.....that's when you know.

Hey all, it's Amanda, the long-lost other half of this project when it first began.  I know I rarely write anymore, but it's mostly because I never have anything to write about.  My life has been strangely boring for a while now...however, there are just some things in life that you look at and simply say, "You can't make this shit up."  In this last year-ish of the single life, I've been traveling through the dating game with novice navigation.  Each date I end up going on is usually everything I've expected...as in knowing it was nothing I really wanted.  And each time I say to myself, "No more.  I am done dating."  And each time another guy asks me out, I go against my gut and give them the benefit of the doubt.

And each time I wonder why I didn't pay more attention to that mesenteric area located south of my heart.

I have honestly never imagined the amount of clingy, desperate, thick-headed, can't-take-a-hint, ask-too-many-questions girls guys I have met through these awkward encounters.  But last Saturday takes the cake, and the ironic part is it wasn't even at "date" level yet...and thankfully, it never, ever will be.

The backstory is this: I have known of this guy since high school.  My friends know him, hell one even used to date him (she's since married) but I didn't really start talking to him till last year.  And by me talking to him, I mean he Facebook stalked me & contacted me via Fbook message.  (RED FLAG: People who use the "poke" option or the Fbook messenger as a way of starting a conversation, flirting, and/or asking for your number.)  I didn't think much of it, and actually he was incredibly sarcastic from the get-go, which turned me off immediately.  I usually handled the situation by giving it right back to him.  And he stopped talking to me for many months, and then saw that I am a musician in my spare time, so started talking to me again.  I don't know why I'm so nice to randoms, but he eventually asked for my number, because he wanted to "jam" sometime... (I know, roll your eyes at me...I sure as hell am) and I said exactly this: "I will give you my number but I'm going to be upfront honest with you, I am not looking to date anyone right now.  And I apologize if I'm just making assumptions, but I figure I might as well get that out of the way." He seemed fine about it, and things were all good.  He went out to a local bar in very close range to my house a few weeks ago and invited me out, but I didn't want to go alone.  My gut was yelling at me again saying that it was "def a sketch sitch" so my roomie-rents (Ash & Kristine tend to double as my dad & mom, respectfully) joined me.  Everything went normal.  Whatever. So then last week he wanted to go out for drinks, but I had made plans with my cousin and he was fine with a group thing, which is the only way I would have hung out with him anyway, so great.  Whatever.

Bad Decision: Agreeing to hang out again (or really, ever).
Better Bad Decision: Not going into the inevitable sketchy situation alone.

So we did a little bar hopping, went from Fusion with their heavenly scorpion bowls (aforementioned in previous posts many times), hit up John Harvard's, and finished up over at Scioli's (remember, the random Italian place next to a PFit that had a Worcester-like dance club appeal).  Last-call lights flipped on, and we headed home.  And now for the shit I can't make up.

He's passing out on my couch.  He's so drunk, that he's passing out on my couch.  (RED FLAG: This is the first time I've let you come over my house, you really shouldn't be getting so drunk that even though I haven't said I'll allow it, you assume you can just stay over.  Now, I really don't want your drunk ass driving, so the "nice" me is forced to say fine, stay.)  My cousin gets tired, so she peaces out, and then magically, the dude is awake enough to want to make out.  Now I'm not going to try to lie about this, I did make out with him for a couple minutes, because mind you, I was also somewhat drunk, and who doesn't like a little mild action?  But in fairness, the convo went like this:

Me: *stopping mid-makeout* "Just so you know, I'm not sleeping with you tonight."
Dude: "Thas fine we canjustmakeout. Ur cute."
Me: "No, seriously, you're not getting in my bed."
Dude: "Well Imeanifyou uhhh dun like me, I can jus leave." *as he tries to, but fails to, sit up straight*
Me: "No, I don't want you to leave because you can't drive.  Just stay over."

This sparked a 20 minute back-and-forth of the same thing.  He was whining about how I should let him take me out on a "real" date, blah blah blah.  And I got so irritated/tired that I was all "Dude.  Listen.  I am not stringing you along, I told you upfront a WHILE ago that I had no interest in dating you, or anyone, period.  You cannot pin this on me, I told you from the beginning." To which he begins his series of tantrums with a "FINE.  PEACE." And walks over to the bathroom.

Kick Out Sketchy: Attempt #1
So I figure fine, he's going to the bathroom, and he's leaving.  Or let's hope he leaves.  So what do I do?  I say F this, I've had enough, I'm going to my room, and hopefully he'll take the hint to either go to bed or leave.  I locked my door just incase, and waited to see if he'd go out to the car.  Good thing I locked my door because not 5 minutes later he prances upstairs and tries to just walk in my room, finds that it's locked, and drunkenly states, "REALLY?  WOW." and walks downstairs.  Then I hear him drunkenly grumbling to himself for 10 minutes, with a bunch of "wow's" and "really's" in between.  Silence for a minute, then a big "YOU'RE NOT EVEN GONNA SAY BYE?" Dude comes upstairs and tries to see if my door is unlocked yet, with another "YOU'RE NOT EVEN GONNA SAY BYE? REALLY? WOW, PEACE." And I hear him grumbling as he goes downstairs.  So I figure f this, I'm going down there and telling him he better leave.

Kick Out Sketchy: Attempt #2
I go to face him, and he's all:

"I dunevenkno what I did!  What is going on?! Why...I don't even... what did I do?"
Me: "You're so drunk, you don't even remember the attitude you just gave me 15 minutes ago."
Dude: "I WAS GOING TO THE BATHROOM!"
Me: "You said 'PEACE' which told me you were leaving, so I went to bed because I was tired of your attitude and in general wanted to sleep."
Dude: "This is RIDICULOUS I DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING WRONG!"
Me: "Just, go.  I think you should just go. You're being ridiculous."
Dude: "FINE WHATEVER IDUNNOWHY I WANTED TO DATE YOU ANYWAY."

So he walks out the door, to which I immediately deadbolt & lock it, turn the lights off, then go to turn the lights off in the living room when I see this scene in front of me:

(recreated) No words.
RED FLAG.

(recreated) Oh you know, just some couch cushions casually placed around the room.
RED FLAG.

So I'm becoming increasingly pissed off as my alcohol is wearing off.  I pick everything up quickly, turn the inside lights off, and as I'm about to go upstairs I see that his car is slowly pulling over across the street, and he's getting out of the car.  Seriously?  Go. Home.  The lights are all off, the door is locked, I figure he'll see that and turn around back for his car...right?

Kick Out Psycho: Attempt #3

DINGfuckingDONG goes the doorbell at 2:30am.  I'm hiding behind the fridge but I thought, fuck it.  He might just keep ringing the doorbell, I don't want him waking up my cousin, or making a scene outside and waking up my neighbors.  So I open the door and the dude is sitting on my front steps sulking. 

Me: "What do you want?"

Dude: "I just... WHAT DID I DO? I dun get it... wh..why...I was...I was jus goin to the bathroom!"

Me: "You threw a tantrum and went to the bathroom, I figured you were leaving, so I went to bed because I was tired and didn't want to deal with it.  You're blowing it way out of proportion..."

Dude: "BUT I--"

Me: "AND I come downstairs to find that you felt it necessary to TRASH my living room with your little hissy fit.  WHO DOES THAT?  This is the first time you've ever been here, what gives you the fucking right to throw stuff off the counter, or rip my couch apart?! You've made me feel very disrespected and uncomfortable in my own home.  So you should JUST GO."

Dude: "MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE?! AHAHAHAHA WOW."

Me: *quietly* "And you need to shut the fuck up because--if you haven't noticed--this is a two family home.  My neighbors can probable hear you causing a scene right now.  I don't need them to think that I bring crazies over here."

Dude: "Fuck your neighbors!  YOU KNOW WHAT? GAH! I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE YOU'D GO ON A DATE WITH ME WHAT THE FUCK PEACE YA FUCKIN BITCH!"

Me: "Mmmmmmhmmmm....buhbye!!!!!!!"

Flip him off, door's locked, bedtime.  Pull out computer, jump on Facebook, de-friend the psycho (hey, I meant business).  Pass out.

So I woke up in the morning to a massive headache, and then remembered what happened and laughed my ass off.  I was still pretty annoyed but I thought, leave it to me to find myself in a ridiculous situation when the roomies are gone.  This is not the first time, and probably won't be the last.  So I'm chilling downstairs on the couch, watching some DVR'd Jersey Shore (for shame.) and Facebooking like the stalker I accept I am, and my phone starts ringing.

GUESS WHO'S CALLING!!! 

You know how most people in that situation, if leaving a voicemail, would say something along the lines of "Hey, I'm really sorry about last night, can you give me a call sometime so we can talk about it?" Yeah, not voicemails left by psychos.  His was more along the lines of talking to me through the voicemail, with long pauses...and questions of what happened:

"I just.......................don't even know what happened last night.  You de...friended me...on Facebook?  It must have been bad...............I mean I guess I don't even know who I am when I drink.  I trashed your living room?..............if anything's broken.................I'll give you money.  But you defriended me on Facebook!?! I dunno........I think I might still be drunk right now (red flag?)......but you hate me.........I don't even know what I did wrong..........talk to you later."

Um.  LOL.  No sir, I will not be talking to you later.  10 minutes later, my phone is ringing, AGAIN.  This time, the sucker got a little more defensive in the voicemail...

"Listen, Amanda, I just wish you'd TALK to me.  I don't even care if you're gonna yell at me, rip me a new asshole, I don't care, just TALK to me.  I want to know what I DID!"

I didn't want him calling me again so I texted him an epic text:

DID Y'ALL CATCH HIS RESPONSE? ^^^^^^^^^^  Say it with me: PSY....CHO.


Talk about not taking a hint.  Then a couple hours later he texts me again, his own version of an "epic" text in which he got all defensive again saying that he promised to leave me alone but the "fighting outside with me is on YOU." and "If I threw a pillow in a drunken rage then that is just fun." and that "In fact, I'm convinced you liked me..." blah blah oh and at the end he tried to lay the guilt trip on me with... "I don't even know if you even know what you want right now, I hope you can figure it out.  Take care."

RED FLAG: Don't even pretend that you even know me well enough to tell me who I like or what I do/do not know I want.  I know exactly what I do not want, and that's unnecessary, childish, drunken drama over absolutely nothing.  

Life Lesson(s): Don't pretend you're above previous Life Lessons and fail to avoid sketchies and rando's.  Trust. Your. Gut.  And remember: You don't always have to be nice to people.  Had I remembered that, I think I could have managed to kick him out the first time instead of it taking me 3 mother-f*$#ing attempts to get his crazy ass out of my sanctuary of a home.  A simple "I don't like you, you're psycho, get out of my house," would have sufficed.

Scratch that; had I not been nice, I would have never agreed to a conversation with him in the first place.

Oh and for all you straight men out there that read this, if you're in no way, shape, or form like this psycho dude, and you can throw in some good looks... get at me.

--LSLP, Amanda xoxo

I wonder if any of my homosexual friends have had to deal with this shit. Tell me I'm not alone here.  <3

some things have happened.

Here they are:

The Incision
The Cripple finally had back surgery. Yayy! I had to take care of her during the recovery process. Nayy! I have a whole new appreciate for nurses in hospitals. Helping totally drugged out people who are barely able to move on their own is not easy. Especially when every conversation goes like this:

          THE CRIPPLE: mumblemumblemumble...
          ME:  What? Do you need something? What can I get for you?
          THE CRIPPLE: murrfff..mumblemumble..merrr..mehhh.
          ME:  More drugs?
          THE CRIPPLE: mmrrrnnnnoooo
          ME:  The bathroom? Do you have to go to the bathroom?
          THE CRIPPLE: mmrrrrnoooo...noorr
          ME:  Food? Are you hungry?
          THE CRIPPLE:  mehh. mumblemumble.
          ME:  ..................
          THE CRIPPLE: meh, meh, mehmehmeh
          ME:  Okay, more drugs then it is.

I had to dish out so many different types of pills, all on different time schedules, that I had to make a notebook with a schedule in it. And then I'd check off the little pill names in the notebook once I fed them to her. There was a organized system. A GODDAMN PILL SYSTEM. Not normal.

OK, so one of these  right now, 2 of those in 28 minutes, and 3 of these 4 times a day....

And one of these for me right now because I'm slowly going crazy.

Also awesome was me having to call her every 3 hours while I was at work to tell her to take another pill. You can only whisper "It's time to take a laxative" into the phone so many times before everyone in your office starts to give you weird looks. But in all seriousness, I was happy to take care of her. No really. I'm totally caring like that.

The Uhaul

The Cripple moved into my house. We are a goddamn stereotype. It's fine. Royce still isn't allowed to bark at the mailman though. Only one stereotype per house.

The Gig

Amanda's band had a gig a couple weekends ago, and it's been a while so I got understandably overly excited. Which generally leads to overly drinking. We also routinely bring nips into the establishment she played at to add to our drinks, since the bar insists on using a pourer to measure out precise minuscule amounts of alcohol to put into our drinks. (Fuck you, responsibility.) By the time we left I was pretty toasty, so we headed to our friends Meg and Ed's for some after-gig excitement where everyone continued drinking, ate some good food, laughed, chatted, and I.......emptied the dishwasher. I stood over the open dishwasher looking down on it's contents, studying them like I was about to start the goddamn SATs.

          MEG: ...what are you doing?

          ME:  Formulating a plan.

Then I started putting dishes away.

          MEG:  You don't have to do that.

          ME:  No, I have to help you. ::dish, dish, dish, dish, dish::

          MEG:  Really, just sit down and relax.

          ME: I HAVE TO HELP YOU.

The next day I went back to their house and noticed my work. All the tall glasses mixed in with the short glasses. Mugs just scattered throughout. Bowls on plates on bowls. Some glasses rim down, some rim up. It looks like a goddamn drunk person did this. Wait a minute....

Bad Decision:  Choosing "creative dishwasher emptying" as your after-party activity.

Better Bad Decision:  Mixing the mugs with the glasses. Those guys have always been loners.

The Hangover

I just laid around for 8-10 hours moaning.

The Snuggle Fest

During The Cripple's recovery, her mother and brother came to stay at my house for a few days. I warned them of the vicious guard dog that they would have to face upon arrival. They were scared. I could tell. I was scared too. Nothing like your dog biting your new girlfriend's mom to make a great impression. Then they arrived, and sat on my couch, and then.......

Royce fell in love with The Cripple's mom.

You pet me. You pet me now.

(Cripple's mom is downright shocked.)

AND THEN.....

Royce fell even more in love with The Cripple's brother.

We are soul mates.

Royce HATES men, but for some reason he loved The Brother. And The Brother loved him. Throughout their stay at my house, The Brother took Royce for a walk approximately once an hour and called him "Thunder" the entire time. Since their visit, Royce now looks at me, barks, and looks at his leash every hour on the hour when I am home. He also answers to "Thunder". Awesome.

On the plus side, apparently the entire family is dog approved.

The Mowing

On a nice day three weeks ago I went outside and mowed my lawn. Oh wait...no....that never happened. My yard is a goddamn forest of 3 foot high clover. Royce walks in there and I can't even see him. I lost him in there just this morning.

The Plea

It's been a while since I went out to a lesbian night in the city, so on Friday we headed to the closing party of some lesbo night. We walked in and there were approximately 15 homely looking women dancing awkwardly. We had one drink and walked immediately back out. As we were waiting for a cab a girl who had been inside came up to me and said with desperation in her eyes and voice, "Where else is there to go around here?" I hesitated for a second and she said with slightly more panic, "Is there another gay night somewhere near here?!"  I gave her a sad little smile and climbed into my taxi with my friends. She watched us drive away, her arm extended, her eyes pleading for us not to leave her. "TAKE ME WITH YOU" she yelled.

OK, so those last 2 sentences are completely made up, but she did have that look as we climbed into the cab. It's rough out there.

Life Lesson: Always have a backup plan.

Taxi!

-LSLP, Ash.

daily irritations.

Everything seems to go wrong at the end of the summer. I lose the ability to day drink, sunlight peaces out early, girls need to wear pants more often. All real bummers. It's like the universe is trying to prepare you for 7 months of raking and shoveling nature off your driveway. In my case I got the following assortment of suckage: my girlfriend had back surgery, my horse has severe colic in the middle of the night, my other horse broke it's leg, my car leaks a river into the passenger side whenever I turn left, and it's been raining for like 72 hours. Hand me a shovel and like 20 feet of snow. I'm ready. It will be like drinking cocktails on the beach compared with all this other stuff. Needless to say, I have had very little time or effort to make better bad decisions lately. Soooo....

Bad Decision: Ranting like a lunatic.
Better Bad Decision: Doing it on the Internet, where everyone is crazy.

Lucky for me I was blessed with the gift of not giving a fuck about most things life throws at me. So these major issues are things I can deal with without much stress. The goddamn refrigerator not dispensing ice when I tell it to though....that will result in appliance murder 100 times out of 100. So will all of these things:

1.   Traffic

          In summer it takes me 25 minutes to get to work. The second school starts, it takes me an hour. I sit in the same traffic every day trying to get to my little cube, and every day I feel trapped. I can't go anywhere. I can only sit there and wait. I can pinpoint exactly the two lights that cause all the traffic too. And if I had a baseball bat, I would go out on rt 9 in the middle of the night and I would take. them. OUT. Bam. No more traffic. I'm a problem solver.

I don't even know where I was trying to go anymore.

2.   Pill Bottles

          I've been opening a lot of these lately (more on that next week), and when opening at 3am "child proof" becomes "26-year-old-with-not-enough-sleep proof". It's seriously a miracle I haven't done one of those chip bag moves with a pill bottle yet, where the whole room ends up being showered in Valiums.

3.   Office Chit-Chat

          There is a much-too-high direct correlation between the amount of time it takes my pop-tart to toast and the number of times I have to say, "Good, how are you?." every morning. It's not even 8am. Breakfast food is my coffee. Do not speak to me until I eat. I'm just going to start answering with things like, "Fucking fabulous!" or "Devastatingly depressed" until people become too uncomfortable to ask me how I'm doing anymore in the office kitchen. Peaceful pop-tart toasting. That is my professional goal.

4.   3:30 - 4:30

          This is the last hour of my work day. It is absolutely 3 hours long.

5.   Adult Zits

          Every so often my face attacks itself. I'm a twenty fucking six year old gay girl who is on goddamn birth control so this exact thing doesn't happen. WHY am I still getting zits? It's always right before I have to present something at an important meeting too. Don't mind the girl who's going through puberty in the business suit. Also don't mind that it looks like she has the herp, because adult zits don't fuck around. They get you where it counts.

I can see it on my own face, with my own eyes. Not ok.

6.   Forgetting Things

          It takes me forever to get out of the house every time I try to go somewhere. First I've left my purse on the counter, then I forgot the keys (so silly), then I left a sweater in case it gets cold upstairs (what am I, a grandma?), then my cell phone is missing (OH GOD. WHERE IS MY LIFELINE?!), then....who the fuck knows. It's inevitable. I'll go up and down the stairs at least 3 times, and by the time I've got everything, I need to go back in for a glass of water because I'm parched from all that exercise.

7.   Light Bulbs Burning Out

          The light bulb in my garage (which is tall enough to park an RV in for some unknown reason) went out last week. So now I can no longer shut the garage door behind me from the car. I have to leave it open until I walk all the way through the garage and into the house. Do you even know how many things can run inside from the darkness and eat me during that time? Like a bunch. There's also a light that's been out in my bathroom for about 5 months now. And one in the entry way that's been out for 2 months. They bother me every day that they don't work, but I just can't bring myself to replace them. Candles for the win.

8.   Feeding the Dog

          Every morning when I'm in a huge rush I have to stop flying around the house and measure out some kibble for the tiny animal that lives in my house. You've been watching me do this for years, Royce. It's about time you start feeding yourself breakfast. And while you're at it, get a job. You're 5 years old for christ's sake.

9.   Turning Left Out of My Street

          Sometimes it takes 10 seconds, other times it takes an eternity. If it takes 15 minutes for you to get out of your own street, that's gotta be a sign that you probably shouldn't be leaving. If I start saying I can't come out because my street won't let me, don't be surprised. Totally legitimate.

10.   Traffic

          It just had to be said again.

Life Lesson: It's the little stuff you've got to watch out for.

I can't find my keys...

-LSLP, Ash.