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.


Ugh November 7, 2010

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. 😦


“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.