I am happy to say that I am seeing a card-carrying member of the Human Race now. New One and I went to the Apple Store last night and bought a computer for him. That's not what this is about, though. This is about the unwelcome drunk texts I got from a previous fling-guy this past weekend.
(FRIDAY/SATURDAY 2:00 A.M.)
HIM: Are U in?
ME: Functionally asleep. Goodnight. Been lights-out for almost an hour now.
HIM: What floor are you on again?
ME: Shuddap.
HIM: But I am in the elevator.
ME: You have a home to go to don't be weird like this.
HIM: The only weird part is that you don't want to f#ck me.
Me: You're being really weird now and by weird I mean illegal.
HIM: Okay, if U say so.
(SATURDAY/SUNDAY 2:10 A.M.)
HIM: Hi. Sex? I like it :)
(MONDAY, 6:09 P.M.)
HIM: Sorry about Saturday. I was drunk which is never an excuse! Sorry!
This evening New One and I are going to dinner and a movie. My phone will be turned off at night from now on.
Showing posts with label Douchebags. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Douchebags. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Callbacks
After the breakup of my last ill-fated relationship, I decided to hide out for a bit. This, dear reader, is why I was home on a Saturday night to receive his call. I HAVE to share, because of all of the "callbacks" I have EVER gotten, this one is the most interesting.
He called because I "am the only sane person that he knows" and he had to talk to somebody. He just broke it off with the girl he started seeing right after I broke up with him. He had JUST left a bar where he had dumped her and during his walk home, he told me what a mess she was and all that sort of garbage. He got to his house and was smoking on his porch when he quickly told me that she was there at his house and he had to go, but that he would call me back in a few.
I texted him "Do you need me to call the police?" jokingly after about a half hour. He said no, that the police were already there and that he was watching her get arrested.
So, he calls me back and goes on and on about how she was crazy and had a drug problem and drank too much. I remained silent and smirking. I AM so much better than that and was SO GLAD that I was over him. He was slurping down scotch while he was talking. Then came the big pause: "I have something I have to tell you and you're not going to like it."
Right after I broke up with him, he called an escort service. He was dating the girl from the escort service.
That's right: not a stripper or a topless waitress, he went directly to dating a whore. A whore with two kids. He kept talking. She was addicted to crack. In the first month of dating, they had ALREADY had a pregnancy scare. She was arrested in front of his house for drunk driving... with her three-year-old daughter in the back car seat...driving the wrong way on a one-way street. She had a key to his house. She said that she loved him. That was why he babysat her kids while she went off on tricks. Oh... and she was "really, really hot".
Did I have to explain that she was playing him for his money? Yes. Twice. "Trip" had never, apparently, actually met a whore before and must have missed all of the movies and books where the whore plays the rich guy for his money. He asked me what he should do. If he should break it off.
"It depends on how much drama you want in your life. If you want a psychotic crack hoe having your baby and really want to pay her monthly for the next 18 years, I'd say no. You should stay with her for a while. It will be very exciting... like watching COPS. If you don't want a crack baby, I'd say that you should change your locks tomorrow morning and never talk to her again."
He ask me if I'd go to drinks with him the next night. I politely declined. He changed his locks and is shopping for a psychiatrist.
He called because I "am the only sane person that he knows" and he had to talk to somebody. He just broke it off with the girl he started seeing right after I broke up with him. He had JUST left a bar where he had dumped her and during his walk home, he told me what a mess she was and all that sort of garbage. He got to his house and was smoking on his porch when he quickly told me that she was there at his house and he had to go, but that he would call me back in a few.
I texted him "Do you need me to call the police?" jokingly after about a half hour. He said no, that the police were already there and that he was watching her get arrested.
So, he calls me back and goes on and on about how she was crazy and had a drug problem and drank too much. I remained silent and smirking. I AM so much better than that and was SO GLAD that I was over him. He was slurping down scotch while he was talking. Then came the big pause: "I have something I have to tell you and you're not going to like it."
Right after I broke up with him, he called an escort service. He was dating the girl from the escort service.
That's right: not a stripper or a topless waitress, he went directly to dating a whore. A whore with two kids. He kept talking. She was addicted to crack. In the first month of dating, they had ALREADY had a pregnancy scare. She was arrested in front of his house for drunk driving... with her three-year-old daughter in the back car seat...driving the wrong way on a one-way street. She had a key to his house. She said that she loved him. That was why he babysat her kids while she went off on tricks. Oh... and she was "really, really hot".
Did I have to explain that she was playing him for his money? Yes. Twice. "Trip" had never, apparently, actually met a whore before and must have missed all of the movies and books where the whore plays the rich guy for his money. He asked me what he should do. If he should break it off.
"It depends on how much drama you want in your life. If you want a psychotic crack hoe having your baby and really want to pay her monthly for the next 18 years, I'd say no. You should stay with her for a while. It will be very exciting... like watching COPS. If you don't want a crack baby, I'd say that you should change your locks tomorrow morning and never talk to her again."
He ask me if I'd go to drinks with him the next night. I politely declined. He changed his locks and is shopping for a psychiatrist.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Am I crazy or is he creepy?
I can't tell. I was just sitting there, minding my business late in the week, trying very hard not to beat my head against my keyboard, when an IM popped up on my screen.
This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?
I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.
There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.
Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on Match.com? I play it safe by playing stupid.
OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?
He says:
Hey! Whatre you doing?
She says:
whipping some stuff out before I get out of here
and then tomorrow's FRIDAY
He says:
Yes it is!!! WOO HOO!!!!
big plans this holiday wekend?
She says:
Oh yeah
gardening
cleaning my floors
big stuff
Actually I might spend a night in a cabin on the Waccamaw
and do some kayaking
so that'll be good
Oh, you know, and being pious, of course
You?
He says:
LOL>...of course!!!
well...I cleaned floors last weekend so thais done...YEAH!!!
a little golf Frdiay and Saturday mongings...
She says:
Oh nice
He says:
and I do have to clean out the garage one day...BOOOOO
She says:
I hate chores
He says:
me too...
She says:
Why did I think they'd go away when I grew up?
I think I need to have kids. Make them start doing some dishes.
He says:
they just get more and more and more
She says:
srrsly
He says:
we need FUN in our life...hhhmmmmm
This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?
She says:
Oh, what, like work isn't FUN for you?
It doesn't bring you enough JOYJOYJOY?
He says:
there you go again..scarcasim...I LOVE IT!
She says:
I just can't help it
I'm glad someone around here appreciates it
He says:
I do...let it FLY!!!
She says:
ha
I still have to figure out different types of humor.
Not everyone thinks I'm hilarious, apparently.
He says:
i find you hilarous and interesting...
I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.
She says:
Me, too!
That's why we get along
There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.
He says:
so.,...
tell me something unique
Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on Match.com? I play it safe by playing stupid.
She says:
??
He says:
lol
see...you haven't figured me out yet...I am haviong a tought ime with an outage over here and thoiught I would settle my stress by being silly wiht you
sorry
She says:
ahhhhh
I'm slow sometimes
He says:
not a problem...
OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?
Monday, May 3, 2010
Tips for Flirting with People Behind the Desk
I'm not really going to get into specifics, but I have a job where I work behind a desk. My job is helping you find stuff, and I am supposed to be friendly and open and cheery and I happen to dress kinda cute most of the time. People... some people... don't get that this is my job and I am like that to everyone. Ladies in my profession are frequently the object of Craigslist Missed Connections and all sorts of other misplaced crushes. Just because you have a card with my e-mail on it: don't send me drunken fanmail emails at 12:30 a.m. on a Sunday because I DON'T have a clue who you are.
I recently found myself flirting with a really really cute guy. He was at his work. It happened to be at a phone place, so in order to test my phone service he called my phone... like three times... just to check. Now, honestly, the last thing I need in my life is ANOTHER guy to muck up the works, but Rebound Mojo is a bitch. Instead of dwelling on my overwhelming knee-jerk reaction to text him, I am going to write a posting.
Tips for Flirting with People Behind the Desk.
1. This person is at work.
2. This person is probably bored.
3. This person is providing you with excellent customer service.
4. This person probably has a supervisor watching them.
5. This is first and foremost a commercial or educational interaction.
6. Any personal information gleaned from this exchange is null and void for personal use.
7. The way to ask someone out on a date is to ASK THEM OUT ON A DATE.
Have a really nice day. Come back soon!
I recently found myself flirting with a really really cute guy. He was at his work. It happened to be at a phone place, so in order to test my phone service he called my phone... like three times... just to check. Now, honestly, the last thing I need in my life is ANOTHER guy to muck up the works, but Rebound Mojo is a bitch. Instead of dwelling on my overwhelming knee-jerk reaction to text him, I am going to write a posting.
Tips for Flirting with People Behind the Desk.
1. This person is at work.
2. This person is probably bored.
3. This person is providing you with excellent customer service.
4. This person probably has a supervisor watching them.
5. This is first and foremost a commercial or educational interaction.
6. Any personal information gleaned from this exchange is null and void for personal use.
7. The way to ask someone out on a date is to ASK THEM OUT ON A DATE.
Have a really nice day. Come back soon!
Monday, July 13, 2009
A Note on International Dating & Sex
I'm currently traveling for the summer. I'm in the south of France at the moment but spent a longish weekend in England before arriving. I'm in no way an expert on anything, much less dating, but here are some observations so far:
1. Sluts dress the same whether you're in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin or Marseille, France. You can spot 'em a block away. Way too much skin showing, bold colors that foreshadow the fruity drinks she's probably going to vomit later, and a slight wobble when she walks because the high heels are far too big. There must be a Sluts 'R Us store that no one informed me of.
2. If you don't look like the woman above and a guy wants to hit on you, he has to be cool about it. Or so he thinks. Here's some lines so far:
a. You should come and live in Marseille. You can work for me, help me with the other guests. It's good. I'm not hitting on you. You're like a sister to me. You live here and we'll have a good time. You and me. You're very beautiful. Like a sister.
He said this while stroking my upper arm. I about barfed on him, but luckily another guest came in and I jumped up to offer my seat.
b. I love Americans. I am not like the other French people. They hate you. Not me. I love you. You should come home with me. I will show you why the French are the best lovers.
Two points for boldness. Negative eight million for creepiness, bad teeth, obvious signs of STDs, too much cologne, etc. al.
3. French teens are sexually advanced. And open about it. I was sitting at the beach, waiting for some other travelers whom I had come with, when a pqck of 11 - 13 year olds approached. We chatted for a bit and one of the other travelers arrived. We continued talking to them, but the conversation turned immediately to sex. They asked us if we were dating, if we had kissed, if we'd done it, etc. al. They then began to insist that he and I kiss in front of them. It got to the point where several were shouting at us to kiss.
One boy finally said, Why don't you take her home and just fuck her already? Thankfully I didn't know until my friend told me later. I wouldn't have second guessed slapping that kid upside the head.
I leave for Senegal and Mali at the end of the month. I'll post some observations from there. Hopefully they don't involve me drinking too much in a Muslim country and getting thrown in jail.
1. Sluts dress the same whether you're in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin or Marseille, France. You can spot 'em a block away. Way too much skin showing, bold colors that foreshadow the fruity drinks she's probably going to vomit later, and a slight wobble when she walks because the high heels are far too big. There must be a Sluts 'R Us store that no one informed me of.
2. If you don't look like the woman above and a guy wants to hit on you, he has to be cool about it. Or so he thinks. Here's some lines so far:
a. You should come and live in Marseille. You can work for me, help me with the other guests. It's good. I'm not hitting on you. You're like a sister to me. You live here and we'll have a good time. You and me. You're very beautiful. Like a sister.
He said this while stroking my upper arm. I about barfed on him, but luckily another guest came in and I jumped up to offer my seat.
b. I love Americans. I am not like the other French people. They hate you. Not me. I love you. You should come home with me. I will show you why the French are the best lovers.
Two points for boldness. Negative eight million for creepiness, bad teeth, obvious signs of STDs, too much cologne, etc. al.
3. French teens are sexually advanced. And open about it. I was sitting at the beach, waiting for some other travelers whom I had come with, when a pqck of 11 - 13 year olds approached. We chatted for a bit and one of the other travelers arrived. We continued talking to them, but the conversation turned immediately to sex. They asked us if we were dating, if we had kissed, if we'd done it, etc. al. They then began to insist that he and I kiss in front of them. It got to the point where several were shouting at us to kiss.
One boy finally said, Why don't you take her home and just fuck her already? Thankfully I didn't know until my friend told me later. I wouldn't have second guessed slapping that kid upside the head.
I leave for Senegal and Mali at the end of the month. I'll post some observations from there. Hopefully they don't involve me drinking too much in a Muslim country and getting thrown in jail.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Sports Obsessions Are NOT Sexy Time
**Editors' Note: The same gal who sent us Where Were You in 1983? sent us this lovely bit about internet dating.**
I was lonely and bored, and my ex had just changed his facebook to "in a relationship" with the stripper he dumped me for. So I decided to give internet dating a try. And thus the story of Sex Blanket, as I now refer to him when warning others against internet dating.
SB seemed like a cool guy at first. Then it quickly became clear that his obsessive love of sports took up all the places in his personality where "intelligence" "humor" and "charm" should be. Then it became clear (from the multiple bumper stickers, posters and flags plastered all over his apartment, and lastly, enormous back tattoo of the school's logo) that he was a little TOO obsessed with his alma mater, a la Andy Bernard (Cornell) from The Office.
I was unimpressed and disinterested, but said loneliness and boredom convinced me that sleeping with him was an okay decision to make. I won't go into detail about exactly how and why, but it was THE. WORST. EVER. and multiple times I had to close my eyes and imagine that I was someplace else so I didn't throw up. No exaggeration, it was awful. And very, very sweaty. Him, not me.
Afterward, while I debated high-tailing it out of there and risking a DUI or trying to find a non-sweaty spot on the bed, he went to his closet and pulled out a blanket that was fuzzy on one side and kind of satin-y on the other.
"Do you know what this is?" He asked, in the wannabe suave voice that had added to my nausea.
"Um, no" I replied, terrified at what the answer might be.
"It's a Sex Blanket... you put it down before or after you have sex so you don't have to sleep in the mess afterward"
"Oh super" I replied, hoping to sweet jesus that the blanket had been washed since its last use, and wondering how the F this guy was having enough disgusting sweaty sex to necessitate a blanket of this kind.
So tell me, DiW friends... are sex blankets for real? Are all blankets with one fuzzy side and one satin-y side intended for this purpose? I received one as a Christmas gift from a female friend a few years ago and use it as a throw for my couch...
Anyway, SB and I haven't kept in touch since then, and so far all of my other internet dating prospects have produced similarly unappealing/creepy results. So for now I'm re-dating people from real life that I have dated in the past, cause at least I know what mistakes I'm making beforehand.
I was lonely and bored, and my ex had just changed his facebook to "in a relationship" with the stripper he dumped me for. So I decided to give internet dating a try. And thus the story of Sex Blanket, as I now refer to him when warning others against internet dating.
SB seemed like a cool guy at first. Then it quickly became clear that his obsessive love of sports took up all the places in his personality where "intelligence" "humor" and "charm" should be. Then it became clear (from the multiple bumper stickers, posters and flags plastered all over his apartment, and lastly, enormous back tattoo of the school's logo) that he was a little TOO obsessed with his alma mater, a la Andy Bernard (Cornell) from The Office.
I was unimpressed and disinterested, but said loneliness and boredom convinced me that sleeping with him was an okay decision to make. I won't go into detail about exactly how and why, but it was THE. WORST. EVER. and multiple times I had to close my eyes and imagine that I was someplace else so I didn't throw up. No exaggeration, it was awful. And very, very sweaty. Him, not me.
Afterward, while I debated high-tailing it out of there and risking a DUI or trying to find a non-sweaty spot on the bed, he went to his closet and pulled out a blanket that was fuzzy on one side and kind of satin-y on the other.
"Do you know what this is?" He asked, in the wannabe suave voice that had added to my nausea.
"Um, no" I replied, terrified at what the answer might be.
"It's a Sex Blanket... you put it down before or after you have sex so you don't have to sleep in the mess afterward"
"Oh super" I replied, hoping to sweet jesus that the blanket had been washed since its last use, and wondering how the F this guy was having enough disgusting sweaty sex to necessitate a blanket of this kind.
So tell me, DiW friends... are sex blankets for real? Are all blankets with one fuzzy side and one satin-y side intended for this purpose? I received one as a Christmas gift from a female friend a few years ago and use it as a throw for my couch...
Anyway, SB and I haven't kept in touch since then, and so far all of my other internet dating prospects have produced similarly unappealing/creepy results. So for now I'm re-dating people from real life that I have dated in the past, cause at least I know what mistakes I'm making beforehand.
Monday, May 18, 2009
MySpace Sucks
I had forgotten all about the hellish side of MySpace until I was cleaning out my messages last night.
Let me back up.
Once upon a time long long ago in a living room of a house I used to live in, I drunkenly hooked up with a guy I knew from firefighting. We used to work together. He was my boss. Of sorts. He was also rather attractive and knew it. We both did. Of course there was sexual tension the whole summer fighting fires. Of course he had a girlfriend. Of course she hated me even though I'd been nothing but pleasant and respectful.
Of course he didn't tell me they were still "on again off again dating" until the next morning.
"Huh. Interesting. So is the switch on or off this morning?" I asked.
"Uhhh. On. Yeah, on I guess. She would say on, so yeah. On," he replied.
Awesome.
Let me also back up to give some character development of this on-again-off-again girlfriend: She liked attention. She was loud. She was abrasive. She was attractive. She had a flair for drama. And if we had to go to blows, I might put my money on her and I don't often say that about other chicks.
In short, don't fuck with her man.
Which, I wouldn't have done had I known. But, he conveniently waited to tell until after the point of no return. Fucker.
So back to last night's mailbox cleaning.
I found the series of messages she sent in the weeks after. Oh boy. Here's a taste:
"Subject: O.P.P.
It has been brought to my attention that you had sex with the man who had been my partner for over four years. What's amusing is that he's been telling me for the last year that I'm gonna marry him and have his children. Fortunately for me, I learned (before making a big mistake) that I can't trust him.
While I primarily blame him (after all, he was my boyfriend)I also find you guilty of serious misconduct. Apparently you haven't learned or just aren't grown up enough to realise that you don't go around fucking other people's boyfriends. I must be honest, I never liked or trusted you from the beginning. It's too bad (for me at least) that I was right about you.
Let's face it, you wanted ___ from the beginning and I never tried to keep him from being your friend cause he always said he didn't find you the least bit attractive. Interesting how men can do that, screw woman they think aren't appealing. I guess one hole is as good as another if you're drunk enough and the lights are off so you don't have to see their face.
If this message hurts you in any way, I can't say that I'm sorry because nothing could describe the pain that I feel. Maybe you are laughing as you read this, or maybe you could give a shit; but on the chance that you have a shred of decency, I hope you take this to heart and realise the damage you have done. I would also take a moment to think about the fact that no bad deed goes unpunished, meaning that things have a way of coming back to you."
So ok. I felt bad. I mean, she has a point. And she even cleverly put a Naughty By Nature reference in the subject line. I didn't respond however; instead, I forwarded her message along to her "man" and said that perhaps he should look into it. He created the fucking mess after all. I thought he should be the one to clean it up.
But no. She didn't see it that way. Here's another:
"I want you to delete him as a friend from your myspace and never call him again. If you don't want to comply, I will show up on your doorstep and we can talk about it in person."
Show on my doorstep and talk about it in person? Um, no fucking way. Fuck you. Show up at my doorstep bitch?! That would be a bad idea. For both of us. Remember how I said I might put my money on you if it came to blows, yeah, not on my fucking doorstep. Bring it.
But again, I didn't respond. Simply forwarded it to her "man."
Thankfully all that died away. I haven't spoken much to him since, though he did text me a few weeks ago saying he'd be in town.
The best part? I found all the other messages from jilted girlfriends who felt it was my fault they were dating a shithead. Thank you MySpace. Thank you for allowing stupid bitches to send me ridiculous threats and for saving them for years.
Let me back up.
Once upon a time long long ago in a living room of a house I used to live in, I drunkenly hooked up with a guy I knew from firefighting. We used to work together. He was my boss. Of sorts. He was also rather attractive and knew it. We both did. Of course there was sexual tension the whole summer fighting fires. Of course he had a girlfriend. Of course she hated me even though I'd been nothing but pleasant and respectful.
Of course he didn't tell me they were still "on again off again dating" until the next morning.
"Huh. Interesting. So is the switch on or off this morning?" I asked.
"Uhhh. On. Yeah, on I guess. She would say on, so yeah. On," he replied.
Awesome.
Let me also back up to give some character development of this on-again-off-again girlfriend: She liked attention. She was loud. She was abrasive. She was attractive. She had a flair for drama. And if we had to go to blows, I might put my money on her and I don't often say that about other chicks.
In short, don't fuck with her man.
Which, I wouldn't have done had I known. But, he conveniently waited to tell until after the point of no return. Fucker.
So back to last night's mailbox cleaning.
I found the series of messages she sent in the weeks after. Oh boy. Here's a taste:
"Subject: O.P.P.
It has been brought to my attention that you had sex with the man who had been my partner for over four years. What's amusing is that he's been telling me for the last year that I'm gonna marry him and have his children. Fortunately for me, I learned (before making a big mistake) that I can't trust him.
While I primarily blame him (after all, he was my boyfriend)I also find you guilty of serious misconduct. Apparently you haven't learned or just aren't grown up enough to realise that you don't go around fucking other people's boyfriends. I must be honest, I never liked or trusted you from the beginning. It's too bad (for me at least) that I was right about you.
Let's face it, you wanted ___ from the beginning and I never tried to keep him from being your friend cause he always said he didn't find you the least bit attractive. Interesting how men can do that, screw woman they think aren't appealing. I guess one hole is as good as another if you're drunk enough and the lights are off so you don't have to see their face.
If this message hurts you in any way, I can't say that I'm sorry because nothing could describe the pain that I feel. Maybe you are laughing as you read this, or maybe you could give a shit; but on the chance that you have a shred of decency, I hope you take this to heart and realise the damage you have done. I would also take a moment to think about the fact that no bad deed goes unpunished, meaning that things have a way of coming back to you."
So ok. I felt bad. I mean, she has a point. And she even cleverly put a Naughty By Nature reference in the subject line. I didn't respond however; instead, I forwarded her message along to her "man" and said that perhaps he should look into it. He created the fucking mess after all. I thought he should be the one to clean it up.
But no. She didn't see it that way. Here's another:
"I want you to delete him as a friend from your myspace and never call him again. If you don't want to comply, I will show up on your doorstep and we can talk about it in person."
Show on my doorstep and talk about it in person? Um, no fucking way. Fuck you. Show up at my doorstep bitch?! That would be a bad idea. For both of us. Remember how I said I might put my money on you if it came to blows, yeah, not on my fucking doorstep. Bring it.
But again, I didn't respond. Simply forwarded it to her "man."
Thankfully all that died away. I haven't spoken much to him since, though he did text me a few weeks ago saying he'd be in town.
The best part? I found all the other messages from jilted girlfriends who felt it was my fault they were dating a shithead. Thank you MySpace. Thank you for allowing stupid bitches to send me ridiculous threats and for saving them for years.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Grand Theft Auto
**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from "Trodo." Who doesn't love a little crime with their dates?**
Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.
But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’
Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.
The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.
Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.
Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.
So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.
After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:
Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.
Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.
Me: Um…you picked me up?
Car Boy: Yeah, I know.
Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.
Car Boy: Oh, right.
His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.
Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.
Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.
His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.
Five Minutes go by.
Ten Minutes go by.
He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.
You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.
Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.
I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.
Around this time last year I broke up with my ex and was on the prowl for something new, exciting and distracting. A friend figured she would be kind and gave my name and number to a friend of hers. I should have known something was not right from the get-go when, instead of calling me, he messaged me on Facebook first. A day or two go by of us exchanging vague, non-specific pleasantries back and forth – him with the intent of wanting to meet up, me with the intent of being polite so he’d take the hint, shut the hell up and leave me alone.
But, as we all know with bad dates they just don’t get the hint. Car Boy eventually worked up the courage to ask me for coffee and I brushed him off with an ‘Oh sorry, too busy with work’ excuse. Then he text messaged me with another ‘Hey lets go for coffee!’ Me: ‘I’m sick.’
Next I get a flurry of determined (stalkerish) messages about how he’d do the nice thing and bring the coffee to me because I am so sick. Yeah, no, I can’t have him doing that so I eventually agree to meet up at a different time later that week.
The planned date time comes and goes and I don’t hear from him. Instead of being relieved, I have to admit I was somewhat curious that he let it drop after all his hard work so I text him.
Three days later he gets back to me. Apparently he was doing some ‘Training for work and blah blah blah blah.’ I hesitantly accept this line, and I agree to go out with him the next night.
Date night comes and he arrives at my place to pick me up. I have to admit he was kind of good-looking in the fierce bald way, but he totally blew it when he matched that look with a Christmas sweater. That had danglies on it. Dangling Christmas dangles—if that isn’t a red flag I don’t know what is. But: Car Boy had a great Jeep.
So I get in the jeep and we (he) decided that instead of going to sit inside a place full of potential witnesses, we’d hit a coffee drive thru and drive around. But despite everything, Car Boy is somewhat of an interesting guy to talk with (minus the fact that all he really did was talk about cars and I could only nod along, give doe eyes and act interested), so it was rather easy.
After a good hour of being parked down near a river that screamed ‘Make out point,’ he decides that he is in fact a horny teenager going to get some action! He puts the moves on me; leaning close, sliding arm around shoulders, puckering up his lips and attempting to look me longingly in the eyes. I wanted to vomit and this conversation followed:
Me: Yeah, time for me to head home.
Car Boy: Oh, okay, well have a good night.
Me: Um…you picked me up?
Car Boy: Yeah, I know.
Me: You’ve got to drive me back home.
Car Boy: Oh, right.
His astuteness astounds and stuns me into silence as he begins to take me home. But then! Instead of taking me home, he goes and picks up his friend instead! Even worse, I get shuffled to the BACK of the jeep for this to happen. I would have gotten out if I knew where exactly we were and found my own ride home but before I thought of that I was trapped in the back seat.
Next, he drives to the opposite end of town from where I live. I’m now a good 40 minutes from home. In the industrial park. With Car Boy and his friend. Trapped in the back seat.
Soon we find ourselves parked outside of a locked, chain link fence that is keeping us out of a darkened parking lot. It was at the point his friend got out of the Jeep, reached into the back (where I’m sitting) to grab a pair of chain cutters that were under the seat, and he goes to the fence. I dig through my purse to find my phone and SOS some help, but it’s dead. Great.
His friend cuts the lock on the fence and pushes the gates open only for us to drive right on through. I just witnessed by first up close and personal B&E. Car Boy jumps out of the vehicle after parking, telling me to wait there.
Five Minutes go by.
Ten Minutes go by.
He finally comes back around the 15-minute mark. He doesn’t come back alone. Nope, he’s bearing gifts! Greasy, oily headlight gifts. Which he promptly dumps in my lap asking, ‘Hey, can you hold this?’ This repeats over and over until the back is littered with car parts. Seriously, car parts. He’s stealing car parts from an auto shop parking lot.
You know what makes this all sweeter? About the fifth time he starts talking about his sexual powers, but he starts talking as if we were in mid conversation about it already. So while he’s stealing vehicles I’m learning he’s got a dick that is just ‘made to tickle the girls the right way.’ Is stealing an aphrodisiac?
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I hear the sound of an engine start. His friend had hotwired a vehicle and peeled out of the parking lot. Cue for us to leave. We peel out of there and I finally get a ride home. He expects a good night kiss; I stare at him as if he’s grown two heads that each has a dick flopping from his forehead.
Next day at work – extremely paranoid by then – I get a call from my friend. Car Boy and his friend have skipped town. Apparently they had some trouble with the law. My paranoia goes into overdrive and for the next two weeks I refuse to leave the house without giant sunglasses to hide my identity and believe I’m being followed.
I deleted his number from my phone. He still tries to get in touch with me today. But hey, we made it into the newspaper.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
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