Ok, I mentioned at the beginning of my last blog that I had indeed received another call from Mr. South Side. AFTER I made it perfectly clear that I did not want to see, speak to or hear from him again. But in his defense, he had a very valid reason for calling again, after thinking the whole thing over for about four hours or so. It seems that between 10:00 am, when I originally spoke to him, and 2:15 pm, when he left me a message on my cell, he realized that I had, in fact, hung up on him. Apparently this fact did not sink in initially. Hence I received a phone message from him telling me that I HAVE to call him back, because it was very ignorant to hang up on him, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye. That to hang up on someone is RUDE, and he deserves a chance to at least tell me to have a nice life or something. Then he went into high gear, complaining I never told him what I wanted, that I needed to do that, so we could work this out. He even said (and the scary thing is I am quoting here) “What, do you want to get married? We can go to Vegas tomorrow and get married. Whatever you want.”
Ok, let’s backtrack for a moment here. As you will recall, I went on exactly THREE dates with this guy. And technically, they weren’t even real dates. As much as I would like to see Vegas someday, it won’t be with Mr. South Side to tie the proverbial knot. I have NO IDEA why he even thought that I was even remotely interested in getting married. I mean, since we never really had any kind of intelligent conversations, where in the HELL would the topic of marriage fit in? “Working tonight?” “Yeah.” “Ok, have a good night. By the way, I think I’d like to get married.” “Yeah, sounds good. Talk to you later.” NOT!!!!
Anyway, after rambling on about doing “whatever I want” and complaining about how I was being so mean to him when he was only nice to me, he started getting angry. And saying that maybe I was starting to “show my true colors.” And he just couldn’t understand why I had to “treat him like shit.” Finally, he hung up. Scary, right? Wait, it gets better.
Another four hours passed and at about 6:45 I get another voice message. Apparently I didn’t hear the phone while I was in the grocery store (thank God), not that I would’ve answered anyway. But THIS message was much more remorseful. He actually sounded like a whipped puppy. He called “to apologize,” and I had to realize that when I said he was scaring me, just THINK how scared he was when I wouldn’t call him back. It seems he thought that something horrible had happened to me. He said he was just confused, but could let it all go IF I WOULD JUST CALL HIM BACK SO WE COULD TALK ONE MORE TIME. And maybe he could figure out what it was I really wanted. Then, he said, he would leave it alone, because he is ok with it now.
So, with tears in my eyes, I called him back and apologized for being so mean to him. I told him that it was all a mistake, that I must have been out of my mind or something to ever let such a wonderful person go. That we could book a flight to Vegas for next week when my boss was on vacation, and I would get rid of my cats and we all could live happily ever after.
GIVE ME A FRIGGIN’ BREAK!!!!!! I’m pretty sure that Mr. South Side is having a major problem distinguishing between fantasy and reality. Unfortunately for him, the reality is that hell will freeze over before I dial his number again. And eventually he will have to come to terms with that, either on his own, or when he is served a restraining order.
But while thinking about all the drama with Mr. South Side, and trying to answer the ages old question of “why me?” I had an epiphany. It finally occurred to me what had happened to get this whole BS started. I got up off the couch and picked up my keychain. Sure enough, dangling from my keys with a self-satisfied smirk was the Love Tiki I had purchased while in Hawaii for my brother’s wedding. Flashbacks of Greg Brady’s troubles with HIS tiki flashed through my head. Greg’s tiki was supposed to bring good luck, instead it brought tarantulas, dislocated hips, and wipeouts. Obviously, since mine was supposed to bring true love, it instead brought a stalker. Since I couldn’t very well hop on the next plane out to Hawaii to bring it back to Vincent Price (who I think is dead now, anyway), I took it off my keys and tossed it in the garbage. And guess what? I haven’t heard from Mr. South Side AT ALL today. (Knock on wood)
So I guess the moral of this story is twofold – one, never buy a tiki in Hawaii for ANY reason, it’s all a scam by the Hawaiians to mess with the tourists, and two, STAY AWAY FROM THE SOUTH SIDE.
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