Well THAT date was a disaster to the umpteenth degree. I am now in my bed semi-drunk and recovering while waiting for my frozen Trader Joe’s Tikka Masala to cook. Do I know how to live, or what?
We went to a bar where after 20 minutes of forced conversation I determined that my semi-concerned and freaked out opinions of this guy were right. After he invited me to his family’s cottage in Michigan (review: this was date number 2) I told him I only wanted to be friends. At this point he asked me to go to one more bar with him. I was too polite to refuse. We were just friends, after all. He took me to a Speakeasy with fifteen dollar cocktails. I paid. Then, I had to run an errand to another bar to buy a t-shirt for a friend (long story) and he just kind of followed me there. He kept touching me and telling me how hot I looked even though “we’re just friends.” Finally, I got the hell out. I told him I was going home and I went to use the bathroom before saying goodbye. When I got back, I saw he had gone and bought another beer so that I would have to stay another five minutes (and he said this to me). He wanted to buy me one, but I said no, I really had to go, at which point he tried to kiss me and I just NOPE-D on out of the West Village.
Due to the amount of vodka I consumed to tolerate this date from hell with the psycho-clingy snake man, I texted my ex. No, not THAT ex (Sam). Another ex. Good for you, Allie.
Now aforementioned ex thinks I want “monkey business”(his words, NOT mine), The Cat is eating my brand new socks, and I have just spilled Tikka Masala red sauce (impossible to remove) all over my bed.
What the fuck ever, let’s watch Netflix.
These sheets are toast. I’m drinking milk with what’s left of my Indian food. Is that allowed? I’m somehow thinking that’s not allowed. The Cat is on the prowl for some Tikka but I think it will upset her already delicate digestive tract. Watching The One Where Eddie Won’t Leave (one of my favorite Friends episodes ever).
These are the updates from Brooklyn.
I awakened at 7:05am to my cat prodding my face with her paw, wanting breakfast. I stumbled out of bed to go feed her and when I got back I saw on my phone that I had FIVE texts from Snake Man.
Please excuse my hungover hasty blurring out of sensitive information. That aside, just reading it makes me uncomfortable. Does anybody have any idea what he’s even talking about?
This is only three of the five texts, mind you. I don’t swear a lot, but what the actual fuck. Is this guy going to come kill me in my sleep, or what?
Roomie was also up and prowling around because of our internal teacher alarm clocks. She came and laid in bed with me and we discussed. We think he will probably text me again when he wakes up in a while. Or — god forbid — another phone call. I probably won’t answer. Do I even have to pretend to be nice to this guy anymore? I’m all sorts of done with this entire situation and really creeped out. RIP, Snakespeare, and I really do hope you find a girl someday who can match your… intensity?
At least we found his OKC flaw. Now that I know my theory is still in tact we can be at peace.
Snow in Brooklyn which means my chances of going to the gym are less than zero. I am trying to make myself get excited about eating only Greek yogurt for breakfast but I can’t. I just want bacon and not to be fat for Miami.
Went shopping with Roomie despite the snow. Roomie continues to torment me with a drunk voicemail I left her three months ago in which I am home alone and laying on my rug pretending to be The Cat. Am now exhausted from my five hours of consciousness and am preparing to nap.
Nothing from Snakespeare, thank the lord and all his baby angels.