With Yom Kippur around the corner, it's that time of year where we admit sins, beg forgiveness and stand by mailboxes waiting in vain for apology letters that don't arrive from high school classmates who cruelly mocked certain other high school classmates who at the time had clear braces, a nose, a face oil problem and only five shirts but who now have a nose job, are exceedingly wealthy and have the oil problem under control through the use of astringent. So in the spirit of candor, I admit that when we received a Gawker Stalker email (I'm one of the hardworking behind-the-scenes Stalkettes who handles such things) revealing that Mystery from The Pickup Artist was filming at Prohibition on fun on the Upper West Side, my instinct was to race uptown and shamelessly throw myself at him. Because I AM IN LOVE WITH MYSTERY and I don't care who knows it.

As a strong, independent Beyonce-type, I initially scoffed at the idea that a man who wears Abraham Lincoln hats with swimming goggles could pick me or anyone else up with card tricks and canned lines. But putting aside his warlock medallions and Fleetwood Mac capes, it's no mystery why Mystery is 100% objectively sexy. He's tall (6'5"), he's suce$$ful, his guyliner is expertly applied, and he's not some Murray Hill cheeserag talking about his Bank of America Securities job or corny Hamptons share. Plus, all of his sneaky methods work on me. That someone could trick me into liking him while insulting me—appealing! But that someone could trick me into liking him while insulting me AND using ridiculous lines and magic gimmicks? He had me at "kino."

While investigating Mystery's Wikipedia entry, I discovered that he and I also have a number of things in common besides extreme good looks. Mental problems? Check. Former nerd who has risen like a Phoenix from the ashes? Again, check. Also, meeting the family won't be a problem because they probably already know each other from the time when his grandparents stole my grandparents' art and then enslaved them in concentration camps. Plus, he's a Libra and I'm a Taurus. Zing.

Furthermore, my intense crush on Mystery plays off of several key elements of any healthy relationship. There's the thrill of the chase aspect—after Mystery meets me, I will surely tame this wild warlock and get him to stop seducing women everywhere. Then there's the wounded bird aspect—obviously anyone who makes it his mission to sleep with women everywhere and then teaches seminars on it is seriously disturbed, and I will easily fix this.

Finally, if Mystery and I go steady, I wouldn't have to spend precious time wondering whether he's playing games with me because I could rest easy knowing that he obviously is. And everybody knows you can't put a price tag on peace of mind!

So haters, drink your haterate. I will have the last laugh when he opens a set with me, negs me senseless and kino escalates. Mystery, call me. I've been working out and shit is looking pretty good.

This image was lost some time after publication.