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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Brain Flutters vs. Stomach Butterflies

People say that the best part of meeting someone new is the stomach butterflies, but that’s not true. The best part is the brain flutters. Brain flutters are what you get when you’re not immediately attracted to someone, but they happen to say something so perfect that it turns your cerebellum from an articulate fully functioning brain into a ticker machine that can only spit out commands like BLUSH -- GIGGLE -- SAY SOMETHING DUMB -- FALL OVER -- MAKE A REFERENCE NOBODY WILL UNDERSTAND -- LAUGH TO YOURSELF BECAUSE IT REALLY IS CLEVER AND IF THE PERSON YOU WERE TALKING TO JUST KNEW WHO NIELS BOHR WAS THEY WOULD THINK IT WAS FUNNY TOO -- TRY TO EXPLAIN WHO NIELS BOHR WAS -- GET TOO EMBARASSED TO FINISH EXPLANATION AND FADE TO AN INDECIPHERABLE MUMBLE -- DRINK TO PREVENT YOURSELF FROM TALKING ANY MORE -- FALL OVER AGAIN -- DIE INSIDE. Those are the commands that my brain spits out at least.

I love the brain flutters. I live for the brain flutters. For the past three weeks I’ve been getting a very serious case of the brain flutters thanks to an ongoing e-mail correspondence with a boy who lives literally on the other side of the planet. When I have something in my inbox that says “You know I can recite the first 20 elements from the periodic table right?” or "The weather here is shocking. It's really putting a damper on things...get it?...DAMPer?" I have no choice but to giggle girlishly and fall over sighing. E-mailed brain flutters are the best because you have the power to edit things and because it takes forever to figure out that someone’s really an ass over e-mail. You have weeks of selfishly imagining that said person is charming and witty and generally a decent person before realizing that they have a weird Drakkar Noir/mothball smell or they hate fat people for no reason or they really want a girl that’s just like their mother. Also, I’m better with crafting charming e-mails than with navigating through the sweaty-palmed world of hanging out in person. With the mighty power of editing, I can hide the fact that I have no social skills. They can hide their character flaws. We can both be content in delightful best-foot-forward pseudo-anonymity. Most days, I’m much more excited to just have a charming e-mail sitting in my inbox than actual dates on my calendar.

This morning I woke up and after turning various shades of purple while reading three full pages on how extraordinary the Saturn V rocket really is, I unfortunately made it this part:

“…it costs a $68 entry fee to see the Saturn V which I'm more than fine with, but serves as a spiked barrier to the jews i'm traveling with…”

Classy. I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed that my brain flutter is the kind of kid who makes casual ethnic slurs or that he’s grammatically too lazy to capitalize them. Either way, the fantasy is over which is sad because I was way more in love with the clever, quirky, collected, cool-sounding chick in the e-mails than the anxious, awkward, insecure one who spent an embarrassing amount of time writing them. But that’s why pseudo-anonymous brain flutters are much more dangerous than real live stomach butterflies. It’s not the blissful idea of a perfect someone. It’s the blissful idea of a perfect you which is infinitely harder to say goodbye to than a well-dressed, physics-lovin, deliciously-accented man geek from across the sea. It was really nice while it lasted.


At 7:01 PM, Blogger d said...

an absolutely beautifully written sentiment.

At 9:51 AM, Blogger Steve said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

At 9:52 AM, Blogger Steve said...

I was with you this entire blog post until I saw "$68 entry fee" and my brain instantly shut down. What did the rest of it say?

At 2:17 PM, Blogger J in Ric said...

uughhhh... i'm so sorry


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