Damn Good Stalker

So there's this guy (sorry I've not been writing, been busy with stuff and other stuff) in creative writing workshop that I'm sure I've told you about. Being me, and considering I know myself fairly well, I knew the day I saw him that he was just going to be one of those guys I moon over, crush on, consider asking out and then run away because I know I'll never get the words out of my mouth. So I just stare at them, listen to what they say, read what they write, and try to decide if I can continue to like them based on the words that come out of their mouths.
He, bless his cheery little soul, passed the talk test. Meaning he actually had decent things to say, and I could tolerate his opinion because he seemed genuinely open-minded.
Until that dreadful, 'don't mess with the writer' day occured and he made the mistake of not liking my story. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to like my stuff, but when he was the only one to say something really negative about it, I got pissed. And then the guy that happened to skip class that day, the idiot who is narrow minded and idiotic, e-mailed me some crap about how my story lacked plot and a conclusion and character development...I'm not going to drag you through the details because they are unimportant for this particular story.
Anyway, I send the cute guy (the guy I like, remember?) an e-mail because the other guy managed to push me to my limit. I e-mailed him a long angry e-mail basically demanding to know what he thought my story was missing, and how I could 'perfect' it. And when I hit the send button I had one of those, "I'm going to regret this for the next three weeks until I forget about it" moments.
I get back from work later that night, still shaking my head because I knew I sounded like a moron and what do I find? An equally long apology from that cute guy from class.
So I started slowing my pace or speeding my pace up so that I could leave class with him and we could talk. About anything really, I just enjoyed talking to him, you know?
Then today we did his story in class, workshopped it I mean, and I was all ready to tell him what I thought. Except I didn't. I just couldn't think of anything 'brilliant' to say and I didn't want him to think I was a moron.
And after class? I booked it. I was out of there.
Buuuut I slowed down as I was walking out. I knew he was about twenty feet behind me and I knew he walked slow, at a kind of lazy pace. I am not fond of lazy pacing unless the situation calls for it. I was curious to see if he'd catch up to me this time. He did.
"My God, you just would not shut up would you?" he asked. "Hard to get a word in edge-wise, it was kind of embarassing."
I laughed, "Yeah, I tried to contain myself, but sometimes my mouth just gets away from me, sorry." He laughed and I added, "I really liked your story, I was going to say something but Kirk (that guy I don't like who said I lacked a conclusion) was doing his thing and I just didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah, but I have to admit that Kirk was...." blah blah, about Kirk.
I smiled and looked over at him. "Yeah and I have to admit that while he was talking I was busy trying to come up with the loudest song I knew to drown him out."
"And how did that go?"
"Poorly," I admitted. "I kept switching stations."
Made my day, right? Right.
But then I used my detective skills (which no one seems to think I have) and looked him up in the student directory. It only gave his number, his e-mail and where he was living. Nothing of interest (what am I going to do with his number? I know the line between creepy and acceptable, calling him when he didn't give me his number would be creepy) there...so then I looked him up on google. JACKPOT!
I knew he lived in Michigan, but I was trying to determine his age. If he was in GSW (which he happened to mention he was) he was likely a Freshman, maybe a sophmore. Then google, my lovely search engine friend, directed me to a paper from his old high school. He got an award in 2009 for something with Boy Scouts. Translation? He graduated last year. Meaning? His age was from 18 to possibly 20, but he's smart so no older because he wouldn't have had to repeat a grade.

I just don't understand why people don't think I could be the next Sherlock Holmes. That's got to prove something, doesn't it?