Entering Crazy Town

Mid July, my friend Ro, and I were chilling at Rumors, enjoying a drink and some quality conversation, when I noticed a couple of guys checking us out. She confirmed, and while neither of us were particularly interested, we held our ground. After about 10-20 mins the fellows came over, started a convo and by the end of the night we were laughing and having a good time.

I gave my phone number to one of them, the Marine, thinking, hey - these guys were cool I’d like to hang out with them again.

But after hanging out a few more times with the inclusion of alcohol in my system, hanging out turned into a date, which turned into a big group BBQ, which turned into another date, and then it turned into a nightmare.

I’m going to preface this with, the Marine is a perfectly nice man...

and end with, but I used Verizon.com to block him from contacting me again.

In every fledgeling dating thing, there’s the initial, OMG I’m really excited to get to know you. So either you see each other a bundle, or you text each other like crazy.



But as things start to even out and you’re more on a even, I know you and I still need to plan things with you, the texts drop off, SUBSTANTIALLY.

But his texts, never. did.
Here’s a month by month tally of his texts over the past 3 months, keep in mind we just started September

July - 502
August - 783
September - 233

I’m not the busiest person on the planet, but I have a relatively active social life/work life where I’m digesting hundreds of stories, scripts, blogs, on a daily basis. I read all the time, and constantly being pulled out of reading or watching the latest cut of the film I’m working on - drives. me. crazy.

I’m the girl telling everyone to shut up at the movie theatre. I’m the girl who gets annoyed when I can hear 2 TVs at a time, and I’m the girl who when I’m trying to read a book, I ignore what you’re saying - magazines are different if I’m reading a magazine, I’m all over conversation, because stories are shorter and I don’t have this massive need to know everything about people in the Washingtonian...

So anyway, as my work began to pile up (if you read my twitter you probably think I have no work because I have a tweeting problem), my texts began to slack off. I can’t respond every 20 seconds because you have something exceptionally ‘exciting’ to say - “hey sitting around the barracks bored - what’s up?”

As my friend Blair said, “it’s not [my] responsibility to entertain [you] 24 hours a day.”

But since my texts slacked off it meant I had to be dead, of course, so he’d text my friends to see if they’d heard from me... and if they hadn’t then he got his friends to text me to see where I was, what I’m doing, who I’m with, and how I am...

Here’s a graph of how OK it is for your friends to text me...



And originally I’m not going to lie I was like, oh that’s cute he’s concerned, but then it started to turn into if I hadn’t responded in 20 mins, he’d text my friends... and then if I didn’t seem friendly in a text he’d text my friends... which in my opinion is a little obsessive.

I’ve been in a clingy relationship, where we’ve had the talk and it made things better for the time being, but as someone who has a level of commitment issues, knowing that someone has been that clingy in the past, doesn’t improve their chances in my long term relationship binder. It actually makes me want to puke. And it makes me want to run.

SO. After weeks and weeks of being hounded and texted like I was a 7/11 with the only slurpee machine in a 100 mile radius, matched with the fact I was horribly depressed about the plane crash where I had a small heart attack before I read the story, thinking OMG what if one of my hockey player friends was on that plane - I couldn’t take it anymore and on Wednesday, I had made up my mind that when I got home, had a good meal under my belt, and a buttery nipple in my hand (the drink people! THE DRINK!) I was going to call him up and let him know it was done.

But I didn’t get halfway through making my grilled cheese when I got a call from a restricted number.

Not really knowing how the State Department reacts to lost phones, and being that I was expecting a phone call from a friend who works for the SD who lost their phone, my first thought was OH! Sweet, he’s calling.

No. It wasn’t my friend. It was the Marine’s friend.

“Hey, uh, LoRo, have you heard from the Marine at all today? Because he’s been looking for you.”

Duh how dumb do you think I am.

“Yeah, I think so, but I’ve got a grilled cheese burning on the stove, gotta go.”

I realized I bailed, but keep in mind.. it has been less than 12 hours since my last text to this guy. LESS THAN TWELVE F*CKING HOURS and you have your friends calling me from restricted numbers to discover whether or not I’m ignoring you.




Done.

After ignoring one more phone call from him, I signed into my Verizon account, entered his number into the blocked call list and wiped my hands of it.

Yes, I may be a really passive aggressive chicken, but if you can’t respect my space and my life enough to wait a few hours for me to call you instead of hounding me like someone who broke off their house arrest bracelet, then I’m not going to respect you enough to call you to break up with you.

No. I do not want to meet your mother.
No. I don’t want to talk to you.
No. I don’t want to date you.
No. I’m not, nor ever was your girlfriend. So get over it.

There's a fine line between cute and crazy, and you passed it about 200 miles ago.