Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Stage Five Clinger

Rejection's a bitch my friends - in your career and in your love life. No matter how fab you think you are and no matter how awesome your mom says you are in every way possible, not everybody is going to think so. It's an important and inevitable lesson in humility and the way you handle it speaks to your character.
And unfortunately Match.com attracts the kind of men with flawed character...bitterly flawed character.
This guy seemed perfectly normal, a little intense maybe, but normal, so I decided to meet up with him for drinks. He was attractive - not a double chin in sight - but I immediately found myself putting up my fuck-you-you-don't-know-anything-about-me dukes as he jumped from incorrect conclusion to incorrect conclusion about everything in my life from the few words I could get in edgewise. He was condescending, insulting almost, but then when he realized his douche was showing, he would almost immediately recover and say something nice about me. He kept talking about all the things he could "teach me" in various subjects, assuming I knew nothing, or that I might find him more endearing if he would allow me to figure out what he could "teach me" on my own. I was annoyed about 75 percent of the night and almost called it a night at least twice, but that other 25 percent kept me around for some reason. It was almost like a competition - like I felt it was my duty to knock his superiority complex down a couple of notches. Why do I even try? Once a douche rocket, always a douche rocket.
Anyway, for some reason I ended up back at his apartment. Maybe I wanted to meet his dog or maybe I just really loved the way he tried to eat my face in his car, I don't know, but I decided to humor him and stop in for a second. He immediately glommed onto me, hugging me, trying to whisper things into my ears and trying to impress me with his total dominance over his dog - and he wasn't just laying it on, I genuinely think he fell in love with me in five hours. Then, I left after about an hour feeling sorry for his dog that I'm pretty sure is his only friend - and she didn't even really want to be there.
The next day he calls and I finally call him back later that night where he proceeded to tell me about 37 times that he was certain I wasn't going to call him back and he didn't know why, and that this conversation "would be better in person." Uh huh. His defense mechanism for not having any friends and rotting at home every weekend is to lie about it and say all his friends are married or moved away, then make fun of my weekend partying. So, I said, you're just jealous, why don't you meet me and my friends out on Friday night? Why oh why did I do this?
Friday came and he knew I was hanging out with my family for the evening - I would call him later. First of all, he made this huge deal out of going out - I'm like, we're going to drink beers...at a bar...with some people...it's gonna be OK. He's like wah, will you come pick me up because I don't drive when I'm drinking? No dude, I don't even know you, plus I don't drive either. I'm just trying to get you to be fun, you can meet me.
I got home around 10 p.m., started to get ready to head over to Kate and Sam's then I get this hysterical text message from him that said something along the lines of 'oh my god, you're not going to call me, are you?...blah, blah, blah..." I'm all, are you shitting me? Can anybody be more impatient and insecure? After telling him to calm the fuck down and that I had now changed my mind about him going out with us, he sends me a four page text message about how he has insecurities about past relationships and some more trying-to-explain-my-behavior-but-just-sounding-more-and-more-like-a-clingy-lunatic bullshit. Then, Kate laughed as I shook my legs and yelled, "get off of me!" Stage Five Clinger! When you condense all of the picky little things I look for in a guy, it basically comes down to a decent human being that I can have fun with. I'm not here to nurture you through your past relationship insecurities, mainly because I've known you for 48 motherfucking hours.
So, I left it at that. The red flags that popped up in the two days I knew him were more than enough for me to cut it off quickly: The ex-fiancee that left him and broke his heart yet he's still heavily involved in her life, the anal-ness, the fact that he told me that some girls think he's "needy," but he just thinks he's a "hopeless romantic"...Oh, and the fact that he's completely fucked in the head. Oh GOD!
That was the last straw for Match.com. I gave it a chance, but after my encounter with this gem, I decided two months was more than enough. The next day, I hit delete...and I don't think I'll be back.
Well, here I am, minding my own business, the thought of the whole ordeal hadn't even crossed my mind in several days and I get this e-mail from Match.com - it's a "no thanks" message from Mr. Stage Five. One of those little options they give you if you get an e-mail from an undesirable person and you don't want to talk to them, but nobody actually uses it. Yet, we exchanged several e-mails, met in person, I'm not even online anymore and neither one us had tried to contact the other in any way for several days. Uh, yeah, there's that superiority complex rearing it's ugly head even AFTER I dumped him. He couldn't stand the fact that I didn't like him and just had to "pretend" in his little warped mind that he was the one who did the dumping...I can picture it now, "I'll show her (creepy, evil laugh)!"
I was just so fucking annoyed to have my day interrupted with this juvenile bullshit. I'm like, you're 27 fucking years old. Grow up asswipe. So, I send him a text message since I can't respond by e-mail through the site anymore and just ask him why he felt that was necessary. Oh shit, did that ever open Pandora's Box. I could almost see his face fuming and head exploding via text! My favorites were "lose my number," "What a fucking bitch you turned out to be" and "I hope you die." Ok, so maybe he didn't send the last one, but he might as well have. I kept defending myself politely and he kept firing back these horrendous, bitch infused, "pretending" text messages like it was his job. It must be so exhausting carrying around that much unjustified anger. Apparently not wanting to date an insane person makes you an asshole. What a DICK. I immediately deleted his number.
I guess my earring fell out in his car and he mentioned, in the middle of his shitstorm of psychotic text messages, that he sent it. Sent it where? I'm not sure, but I assume he looked up the newspaper's address and sent it there.


I can see the envelope now:

To: Lara 'the bitch' Hastings

Contents: Your fucking earring


Then my friend Andrew said, "He probably peed on it Lara. I would have peed on it."
Oh well, as long as it's not sprinkled with Anthrax I think I'm in pretty good shape - except for the voodoo doll that I'm pretty sure will be included with the piss covered earring. The voodoo doll with pins right through the chest and the vag.
Why is that the most nasty, bitter little bastard to ever walk the face of the planet just had to attach himself to my leg? Perhaps I need to switch perfumes...or hire a large bodyguard for screening purposes.

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