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.