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Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Totally Awkward Tuesday!

And thusly begins another NaBloPoMo.


Have I ever told you about my Big Polish Stalker?

This time of year always reminds me of his once near omnipresent existence, so let's discuss. Henceforth he will be referenced as BPS, because that's easier to type.

I don't really remember how or when I met him, and to be honest I don't even remember his name anymore. All I know is it was during my unstable phase around my 20th autumn and he was everywhere. I know that he went to school at the UBER conservative Christian school kind of out in the country -- we're talking curfews, no mixed-gender touching, no music, must-wear-skirts kind of scary conservative. He was good at hiding his own conservative agenda, but it came out from time to time, mostly when he'd talk to me about finding a good Christian girl and how great some girls he knew would be as life partners if only they'd give up their vices and accept Jesus as their savior.

Umm, right.

I particularly remember being intentionally invited to a group gathering by him where I went -- it was a Thanksmas party, and I actually brought the main dish to this group of strangers and BPS had directly challenged my Italian ancestry so to spite, I made from-scratch lasagna. I remember it being a nice time and everyone loving the lasagna and that there was NO ALCOHOL but people were respectful of the fact that I was more in to music than I was religion and I was a smart (albeit off-kilter) girl and I walked away feeling proud of my cooking skills and my ability to be sociable with people whose ideas differed greatly from mine.

Basically, I saw him as harmless, kind of a big brother type to take in small doses. Over time, though, he seemed to randomly pop up wherever I was (and this was before Foursquare, people -- I think Facebook had just gone public or was just about to) which was kind of cool because hey, we have the same interests and distantly know the same people but also creepy because I felt like every time I left the house I had a 75% chance of "running" in to him no matter if I was at a party or a bar or shopping for deodorant in the middle of a Thursday at Meijer in nothing but an ex's old pants and sweatshirt. It was odd.

Now, at the time of the story at hand, I had met a different guy through MySpace. His name was Scott and he was a bassist in a local generic rock band. He wasn't so much my type but he was handsome, tall, and charismatic as hell. We bonded over tattoos at a dive bar where I discovered a girl I knew in high school knew him as well. This rendered him safe to me, and so we kind of dated in the way that crazy punks do -- late at night, only managing to see each other in the daylight if we'd managed to stay out past last call and the after parties til dawn revealed something closer to our true selves.

Anyway, so Scott was close to 25ish and I was ... not ... but I managed to accompany him as his "guest" to many a shady bar where his band played, and for being a band "support staff" as they called us, I would be marked as of legal drinking age without so much as flashing an ID.

Needless to say, I ended up drunk a lot.

On this particular night, we were down at the local "night life district" at a bar that no longer exists. It was the night before the district's annual Halloween Whore Fest -- you know, where there's a fee to be able to go into all the bars instead of individual covers and everyone (at least female) sees how very little they can wear and still call a costume without getting frostbite. As it was the night before this event, there were still people dressed up in costume roaming about, and I was one of them. I was wearing something akin to this:
That actually was the next night. What you can't see are the thigh-high stiletto boots and fishnets. Also, SO THIN. But that's what manic does to me. Moving on.

Anyway, so I'm playing my best band girlfriend role, pretending to be in to the music (I wasn't) and drinking my amaretto sours (because nothing screams underage more than an amaretto sour) and accepting the overly-possessive and sweaty kisses from Scott between songs.

This is obviously not a highlight of my dating career.

All of the sudden, mid-song, I feel a hand on my upper arm in a firm grasp, like I'm about to be forcibly moved. Paranoid I was being kicked out for being underage, I turn in fear to find none other than BPS looking at me in horror.

See, he was also in a band, one that played nearby and he walked by the front of the bar and saw me through the window (more over, saw me and Scott through the window) and felt the need to come defend my honor. Or something.

Right about the time BPS explains that he saw me with Scott and that he knew things about Scott that made it absolutely not okay for me to be with him, the set is finished and Scott comes storming over, eyes hatefully locked on BPS.

Both of these guys were about 6'3" -- BPS was more full whereas Scott was muscle. And me and all of my 5'11" in heels was still feeling like a midget.

A heated discussion ensues where Scott tells BPS to get his hands off of me while BPS keeps asking me if I really want to be with a guy like Scott and telling me I needed to go home with him instead and would I please listen to reason for once and I know he's a nice guy and would never hurt me so what's my hangup. Growing impatient, Scott jerks me out of BPS's grasp and towards him and his bandmates. BPS doesn't like that one bit, and he grabs my arm again and yanks me back to him, looks me deep in the eyes and FORBIDS ME from leaving with Scott.

Literally, that's what he said. I was FORBIDDEN from leaving with the guy I came with.

And while all this yanking sounds harsh, I was a whopping 115 soaking wet at this time, so you could breathe hard in my general direction and knock me over, so while it was intentional, it wasn't necessarily a hard feat.

Here's where things get ugly.

Anyway, Scott hears this forbidden talk and laughs, then takes a swing at BPS. BPS ducks and puts up his hands saying he doesn't want a fight, then grabs me by the wrist and starts pulling me towards the door. Scott physically blocks the doorway and a scuffle ensues with me just standing there in complete shock because WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING. You'd think, as a girl, you'd be kind of flattered by two guys fighting over you, but in reality it's terrifying and confusing and disorienting and really makes you just want to call up your best girlfriends and have a sleepover to forget all about it.

Obviously, due to the fighting, we're kicked out of the bar and banned from returning because suddenly it's all somehow about me being underage and undercover cops being out and blahblahblah.

Once in the back parking lot the two bands posture a lot and hold their respective members back and in the back of my head I'm disappointed that they're not going to break out in a dance-off a la West Side Story because THAT is something to feel awesome about being the cause of. More begging from BPS and scoffing from Scott and I'm forced to choose who's taking me home.

I chose Scott. And we didn't go to my house, as I promised BPS I'd do, but back to Scott's where more crazy ensued with his neighbors and roommates and that's just a story for another time.

Anyway, later I come to find our that Scott had more than a wee drug problem and after one too many 4AM phone calls to get him from wherever he had been partying and take him to his apartment (and by too many I mean three in a little over a week) presumably to stay with him, I stopped answering his calls. I felt bad for his Akita puppy, though, that I'd practically raised (such as I went over there morning and night to feed and walk it and I'm a cat person for crap's sake) and since I had a key to his apartment for this reason (after like a week of dating, God obviously so unhealthy), I continued to care for the dog for like a month until one of his roommates told me he had a new girl who didn't like me coming around so I tearfully said goodbye to the dog and I often hope he's happy and healthy and with people who love and care for him.

I haven't thought about that dog in a very long time and I'm very sad I can't remember his name. I think it was Lobo, come to concentrate on it, but I could be making that up. Vega is the other one coming to mind.

*moment*

A year or so later Scott would contact me through Facebook and we'd catch up, he'd apologize for his behavior and would tell me he'd sobered up and moved back to where he was originally from, and that my reaction to his behavior kind of made him take a look at himself because I was a cool girl he wished he'd gotten to know better sober. We made peace and actually were casual, online friends for a while but at some point he just faded. I genuinely hope he's well and still sober and that life is treating him better.

Okay, so all of that crazy back story for the awkward.

Fast forward to right after Kyle and I got engaged and were spending New Year's Eve in Florida in celebration. I'm standing at the drink cart at Universal's City Walk when my phone rings a number with an area code I don't even vaguely recognize, and though I usually screen, I'm worried since we're away from home that it's something with my mom or something so I answer.

It's BPS.

DRUNK.

And he's all Super McChatty Guy with the hey remember me and we used to have so much fun and I was just sitting here talking about you to someone and thought hey, I need to call that girl and catch up with her and see if she'd want to hang out some time so how's your life been.

Being slightly tipsy and with Kyle giving me weird looks (because it was like, 1:30 in the morning) and all in the afterglow of the newly engaged, that little tidbit of info was the first thing I spat out.

And there was SILENCE.

The conversation quickly became disjointed and mumbled and abruptly ended. I was befuddled and thought we'd been cut off, so I tried to call back only to find that my number was now blocked.

I pretty much brushed it off to BPS finally losing it completely (he always thought alcohol was the devil and apparently for him, it truly was) and didn't really think much of it until some very distant mutual acquaintance informed me that he was telling people that I led him on for years, promising him a committed relationship and finding God and sobriety only to get married to some other guy, which honestly was news to me seeing as I don't think I'd more than loosely hugged him a couple of times and never promised him anything beyond snarking that I was sure I'd see him again soon whenever I left his self-imposed company.

Anyway. So this time of year always brings me back to that crazy time in my life and the multitude of awkward that comprised my life seven years ago. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile the life I have now with the one I had then, but everything happens for a reason, right?

Even Big Polish Stalkers. 
NaBloPoMo 2011
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