Thursday, August 16, 2012

You may not have my phone number and here is the reason why.

I was gone for a long time. I know. I'm sorry. I can explain. (Despite what it sounds like, I did not cheat on you.) 

There are two big reasons. The first is the cool one, which is that I was in Finland for nearly a month. It's beautiful there and they have good beer AND good chocolate. Instead of the face-meltingly hot summer you all had here, it was basically in the mid-70s all the time in Finland. Except at 3am when it dropped to, I don't know, 12 degrees? That's fine, though, because the temperature doesn't matter so much on a 3am adventure. The moral here is that despite the fact that I cannot understand Finnish at all it was a fabulous trip. (That started with 24 hours of travel and a missing suitcase and ended with 24 hours of travel.) More on all that later. 

Let's talk about the second reason. The reason I've been laying low for a while. I have a story that I've been dying to tell you basically since the minute it happened. Unfortunately, I couldn't risk the subject of my story catching wind of my existence. I was playing dead, so to speak. But's been a while and also I no longer care if he finds out. It might do him good, actually. 

The Friday before my Finland adventure, I was at a pub crawl with a bunch of friends. We had an awesome time and I was determined not to make any bad choices. (Not...that I've done the past...) So when this cute guy made normal conversation with me, I figured it was acceptable. Let's call him Boy Band. He sought me out at the next two bars, which I also thought was a good sign. He was tall and cute, with a job and the ability to hold a conversation, and didn't spill his drink on me. These are pretty basic standards. I allowed myself to be a bit charmed by him, even though he asked me six times if I liked sushi--I never said the ability to retain information was on my list of standards! When, at the fourth bar, he asked if he could take me out sometime, I figured at the very least I'd have a good story for you guys. So I said yes. I immediately had to follow it with an explanation.
"This is bad timing and will sound like a blow off, but I am leaving the country in four days and will be gone until August. I'll be in Finland. That is not a line and is actually happening." Boy Band seemed to buy it (Probably because of my flawless delivery. Right?) and asked for my number. 

Time. Out. It's important that you know something about me, before I continue to outline my poor choices and the trainwreck that followed. I never give out my phone number. I. Never. Give. Out. My. Phone. Number. It's been approximately 3 years since I gave a man* my number, because they always misuse it! I tell guys they can find me on facebook--yes I am that girl and no, I do not care. Right, back to Boy Band and the Quest for Amanda's Phone Number. (I would probably read that book.)

Boy Band asked for my number, totally unaware of the minefield he was jumping into. I changed the subject a couple times, still debating the merits of this guy. Should I allow him the ability to call? Did I want this to continue? One more gin and tonic later, I decided that I was overdue for a story for my blog. This guy was 34 and I figured he was old enough to use the phone responsibly.** The third time he asked, I agreed. 


A short while after he and his friend left the bar, he called me asking if I got home alright. A nice gesture, even though I was still at the bar with my friends. He asked me if I could let him know when I did get home. I obliged, even though a nice flirty conversation ended with him asking me twice if I would come over. Hi, not so much. He also asked if he could see me that weekend. Sure. Fine. Whatever. 

Considering I hung up with him around 3am, you can imagine my surprise when he texted at NOON. I opened my bleary, eyeliner-smudged eyes to find out he wanted to get together. "Now??" I asked the universe. Not going to happen. I then told him my day was pretty busy--remember, readers, that I was leaving for a month in four days. I kind of had a lot to do, including seeing friends and other people who know my last name.--but that I would text him later when I finished some errands. 

He beat me to it! "Are you back yet?" Oh no. Boy Band, don't do this. Don't be that guy. When I did get back, I ran off to see some friends. I texted him back and instead of doing any kind of acceptable flirting, he spent the next couple hours trying to convince me to leave my friends and come see him. When I didn't reply right away because I was with my friends being social he texted me saying, "You're not interested. I get it." OH MY GOD really? I was feeling suffocated. When I replied, he answered, "I might cry if I don't get to see you. :(" 

Nope. Can't do it. Can't deal with a clingy 34 year old man using the sad face this casually. Can't. Deal. I stopped replying. But I guess Boy Band really was sad because he called me. At 2:30. In the morning. Which I ignored because who calls at 2:30am with good intentions? Nobody. But that's ok, because he called back at 2:34am! WHICH I ALSO IGNORED. 

Normal human beings would stop contacting me. But not this tenacious fellow! He texted me at noon on Sunday--a normal, appropriate hello text which would have been appreciated if he'd not contacted me at all on Saturday. It went ignored. But just in case I missed it, he texted again on Sunday evening to ask when I was leaving. 

THAT. That is why I never give out my phone number. (That is also, I'm certain, why Boy Band is still single.) 

*"A man" in this case means a man I was not already friends with or related to or some other non-romantic circumstance. Those guys are allowed--even though they often misuse the knowledge as well. 



Jill Pinnella Corso said...

I love your stories. This reminds me of the time I stupidly gave my skype number to a Hasidic Jew from the PATH train. I can't even explain because it makes no sense.

Amanda said...

These types of stories are exactly why I never give out my number! Sounds like you have had your fair share of weird, Jill...