The Grand Master Plan

With age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes...wise and obvious ideas?  Yes, it's true.  You all know I'm obsessed with Rosemary Clooney.  (Wait, you don't?  ...)  However, it has only just recently dawned on me that I'm doing everything wrong.  She may be gone (and may she rest in peace), but that doesn't mean I can't get closer to her in some way.  "Bailey, you've gone off your rocker."  Thanks for finally catching on, but let me further explain: George Clooney.
Yes, that George Clooney.
"Okay, you've totally lost me."  Yeah, not many people seem to be able to follow my thought process.  George Clooney, the ultimate bachelor, just so happens to be Rosemary Clooney's nephew.  Seeing as I can't posthumously marry Rosie (yeah, that would be really weird...), I've decided to turn my sights onto someone else.  Sorry, Cary.
Of course, some people might view me as a gold digger for this decision.  I assure you, I am not.  More like a...relative digger.  I'm in it for the relation and the relation only.
"But, Bailey, you're not even 16."  Shut up.
"He's the ultimate bachelor for a reason..."
"Isn't that called a football marriage or something?"  Not one for football...
"He's old enough to be your father."  Stop rubbing it in.
"He's famous and you're...when was the last time you ever even went outside?"  I understand you are fluent in Tumblr problems.
"Good luck.  Not."
Thank you.  I have taken all of your comments into consideration.  The back-up plan?  Yahoo! is a very nice area to read about stuff I don't even need to know about.  And that, my dear reader(s?), is how I came across a certain key point in my back-up plan: Adelia Clooney, George's (yes, now we're on a first name basis) sister.  George's unfamous sister.  George's unfamous sister with children.
Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!
If George refuses to marry me, there are two other Clooney children I can marry.  And if they're already married?  Well, they should have some kids.  Of course, I might be removed a generation, but that's totally fine with me.  So long as I marry a Clooney somewhere down the line.
As I was telling my two best friends my Grand Master Plan yesterday (They both have boyfriends, and I wanted to change up my boyfriend jokes.  You know, the ones about how my boyfriend doesn't celebrate Christmas, doesn't live near me, doesn't give me presents?  He's a little...stiff.  Interpret that how you will.), pointed out the one problem in my Grand Master Plan: I'm a fangirl.
Never have I been so cursed.
Picture it: George and I are sitting in the living room around the Christmas tree with the rest of the family, and everyone's telling old stories about Rosie while her records play.  And then it'd be my turn to talk.  "Did you know Rosemary Clooney started singing with Tony Pastor's Big Band with her sister Betty?  When Betty decided to give up singing, Rosie went solo.  I have some of the coolest pictures of her on my laptop!"  *awkward silence*
So there's the only thing that will bring me down.  It's really not my fault that I absorb (*cough cough* obsessively wiki-stalk *cough cough*) my favorites!  "Yes, it is."  Shh...
But it will work.  I assure you.  He'll go from this:

To this:

Mrs. Clooney OUT!