Disengaged Woman

bitching to myself.

Where’s Willem Dafoe When You Need Him? November 8, 2010

Like most people, I’ve been on a variety of bad dates. Sometimes things just don’t work out, and sometimes a perfectly normal looking guy is the complete opposite. “Sam” for example. We both frequented the same coffee place. He was always holed up in some corner studying, and I thought that was a good sign: he was probably not only going to school, but taking it seriously. We had made eye contact a few times, and eventually we had a short conversation that led to him asking me out to coffee. At the same shop we were in, but at a later date. Whatever, sure, that worked.

I had never seen him outside before, so I was a little taken aback when, after I showed up, we ended up having to move outdoors almost immediately so he could chain smoke. It was cold, but I thought I could deal. I started to doubt this slightly when he brought up a craigslist missed connection post he had put up that happened to be one that a friend of mine had posted to facebook because it was so ridiculous and crazy.

(Basically, he had freaked out a girl in local 24 hour business so much that she called the police on him, and they told him he was no longer allowed to go back to that establishment. The reasons for freaking out involved a mix CD and a book, and seemed fairly legitimate considering he had known her less than 24 hours and she had to spend a significant amount of time alone with him in the middle of the night. And also because, as I was learning, he came off sort of crazy.)

So he bitched about it for awhile and I nodded and went “mmmm.” and tried to keep from looking too incredulous.

He had several quirks I was unsure about, but following in my pattern of dumbassness, after another hour or so I agreed to let him give me a ride home, because it was cold and dark and I didn’t want to walk. In his truck, he dug out a book he’d been talking about for me to borrow, and against my better judgment I agreed to see him again. Don’t forget, this blog is not examples of how many good decisions I make.

He picked me up for the second date. When I told my friends this story, I smooshed the two dates together and pretended like I didn’t actually agree to see him a second time. But in the interest of honesty…

For the second date, we went to the creek. Long story short, he bugged me about my recent break up until I cried, and then tried to be all comforting, which felt manipulative, like he FORCED me until a vulnerable spot and then poked at me mercilessly until I had a big bloody wound and then was like “Oh my, however did you get that giant bloody wound? Let me tend to that for you”

So I asked to go home.

In his truck, I attempted to steer the conversation to some pretty tame subjects. But somehow he started telling me about how The Church was trying to kill him. Was it a specific church? Was it the Pope himself? Or the Pope’s team of secret hit men? I didn’t ask. I did ask him why he thought that, though. Apparently, once, while working in a gas station, an old woman came in to buy a lottery ticket, and told him that he should play the lottery too because he might die tomorrow

Therefore, he said confidently, the church is trying to kill me.

Possibly because that isn’t a very strong argument for playing the lottery, (What good is winning money if you’re going to be dead in 24 hours? What if you won a million dollars and then just keeled over? A better reason is you might live to be 98 and it would be nice to have a million dollars to throw around in the meantime.) Sam was convinced that she had been sent by The Church as a warning, that he must “stop” (what?) or be bumped off by a group of robed religious assassins. Kind of like The Boondock Saints, but much less cool. Because he was just some random paranoid chain smoker.

Though I vaguely wondered if I could get in Willem Dafoe or Sean Patrick Flanery’s pants (or both, i’m not picky) if I hung around this guy long enough, I thought it would be best to pretend he didn’t know where I lived, say no thank you to a third date, and avoid him from now on.

That night, I get up for work at 3am because, unfortunately, that is the time at which you must begin to deliver newspapers and that is the job I had. Now I need to make very clear that i stepped ON and not OVER my outside doormat on the way out, because I have short legs and don’t take over-sized steps unless absolutely necessary. I get home from work at 5:30am and there on my doormat is a small, terracotta, decorated pot. Right directly in the center.

I think that centering objects makes them look more deliberately placed. Once my old roommates, for april fools day, hid a bunch of my stuff and turned all the lights in the house off and put one chair directly in the center of the hallway facing the door I would enter through and then left. This doesn’t sound like a big deal but it was incredibly creepy to me, and I may have thought some sort of sadistic ghost was probably sitting in that chair getting ready to bite my arm off as I walked by.

Anyway, this creeped me out. I texted Sam later that day to ask him if he did it, and first he denied it, but then later confessed. I got sort of mad at him, because honestly, he was already creepy enough without hanging around outside my apartment at 4am.

I think the funniest part of this whole story is when I got mad at him, he told me that if I didn’t appreciate him creeping up to my apartment in the middle of the night without my knowledge, then I obviously wasn’t a true fan of the movie Amelie.

Later, I realized I still had is book. In an effort not to ever have to talk to him again, I drove around the coffee place parking lot until I saw his truck, parked next to it, and as soon as the area cleared of people, shoved open his back window (which I knew was broken), threw the book inside, jumped back in my car, and drove home as fast as possible. Where I locked myself in my room,Ā  just in case.

Pretty Much.

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Stupid Things I Have Done Part 2 November 7, 2010

I actually ended up dating the guy this story is about for several months. But this takes place about a week after I had met him. Obviously we didn’t know each other that well, and to be honest there had already been a couple times when I had been tempted to tell him to pull his truck over and let me out because he was just to big of a douchebag and I couldn’t handle it. What it says about the person I was at that time, that I could barely stand to be around him but I dated him for a third of a year, I hardly even want to think about.

Anyway, he wanted to go camping. I had been camping before and really enjoyed it, but it was always in a tent and sleeping bag in a sectioned-off camp ground patrolled by forest rangers. And we always brought things with which to build a fire. He didn’t feel this was “real” camping. Real camping involved driving into the middle of nowhere and eating sticks and dirt and punching coyotes and growing a beard. So we loaded up his truck with a few blankets and a couple cans of beans, and started driving.

We actually found one of my coveted man-made camp grounds first. For some reason we drove in, (I don’t know why because that wasn’t remotely what he wanted), and promptly got lost in the maze of paved roads. People had started staring at us because we had driven by so many times when we managed to find our way out.

Driving around with this guy was always like this. He always went somewhere weird, somewhere he logically wouldn’t have if he’d been, I don’t know, sane, and either got lost or stuck. I don’t mind either of those things terribly. It was actually one of his more enjoyable personality quirks. Once, at a later date, I went mudding with him. He drove around in circles for awhile and then out onto a seemingly solid piece of land that his truck immediately, and with alarming speed, began to sink into. We walked through piles of trash on what was probably private property out to the freeway, and then down to a gas station where he asked everyone with a big truck to come help pull him out. When he found someone, he left me at the gas station and off they went. Maybe 30 minutes later he drives up in a mud caked truck, I hop in, and he drives STRAIGHT across the road directly into some mud in which his truck again gets stuck. I thought this was funny. He was losing his good humor at this point. But come on. What did you expect? You and your little two wheel drive ford ranger.

Anyway, we get out of the campground and continued driving. He saw two women sitting in their car on the side of the road and decided to pull over and ask them if they knew of any good “real” camp sites. One of them told him to go talk to “Rusty” her husband, at some bar further up the road. So we drive to this bar and Rusty draws us a map on an old napkin.

I start thinking thoughts such as these:

“What if he’s a psycho murderer and he’s essentially drawing us a map to our FATE, because he will wait until it’s dark and then drive down after us because he’s pretty much the only person in the world who knows where we are, and we won’t be able to get away quickly enough because my stupid date will be like “Hey! Rusty!” and then get stabbed and I won’t be able to do anything but run out towards a pack of coyotes because I can’t drive a stick =/”

But I keep my mouth shut. And we drive down the road a ways, and then turn right onto a winding dirt road. I have drawn a picture of what it felt like going down:

Only steeper.

We get to the bottom. This guy sees a wide empty space and just goes ape shit. He starts doing doughnuts wildly, while, and this is the part that freaked me out, laughing like a fucking maniac.

Now I am thinking thoughts such as these:

“I just came down a ridiculously long road to the middle of absolutely nowhere with a guy I hardly know who is apparently completely insane and no one knows where I am except for the Rusty the psycho killer, and someone is probably going to stab and kill me or feed me to the coyotes and why did I ever think this was an acceptable idea?”

It is becoming increasingly obvious to me that one way or the other, I am going to die tonight.

After what feels like a million minutes of uncomfortableness on my part, he calms down a little and finds a spot to park. He then proceeds to:

1. Spend 45 minutes trying to start a fire with cigarettes, gasoline, and old fast food wrappers. And fails.

2. Try and smoke a smoldering piece of paper.

3. Realize he did not bring any can openers for the cans.

4. Realize it gets really really cold out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter.

So I help my mental patient arrange the blankets in the back of his truck, and climb into our makeshift bed with him because at this point I’d rather be warm when I’m stabbed. He says something sweet about my cold feet and we lay there with our heads under the blanket trying to combine our body heat. This is actually a moment I looked back on fondly throughout the rest of our fucked up relationship. There was a lot of bad, but also some nice moments like this that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

After about 20 minutes, we’ve had enough. So we pack up our beans and blankets, drive back into town, stop off at taco bell, and go back to his place where I fall asleep after he graciously tells me we don’t have to have sex that night.

 

Ugh

I had awful dreams all last night about meeting creepy old people off the internet and having to run away so they wouldn’t see me when I realized what I’d done, and them chasing after me and following me everywhere and forcing me to admit that I didn’t ever want to see them again only because they were old and creepy looking and not at all based on their most likely disturbing personalities. šŸ˜¦

 

Stupid Things I Have Done November 6, 2010

Of the multitude of ridiculously and obviously stupid things I have done, a few stand out to me… going to start with the worst first.

1. I had just broken up with someone, okay? That’s a terrible excuse, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I really liked this guy and he just put on some spiked gloves and squashed my heart a little bit. Anyway, we hadn’t been broken up very long, and I was feeling sort of reckless. It goes like this:

I was talking to this guy on a dating website. He seemedĀ  pretty nice, looked cute in his ONE (yes, just one) picture, and he was suitably impressed with my love of whiskey and beer. He said I sounded like a lot* of fun, and therefore we got along great.

He wanted me to come over and drink (Red Flag #1) and I wanted to as well (jesus fucking christ, me) but I didn’t have a car, and he lived in the next town over. After very little resistance, I agreed to let this most likely serial killer rapist psycho clown tap dancing meth head drive me far out of what should have been my comfort zone, and then back home in time for work.

Anyway, we get to his place. I’m completely lost, even though he tried to explain the way to me as we were going. My cell phone is dying. But he has an adorable dog, and I relax because how many serial killers could successfully take care of a dog? Very few, let me tell you. He takes me on a tour of his place, and I see a ridiculous amount of… jewelry. And women’s clothing. I am confused. I say, “Wow, that’s an awfully… colorful room.” when we get to his bright, glittery and fuzzy bedroom. He looks confused for a second to0, then says, “Wait a second.” and runs over to his computer. After a lot of awkward silence, he turns around and looks at me.

Serial killer rapist psycho clown tap dancing meth head: I told you I have a girlfriend, right?

Me: Uh, nope.

Serial killer rapist psycho clown tap dancing meth head: Oh. Well, I have a girlfriend. But I’m not in any trouble or anything.

Me: Oh, well, that’s good.

I’m feeling incredibly uncomfortable at this point. I start trying toĀ  discretely look around for any pictures of this girl, so I can determine whether or not I can take her if she happens to bust in all of a sudden to kick my ass.

I sort of want him to drive me home. But he hands me a giant glass of vodka and orange juice, so I gulp that down instead. Don’t ask me why this seemed like an acceptable alternative.

After my vodka fix I feel a little more relaxed. I’m thinking, “Hey, maybe he just wanted to meet as friends! I like friends. Friends are awesome.” I conveniently forget his status was set to “single” and that just a few minutes ago I felt like he had tricked me into coming over. We go out to his garage so he can smoke pot. I decline. (1 point for me!). Then we put on our bathing suits and go out to the hot tub. (-50320 points for me).

In the hot tub he mentions that I seemed uncomfortable earlier. Well no shit. I say I feel better after the vodka, but he has to admit it looks bad. Serial killer rapist psycho clown tap dancing meth head says his girlfriend had been out of town for a couple weeks visiting family, and he was lonely. He claims he called her and asked her if he could have a girl come over just to hang out because she had been gone so long and he was so lonely.

Now there are many things wrong with this. First of all, why do you need a FEMALE to come over? Both genders are equally capable of speech. One just looks better in a bikini than the other. And look where he’d managed to get me. Sitting in a hot tubĀ  in a bikini.

Secondly, if I were his girlfriend and he had called and asked me that, I would have thought thatĀ  he was being a manipulative, guilt tripping asshole. I couldn’t imagine her actually being okay with this situation. I had finally seen her picture and she was definitely bigger than me. I wasn’t at all sure I could hold my own.

Thirdly, she was coming home the next night. He couldn’t have waited one more measly night? Yeah right. It just all seemed… off.

Now I was ready to go. Why now and not before? I’ve got nothing. As we’re walking out to his car, he casually mentions that he and his girlfriend are into threesomes and if I’m interested, he’d like to give that a shot with me. I smile and say I’ll think about it. Somehow I am not killed by the serial killer rapist psycho clown tap dancing meth head on the way home.

I’ve gotten a couple messages from him since, but ignored them. At some point whilst mulling over that night, it struck me just how bad that could have been, mostly because he had all the control. I didn’t have a car, my cell phone was dead, I was essentially in the middle of nowhere, and it was the middle of the night. Since then, while I may still do a dumbass thing from time to time, I always make sure I have a potential way out. You can only get lucky so many times.

 

 

* I’ve gotta say, I have had the spelling of a lot beaten into my skull by Allie at http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

I actually typed “alot” first, and the weirdo brown thing popped into my head and I was like “shit.” This would be a great way to teach grammar/spelling. Every time someone put up a sign indicating that “Boxe’s” needed to be broken down before put in the rubbish shoot, we could send the alot after them. Or something.

 

Josephine The Transgendered Frog October 13, 2009

Filed under: Sex, Dating, Body Image — Auma Afton @ 12:39 pm

1. Actually, he might be a toad. My roommate accidentally made him pee, she scared him so much trying to get inside. I didn’t know frogtoads did that, although you would think that’s something I would have know.

2. It’s been so long since I posted anything. It’s amazingly rainy here, not crazy and flooded like other parts of the country. Just windy and wet. =]

3. I’m still in my sleeping clothes, therefore cannot think of another thing to say.

 

god the grammar fiend. September 17, 2009

Filed under: Sex, Dating, Body Image — Auma Afton @ 5:37 pm

1. I want http://www.burnmybiscuits.com/ ‘sss hair. Or face, or both, I can’t decide.

2. The weather. I wish it would rain, I so so very much wish it would just rain, please.

3. Holy capitalization. Did I capitalize jesus and god in those posts? Or did the internet do it, or wordpress, or god maybe himself because he’d care so much. Feel free to tell me why I’m not crazy.

 

“But you might see my package!” September 16, 2009

Filed under: 1,Sex, Dating, Body Image — Auma Afton @ 7:16 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

1. If I could have any random, non-existent ability, it would be the ability to take a picture of a memory I have, and print it out through my mouth. Or, maybe, since I already have this oddity of a mind, I could send the pixels through the air and into my computer and then print it off from there, thus avoiding inevitable paper cuts on my lips.

The specific memory I’ve always wished I had a picture of, is mr. paranoia sitting hunched over in the creek on a submerged log in just his holy boxers, smoking his someteenth cigarette. mm.

2. I’ve always been good at getting guys to take their clothes off in public places. Actually, I think most women would be good at that if they put any effort into it. Guys are natural nudists. And usually horny. Most of the time I keep my clothes on, but it’s less of a tease thing than that. You just needed to put some effort into it too! If I wasn’t attracted to you, I wouldn’t be opting for clothes removal, and if I’m attracted to you there’s a fairly good chance something will happen, unless you decide to hang around my porch at 3 in the morning, at the time unbeknowst to me, and when I later object, accuse me of not being a true fan of the movie Amelie.