Creepy guy is... well, creepy

Update on the creepy guy (backstory here and here):

Since Sunday night, he has called me and left messages three times. The first two times were later at night, around 11:30, and in his messages he said "Oh, I guess it's kind of late." He then refers to this filmmaking thing we discussed before I could tell he was creepy, as if that's why he's calling, and orders me to call him back.

The fact that I'm not answering his calls or returning them is apparently unimportant. I got a call today from a restricted number, and immediately thought it was him so I didn't answer. Sure enough, his message was "Hey TAB, I want to talk to you about the film thing, so give me a call back."

So, he purposely blocked his number in the hopes that I would accidentally answer a call from him?

So. Creepy.

The Roommate, pt 2

PLEASE start with Part 1!


"What...?!" I pulled away from him and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, no kiss?"

"Uh... No?!" What the hell?

"See? Now I know that you don't feel comfortable kissing me."

"What? You couldn't have just asked me?"

"Well, now I know."

What was he talking about? "So that was a test?"

"Essentially. If you had kissed me, it would have told me that you were into me. But since you didn't, it's still up in the air."

Did he just make a game out of making me uncomfortable? ... great. I went to the bathroom and checked my phone: pretty much out of batteries. I had a message from The Ex, wishing me a happy 40 month anniversary, and wished I was on a date with him instead of this ridiculous, strange person. When I returned to the table, he make a very misguided joke about putting a roofie in my drink. He then immediately laughed it off and took a sip himself as proof of his innocence. Superb...

I quickly told him that I hadn't realized how late it was and needed to get home. "Stay a little longer!" He whined.

"No, I seriously have to go."

He paid for the drinks and walked me back to the apartment. On the way, he childishly demanded a romantic kiss in the falling snow. "No, I don't think so." He leaned in anyway, and I tried to back away without slipping on the slushy sidewalk.

"No! Didn't I say no?!"

"Oh, come on! It's just a kiss!" He continued to lean in, sounding pathetic as usual, but also a little frightening: this was the first time I had pulled away that he had actually continued trying to kiss me. I spun around trying to avoid him, and he followed.

"SERIOUSLY! Stop it." I pushed him away. "Please, just take me back to your place so I can get my things."

He laughed good-naturedly at me and took me back to his place. When we arrived at the apartment, he told me that I should take my shoes off so I wouldn't track water onto the floors. "I'm just going to be putting them right back on," I protested. He hadn't asked me to take my shoes off when I came in the first time.

"Fine, keep them off. You'll just be taking them off anyway," He said, the chime in his voice sounding like a wink.

We went up to his room and I gathered my things. "Nooo! Stay a little bit!"

I pulled out my train schedule to "consult," and then informed him that I really seriously had to go right away so I wouldn't miss my train. He was adamant, and I was becoming afraid that he would switch his act from pouty to angry. I kissed him once, hoping he would shut the hell up and stop whining about me leaving. Since I really wanted him to let me leave as soon as possible and I felt more comfortable being with him in public, I asked him to walk me to the subway. "Of courseI will; I'm a gentleman after all."

As we approached the subway, he asked me when we would see each other again. "Uh, I don't know?" (How about never?)

Not wanting to deal with an angry person who wouldn't take no for an answer, I simply reminded him that he had my phone number from my earlier calls. He asked me to give him a kiss goodbye, and I gave him one on the cheek, then skipped through the turnstile to freedom.

The Roommate, pt 1

In trying to help S find an apartment in New York while she's still out of the state, I agreed to check out rooms for her. She got an account on a website that has roommate profiles and started shopping for places to live and people to live with.

Yesterday I went to look at an apartment in Chinatown. I threw on an outfit, ditched the idea of a shower, and rushed to catch the train, which I missed anyway. When I arrived, I called the guy who was showing the room and he met me outside the building. "Hey, come on in" he said, opening the door for me and showing me to the elevator.

He took me up to the roof and pointed out all of the useful places nearby: a supermarket, a deli, a laundromat. "Are there any cool bars nearby or anything like that?" I asked. Yeah, of course! Do you drink?" He asked. I told him I did. "Okay, well maybe we'll grab a drink after you take a look at the room." Cool, that would be a good way to get to know the neighborhood, I thought.

We went to the apartment to look at the room, which was pretty much not a room so much as a closet with an inappropriately large bed stuffed into it. He then led me back to his room so we could talk about the living situation. I was still half-considering it at this point because I thought the room might be acceptable if a smaller bed was moved in and the nook outside could be used.

We sat in his (much nicer) room and talked about the owners and rent and all that. We also talked about his upcoming film project and other less businessy things. Then someone called him and he said something about the Oscars. "Oh shit! I can't believe I forgot the Oscars!" I admonished myself. I had planned on writing a review of the Oscars to show up the Other Intern, who would most likely write an awful piece about them.

"There's a bar right down the block that's probably playing it, do you want to go?" I wasn't that intent on seeing the show now that I had missed part of it, but we seemed to be getting along pretty well and I still had a couple of questions about the room, so I agreed to go. As I gathered my bulky bag, he told me I didn't have to bring it. "We'll come back before you leave, don't worry about carrying it around." I grabbed my cell phone and went outside with him.

We walked along in the falling snow, and stopped first at the grocery store so he could get bills for a bag of change he had. "This would be a funny story to tell people about our first date," he laughed. I laughed too, because... well, we weren't on a date, so it was funny.

As we left the store, he asked me to take his hand. "Huh?" I asked, confused.

"You may have heard of this, it's what your parents do when you cross the street when you're a kid. It's for safety, I don't want you to fall." He held his hand out.

"Um, that's okay. I think I'm good." I laughed at him. What a silly person... he must've thought that was cute or something.

We got to the bar and found out that the TV playing the Oscars was on very quietly and in a poor location, so we gave up and decided to sit at a table in the back. He ordered us both beers, and I realized that I had left my wallet in my bag in his room so I couldn't pay for my beer. Oops... He assured me it was okay.

Our conversation continued, but he became increasingly irritating. Not only would he jokingly slip into conversation our future as lovers and parents, but he kept asking me questions so he could find out certain things about me. I can't even remember what they were... but it was the equivalent of asking my favorite color and then telling me "Your answer tells me this about you." And the way he said it was always off-putting. He kept concluding that I am defensive, incredibly intelligent, and open to new things. Oh, and beautiful of course.

"I'm defensive because you keep doing things that are offensive. What else can I do?"

By this point, I was letting him hold my hand because it seemed useless to protest: I was sitting in a public place with him, and my bag was in his room. I wasn't quite ready to leave behind everything except my cell phone with low batteries just because this guy was being an incredibly aggressive flirt.

"You shouldn't be defensive," he countered. "You have to be open to new things, to get past those boundaries so you can find out if you are ultimately going to get along with people. Take the hand-holding, for instance. Earlier on, you weren't okay with that. Now look; we're holding hands and it's not uncomfortable." Suddenly his face was rushing towards mine.

Part 2 will be posted in 24 hours...

The non date

Oh my goodness. You know when you're hoping that a "sort of" date is actually not a date at all? And then you get the feeling that the other person is hoping that it's very much a date?

In all fairness, I probably misled him. I took a shower, curled my hair, put on a smokin' outfit and plenty of makeup. I was dressing up because I thought I was going to a club after my drink with BlogNerd. But I didn't tell him that, so he probably assumed that all this was for him.

He took me to a champagne lounge, which was very nice. I saw the quality of the place and immediately knew that he was trying to impress me. And I was impressed: the champagne was great. Fortunately, we had no trouble keeping up conversation.

After a couple drinks there, he asked me if I had eaten yet. I hadn't eaten yet and I was having fun with BlogNerd, so we went to a restaurant down the street for another drink and a meal. At this point, I started feeling bad because I had planned on meeting my friends downtown and we had tentative plans for dinner. "Oh well, I'm sure they won't miss me too much and I'll see them after they eat."

Dinner was fine and the conversation was okay. Except for when I told him to list all the words he knew that started with X. That part of the conversation wasn't really okay, but he didn't seem to mind. The only problem with him was that anytime I wanted to reference something from my past, it was obvious how much younger than him I was. When he brought up a TV show that he used to watch, I said "I don't remember that show very well."

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Well, when did it come out? 1997? Yeah, I was in middle scho--"

"I don't want to know..." He cut me off and changed the subject, as if ignoring our difference in age would actually make it disappear.

From then on, I tried to consciously leave out any mention of my age when telling a story. It got pretty irritating, especially since he knows my age. Get over it, dude.

After dinner (I offered to pay, he refused...), I called my friends. I had to do it in front of BlogNerd, since we had already left the table and there wasn't really a nice way to say "I'm going over there to talk to some other people, you wait here in the cold and pretend that's not weird." I tried as hard as I could not to ditch either party.

"We're almost done with dinner, what are you doing?"

"I'm still hanging out with..." Oh shit. What do I call this guy? I can't use his name, because that would imply that I had told my friends about him. Which I hadn't. And even if I had, I didn't want him to think that. "Someone." He did a head bob, repeating "someone" as if to say "Ah, I see."

I asked my friends what they were doing after dinner and we made plans to ride the train home together. "Call me when you're coming to the train station," I said.

Since we were both going to Grand Central, BlogNerd took me there and we went to a bar while I waited. I probably should have refused another drink, but he was so insistent... I should clarify, here. Insistent not in a creepy way; more in a "I can tell you want another drink, so I'm going to get you one."

So we hung out at the bar and kept talking. It was pretty fun, except for the whole pretending I'm not in college and only 21 thing. But seriously, where were my friends? And his nose is really big. What can you do with a big-nosed guy who won't let you talk about your age?

When the bar was closing at 1, he went to the bathroom and I called my friends. "Where are you?" I asked.

"We're on the train, where are you?"

What?! I had been waiting for them in Grand Central and they left without me? Gah! I guess I deserved it for ditching them earlier.

BlogNerd and I walked down to the main area in Grand Central and talked for a minute or two before I left to catch my train. I noticed him take a small step toward me, so I took a little step back, because if he stepped forward again he would basically run into me. Then he did it again, so I stepped back again.

"Why are you backing away from me?" He asked with a laugh.

"Why are you stepping toward me?" I returned, with an embarrassed smile. (I smile a lot when I'm embarrassed)

"That's cool, keeping the distance."

"Uh, yeah... what else would I do?" What the hell? Couldn't you have just bought me five drinks and dinner and sent me on my way? "Okay well I should catch my train, but I'll talk to you soon."

He gave me a hug and said "Have a good trip home."

"Okay, I will, bye!" I said and walked away.

If I just ignore that last part, I'd say it was a good time. And maybe if I ignore it, it'll disappear.

TAB, the no-fun drunk

On Friday, I spent the evening with my roommates out on the town. And let me just say, it's almost appalling how little my inhibitions change after drinking alcohol.

We were at a bar, the kind where no one really mingles. So we ended up watching (making fun of) the people in the establishment. There was a couple on a date who became more and more... affectionate... as the night progressed. (Free porn? Awesome) There were a bunch of bored-looking chicks at the bar. And, most importantly, there was a cute busboy and a very cute bartender. Unfortunately, though I had received several stares on my way to the bar (all pointed out to me by Heterophobe), neither busboy nor bartender was checking me out at the bar (although I am pretty oblivious).

Since there were no other cute guys around, I kept putting dishes on the edge of our table for the busboy. "We should order more drinks so he'll bring them!" I whispered to Miss Responsible.

"Ooooh, look who has a crush!" She slurred.

"Whatever, I just want to look at him a little bit longer."

"Ask him out!!" Miss Responsible nudged me and winked.

"No way."

"Come on! What have you got to lose?" She nudged me again.

I smiled with embarrassment and laughed at her simultaneously. "My dignity? I'm sure these guys get hit on all the time. Besides, they should be asking me out if they want me."

"Come on, TAB! You're the hottest girl in this bar. They'll be lucky to have you. Just walk up to one of them and give him your phone number."

I was starting to wonder if I was a lame drunk. Shouldn't I be stripping on top of the table by now? Asking a guy out while incredibly drunk should not be a problem. "Maybe if one of them was smiling at me, exchanging words with me... or even looking at me at all, I'd do it. But they're not."

I hoped that this was true and not just an excuse. Otherwise, people will soon realize they can't convince me to do embarrassing things when I'm drunk and stop inviting me to parties.

BlogNerd, master of "sort of" dates

If my current internship is at "Cool" TV channel, then last semester I had a different internship at "Nerd Central" TV channel. It was fun, though, and no one who worked there was actually that nerdy. On my second to last day, (way back in December) one of the staff members asked me to lunch with a convincing line: "They can't have you work here for free and not buy you a lunch!" I accidentally told him I hadn't eaten yet, and awkwardly accepted his invitation to go to "the best Chinese in this part of town" (which could really mean anything, couldn't it? How small a "part of town" are we talking, here?).

In spite of my terrible fear that this lunch was actually a date (he was paying and he wasn't in my department), we had a pretty fun time. After I carefully over-analyzed his opening the door for me (although, someone has to open it, right?) we sat down and had a pretty good time. As we talked about my plans for winter break, I mentioned that I would be at home for my 21st birthday.

"What day is it?" He asked. When I told him, he got very excited and said "Well, you're not going to believe me unless I show you so..." He reached into his wallet and handed me his driver's license. Sure enough, we had the same birthday. I not-so-quickly did some math to discover his age: 32. Now I was even more fearful that this was a date. But he was really nice, and we did have one tremendous thing in common: a love of blogs.

Soon enough we whisked ourselves back to the office, and he said "Hey come write down your email address for me so I can send you a link to that blog I was talking about."

As I stood at his desk with a piece of paper and pen in my hand, I panicked. "Which email should I give you? Work, or personal?"

"Whichever you want."

Oh crap. Now I not only had to decide which email to give him, but it would be even more obvious that the choice was deliberate. If I gave him my work one now, it would seem a little bit... I don't know, rude? I wrote down my personal email address and went back to my desk.

After sending me the link, we started writing each other about once a week. I found his emails to be clever, or cute maybe? ...basically, I looked forward to reading them. And since I'm such a ball of wit, I enjoyed responding. After our birthdays, I related to him my trouble getting myself drunk on the special day and thereafter.

Last Thursday, I checked my email before going to sleep and saw that I had a new one from him. It was my turn to send him something, so I was a little surprised to see a message from him. It read:

Hey [TAB],
Got a favor to ask you: I want to get MS Office for my MacBook at home, and CompUSA happens to sell a discounted version to students (you may have heard of this phenomenon). I was wondering if you might be up for accompanying me to one of their stores sometime next week for a quick flash of your coveted student status. In return, I could help you out with that (lack of) drinking problem of yours afterward. I mean, c'mon, you've gotta have your first appletini sometime. Up for it?
[BlogNerd]

I thought about it for a day. Does one appletini make it a date? I couldn't tell, but I knew one thing: I liked his emails and I enjoyed his company. I also got the feeling he was a nice guy who wouldn't exactly be expecting me to give him a blowjob under the table. After consulting with S and confirming with a roommate that we could meet somewhere afterward, I came up with this response:

[BlogNerd],
Of course I'll help you stick it to the man. Always a worthy cause. And... about the appletinis. I've become a little more adventurous with my drink selection, so I'll let you pick the drink (as long as it looks delicious). What is your schedule like next week? The only day I can really do anything after work is on Friday, is that okay?
[TAB]

So... hopefully I can pull off an hour of not being awkward. Afterward I'm meeting my roommate at a bar with "tons of hot guys," so I know I'll have something to fall back on. Whew.

Where's the action?

Valentine's day is tomorrow. I know what you're thinking: "Why aren't you dating?"

... you were thinking that, weren't you?

Okay but if you weren't, now you are.


Well my friends, I'm not going to lie. The men at my school are gay. Gay or socially inept. Gay, socially inept, or taken. And sometimes all three.

I've been trying this new thing though, called "shopping for sluttier clothes." Now before you tell me that I shouldn't have to look slutty to get a man's attention, I should clarify: I don't have to. I can wear some pretty boring clothes and get attention (especially if I sing really loud in the subway. And even then, some of those sidelong glances are pretty lusty). But if men are going to gaze anyway, why not look absolutely delicious and make them sorry they're not getting off at my stop? Honestly, it's the only cruel thing I'm capable of doing to strangers. And lately, I feel like doing bitchy things.

Other than fantasizing about men fantasizing about me, though, I've been pretty celibate. Some of you might be thinking "That's okay! You don't need a man, you just need a vibrator!"

To you, I say "I don't have a vibrator." And even though I do have fingers, I forget about them. I'm a sexual person and all, but every time I think to myself "I'm going to masturbate tonight!" I end up forgetting. When you have to remind yourself to masturbate, I have a feeling you're not really into it.

I did have phone sex with The Ex a couple weeks ago. I don't really regret it, and I probably wouldn't have done it if I wasn't drunk at the time. Oh yeah, The Ex! What's with that? I haven't mentioned him in... a month? Well, he calls me almost every day and we talk. It's not awkward and I'm not obsessed with him and I don't notice it when he doesn't call. I think those are all good things, and I'm glad we have what appears to be an understanding. And I'm glad we're not together. Now I don't feel guilty for lusting after the cute boss in my office or putting Adam Brody on my desktop.

It's nice to be single. Happy Valentine's Day!

I hate being 'it' in Tag

Okay guys, I'm drunk, I'm vulnerable, Chicago lost the Superbowl... let's do a post to reveal my crazy secrets...

1. Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you”.

2. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly.

3. At the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Weird thing #1:
All the guys I am attracted to are less into sex than I am. Great.

Weird thing #2:
I used to be neat freak, and even though I still feel like a neat freak at heart, I am pretty messy most of the time. (although maybe by "pretty messy," I mean not OCD... hmm)

Weird thing #3:
People think that I'm bitchy or rude because of the way I act, which they describe as "confident," whereas I am often extremely self-conscious. So... I accidentally come off as a bitch (hence my blog title)

Weird thing #4:
I hated (American) football until I learned about it this January. Now I love it. Call me a hypocrite, or just accept me as cool because now I'm one of the elite class of women who's into football.

Weird thing #5:
Much as I hate the gender stereotypes, I have to know that the relationship is "going somewhere" before I let a man touch me below the belt. Even though I feel like a prude for doing so. And am really really horny.

Weird thing #6:
Often, I think I'm more popular on my blog than I am in real life. I know that may sound sad, but in some ways it's very rewarding: I am a writer, and y'all don't know me, so it's even more of a compliment that you stick around. Sometimes when I feel like no one likes me, I remember how rewarding my blog is and it makes me feel better. Um... wow lame... forget that one.

Yeah I'm really drunk. Really. Mmmm... vanilla vodka. Who wants to make out?

The 6 I'll tag are the top 6 commenters on my last post (good job, guys!!):
1. Wanderlusting
2. GrewUpRural
3. The Ambiguous Blob
4. S (aka dropout)
5. Strange bird
6. monicker

Hah! That'll teach you not to comment first anytime soon!

Facebook: One more way to embarrass myself

So I guess if you can't get your heterophobic gay friend to tell you you're hot, the universe will send someone else to do it.*

I saw that I had a message when I logged into facebook. Usually I get junk mail from groups that are sending mass emails to everyone about upcoming events, but this one was from an acquaintance who graduated last year. He wrote:

by the way, i always thought you were absurdly hot. no disrespect intended, just a statement of fact. it's possible that we'll never see each other again so you might as well know. PLEASE don't take it the wrong way. good luck in life and all that you do!

I was flattered. My impression of him was that he had been a pretty popular guy and a talented musician. Also, a friend of mine freshman year was obsessed with him. His message was kind of adorable, and I always love it when guys clarify that they're not being creepy. So I wrote him back:

Thank you :) I always thought you were an absurdly nice guy. I wish I could have gotten to know you better while you were still here. If you're ever in town we should hang out!

Afterwards, I realized that I may have insulted him by not calling him absurdly hot in return (who likes the "You're such a nice guy" response?). Still, if I had called him hot, he probably would have assumed that I'd like to have sex with him. This way it sounded a little more platonic. I remembered that he didn't live in the city, so I assumed I might never see him again.

So I was a little unsure whether to be excited or nervous or terrified when he replied:

i'm in town about half the time. i have to travel alot for gigs and such but i'm around. i'll hit you up on facebook next time i have a good chunk of free time. see you!

... This could get rather uncomfortable, since I haven't decided if I would actually want to see him when he comes to town.


*I will eventually stop talking about how hot I am.

Damn heterophobes

After meeting one of my bosses at my new internship today, I've been a little man-crazy - he is so cute it boggles the mind. You know how some guys are cute, but they're not really hot; they're cute? He is so cute that it spills over into the hot. It may even spill over into something beyond hot.

Oh, and he's married. Fuck.

So I came home from my internship and gushed about him forever, then watched Grey's where George is sex-crazed, and then looked at pictures of hot celebrities with my friend HP (heterophobe).

We got a call from a mutual friend and decided to go over to her place. At this point, all I could think about was looking as attractive as I could (as if there would be any guys for me to meet there), and I turned to HP and whined: "HP, what am I going to wear? I'm not going to look any good!"

HP, who was on his way out, stopped for a second. I quickly remembered that every time I have requested some friendly encouragement about my body from him, HP utters the dreadful words "I'm gay, I don't know" and my pleas for help are frustrated.

Before he could answer this time, I yelled "I know you're gay, just tell me I look sexy and that everyone wants to do me!"

... I'm never asking him for reassurance again. Some friend he is.

All airlines should offer this

My flight back to New York was at 9am, which means I woke up at 6:30am. By the way, I'm not a morning person. I rode the wheelchair to my gate, since I decided not to risk hurting my hip by trekking around the airport a mere two weeks after surgery. I got to pre-board, and found my seat in the second to last row next to the window.

I'm a friendly person and all, but I've always been pretty reserved on airplanes. Ever since my mom berated me when I was ten for giving personal information (i.e. the town I'm from) to strangers, I've played it on the safe side. I try to read; usually end up sleeping. Almost always succeed in ignoring the people next to me.

So as everyone else boarded the plane, I got my book out. I saw someone set stuff on the aisle seat, and snuck a tiny glance. Wow, he was cute... right? Or maybe I didn't look long enough to evaluate. I peeked again as he set something in the overhead bin, quickly looking away. Yeah, he looked cute. I think. It's hard to tell when you only looked for half a second. Crap. Was he cute? All I could tell was that he was well-dressed and had blond-ish hair. That definitely doesn't mean anything. I tried to look again, and then realized that I had basically just done a triple-take without gathering any information, so I whipped open my book and ignored him.

"Hi, I'm Jason." I looked over in surprise to his hand. Finally, an appropriate moment to look at him without seeming like a creepy staring person. He was cute. I smiled and shook his hand, then prepared to turn back to my book.

"So are you going to New York to visit or go home?" What was this? He wanted to talk? Incredible. I figured it wouldn't go much beyond that, though.

I was wrong. We talked literally nonstop for the entire five hour flight. He had the most entertaining stories from traveling with his friends through Europe, and we talked about things like bar etiquette and the third date rule.

He even has the same political ideas as I do. And I know he wasn't faking because he showed me the book he had stashed in his seatback pocket, which was about politics. In the middle of that conversation, he referenced a book that I had read, and we had one of those "No kidding! That's so cool!" moments.

I told him about my surgery and he told me about his past surgeries, complete with funny stories of course. Every time we finished a topic or the conversation lagged for 10 seconds or so (which only happened about 3 times during the whole flight) he picked it up and asked me a question.

The problem? He knew that I'm 21, but I had no idea how old he was. All I have to go on is that he referred to 23 as the past, and he said the absolute oldest woman he would date would be 32. So he must be 30 or younger. Unfortunately I forgot to ask about how young he would go. Not that I'm completely in love with him.

Except that he was perfect.

As everyone filed off the plane and I waited for a chance to run to the bathroom, we just waved goodbye.

I know he's only in town for a week, and he's on business. But for some reason I was disappointed. He had definitely seemed interested, and we could easily have met for drinks. I have to wonder if he was deterred when I told him about my surgery. Would he have tried to meet up with me if he thought I might sleep with him? Or was he just friendly?

Whatever the case, I am now optimistic that I will be able to find non-creepy men who can carry a conversation and make me laugh. Or I could move to Seattle. I mean, he works for Microsoft... not bad.