T. (even though I get motion sick just watching your movies, but still).
Amen (pretty sure that's how you end an "ode").
P.S. How I am sure you are also a good speller, because typos are a huge turn-off to me and that would just kill it.
Ummm..where was I? Oh yeah -- I guess this post was titled "Move Over Jason Bourne", so after all that, why would I want him to move over?
I'll tell you why. Because I am pretty sure he doesn't play the guitar. At all. And definitely not like John Mayer -- who is not at ALL attractive to me until his songs flow into my eustachian tubes (that was for Randy) and then...YOWSA!
I sort of try not to look at him, because his facial expressions kill it like Jason's (theoretical) typos do. Exhibit A:

And B:

I mean really. Is that necessary?
Anyway, if you just close your eyes (tightly) and sit on your couch on a Saturday night and watch Austin City Limits featuring John Mayer, I can pretty much guarantee that you will start rocking out like nobody is watching (because Boone fell asleep at 7:17, and then again at 9:25, and then for good at 10:32).
Ode to John Mayer:Oh John, how I don't really think I can write an ode to you, because my words are the mold on the cheese of lyrical goodness that spill forth from your weirdly flexible lips.
But I dig your music, even if you are fugly sometimes, and if you ever sang to me personally I. would. die.
Amen.
P.S. Your music is hot enough that I might even let your typos go and still rock out to you in my living room on Saturday night.