I've been bouncing around the idea of a blog for awhile. Ever since the day I told this psycho guy I met on an online dating site that I was trying to make some extra money writing letters for some website (waste of time, by the way). S suggested I try blogging. I suck at blogging, I typed back. (I really do, I'll be surprised if I ever put in another entry.) Besides, I continued, what would I even write about? You could write about what it's like to be a teen mom in the information age, he replied.
That really pissed me off, for a couple reasons. Firstly, it's not like I was 15 and got pregnant, then proceeded to drop out of high school. I was 19, married, and have continued with college. I'm a completely legal adult at this point, able to vote, drink and get a concealed weapons permit (haha provided my history as a nutcase doesn't pop up). Secondly, his response more accurately looked like, "u cud ryte bout wat its like to, be a teen mom in da infromation age." R u 4real? I wanted to ask. But I reconsidered, fully recognizing that it's pointless to use my sarcasm against someone who wouldn't even begin to understand it.
That happened a few weeks ago. I probably would've forgotten that entire exchange had it not been for the steady stream of one-sided communication between us. Normally I would be cool with unrequited love and attention, except that this time it's not coming from me. Being borderline stalked is not fun. You would think that S would get the point. Mind you, I've never even met this guy in real life. He wanted to meet, back in the days (last month) when I could pretend to stand his boringness. I fretted all week about our meeting, because after I tentatively agreed to go see a movie with him he began a daily campaign of instant messages and text messages. This created serious doubts because I hadn't even given him my number; he searched facebook for me using my contact information from yahoo messenger (thanks for giving my full name to everyone, dicks), and sent me a friend request. I, like lots of women, have a hard time rejecting advances from even the creepiest of men, which leads me to disaster, as evidenced by the time I got pregnant by J, married G, or decided to talk to S out of pity. So, surprised, I felt sort of obligated to accept his friend request, slightly reminiscent of the time I hesitantly accepted my senior class president from high school, or my mom.
Fast forward a few days, when I get a text message from a number I don't recognize. A message apologizing for coming on too strongly (whaaaat? no way!). Who the fuck is this? my thumbs flew furiously across my number pad (I need a qwerty keyboard, damn it!). S, he shot back. Huh, I thought, who the hell... oh God! How did you find out my number? I asked. There was no way I would ever give someone with a quadruple chin who I chatted with once on the fucking internet my cell phone number. He found it in my facebook profile. Now I what you're thinking, that I clearly shouldn't put information like that up on facebook. But you must realize that I really have no friends, well maybe a couple, but definitely countable on one hand. I added my cell number on the off chance that the hot lifeguard from work on my friend list would ever want to give me a call. And instead I got S.
Geez, now that I'm seeing all of this down in writing, I guess it shouldn't surprise me that someone ballsy and presumptuous enough to cyberstalk me and text me wouldn't take the hint that I don't like him and please stop calling. It wouldn't be so bad if he was at least funny, or interesting. I know and tolerate lots of people with generally uninteresting personalities, if they're at least witty, intelligent or have some anecdotal tidbits to entertain me, I can actually learn to like someone who's a total square. But not S. There's nothing cool about him. He's totally dull and bland. I'm a pretty colorful person, but I can only fill the gap for so long.
Anywho, this cat keeps trying to talk to me. I started signing in to my yahoo messenger "invisible," hid his emo ass facebook updates, and feeling a sense of dread whenever my cell phone went off. After awhile he seemed to wise up to my antics and messaging me even if I wasn't "available." I deleted him from my email contacts, but he was still able to send me messages. Ugh! Jesus! Shit! I remember exclaiming when I saw a message from him. It reminded me of this drawer in my mom's kitchen where all her pot holders were stored. Soon after we moved in, she found mouse droppings in the drawer, and 7 years later it remains off limits, never discussed, never opened, just in permanent limbo, and presumably, full of mouse shit to this day. I couldn't let my yahoo messenger become the shitty drawer. I couldn't live in fear of having to talk to S any longer! Later that same day he popped up again: hows it goin. I reported him as spam, thus eliminating the problem. Then, today, as I was taking a nap while Lars was sleeping, my cell phone went off. Unsuspecting, as S the freak hadn't attempted to harass me in a few days, I checked my phone only to see a message from him. I was appalled. I don't want to have to tell him that he's lame, not interesting or smart or funny in any way and kind of fugly. I really don't. But he's like a cockroach infestation, he just keeps coming back.
His text jogged my memory about blogging. Judging by the length of this post, in my sleep deprived stupor, even, it seems I may have a thing or two to say. I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear them, but no one wants to listen to Miley Cyrus's music either, no one wants to support a crackwhore's 5th welfare baby, but they both keep producing and delivering, so I shall do the same.
