Sometimes people don't quite get that they've been dumped. It happens. Or, you get dumped, and something inside you snaps - you have to know WHY.
For most of us, we learned to ignore that nagging feeling of NEED TO KNOW when we were teenagers. Most people in their 30's and above can pretty much tell when the other party has lost interest, and bow out gracefully.
I have a few stories of times when people just would not get it. In some of these stories, that person is me. In the story I'm going to share now, that person is 32 and really should know better. I'm sharing it partly for own safety, because hey Internet? I'm a little creeped out right now.
No, that's a lie.
I'm freaked right the fuck out.
A little over a week ago, I met a guy at my usual bar, watching my friends' band play. I was a couple drinks in, he had curly hair and a baseball cap... curly hair is my kryptonite: totally makes me weak. Add a baseball cap and I'm helpless. It's sad. So I talked to him. He seemed nice, funny. Good times were had. He drove me home on the back of his scooter (I cannot even express via a text medium just how much I love saying the word "scooter." Scoot scoot!), we swapped phone numbers, smooched, and that was that.
He started texting me right away, but I was flattered. I like a guy who doesn't play games. Turns out he's staying with a friend who lives around the corner from me. Conveeeeeeeeeeenient. Sunday we took a walk, talked more, I realized... he's a little off. But maybe he's nervous.
What? I'm very forgiving, and I think it's cute when I can make a guy nervous.
He told me (oh guys I hope you're sitting down because here is where shit STARTS TO GET REAL) that when he was younger, his sister's cat had kittens. His stepdad paid him to get rid of said kittens. He had a rottweiler.
Logical step, in this dude's mind? Feed the kittens to the fucking rottweiler. Yeah.
Now, I realize, most people would have walked away right then. But let me assure you that when it comes to boys, I am really retarded. Especially curly-haired boys who look at me like I'm pretty. Seriously: retarded. So I figured he was joking. He'd been saying zany things all day (how zany!) and I thought this was just upping the game, going for shock value.
Later we ran into a friend of mine whose girlfriend's cat is sick. He was lamenting the high vet bills. Scooter Guy (that word, now tainted, is still fun to say... scoooot!) said, "let the cat die, get a new one." My friend and I both chuckled awkwardly.
The date went on. We went to grab some food. He made fun of my ears. I had to pay for the meal because he had no money on him. But again: I'm very forgiving. And he's also got pretty eyes. And I'd recently been thrown over by a guy I reeeeeally liked, so I was hurting a bit. [insert more excuses here] [let's just admit I'm retarded]
Wednesday we were supposed to go to dinner. His phone doesn't really work. He shows me texts he sent me, texts that never arrived. We have drinks with my coworkers, he drives me home on his scooter. I ask him if the kitten-eating rottweiler story is true. He says yes, and that he feels sooooooooo terrible about it. Hmm. What.
The next night he shows up unannounced at my apartment. NOT OKAY. He makes us dinner (what? I was hungry!), we talk some, I send him home with a tupperware of leftovers. He says lots of weird things. When I tell him the drop-by is not cool and he uses the shitty phone excuse, there's a joke about putting a notepad on the little table outside my door for messages.
Internet... I know that without pictures, it didn't happen.
I leave the notepad there, don't say anything. Around 1am, he texts.
Him: I'm at [your bar]!
Me: I'm in bed. Have fun.
Him: With who? Hahaha, want me to stop by?
Me: No, I'm going to sleep.
I don't want to see this guy, but something tells me I need to back away and not piss him off. Like a rattlesnake. I'm from Texas - they taught me in the 2nd grade how to back away slowly and quietly from a rattlesnake.
Sunday I'm hanging out with my bestie watching TV.
Bestie and I stare at each other in panic.
Me: (whispering frantically) Don't move!
Bestie: (also whispering, less frantically... more... amused, let's be honest. He thought this was pretty funny. Poooor panicked BobGinger. Harrumph.) ..You can hear the TV outside.
Both of us: *continue to stare at each other*
Scooter Guy: *knock knock*
I open the door, there's Scooter Guy. He holds out my tupperware. He sees my bestie (a dude, by the way) sitting on the couch. I see him see this dude sitting on my couch. I see his face fall. I thank him for returning my (cheap-ass) tupperware, and he leaves.
Well, not the best way to go about things, but problem solved, right?
This evening I was on my couch, napping it up, as I do. Don't even pretend like you're scoffing at me: naps are AWESOME. So I'm napping, I've reached the point where I need to get up, my alarm has gone off, but I just... don't... want to. Then.
BAM. I'm wide awake. Holding my breath. Downright hiding under my blanket, even though I'm sweating like a fully-geared quarterback running laps in Texas.
*knock knockity-knock-knock* Sort of a musical pattern. OhgodIhavetopeesobad. Mustnotmove. Mustnotbreatheloudly. Pleasegoddon'tletanyonetextmerightnowbecausethenmyphonewillgoBONG!
I hear the notepad rustling. I stare at the window, waiting to see if he peers in. I lay there for another 20 minutes before I finally venture to the bathroom. When I go outside to look...
Guys. Guys, if you need me?
I'll be packing. I can totally find a job in Costa Rica, right?