Thursday, December 16, 2010

My Issues with Harvard Football, Part IV

Okay, so now it's been a solid month since I've had to deal with the mach 7 level of crazy from Harvard footballer. I assume, stupidly, that finally, after I had to be a huge bitch to him, he's figured out I would rather marry my vibrator than date him. Okay, he had to have gotten it.

Until he didn't.

When I saw I had an e-mail from him, I actually thought I had clicked an older one and just hit "mark as unread". What the FUCK could this guy possibly be e-mailing me for?

"Hey Stef! Hope all is well. I just moved offices so I'm actually right up the block from your bar, I wanted to see if you wanted to grab coffee or lunch or drinks."

Okay, what part of " have no interest in you at all" signifies "I might want to get lunch with you?" Like, where the hell was I going wrong on the whole "I'm this close to getting a restraining order" conversation? I don't get it.

"Dave, I dont' think that's a good idea. I;m seeing someone and I'm very busy and I just don't think it's a good idea, given your past issues if we hang out, ever. Thanks. Hope all is well."

Now I've sparked four angry e-mails. I think I deleted two without reading, but one was basically "wow, I thought we were over that. I hope you figure out your personal situation, though you clearly have a problem doing that".

Okay...dude is now making comments about my life when I am lucky I remember what color hair he had. The only reason he thinks my personal life has issues if because I lied and told him I wasn't over my ex so I could get him the fuck away from me. What the fuck, the attitude is entirely unappealing. I mean, everything about the dude is unappealing, but just his whole "what do you mean you don't want to hang out with me" thing is pathetic.

And here's a clue dudes. When a bartender says she is "too busy" to hang out with you, it's code for "I'd rather sit at home, not shower and watch reruns of Dexter than be in a 20 mile radius of you". Just for future references.

December rolls by and I see him pass by my bar a few times. Total creeper. He is like, speed walking up 50th Street. Sketch.

February hits. I have now had two months of peaceful bliss sans crazy Harvard guy. At this point, I wasn't really seeing anyone. Banker dude and I had called it quits, and I had just come home from a trip to see soccer hottie, and I think I was boning around with hockey player at this point because he had taken up permanent residence in the NHL and lived like 7 minutes from me.

"Hey Stef,"

OH MY GOD, I AM ON CANDID CAMERA? Seriously, is this a fucking joke? Did one of my friends pay this fucker to send me an e-mail? I keep reading.

"Just wanted to see how you were and if you wanted to grab that drink finally, maybe catch up."

Finally? FINALLY? Dude, at this point in the fucking game I'd rather grab a drink with Osama Bin Laden, because dude has more of a sense of reality at this point than you do. Jesus Christ.

I now weigh my options. I can ignore him, but I feel like he'll just assume I got a different e-mail address and then stalk me on Facebook or worse, at work. So instead, I come up with an e-mail that screams "you have less of a chance getting me out for a drink than a KKK member has of getting into an NAACP meeting.

"Dude, look. I'm dating a guy who's in the NHL. It's coming up to Olympic break, I'm going to Mexico with him, it's very serious. I have no interest in being friends with you. We went out once, for drinks. I know nothing about you, I don't want to know anything about you, there's nothing to catch up on because we never started anything to keep up with. I don't even know your last name anymore. You need to stop e-mailing me. I will never change my mind about you. I have no interest whatsoever, it's never going to happen, please leave me alone."

Like, at this point, the only thing I have left to do to show him how much I dislike him is to kill him. Like, honestly.

I put the NHL bullshit in there because I thought he would consider it a lost cause, that I wasn't going to trade pro athletes and Mexico in for pharmaceutical sales and psychotic stage 5 clinger behavior.

My friends are now asking me what I did to this guy. Joking about how the sex must have been so amazing he can't get me out of his mind.


"Wait, you didn't fuck?" my friend asked.

"No!" I sa, totally fucking exasperated.

"Holy shit, he's just crazy obsessed with you because you gave him the time of day?!"


You guys have been reading the blog enough. I'm really not that fucking cool, okay. I am pretty lame in most instances, and this dude was nothing special, so it's not like I pulled out the big guns of "gotta impress him" when we went out. I began to wonder if this guy had ever been on a date in his entire life. And I started to feel super, super guilty about all the dudes I had shadily stalked over the years, and wonder if they feared me int he same way I feared Harvard Crazy.

Nah, I've never been this crazy.

After a rude e-mail back about how I didn't "have to be so nasty" (because clearly being nice was totally doing the trick), I went another month without hearing from him. I removed his ass from Facebook, blocked him, blocked his e-mail on Yahoo, everything. My friends at work knew what he looked like, i told them to kick his ass out if he ever dared step foot in my, this was some serious shit.

And then it was April. And then I realized I didn't block his number on my phone.

1 comment:

  1. The Harvard guy totally needs to be a chapter in your book. And the Splenda guy. And the puppetmaster (I need to know who this guy is, for real). I'm laughing so hard at this!