Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Now That It's Over, We Can Talk About It
A while back, I mentioned that a very cute 26-year-old hit on me on the subway. Very cute, B-Boy type complete with tats, who claimed to be a poet. Right away Jack and I were suspicious, but we tried to be big about it and decided to let things unfold.
I gave him my number.
We talked on the phone a few times, and he came to take me to lunch one day, even brought me a rose *BLECH!*, which I overlooked because he admitted that John Cusack was a talented actor and was a fan of old school salsa and merengue. Plus he was a hottie hot hot hot mixture of PRican and Black...yum...
In the course of our talks, he tells me he has a two-year-old son. Not really a big deal- I have kids so whatever. But when I asked the inevitable, "What happened with you and his mother?" he gave me the: "She cheated on me when I had to go away for a while."
Yeah, you read that correctly. Dude was an EX-freakin'-CON!!! And just when I thought Karma was going to leave me alone...
So I'm discussing it with Jack, and we decide that if he went to jail for something violent like murder, I should change my number and find a new job, but if it was something like a bad check I could laugh it off and fuck his brains out for "sticking it to the man" (no pun intended!!! LMAO!!!).
His crime had something to do with some kind of felonious CC fraud thingy, which Jack and I decided was only slightly funny, and that if I decided to keep talking to him I should keep my wallet someplace safe. Like in Utah. And I was cool with that so I did not cut him off.
But then I started to get really irritated with him, and I should have realised he would irritate me when he brought me that damn rose. He would text me things like: I miss you. I need you. I want you. And normally I'd be over the moon over text messages like that- with the right person that shit can be hot. But I'd never even KISSED this guy. Our whole relationship was a bunch of phone conversations and a 30 minute walk to Madison Square Park. How could he possibly NEED me?
Fast forward to last week, the heart of PMS week, right after he gave me shit for being scared of the mouse that was only HALF-CAUGHT on a trap- in my defense this damn mouse was running around my apartment trying to cut loose of this trap and then DID!!! I slept on my kitchen table that night- and when I lost my temper with him he said, "I'm disappointed in you." Ewww. Okay, dad.
He calls me after all that and says, "What's up? How come you don't call me? Don't you love me anymore?" So I start laughing because I think he's shittin' me. But no, folks, he's dead-ass serious! He really wants to know if I've fallen out of love with him, and I've clearly misplaced the memo that says I was in love with him because I said to him, "You're crazy. Talk to me later when I don't have PMS... I have some fries to eat."
And that was the last that I've heard from my 26-year-old ex-con. Too bad, too. He was a total hottie. But the bod and tats- and that pinche red rose- should have been a red flag: He is crazy! Can you imagine if I'd slept with him? OMG! I'd have a stalker on my hands!!
That seals it- I'm NEVER talking to cute guys on the subway EVER again, nice arms and tats be DAMNED!
*smooches...with all credit cards present and accounted for*
And I would be the one
To hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I’ll take your breath away
And after I’d wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear