Stalking the Century Mark

And so we hit 100. That’s right my valued readers, this would be my one hundredth post. The big centennial, a perfect score on a test, the amount you’re supposed to give at work, etc., etc., etc.
I promised guest stars and funny stories, so I’ll try to deliver as best I can.

I’ve been thinking about dating in modern times (again) because of two things that have happened in the last week. First of all, many of the blogs I read have been discussing how hard it is to date in modern society. How do you meet people? How do know who a person really is? On and on it goes. The other event came from a discussion at a birthday party about the number of times that you have either proposed or been proposed to by someone.
My number was more than anyone else at the table including the women. Most of the guys were at the number one. Maybe this is because they were being proud MACHO men, who didn’t want to admit they had been shot down. Even Rock Hudson, a closet homosexual, was married for three years, AND on the first try. You got shot down, and Rock Hudson didn’t? Ouch! What do think of that Rock? Too far? No? Thanks for dropping by…
Anyway, the guys (except for myself) were all at one, and the women at this table were at two (except for Jessie, because her boyfriends were, well, not bright). So when it got around to me, I answered with a number no one was expecting.
“Three.”
You know that noise that cartoon characters make when they whip their heads around really quickly? That “whoosh” noise. They all made that noise. “Three!?” was shouted so loud by one of them that the other tables at La Bodega turned and stared straight into my soul (or so it felt).
So let’s explain this “three”. For the deaf, Marlee Matlin will be signing. Ok, first of all, only two of the three were my asking. The second person was my wife. She actually married me (sucker). The first person I asked was a girl I dated in college for two years. Convinced that she loved me (though I later found out I was wrong, but that’s another story), and convinced that I loved her, I asked her to marry me. She said yes. Fortunately (because I love my wife a hell of a lot more) the coupling did not last.
The strangest one, however, is number three. You see, I was not the one to ask for number three. Nope, I was asked.
In a very strange twist, I gained a stalker while in college. That’s right. A nice girl we’ll call Kelly decided that I was her soulmate. Her SOULMATE! This is a girl who called me from Paris. Why? She was lonely and needed someone to talk to. She would come by my home (I lived alone in a house while in college) at two or three in the morning. Have you ever had a woman (or a man for that matter) show up at your home in the cliché of a trenchcoat and nothing else? I have. And much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I refused to take advantage of the situation. I did not want to lead this girl on at all. I was not interested, and I was not going to let her think I was. However, my greatest shock came during the summer of 1999 just before I started dating my now wife. Kelly was not getting the hints. I had even gone as far as telling her face to face that I was just not interested. I admit that I am a flirt, but with her, due to the fact that I was uncomfortable with how she was, for example, attacking other women who even talked to me. When I say attacked, I don’t mean, “Get away from him, he’s mine!” No. I mean, “Die bitch!” and then grab a blunt object and swing away.
Anyway, one (ironically) dark and stormy night, I was home alone, watching Red Corner (a [actually] brilliant Richard Gere film) when my back door opened. Now I was used to my neighbors at the time getting drunk and attempting to kick in my door, because they were so sure that’s where they lived, but this was a key turning, not a kick. There was Kelly, who had stolen my emergency key from my friend’s apartment across town. She had TAKEN THE KEY. He didn’t give it to her. He knew the score.
So there she is, dripping wet, in my kitchen. I’m slightly inebriated and in my boxer shorts (as it is a typical St. Louis summer night: hot and humid even though it’s raining). She hands me a card with a poem on it (It was e.e. Cummings’ "May i feel said he"). If you don’t know the poem, it ends with “You are Mine said she.” I thank her, and sprint to go get pants. After putting on some, I ask her for the key. No problem. She then begins a speech that I will always remember. She tells me about how, “God created Eve to be with Adam.” (Never a good start with me.) Next, she talks about how, “Even now God makes two people that are so perfect for each other, they NEED to be together.” She then drops to her knee and asks me, “Will you be my Adam?”
I admit, it’s incredibly sweet, but I had never given her any indication that I even remotely liked her. I didn’t take her ring. I told her that she was sweet for asking, but it would never work, because I didn’t feel that way about her. “I think you’re a very nice girl, and that some guy out there will love you, but that guy will NEVER be me.” I know it sounds harsh, but I had to say it. It was the only way she would learn. Now, one or two of you out there might think that I’m a bastard, but how else do you get through to a stalker? Before this final speech, I had tried using friends as decoy girlfriends (and one decoy boyfriend, who ended up trying to get me to make out with him, which was SO strange), I had fallen (on purpose) out of a second story window into a hammock in order to avoid her (and let me tell you, that really hurt. The hammock didn’t break and neither did it, but it launched me forward into some rose bushes. Ouch!), and I had even tried getting other people who were friends with her to tell her she was making a mistake. That didn’t work either.
She stopped showing up and calling me. She started dating a friend of mine, but he later told me that she would call him by my name in the bedroom and always talked about me. She even once confronted my wife. Since we left St. Louis, however, we have not heard from her.
Stalkers can be tough to deal with, right Hollywood superstars and singers Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt, Tom Jones, and James Woods? Am I wrong? No? Brad? Nothing? Thanks ladies and gentlemen, I bring you here to impress and you just sit there….
The crew I was dining with that night just couldn’t believe that story. One gal sat with her mouth wide open until I tossed a shrimp in it and almost made her choke (um, my bad). Little ole me, the dude who looks like Greg Grunberg, had a stalker, and a serious one at that.
Well, that’ll do it for 100. I hope it made you laugh or think or something. For 101, maybe I’ll talk about more failed dating. I don’t mind, it makes others feel better and makes me laugh at my own stupidity.
Thanks for taking the time to read this loooonng post. Special thanks to all my guest stars. Look for former mayor Ed Koch, Todd McFarlane, Goran Ivanesivic, several ex-girlfriends (or girls I've dated), and more!