Kryptonite?

I wish my drunken blogs were at least funny, but lately they seem to be nothing more then nonsensical self pity. Kryptonite was probably the worst analogy to use for what I was describing there (but I have to give my drunk self credit for spelling it right at least).

Anyway, Strumming Neighbor showed up at my house at 1:30am, smoked pot on my porch and then fell asleep on the couch. Not exactly the dream boat I have been looking for. I mean, don't get me wrong, next time he plays for me, I am going to fall madly in love all over again. For now, however, I will try and remind myself on a consistent basis that chronic pot smoking stops being cute after a certain age and he's pretty much reached it. There are reasons I was never a fully committed Dead head. I loved the fashion and the decor. I'm even one of the very few people in the world that actually likes the smell of patchouli, but I was just never good with the drugs.

Kryptonite

Strumming Neighbor just left. His roommate, of course, is still here "entertaining" my roommate, but he took this opportunity at 2:45am when I woke him up off my couch to leave. I don't understand boys. I will never understand boys. And the truth of the matter is, that I really wish I could be on a real bonafide hiatus so that I actually didn't care to understand boys.

I am kryptonite. Boys think I am interesting. I can lure them in once or twice, but after that, they realize something that makes them run to the edges of the world from me. Strumming Neighbor is just one in a long line that has made this realization. Can someone clue me in? What is it that makes it impossible for me to get past the first date, or semblance of date?

I also smoked more then one cigarette tonight, after having quit for almost 6 months. Ew to that, and ew to kryptonite.

Alright people, lets be honest with ourselves.

While I am sure that you, my loyal readers, have realized that I have been lying to myself, I am still coming to terms with it. So in an effort to acknowledge what you all already know, I have a confession to make. The "hiatus" was a farce. I may have convinced myself that I wasn't dating, but really, I was just pretending not to date while I kissed (and in the case of the wedding, a little more) a couple of boys on the side. Besides Line of Suck and then the rebound Rock, there is now a new minor obsession, the Strumming Neighbor. All of this being said, its now time that I admit that I am in no way, nor was I ever, on a hiatus. There, I said it. Its out in the world.

But now I feel free to gush about the Strumming Neighbor a little. He's my norm. Tall, skinny, socially awkward. Beyond adorable. And he has the extra added bonus of being an unbelievable, David Gray meets G. Love, sexy musician. I've always had a weakness for the boys with guitars. We don't usually talk to our neighbors. Most of them are Hassidic Jews and they don't really feel the need to socialize with us. Then, to our surprise, two nice boys crashed our Halloween party and they live right across the street (they are not Hassidic Jews). Stacy and I have befriended them, so last Friday when we had some people over, they came to.

Strumming Neighbor brought his guitar and it was all I could do not to orgasm while sitting there listening to him. He's amazing. After everyone else left, he stayed until 5am talking to me. And I smooched him. Though I'm not sure that was the right move.

Before I had met him, I had seen him outside of his house a bunch of times. It turns out his cell phone doesn't work inside, so he has to make all his calls on his front porch. Well, since Friday, I have seen him out there multiple times but he's always on the phone. I just can't go over there and say hi if he's on the phone, can I? So we haven't talked since then.

Now, there are a couple of side notes. A) Even after 2 hours of sitting in my living room talking about nothing in particular, I had to make the first move. And while the kiss was fabulous, the whole thing was a little bit odd. He's a starer. And he makes me incredibly nervous (but kind of in a good way). B) He's in the middle of a divorce. Yes, a divorce. He's 26. I'm not as freaked out about this as I think I probably should be, but its notable.

Anyway, there will be updates to the neighbor situation. Stacy and I are plotting a sneak attack this weekend.

By George, I think I've got it!

I have made a new and important discovery that will change the face of my dating life forever. It seems that the funny feeling I get in my stomach (otherwise known as butterflies) when I am with a boy I really like is not the hints of interest and passion that I have been confusing them with for so long. It is actually a sophisticated early-detection system that is indicating to me that this is a boy that will soon go running screaming into the night (sometimes literally, but that's a different post). Interestingly, the more intense the feeling, the quicker this fleeing will occur. And if there is actually physical contact, for example a kiss, that intensifies or prolongs said butterflies, the flight becomes even more inevitable, and possibly accelerated.

This is an amazing discovery. Looking at it now, with all of this scientific evidence piling up, it seems so obvious. How I have gone 26 years without noticing the correlation is unbelievable. I have done some intense study on this issue in the past few weeks and the evidence is conclusive. However, I may be the only model that has been implanted with this detection system. It seems in some people, butterflies actually do mean interest and passion. For me, on the other hand, it is a clear indication of imminent flight. Similarly, the lack of butterflies, indicates a boy that will continue to pursue long after I have tired of him.

On the surface, it seems that a discovery such as this should alter all future dating prospects. Knowing what I know now, logically I should modify every theory I currently employ while looking for my next perspective date. Realistically, however, I'm obviously not that bright. Instead, this discovery is going to go where many have gone in the past, filled away under the good ideas that no one paid attention to.