Forget love, I'd rather fall in choco-- wait, no, that's a lie.

Love is a many splendored thing.

That's what they tell me, at least, when I step away from my computer and out of my house long enough to interact with other people. (Yes, there are actually conversations to be had away from the guise of ironic pen names on the blogosphere!)

I've only been in love once, and he turned out to be clinically depressed, codependent Polish royalty. (No, really. Me: "I want this to work, but I need to focus on myself right now. I'm not saying never again, just that I think we need a break. I'm sorry." Him: "I haven't been in this much pain since I saw my cousin stabbed to death in a ghetto." o.O) While conventional logic would dictate that after a fling like that I should take a break from love altogether for a good long while . . . well, I think the penchant for self-destruction is a trademark of the Irish.

Despite my pursuit of a relationship, however, the only males I seem to attract are militaristic Aries or men fifteen years my senior. Meh. I like to think I can do better. (D-e-n-i-a-l . . .) I've deconstructed this situation I'm in, and have, through strenuous mental labor and late nights over Toddlers and Tiaras with a chunk of fudge, that I have come upon the root of my problem: I don't understand a gosh darn thing about men.

Which is not all that surprising, really.

My bestest buddy evar is a guy, and I've grown so comfortable around him and his friends that any flirting etiquette has been completely wiped from my mind. I think, at this point, I may be constitutionally incapable of attracting male attention on my own volition. I'm not sure what it is precisely -- whether I'm just too lazy to learn or I have, in fact, forever blockaded myself from the use of my feminine wiles -- but in most cases it appears that Hottie McSixpack would rather stare at drunkenly constructed cloud formations than me floundering along in my too-long-to-be-a-mini-too-short-to-be-anything-else jean skirt.

If I seem to have caught someone's interest -- well, you know how it is: smile, laugh, head tilt, eye scrunch, pupil constriction, nervous smirk, excuse, bail. "Wait, come back! My filter doesn't kick in until ten! I promise I'll be better after that!" What, don't you bring up your pant-wetting fear of Robert Plant during introductions?

Whatever. I'll just keep re-watching Labyrinth and reading ironically funny blogs. It can only get better from here.

Yeah. Right.