Dating: DON’T DO IT

Every Tuesday at work we have a team call at noon. This is also when the UPS man makes his afternoon deliveries. I generally enjoy team calls and the UPS man, even when they collide. Since my cube is closest to the door I’m usually the one clamoring for the mute button while juggling the phone, signing for the package, and mouthing small talk like thanks, no a UPS uniform doesn’t make you a “man in uniform” and have a nice day.

This Tuesday things when terribly awry.

First of all, he totally snuck up on me. I’m usually lounging with my feet up on my desk while scribbling notes from the call so I see him right away, but not on Tuesday. On Tuesday I was looking at pictures of my newly engaged friend on facebook and silently cursing her perfect life.

Secondly, he has learned my name, so instead of saying “Ma’am I have a package” he said “Hey Ramona, you’re going to have to try these on…”

And I’m only half paying attention and thinking, hmm…?

Then a teeeeny tiny faint lightblub in the back of my head flickered on as the color drained from my face. I smacked the mute button.

I spun around and feigned ignorance. “What?” I said. “Is it for me!?” I asked puzzledly as signed for it.

“Yeah, it’s from Fredericks.” he said as he did that creepy creepy face that says “I am making a creepy face and I KNOW it!”

You are familiar with this face. Those real slime balls at bars do it right before they ask if they can buy you a drink, and you keep walking because all you heard was a horse fart.

I did my best “I have NO idea what you’re talking about” face in response and turned around like I had serious business to attend to on facebook.

He left, and I gagged.

You see I live in the ghetto (only for 4 more days!) so I have all of my packages delivered to work so they won’t get stolen. Even when I order underwear from…Fredericks of Hollywood.

It turns out they don’t have private mailing labels like Victoria’s Secret does…

This is the story of I Love You.

You wouldn’t think that the story of I Love You would be a traumatic one, but it was. The Square Peg and I spent the better (worse?) part of 7 years torturing/dating each other, and that’s the executive summary on that topic.

We had been dating for about 4 months [in this particular “on” period of time in our very off and on relationship] when I began to get that sort of sick/happy feeling every time I saw him or thought about him. My mother probably told me I’d eaten some bad shellfish, but I knew it was far worse. I was falling in love again.

It was an evening on a weekend. We had just gotten back to my apartment from dinner, and I could tell he was in a particularly mushy mood himself. I was getting myself a glass of water in the kitchen when he walked up to me, put his arms around me, started to say something, and stopped himself. I was kind of confused, and then I had a lightbulb moment (!) He was going to say I love you!

I pretended I didn’t know what was going on and hugged him back. Then we headed off to watch TV. We were laying in my bed watching something that I wasn’t very interested in, so I wasn’t really watching. I mean, when you have that sick/happy feeling it’s kind of hard to focus on anything for very long anyway. An hour or so of tv cuddling time elapsed, when suddenly during a commercial break the tv was muted, and the Square Peg rolled over to focused all his attention on me.

My little beating heart was doing all the beating it could handle when he paused dramatically and said “I need to tell you something.”

I blinked, watching him with wide eyes.

He looked at me, took a breath in, and said

“I don’t like your shirt.”

WHAT THE HELL!?? YOU DON’T LIKE MY..?? WHAT THE @#&%@!?!?

I was blind sided and appalled. I stumbled over several sentences of words while I tried to organize my head. I didn’t want him to know I thought he was going to say I love you, but I was completely unable to hide my hurt feelings, shock, and confusion.

Clearly upset, he said “But you told me you really wanted me to be honest with you and tell you how I really feel about stuff!” Well bless his dimwitted well-meaning heart. He really was trying to do the right thing. To be honest I didn’t care that he didn’t like my shirt because it was only pajamas, and it had taken him over an hour to work up the nerve to tell me that he didn’t like my shirt! Oh good heavens what could I do? I apologized, thanked him for being honest, and told him I was wearing it anyway. Hah.

About two weeks later while watching tv I started rambling on and on about something or other that happened recently that had really upset me. I kept rambling and rambling and I wouldn’t let him talk until I finished. He kept trying to interrupt. Finally he half shouted “I LOVE YOU!” and I was again, flabbergasted.

After a minute or two of cooing and awwing I started laughing hysterically. Now he was the one that was confused. I asked him if he remembered when he told me that he didn’t like my shirt. He did, and I confessed.

A few months ago at my old job I moved to a new department. I sat in front of Angela, a standard-normal girl, and next to Pat, a 20something guy with a bowl cut (hello, not normal) who referred to me as “Kid” or “Red” depending on the day. Being a young 20-something myself, I felt this was a little strange, but really who sweats the details?

So one day I show up at work and Angela says “Hey, I have a weird question to ask you.” I naturally did my best deer in headlights, and said “Ok!” as I followed her to the break room. I’m thinking to myself, is she going to kill me, maybe just hit me in the head with a stapler and steal my fabulous shoes? No no, she just wanted to know if I was free in two weeks so I could go to her wedding with Pat cause he had a date, but she “went crazy”.

Problems:
1. So why didn’t Pat ask me? He wasn’t at work that day, but he had two more weeks…
2. She went crazy!? What the hell does that mean?
3. I said yes.

The situation started out innocently enough, but over time it worked itself into a furor of gross. The following day at work I had my first conversation with Pat. In addition, this was also the day that I noticed that he might be missing an ear…

Cut to two weeks later. It’s the night before the wedding and I’ve decided that I know this guy well enough to at least minimally enjoy myself at the wedding. Then I start getting weird text messages. Pat wanted to know stuff like if I had picked up my dress yet (yes), or if i wanted to let him show me around the city after the wedding (no). That night I had a brilliant stroke of genius, and in one of my rare shining moments as a party girl, I stayed up partying until 8am when I had a 2:00pm wedding to go to. I awoke at my friend’s apartment at 11am, spazzed, and immediately got a ride home. *Zip Bam Boom* Shower, makeup, and hair = viola! I am ready on time. I’m feeling slightly like hell, but whatever play through the pain, you know?

I gather my wits about me and clamber downstairs in gorgeous silver stiletto heels. Pat tells me I look beautiful, I feel uncomfortable, squirm, and say thanks, then we go to the church. People keep staring at us funny and I just mill about trying to look like I know what’s going on until we finally get to sit down. About midway through the half hour ceremony… HANGOVER.

I realize that I was still drunk when I woke up, and now I feel like I am going to die. It has become clear that Pat didn’t get the memo that I was doing him a favor, and this was NOT a real date. He wouldn’t stop touching, patting, petting, putting his arm around me. Then he sent me a text message that he had written about me instead of sending it to his friend, the bride. The message was about how our date wasn’t going very well. Then the real trouble came. Enter Angela’s brothers: Two fiiine man specimens. One - A MARINE IN UNIFORM. The other, a cute tall man in a tux.

Problems:
1. I want to man hunt
2. I feel like I’m going to die.
3. Asshat Pat won’t stop touching me.

That night I escaped from the clutches of Pat unscathed, and made my way home without him, or the phone numbers of either of the delicious men. Needless to say work was a bit awkward for a few days, and then the text messages began…

First, Pat insulted me. He thought that I needed to make up for my “poor showing at the wedding” Now I will admit that I had the hangover of doom, but I refused to dance with him for a solid 6 hours because he’s icky, not because I felt like death. Then he added the creep factor and added that I should bring a “cute friend” for his friend and meet up with them in the city. Vomit. I was polite and told him thank you, but I’m already on my way to a party. He insulted me again and said “OK, well have fun being 21,” to which I was STEAMED because I’m not 21 and he’s like what, 27? Ohhh you’re so cool because you’re older than me.

Pat tried to apologize at work the next week and blamed his stupid messages on being drunk, but I did not care for him or his apologizes. Adios Pat.