A/N: This is a largely autobiographically based humourous romance, slightly Confessions of a Shopaholic-esque. Oscar is based on a real person – you can probably figure out who, bonus cookies for those who do. Phoebe is based on me, though she is an older me, which may slightly mess up timelines, so please do excuse that.

Warnings for language.

My name is Phoebe Connely and I am nothing if not a fangirl. In case you don’t know me, you should know right off the block that I am head over heels in L.O.V.E. with Oscar Brendan, hottest man in the world, greatest actor who ever lived, all round perfect. When people find out my (slight) OBsession, they tend to either not believe me or laugh. But love is a serious issue in today’s world. And I love Oscar.

I’ve loved him for eight years now, since I was fourteen. Before then, I had a thing for his looks, and while it was great, it was nothing compared to this huge, incredimazing feeling inside me now…

At our six month anniversary, my lovely high school drama teacher described him as a “crap actor”. I cannot honestly entirely recall what happened next. I remember a lot of screaming on my part (mostly the words “Where’s YOUR Oscar?” – the award, not the person) but I am very proud to say that I did not get violent.

I work in the city of Sydney as an IT systems architect. Don’t know what that is? It’s OK, I have difficulty too. Basically all you need to know is that it’s boring, involves computers and pays the bills. I’m saving up for a ticket to London. The plan is to drive to Canterbury and stay there for a while. He has to come visit his family at some point.

This job is the next in a large number of failed attempts to just get a glimpse of the man of my dreams. When I left high school, I tried and failed to get into the National Institute of Dramatic Art in the hopes of making it big and starring in a movie – preferably a romance – with Ossy-baby. A year and scores of failed auditions later, I applied for a desk job at a popular hotel in Sydney. I quit once I realized that because it was popular, Oscar would never set foot in there. He enjoys his privacy, you see.

When Oscar came to Randwick Racecourse, I rushed for a job there. Unfortunately, he is a man who craves variety (except in women – how dare you imply that my fiancé is a male slut) and he never returned. And thus, I ended up here, working for Evien Enterprises, living with my best friend Kate, and enjoying the knowledge that if Oscar will not come to me, I will come to Oscar.

I arrive at the doors to the office. A large building, imposing, a haven in summer and a hell in winter, what with the boss’s obsession with air conditioning. I hate forty degrees and eighty per cent humidity as much as the next person, but please, must you force us to sit rugged up when it is a lovely twenty-three outside?

It is summer now, and already quite warm outside. The building is very pleasant on the inside, and I cannot help but compare the architecture to the Burburry building in New York, where Oscar was on the twenty third of May this year… sorry. Got distracted.

The lift is as crowded as ever. I find myself standing next to a smelly old man who could have been my grandfather and Brenda Smith, a bimbo blonde from the Northern Beaches. Brenda spends her time when she should be working either doing her makeup or flirting with the office staff. Total slut, thinks she owns the place, will not turn off her cell phone, and my second best friend in the world.

“So,” she says casually, leaning back against the elevator wall as it makes its slow, steady progress up the building, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “How’s Oscar?”

The main reason I love Brenda so much is that she is the only person who believes that I love Oscar for real. A possible reason for this is that she has never experienced love, only casual sex, and does not understand how any two people who have actually met each other previously can fall in love, let alone a one-sided relationship in which one of the parties involved literally does not know the other’s name. Brenda claims that on her recent trip to Manhattan, she eloped with half the population of the state. The male half.

“He’s good,” I say, answering her question. “He has been tipped to be Robin Hood in the new Robin Hood movie.”

Brenda’s eyebrows raise slightly as she blows a smoke ring. One of the other occupants of the small space of the lift glared at her. “I think he’d make a great Robin Hood, actually.”

“Of course he would!” I gush. “He could go to –“

“-the Olympics for archery, yes, I know.” The lift comes to a halt and people begin to pour out. Brenda and I follow them, Brenda casually tossing her cigarette into the nearest bin. The bin smokes ominously behind us.

Brenda and I share an office cubicle; Brenda’s theory: if men want women, they’d rather two. Neither of us complain since it is far easier to talk face to face rather than risking being caught on a social chatting service. We watch each other’s backs here. Two girls could never be too careful in a world dominated by men.

Since Brenda is a self-proclaimed slut with one thing on her mind and I am in love with Oscar, we have a compromise in the workspace. Only photos of Oscar half naked or looking particularly suggestive adorn our walls. It suits both of us just fine.

My work is completely and utterly boring. Half the time even I don’t know what the numbers I enter will do, but while I have no formal training and have only been in this field a couple of years now, I know computers.

“Phoebe, I need that spreadsheet; is it done yet?” I look up. Okay, scratch what I said above. My work is completely and utterly boring except for Matthew White. Hottest guy in the world – exception, of course, being Oscar – and knows how to dress, a very desirable trait in men. If, God forbid, it does not work out with Oscar, Matthew would make a rather adequate substitute.

“Oh, and Brenda… had a good time last night.”

“Course,” says Brenda, in a low, sultry voice.

Maybe not.

“It’ll be done by lunch,” I say. Should have know Brenda was with Matthew. She’s with all the hot ones. So unfair.

A/N: Should I continue or should I not? Review please!