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July 6, 2006
Owner of a Lonely Heart
But on the bright side, it makes for good source material.
Back before I met George and had my happily ever after, I had bad luck dating. If there was, to borrow a bit of Bridget Jones terminology, a commitment-phobic fuckwit out there, I found him. I was stood up, cheated on and left broken hearted so many times, I was like a walking, talking country-western song.
But I didn’t just have bad luck. I had freakishly bad luck.
And annoyingly enough, my friends and family began to find these little foibles amusing, which led to conversations like this:
ME: And then he asked if he could call me, and I was, like, ‘is that a wedding band?’ And he said, ‘yeah, but it’s not really that big of a thing with me.' And I said, ‘what, your wife?’ And he said, ‘yeah, if you want to get hung up on labels you could say she was my wife. But really, it’s not a big thing with me.’
FRIEND/FAMILY MEMBER: [snicker]
ME:
F/FM: What? Didn’t you mean that to be a joke?
ME: NO! It wasn’t funny. It was humiliating!
F/FM: I don’t know how you keep getting yourself into these situations.
ME: [sarcastically] I guess it’s just a gift.
F/FM: You know what? You really should write a book.
ME: [doubtfully] Yeah, maybe . . .
But I’ve never gotten around to writing the book of my life, or even the fictionalized-version-of-my-craptastically-bad-pre-
George-love-life. But, if I did, there’s one story that would definitely have to make it in the book. And, actually, this one isn't about one of the many commitment-phobic fuckwits I knew and learned to loathe . . . but instead, about a certain committment-addicted jackass.
It all started my sophomore year of college, when I went out on a “date.” And I use the “” because it wasn’t really supposed to be a date, but a group thing, only no one else showed up other than the guy – who I’ll just call Creepy John – and myself. (Later I found out it was because Creepy John hadn’t invited anyone else, and the whole "group" thing was just a lie to trick me into going on the “date” with him. Weirdo.)
Anyway. Even though no one else showed up for our dinner-and-movie outing, I still went with Creepy John, because at that point, I didn’t know he was creepy. I just knew him as the friend of a friend, or rather, a frat brother of the boyfriend of a friend. But then somewhere around the time the waitress brought over our Cokes, and before she’d taken our order, Creepy John started to talk about fate and how we were Meant To Be. Which is about the same time that I realized he wasn’t just creepy, he was CREEPY. Things didn’t get better when he asked me to pay for his ticket to the movie that he’d tricked me into seeing with him, nor when he called his ex-girlfriend in the middle of the “date” to tell her he’d moved on and fallen in love with someone else.
And, no, I'm not kidding.
He called me a few times after that night. I gave him the brush off, and when that didn’t work, I told him point blank that I wasn’t interested, and when that didn’t work, I made liberal use of the words “retraining order.” And thus began and ended my relationship with Creepy John.
Or, at least, so I thought.
Two years later, I was out at a bar with my roommates, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around . . . and found myself face to face with Creepy John.
CJ: Hey.
ME: Oh, God.
CJ: I think we should talk.
ME: I don’t think we need to talk.
CJ: I think it’s time we had some closure.
ME: I’m sorry . . . what? Did you say closure?
CJ: Yes. About why we broke up.
ME: We didn’t break up. We couldn't have broken up. And do you know why? Because we were never actually going out in the first place.
CJ: Yes, we were.
ME: No, we weren’t.
CJ: Yes, we were.
ME: No, we weren’t. You’re delusional.
CJ: I don’t know why you want to deny our relationship. I don’t think it’s healthy.
ME: [pointing to one of my platonic roommates] You see that big guy over there? He’s my boyfriend, and he doesn’t like it when other guys talk to me.
CJ: Maybe I should go talk to him . . .
ME: No! GO AWAY!
See? This was the sort of guy I attracted before meeting my husband. Truly, I had freakishly weird bad luck when it came to guys. So thank God for George, who swooped in and rescued me from all of the fuckwits out there.
This blog was brought to you by Seven Ways to Lose Your Lover, Alesia’s hilarious new novel about a woman who learns to be true to her heart – even when her heart feels like a traitor.
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (11)
Comments
I wonder if the ex-girlfriend he called during your "date" knew they had ever dated . . .
Eileen
Posted by: Eileen ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at July 6, 2006 8:12 AM
I am laughing so hard at Creepy John, though I shouldn't since this is the kind of guy who can go psychotic with an axe. Re: delusional men, I was the queen of marriage proposals. I've had so many marriage proposals, it's just ridiculous. I had a man bring his mother to our FIRST DATE once so I could "meet my future family."
SO not kidding.
I figured they looked at my wide hips and some primal caveman portion of their brain thought "good breeder" and out came the damn marriage proposal. Freakish and wrong.
Posted by: Alesia Holliday at July 6, 2006 9:44 AM
It is possible I also dated Creepy John, but by that time he had taken an alias and was known Creepy Keith.
Posted by: Eileen at July 6, 2006 12:53 PM
Oh thank god it's not just me! Hooray! I have the worst dating luck ever. There's hope then!
~Lauren, still waiting on Happily Ever After
Posted by: laurenjharwood at July 6, 2006 2:00 PM
Whitney has mystical, cyclical love-properties that can only be explained by reference to astrological charts.
For example, on the night we first went out as a couple, every third guy in our class was homing in on her like the Soviet bogeys in the final climactic scene at the end of Top Gun.
Posted by: george at July 6, 2006 2:04 PM
My darling husband failed to mention that "every third guy in our class" included every last one of the fuckwits . . . including one guy who had -- without my permission -- checked out a PORN video on my account at the local video store. Which I found out when the video store called my apartment to tell me that DOUBLE PENETRATION 2 was overdue.
ME: Um . . . what?
VS: DOUBLE PENETRATION 2.
ME: I haven't rented a video by that name.
VS: Yes, you have. It says here that [Oogy Guy] checked it out on Septeber the 15th.
ME: WHAT? Why would you let someone check out movies on my account?
VS: Um . . . you mean, he didn't have your permission?
ME: NO! You let just anyone check out a video on any account they feel like using?
VS: Well, if they use your name . . .
ME: All he had to do was use my name? What kind of a fucked up policy is that?
VS: If you'd like, I can put on your account that the person checking out a video needs to show identification.
ME: Yes, do that. And, more specifically, put that the person checking out a video has to show MY ID!
And then Oogy Guy had the gall to hit on me out at a law school function one night. This was the sort of guy sniffing around me before George showed up . . .
Posted by: Whitney at July 6, 2006 2:17 PM
double penetration. oh, whitney, that is just priceless. and i have the exact thing happening to Shane in my book (except not porn), so again truth is stranger than fiction . . .
Posted by: alesia holliday at July 6, 2006 5:51 PM
I hear you sisters! For a while, I thought I was going to have to get a bumper sticker for my car that said "So many creeps, so little time."
There was Mike, the incredibly cute surfer who picked me up in his beater VW Bug that had only one front seat (the driver's). That date didn't even make it out the driveway of my dorm and yet a week later he broke into my dorm room in the middle of the night--stoned out of his gourd--so that we could "hang out". Then there was Greg, the frat-boy who took me to formal dance and tried to molest my boobs on the dance floor. Every other guy there was all over him like white on rice and saved my honor (and Greg's balls from a swift kick with pointed pumps). Greg never called me again, but maybe that's because he was arrested for making obscence phone calls soon after the dance.
Ahhhhhh, the creeps. Ever wonder who ends up marrying those guys, or do they simply live the rest of their lives alone renting porn on Whitney's account?
Posted by: Robyn at July 7, 2006 11:36 AM
I shouldn't laugh cuz heaven knows, if there's a loser within a 100 miles of me, I'll find him
Posted by: Cee Cee at July 7, 2006 7:01 PM
Hey! I know Creepy John's sister, Creepy Andrea. She briefly dated Dave before we met, and bought an ENTIRE BEDROOM SET to match the shower curtain in Dave's apartment, "just in case." After we were engaged, she went postal and told everyone she met one of 2 things: A. she would never find anyone as wonderful as Dave; or B. Dave cheated on her repeatedly, ruined her credit, lied to her parents and was generally a dog.... and she would never find anyone as wonderful as Dave again.
And the shower curtain was ugly, by the way.
Posted by: Julie at July 8, 2006 12:22 PM
Well, Julie, she was right about one thing . . . I'm sure she never would find anyone as wonderful as Dave again!
Whitney, a charter member of the Dave Fan Club
Posted by: Whitney at July 8, 2006 4:42 PM
