Saxa-phoney

Little white lies. What can you say about them? Sometimes a necessary evil, but for the most part I think people try to be honest and avoid lying when they can. But what about the people who don’t? What about the people who are big fat liars just to be big fat liars? What are they getting out of this? I guess if I had the answer to that question I would be a rich woman.

I met “Kendell” online of course. Which dating site I can’t remember, although at this point I suppose it doesn’t matter. He lived in Sanibel Island which is about a three and a half hour drive so as far as I was concerned it might as well have been a world away. I wasn’t about to make that trip so I didn’t even give him a second thought. But he was persistent and agreed to make the drive to meet me and he was a musician, which I thought was interesting, so once again my attitude was “what the hell”.

We met at a local pool hall for our first date. It was a little uncomfortable bending over a pool table in front of a guy I just met, but he didn’t seem to mind, and after a drink or two I was a little less self conscience and started to enjoy myself. He was starting to tell me more about himself when the DJ started to play a song that I was vaguely familiar with due to the strong saxophone rift. He then tells me that he was the musician who played on that record. Really? Interesting.

As we continued to talk he kept mentioning all the people in the music industry that he’s worked with. I told him that I would love to see some pictures. “No problem” he said. “I’ll bring them on our next date.” Nice. At least I knew I was getting a second date and hopefully he would be able to back up some of these claims of his because at this point I wasn’t buying it.

Next date rolls around and I ask about the pictures. “Oh, I’m not the kind of person who brags like that and I don’t really feel like I have to prove myself.” Uh huh. Sure, whatever buddy. At the end of the date however he asks me if I would like to see the DVD of his concert at The Villages (which for those of you who don’t know is a retirement community in Central Florida) and listen to his CD. He pulls out a portable DVD player that he plugs into the cigarette lighter of his car and I watch in fascination. Not because of his great performance or anything. In fact, you barely even see him on the stupid DVD. I watch in fascination because I’m supposed to believe that he doesn’t like to brag about the people he has played music with, but he carries his own CD in his car and a DVD of a really crappy concert that was barely youtube worthy? Something is not adding up.

We talk on the phone a few times after this and he tells me about how his sister is top level FBI or something like that, and his whole family has the highest level security clearance, and that one of his high school teachers was Tom Clancy (the author) and that his best friends dad ran the mob in New York and he had Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi on speed dial on his cell phone and….. blah, blah, blah. The bullshit just got thicker from there and I stopped listening.

Clearly the reason that he has to travel three hours for a date because everyone else inside that circle has heard his ridiculous tall tales. So I decide to call him out. I tell him that I googled Tom Clancy and that he was never a school teacher. And I googled his high ranking sis and her top level security was crap because I found her information all over the internet. This sent him through the roof! He told me that he was going to report me. To who? And for what? I just started laughing my ass off at him and couldn’t stop. And then I heard it. Click. He hung up on me. Guess he didn’t like the fact that I knew he was full of crap. Too bad for him.

To this day, I’m still waiting for the FBI to come throw me in the slammer for unlawful Googling of dumbasses. Maybe they’ll read this blog and then I’ll really be in trouble.

Jumping to Delusions

There are so many rules to dating now. Who pays the check? Do you offer to go Dutch? After what date is it OK to start sexting? How many times do you have to go out before you can invite someone home? You never know what is going to offend someone, or what might give them the wrong impression or if they might become a stalker.

That is where this story begins. The sad part is, it wasn’t even someone I was dating or interested in dating for that matter. I was living with my ex-fiancée, happy to be out of the dating scene and not having to deal with any wierdos. My ex had just started a new job and began telling me stories of this poor pathetic sap of a guy. He had no friends, no car and basically, no life. So my ex, being the big softy that he was decides to befriend the guy. Help him out. Picks him up for work, gives him an old TV we had in the garage & brings him to the house to hang out from time to time after their meetings. I was cordial but the guy gave me a bad vibe so I avoided him if I could. Eventually the friendship faded and “creepy guy” slithered back to where ever it was he came from.

I never even gave him a second thought once my ex and I parted ways……Until he showed up at my door one afternoon several years later. My very lovely, dumb, trusting daughter opened the door and let him know that I wasn’t home at the time but I would be home around 6. (Trust me; I wasn’t happy about that scenario). She lets me know what’s going on when I get home from work and I try to figure out what the hell this guy wants and how I’m going to get rid of him before he even shows up.

Six o’clock rolls around, nothing. Six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty, nothing. Awesome! I’m off the hook! I lecture my daughter about opening the door when I’m not home and slip into my jammies.

Ding-Dong. Damn.

I open the door. In my pajamas because I’m hoping this will give creepy guy the hint that I’m not up for entertaining. Apparently they don’t teach common sense at creepy school. I stand in the doorway and chat with him for a few minutes about what he’s been doing with himself since he crawled back out from under his rock and what happened between me and my ex. And then he asks to come in.

CRAP. I tell him that it’s late and that another time would be better. He tells me some sob story and of course I let him in. I’m such a sucker. I sit on the couch across from him and listen to the story and I guess he decides he’s comfortable and puts his hand on my thigh. Ewwww! I jump off the couch and tell him he needs to leave. He agrees to leave but asks if he can call me sometime. At this point I just want him gone so I give him my number and send him on his way. What’s the big deal? I can just ignore his calls and eventually he’ll get the hint. Right?

WRONG. He calls all hours of the day and night, incessantly, for weeks on end. I pick up the phone a few times and tell him I’m not really interested and ask him politely not to call. This doesn’t work. I tell him if he keeps calling I’m going to change my number. This doesn’t work. One of the times he called I happen to be at my best friend’s house. My phone rings and she sees me roll my eyes. I tell her “it’s him.” This brings sheer delight to her face. She picks up the phone and lets him have it. She essentially tells him that he is a low life pathetic loser and that we’re gathering all my phone records and that I’m turning them into the cops to bring him up on harassment charges. To which he tells her this would be impossible because we are actually in a sexual relationship.

WHAT? Roll the train back to crazy town sucka. There are one or two people that I have slept with that I would have LIKED to have forgotten about, but to forget about an entire relationship? Um, I don’t think so. At this point Wendy starts feeding me the details of our supposed illicit affair and I erupt in laughter as Wendy finishes humiliating him. Now I’m not usually the type to let someone else do my dirty work but when you’re having an entire relationship in the confines of someone else’s mind, I guess it helps to have someone else’s voice inside your head to put things into perspective. Thankfully, Wendy is a little more persuasive than I am and he starts to leave me alone. But every once in a blue moon, in the middle of the night, I’ll get a knock on my door and I know that the crazy train has left the station again and is trying to roll back into my hood. No thanks, this station is closed until further notice.

Security! Or is that Insecurity?

Imaginations. What a double edged sword. The imagination is a fabulous thing when you’re a kid making a mud pie, or when your five year old brings you a picture she just drew for you, or when you’re daydreaming about a smarmy guy on the latest episode of Lost. It can also be a horrible thing when you’re dating someone you have met online. The reason is because in your imagination the person you’re going to go out with can be everything you have ever dreamed of. Until you meet them.

I met “Jed” on that free dating website that seems to be so popular. He was nice. Too nice, but I thought maybe he was just trying to be courteous over the phone and plus he was from New Jersey so I figured he had to be good people. I set up a date for a party my friend was having. I don’t know why I continue to think that bringing someone I’ve never met around everyone I know is a good idea, but I keep doing it. You would understand if you knew my friends. They are a loveable but tough crowd. And honest, so maybe that’s why I do it.

The party went fine; my friends didn’t have anything overly negative to say about him even though he only worked part time (4 days per month) as an unarmed security guard, so I thought maybe this was going to work out. We started talking over Facebook, gave him my personal & work email addresses in addition to him having my phone number and hoped that we could get to know each other better.

He then sent friend requests to most of my friends on Facebook.

Ok, so maybe he’s just being friendly.

And then the phone calls started, and the emails, and talking to all my friends, especially my best friend on Facebook trying to find out all kinds of stuff about me. Like what I wanted, and what I liked and about past boyfriends, and why I wasn’t with them anymore.

Too much, too soon, too clingy.

But what he didn’t understand was that when you ask my best friend questions, you’re going to get answers. And it may not necessarily be the answers you WANT to hear but the answers that you NEED to hear. She explained to him that I am a single parent and that I really needed someone who could take care of me. Not necessarily all monetarily, I do have my own job, but I certainly wasn’t going to support him.

Well she was right, again. Damn.

He turned into a giant freakin insecure baby. Calling, emailing, texting, whining about how she wasn’t giving him a fair chance and what did I think about it and what could he do to show me that he could be what I needed and how he was going to get his armed security license… wah wah wah. Who’s the woman here? Really? Grow some damn balls! I’m done.

So I break it off. It doesn’t go well. He calls & emails incessantly. For weeks. I finally have to cuss him out and tell him he’s a giant fucking asshole and I NEVER want to see him or hear from him again for him to finally stop contacting me.

Oh well. Guess I’ll just go back to my imagination. It’s nice in there.