Wednesday, December 15, 2010

My Issues with Harvard Football, Part III

So now I've made it beyond fucking clear that not only do I have no interest in dating this dude from Harvard, but that I have no interest in talking to his ass again. Dude was just like, stage 5 clinger. I was banging other dudes and he was picking out his tux for our make believe wedding.

This whole claiming of the crazy went down at the end of September. In October, I started "seeing" a dude who worked at a bank across the street from where I worked. Nice dude, quiet, banker, typical, whatever. It's now late October, and I come home from a birthday party and manage to drag my drunk ass in the door at 430 in the morning (I'm a wild child). I lay in bed, on the cusp of passing the fuck out, when my phone buzzes. I crack one eye and see Dave's name.

"I can't stop thinking about you. I know you said you weren't ready for a relationship with me yet, but that doesn't mean you have to cut me out of your life until you ARE ready. I really care about you and I just want to be part of your life."

Is this kid fucking serious? I mean, who the fuck let him out the psych ward and gave him a fucking account?

I roll over, motherfucking the world, and send him a text back.

"Dave, I'm seeing someone. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be in contact."

That's what I meant, but I'm pretty sure it came out Daveeh Imf seeing gosoemthone we pribly shouldnt talks anyjromore. I mean, lets be real.

I put my phone on my nightstand and I hope that's it. Because honestly, while you know, stalking can be flattering, especially when it's me that's doing it, this was seriously fucking weird. At this point, I barely even remember what the kid looked like.

My phone buzzes again.

Jesus fucking Christ, is this a God damn joke? It's 4 fucking 30 in the morning.

"Wow. That really hurts, Stef (guess he managed to read through my drunken self made language). I thought you just weren't ready because you weren't over your ex boyfriend yet. And here you are now basically telling me it's my personality you don't like. I can't believe it. I mean, the truth hurts. I can't believe you."

Oh my fucking God, dude is going to throw a pipe bomb through my god damn window. I don't even remember his last name, I have him in my phone as Dave from Match. I put my phone to the side without answering and pass the fuck out.

I wake up to four more texts.

"I can't believe this. You have no idea how much this hurts. I still care about you so much and I just want to be the man you want me to be, the one who is worthy to be with you. I want you to pick me."

I'm now trying to remember if I drunk text this dude by accident, thinking it was my banker guy or another athlete I had banged in the past. Had I accidentally sent him nude pics? Had I said something about wanting him intending it for someone else? The fuck had given this dude the impression that I was "waiting for my feelings for my ex to ware off before we started dating"?

Nothing. NADA. Not one fucking mixed signal was sent to this dude. And while I was out partying with my friends, I think he was fucking like, up sticking pins in homemade voodoo dolls of my ex boyfriends and worshiping a shrine to my ass in the back of his closet. And then soberly texting me to share his feelings about the whole situation.

Next day I send him an e-mail.


I never said I wasn't ready for a relationship. I said I wasn't interested in having one with you. I am very sorry, but I am not interested in you, at all. Please stop contacting me."

Okay, could that shit be anymore blunt? I mean, I fucking hate being mean (lies), but at this point it was like dude is fucking nuts, totally fucking certifiable. NOT, NORMAL. Thank fuck I hadn't slept with this dude, I feel like he would have been weeping beautiful tears of joy afterward and painting a picture to depict exactly how he felt when we joined together. God. SO GROSS.

"That's really nice Stef. I care so much about you and you just blow me off and are probably now seeing another asshole. I don't get it. If you thought I was a nice guy, if you thought I was attractive, why don't you want to be with me? I don't understand, you say one thing and do another. Every girl always says the same thing. I'm nice but not for them. I don't get it."

Now I'm annoyed. I'm not scared, because I have mace, and I'm not worried because my brother in law is a cop. Now I'm just fucking annoyed that this dude is filling up my e-mail inbox with psychotic ramblings of an obsessed man. And now I get mean.

"Dude, you want to know why I don't want to date you? Because you're so fucking intense it's frightening, borderline obsessive. Maybe you should try backing the fuck off and girls wouldn't tell you to leave them alone. You are telling me you care about me, I don't even fucking remember your last name. We went for drinks, once, I was shitfaced, and you are basically pretending we were in a relationship. It's not normal and I think you need to learn how to fucking not stalk girls, it might be a good start t overcoming the "everyone says the same thing" problem you're having. I am not interested in dating you, I am not physically attracted to you, I will never change my mind. Please stop e-mailing me."

Two days go by and no word from Harvard Crazy. It's November now, two months since we had gone out, and I'm assuming he FINALLY gets the hint, leave me the fuck alone or I'm going to call the cops. Nothing for another month. Beautiful quiet, no crazy stalker, lovely.

December hits. And so does another e-mail.

1 comment:

  1. damn.... when does part IV come out... thats a hell of an ending!!!