I Am Brain Dead

Pardon if I don’t make sense. I had a date with a guy I disliked before we went on our date (this was like, two weeks ago). Here’s how. We’ve been e-mailing back and forth on MySpace for a few months. Nice guy, seemed like anyway, six kids, three that live with him, Okay, I’m down with it. We had talked of just meeting for lunch and discussed this over a period of months and then it took me three weeks to answer his last e-mail. Just busy. So, we exchange digits and he calls me, we talk, blah, blah, but still, I’m not feelin’ much. The guy is kinda goofy. Well... one night I had talked to everyone and my Mom... AZ, T-Bird, Celti, e-mailed Seven, e-mailed this person, e-mailed that person, beaded, talked to Jeff six times, chased Nate around, you know, my typical evening following eight hours of brain numbing document review. I stood up from my desk and I started weaving because I was so tired. Like tonight. I’m laying in Nate’s bed, talking to T-Bird on my cellphone, when I hear the house phone ring. I get up, look at the ID and see Goofy Guy. Nope, I don’t answer, I let it go to voicemail. I’m too tired. Nate comes in crankin’ about wanting a Diet Dr. Pepper and lays down with me. My cellphone beeps. I look at the Call Waiting ID - Goofy Guy. I reject the call and send it to voicemail. Strike One - DO NOT TRACK ME DOWN VIA MY CELL PHONE UNLESS YOU KNOW ME WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW WHETHER YOU SHOULD. Nate falls asleep, I hang up with T-Bird, listen to the message, “If you get this... blah, blah, call me.” I’m contemplating whether I should get out of bed and take my contacts out, get the clothes in off the line, and close and lock the front door or take my chances with eye fungus, wet clothes, and rapists and murderers when I hear the house phone ring again. It’s past the time anyone should call me. I’ve talked to a lot of people but I get up, go in the computer room and see it is... Goofy Guy. Strike Two - GIVE ME FUCKING TIME TO RETURN YOUR CALL OR ACCEPT THE FACT I’M NOT CALLING YOU BACK TONIGHT. I snatch the phone up, tell him I was laying down with Nate, I’m tired, I don’t feel like talking, good night. Yeah, I’m a bitch. Bite me. The reason he called THREE TIMES IN TWENTY MINUTES was because he was out for a walk (IN MY FUCKING NEIGHBORHOOD - he lives about a mile from me). STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT!! See, peeps, this is my space and I make that very, very clear to just about anyone who knows me. THIS. IS. MY. SPACE. You don’t come into my space unless you receive an invitation (unless you happen to be AZ, in that case, you call and tell me you’re pulling up to my house, but, I’ve known him for 14 years). So, even though, right off the bat, I made it perfectly, crystal ass clear that I do not, will not, and shall not, invite him over for tea on the first date, nor on the second, nor perhaps at anytime, or until such a time that I am comfortable having him in MY. SPACE. he just up and decides he will try to circumvent that by “strolling by.” *Yeah!* That, my children, is called a “boundary.” It is an important boundary to me because I am extremely motherfucking anal about my fucking space in this world. Now, you all know, just as he did when he thought he would “take a walk in my neighborhood” and “thought” he would stop by to see me, just because he might not have anything better to do. Nuh uh. So, I wake up and think I’m being harsh and I should at least give an hour lunch date a try and try to get along with other people. It was a nightmare and just solidified what I already knew. Goofy Guy and I were totally NOT COMPATIBLE. The lunch date sucked for a MULTITUDE of reasons. I told AZ later, “I thought I was lonely, but I take it back. Dear Lord, I TAKE IT BACK! I. TAKE. IT. BACK!!” AZ’s response: “So, you were visited by the Shit Monster, too?”