"Well, you confused me."
That was the excuse I was given this time. The confusing question I asked him? "So, what are you doing tonight?" Evidently, I'm not allowed to be nosy when in the company of Muppets.
The easily-confused man in question is a music writer, and that's about all you're going to get. Sometimes, we have to protect the no-so-"innocent," and I'm not about to destroy anyone. I don't know why he started talking to me. I'm kind of an ass -- adorable, but an ass. But, it was nice to talk to someone as warped and twisted as I am and could appreciate well-timed inappropriate humor.
One Friday night, I was home with a roommate and during our viewing of The Great Muppet Caper(It truly is cinematic magic and Charles Grodin's best performance), I figured I'd message a few people and see who was lame like me. I messaged him and asked, "What are you up to tonight?"
The usually cool guy started freaking out. I explained I was just making conversation and apologized if I overstepped any boundaries (I still don't understand what the big deal was. It wasn't like I was asking for a video of him doing Buffalo Bill's tuck dance from Silence of the Lambs.). He apologized for his reaction and we called it a night. Fast-forward 24 hours, and he messaged me out of the blue. I figured his freak-out was his way of saying peace out, so you can understand why I was surprised when he asked if I wanted to have dinner that night.
Now, if you were me, what would you think just happened? Dinner was awkward, but enjoyable. It was a little bizarre when he didn't order anything due to his "anxiety over using utensils in public." (Everyone has their weird quirks, right?) It could have been worse -- ever eat with someone who has a nervous tick and they accidentlly fling their food around because of it? It's both awful and amusing.
I got a message from him apologizing for being awkward the next day. I wanted to ask if he was a klutz or if he had OCD or if there was an unfortunate incident featuring a clown with whiskey breath, candy in his pockets and a butter knife, but since I didn't want to come off as rude, I held off on any embarrassing questions. (Who knew I was so mature?) A few days later, he shot me a note and asked:
"So, when are we going to have another night of awkward conversation?"
Now, if you were me, what would you think is going on? I know you shouldn't assume anything, but I figured he was asking me out again. Let's fast-forward to Saturday afternoon, after an emotionally draining week, I was laying low in bed and talking to a friend.
"Do you have him on your Facebook? I want to look this character up!"
I gave him his name and really didn't think anything of it.
"You really know how to pick'em, kid."
Laughter. "Check your mail."
That's never a good sign.
"....with children. Want me to let you go?"
I slammed the phone down and unleashed a group of expletives that would cause me to spend a lot of time on my knees (wouldn't be the first time) and in church asking for forgiveness. In a dumb girl move, I got the confirmation I needed.
"Oh yeah, married, couple kids, talks about them on the show."
"I don't listen to his show..."
"Neither does the majority of this city."
So, for someone who had been reading my stuff lately (and supposedly enjoying it), you'd think he'd understand if I'm not really a big fan of married men. I've made numerous mistakes in the past and I'm trying to be better, but really?!
I don't know why I pick these fools or why these fools pick me, but for some reason, I've evidently turned into the Spanish Fly for married men.
To make the situation even more cringe-worthy, his boss shot me a note the next day (could this story get any weirder?). Now, this is a man I've had nothing but respect for -- but that's since gone the way of the buffalo. He started off by telling me there must have been some misunderstanding and sprinkled some compliments about my writing in there. Please save the smoke-blowing for when you're camping.
Oh, and PS: Am I wrong in thinking that having the boss contact me is the same as having your parents fight your childhood battles? "Well, your little Stevie kicked my Tommy in his crotch and now he's peeing blood and has a shattered scrotum. What are YOU going to do about it?" If he didn't do that or I don't know, own up to what he did, maybe I could forgive and be able to keep it professional. But going the elementary route didn't go over well with me and YES! I know it's hypocritical of me to say this: I'm airing my dirty laundry out over the Internet.
I haven't talked to him since I confronted him, and it's probably for the best. According to him, he enjoyed speaking with me and enjoyed my writing and wanted to continue talking to me, which is code (I assume) for: "Please don't tell my wife!" It would be nice to be able to talk to him, but I have way too much pride.
So, now I just need to Google everyone before I agree to see them and have them answer a lengthy questionnaire to find out what their intentions are. Because either I completely missed the mark or I'm way too trusting.
The more I put myself out there, the closer I am to giving up and sticking with my vibrator.