So this time last year I met a man. A man with a horrible case of Peter Pan Syndrome. A man so incapable of holding a job or doing anything remotely considered adult or responsible that it made me want to scream. A man who told his mother he was ‘dating up’ and how absolutely spectacular I was after date #1. A man who joyously chose to run up and down a soccer field blowing a whistle at high school soccer games twice a week over having a job that actually paid him to work. A man who was late everywhere because he was either a) playing with his cat or b) wanting to finish a chapter in that book he was reading or c) just irresponsible. A man who would yammer on incessantly (and i’m talking hours) about himself without ever taking a breath or even looking up to notice that my eyes had glazed over and that my ears were bleeding. A man who pounded that final nail in his coffin by showing up to my doorstep, late and empty handed, after I had invited him over for dinner and then came down with some sort of plague. Yet he wanted to see me so badly that he neither gentlemanly declined nor offered to just bring dinner over. Oh wait, I am mistaken on the showing up empty handed part. He brought a make out cd with him. Yey.
Anyway, as we all know I’m not one to mince words and am no fan of grey areas, I made it clear to him why I couldn’t date him anymore. Very clear. And he was crushed. By that point though, the whole thing had just started to annoy the shit out of me. His personality, his penchant for being irresponsibile, his apparent love for ‘letting’ me pay for all of our dates. I was done. He spent weeks and weeks calling, texting and e-mailing in order to ‘get me back’. Uhm, no. He has spent the better part of the last year still calling me, yet never leaving a message. Every time I think I’m done hearing from him, he will surprise me with another phone call. To which I ignore and send to voicemail where he promptly hangs up.
Last night was different though. I was out (with TD of course, yeah yeah get over it) and I look at my phone to see that it’s fucking Irish Guy calling again! He had called on Monday as well and per his usual MO, left no message. Apparently after an entire year of phone calls and being sent to voicemail, he opted to change up his tactic. He actually left me a message! I almost fell off my barstool. Of course I had to listen to it and, because I can’t even believe how lame he is, I have opted to share it with the blog world. And it went something like this:
‘Hi Grey, I hope you have been well. *laugh, laugh* Believe it or not all those calls you’ve gotten from me for the past 6 months have been accidents. I forgot to delete you from my phone and have been butt dialing you. I have a question for you though. *insert ridiculously random and retarded question about my 2nd job which the average 2 year old with a limited vocabulary could answer*. If you could call or text me with the answer, that would be great. I hope you, the dogs, work, the job and your travels have been well this holiday season. ‘
What the fuck?! Thinking this is borderline obsessive behaviour on his part and it makes me really sad. If sad were equal to annoyed as hell. Since TD has been with me the last two times that Irish Guy has ‘accidentally’ butt dialed me, we decided that next time he calls, TD will answer for me. You’d think that would work, right? If only I could harness this ability to not have men let me go and aim it towards the ones I want ………
Oh, and yeah ………. the announcement was made to TD last night about Match ………. going to have to wait until tomorrow though to read about it as we’re going to the gun range, to look at X-Mas lights (yeah, I’m lame like that) and out to dinner today. 🙂