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,  just in case.

Pretty Much.


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 seemed  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 to  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 tub  in a bikini.

Secondly, if I were his girlfriend and he had called and asked me that, I would have thought that  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.


Job Searching November 5, 2009

Filed under: Whatever else — Auma Afton @ 10:18 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

I suppose I’ve finally given myself over to the inevitable job search.

On Wednesday I went and got myself a typing certificate from a man who spoke like Kevin from The Office, only exceedingly fast, so I really only caught every 5th or so word. He was pleasant though, and described me to the computer as “seemingly kind and clean”. I was clean, and appreciated that he noticed.

Today I wrote cover letters, filled out applications, and put envelopes together for random jobs, including one at a church with a confusing application that I exclaimed “fucking jesus!” at several times.

Was going to hang out with friend tonight, but she recently had her cat castrated, and had to stay home.

Mr. B is back though ❤ so I am as content as I ever was.


Wednesday is Rib Night at Ikea November 3, 2009

Filed under: Frustrations,Whatever else — Auma Afton @ 9:27 pm
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1. I thought I might send something to Mr. B over Christmas. I want to send zucchini bread, but it seems like it might not work. I did a lot of research, and found a recipe that complied with all the suggestions, such as not using butter or margarine, or brown sugar. I’ve been conducting an experiment to see if it molds sitting in tin foil and a plastic bag for 3 weeks, and I’m very of excited to look at it next Wednesday!

I’m also sending, regardless, one or two guitar player magazines that had interesting articles, and that he may like to play the exercises in, and a CD. I tried very hard to leave off the mushy songs, but suddenly, and for the first time, I’m incapable of not being gooey and in love.  Bah.

Otherwise, he’s been unreachable for 2.5 weeks, and I miss him a lot. He said 2 weeks to a month at first, then whittled down to 2 weeks by the time he left, so I don’t know whether to be worried or just accept that the organization has a mind of its own, and will do whatever it pleases with whoever it pleases regardless of me, though really it should be me they consult on their every move, because I’m sure I know better.

2. I’ve been watching Desperate Housewives and Supernanny. I love the vindictiveness, and I laugh when the little kids back-talk. I’ve been awfully bored.

3. Went to Ikea for the first time. Today is rib night! It was fun to wander around, because it’s large and confusing, and i felt like it would never end and that I was always walking inward, and therefore was amazed when it ended and I was on an outer edge of the building. I want all of the rooms. But it was quite exhausting to look at them all. In the end, I found a chair down an aisle of the self-serve furniture area, and sat for forty minutes with the vague hope that someone I came with would eventually wander by, and might carry me to the car.