Drifting thoughts of a snowflake

Friday, August 13, 2004

Unchained Melody

There’s something you should know about me. I’m a number slut. It’s true, and I know it’s a bad problem. I just can’t help it. A boy asks for my number, and I’ll hand it over without a second thought. Well, that’s not really true. Sometimes I don’t want to give my number out, but I do. Then I spend the next three days avoiding calls and trying to remember the caller’s number so I don’t inadvertently answer their call in the future. I know it’s immature, but at least I’m honest. Well kinda.

Two Sundays ago Cal and I met up at a little bar for a beer. It was early and we thought we’d have a pitcher and then go back to our normal Sunday business. I got to the bar, ordered a beer, and chit chatted with the bartender and a couple of girls I knew. Cal came in and we ordered a pitcher and played “Is that bartender gay”? A couple of pitchers later the bartender was sitting at our table telling us his life story. Cal and I still couldn’t figure it out. So he wears tiny T’s and a strange hat. So he’s telling me about wrestling with boys for fun on his birthday and that he has a Prince Albert. We couldn’t get a read on him, so Cal and I did the only thing we could. We tried to figure out which one of us he was hitting on. After a couple more pitchers, we decided he was hitting on me, although I still think he really wanted Cal.

We hung out with him a couple times that week, and although he seemed like an odd guy we both decided his was quirky and fun. As the week drug on, he started to overwhelm me. “Call me when you get home”, or “Call me after you get off work tomorrow” sprang out of his mouth like we had been married for 5 years. Irritated by this level of possessiveness, I told him I had no intentions of getting involved with him. So he did what any normal gay man chasing a woman would do, he bought me a jewelry box that doubles as a music box. A note was attached to the singing box that said “please don’t shut me out”. Oh, and the song? Unchained Melody. Yea, it’s like that.

By this point I start thinking he’s a nut. I’ve known this guy for a week at this point, and I’m starting to think he’s not quite right in either head for me. Somehow he’s gone from fun gay friend to poised boyfriend. I think not.

Last night he calls while Cal and I are having dinner. I tell him we’re having dinner, in a not so polite manner, and hang up as he is telling me to call him when I get home. First of all, I don’t call my husband or my lover when I get home every night. I don’t call my sister or my pals every day when I get off of work, and I sure as hell don’t give out my whereabouts to possessive men.

Ignoring his request, I went home and went to bed. At 2:45 this morning I hear, “Aammmmaannnddda” outside my bedroom window. My bed rests up against that window, so I can see his shadow perfectly. Then the phone calls start, around 15 in all. He’s leaving me a message that I can perfectly hear him leaving through the window. “I just want to make sure you got home okay. I’m not trying to be a burden. You know me, I’m a Cancer.”

Oh dear Lord! I sink further into my bed and cover my head with a pillow. Then the knocking starts. Then the phone rings, and then “Aammmmaaannndaaa”. This goes on for an hour before he finally gives up. That puts his final score at 10 voice messages, about 5 knocks, and what seemed like a million “Ammaannddaa”s.

This morning I walked outside to see a note from him under my doormat. The note reads:
“I am SO!! Sorry. I don’t mean to be a ass. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. I am sorry if I am a burden. I don’t mean to be. Love The Nutcase Bartender”.

Gee, what to think. “A ass”, huh? “Burden”, huh? Love? I’ve known this guy less than two weeks. In no way have we established any sort of a relationship, and yet he feels obligated to be my personal stalker / bodyguard. What’s next? I’m hoping there isn’t going to be some grand apology. He left a message today apologizing, and telling me he understands if I never want to talk to him again. Sounds good to me.

I am never giving out my number again! I’m going cold turkey, man. I’ve learned my lesson well.

by body item ;


Blogger Hot Toddy said...

Uh, that is scary. I joke about wanting a stalker. But I don't really want someone screaming AMANDAAAA outside my window early in the morning. Mostly cause my name isn't Amanda. But also cause it would be embarrasing.

3:38 PM

Blogger Amanda said...

What's worse is that the x-hubby is moving in this coming Saturday. Let's hope he isn't woken up by someone screaming "Amanda" at him!

10:41 AM

Blogger Hotpants said...

ooh! i went through this number phase this past DEC and JAN. I gave my number to the guy who dissed me for an episode of COPS and to scary stalker NATIVE AMERICAN HEALER who invited me to a weekend sweatlodge.


i stopped giving it out after the Medicine Man.

9:49 PM


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