Below is a blow-by-blow account of the most scared I have been since I came a quarter of an inch from being mowed down by a cab this summer:
This speaks as a warning to NEVER give your phone number out freely. I don't care how charming he is. I don't care if he buys you a few drinks. I don't even care if you think the sun may very well rise and set in his pants. Everything is radically different the day after the encounter and you will most likely rue the day that you doled out the digits without considering the repercussions.
First of all, there is a 99% change that you will never end up with some dude you met at a bar. I mean, some people do, but those people usually enjoy Chicken-In-A-Biscuit and Maury Povich. So why even give the guy your number? If you think the two of you might have some sort of shot in this crazy, mixed up world, get his digits. So he can be the one to be woken up and annoyed at 3am on a Sunday night/Monday morning. If you can remember his face the next day and think he might be a good mate, you can always call him. Be the one in control.
Secondly, it can be dangerous. Cell phone number are traceable to addresses for anyone who knows how to click a mouse. I mean, aren't they? Well, that's the impression I was under last night.
Sooo... yes, I broke my own rule. It was the Sunday night before Halloween. I was sitting alone at the bar because I didn't feel like dancing with my friends. He came up to me, bald as a cue ball with a thick accent and some sort of brownish liquid in a shot glass. He introduced himself a Kosta, a fellow Greek. Somewhat attractive, he seemed nice enough. Until I stood up and realized he was 4 inches shorter than me. But no matter, he kept me company, bought me a drink and gave me the lifeblood of any female: compliments. So, when he asked for my number, I felt bad. We were going to the next bar and he wanted to follow. I told him that wasn't necessary and that I just wanted to hang out with my friends. So I caved and gave it to him. Never thought I'd hear from him again.
And boy, was I wrong.
He called me 3 times the next day and texted me 4 times. Since I only had a vague recollection of him and his thickly accented voice really threw me off, I didn't return his call. The next day, I got 3 more texts, begging me to call him back. He also said some lewd things about my breasts. He went from gentleman to jerk in 60 seconds. I got angry and texted him to leave me alone. And that was the brunt of it. Oh he called a few more times. He even switched up numbers on me, but I always screen my calls anyway, so I thought I had outsmarted him.
And I haven't heard from him all this month.
Well, last night, I drifted off to sleep around 12:30, right after Will & Grace ended. I awoke with a start two and a half hours later to the sound of "Shampoo is better. I go on first and clean the hair. Conditioner is better! I go on last and make the hair feel silky and smoooth!"
Yeah, my default ring rules.
I checked the ID and say some random 773 number. So I put it on ignore. But who in their right mind was calling me at this hour??? I got kind of upset and I lay there, fully awake now. I have trouble sleeping on Sunday night as it is. How dare this mystery calling bastard?
So I called the number back a few minutes later and was greeted by a Latin-ish accent saying "Yo, B. What up?" and demanded "Who the hell is this?!?!" He replied, "You are in my phone, yo. I don know why. Dis is Angel. What are you doing right now?"
Excuse me, ANGEL?!?!? I know for a fact I would never give my number to someone named ANGEL that would have the gall to call someone else they claimed not to know at 3AM on a Monday morning. I immediately retorted, "I'm sleeping, asshole! Don't ever call this number again!"
CLICK.
Two seconds later, Billy starts talking his crazy drunk talk again and I am REALLY peeved. I open my flip and say, more loudly this time "Lose this number, dickwad!"
Aaah. There. I tried to fall back asleep, but to no avail. Five minutes later I get a text reading "Didn u have a wig on"
Fuck. Here we go again. The night I met Kosta, I was wearing a blond wig and padded bra. No wonder the motherfucker thought I was the cat's pajamas. No matter, I texted back with "Once again, NOT INTERESTED, Kosta. Lose my number. I was stupid to give it to you."
Hrmph. I tossed and turned for a few minutes until a heard a distinct crash coming from the front room and the muffled sound of a male voice. I knew Daddy was tucked in bed very sick, H was not home and new male roommate (well, not that new, but I still do not know him well at all) was not home either.
My heart about leapt out of my chest. I grabbed my phone. I sat straight up. I leaned my head towards the door to try and make out any more sounds.
Our porch door does not lock very well. My roommates and our friends have scaled the wall used it as an entrance when we've been locked out. Also, our back door is never locked. The outer door is, but it sticks and sometimes is open as well. yeah, we live in Chicago and we treat our doors like we live in Mayberry. Idiots. Did this needy dick track me down? I bet he just broke in and is coming down the hall to slit my throat! Why else would his call coincide with all the noise?
All this is running through my head and I consider what my next move should be. I have a long and narrow closet. I tripped over shoes and hid down at the end of it, all a-tremble, phone still in my hand. Even in the closet, I heard more noise, which sounded like it was coming from the hallway. I hid behind my clothes and tried not to pee myself.
I dialed Daddy's number, knowing full well he would be of no service at all. He'd be the first one to jump out of a window, screaming his head off the whole way down. I heard him answer on the other side of the wall and I whispered, "Daddy! Someone broke in!" He replied, "I was just going to the bathroom, calm down, you probably just heard me."
I felt a bit better and crept out from my hiding space. But this didn't explain the crash in the front room. I felt a surge of braveness, knowing Daddy was awake and read to... er, well not spring into action. But no matter, I gathered my intestinal fortitude and crept down the hallway, donning only a short t-shirt with a stain on it and my pink skivvies. Smart, Bethany.
I heard the TV on, and knowing full well I shut it off, I panicked and bit before realized "what potential intruder-stalker-murderer watches ESPN before carrying out his dastardly plot?"
THE ONE STANDING IN MY LIVING ROOM DOES, I GUESS!
All I saw was a hulking figure illuminated by the glow of our television.
I let out a high pitched squeak and the person turned towards me and my life flashed before my eyes. It didn't take too long.
The blur finally focused and I recognized the form of new roommate Nick. GOD DAMN IT, ASSWIPE! Why are you roaming the apartment at 3AM on a Monday morning?!?!??!
When the color returned to my face, I started crying, right in front of him, my underwear hanging out. He looked genuinely mortified while I babbled about creepy phones calls and the porch door being unlocked and this not being Mayberry and how I thought I was about to die, all the while backing away slowly, pulling my shirt over my undies.
I got back to my room, laid down and listened to my heartbeat steadily slow down. Fuck me.
So, yes, I was super-scared. It reminded me why my wimp ass doesn't watch horror movies. I can always imagine the worst. I am a fucking wimp, yo.
I hope I didn't make new roommate feel too awfully bad. Then again, maybe I should. It's 3AM, asshole. Turn off the TV, put away the Absolut Citron and GO TO BED!
And on to the weekend!
Friday night was just lovely. Dio came over right after work and it was just like the good ol' days. We went to Jewel, got some wine, champagne and food and I cooked it up. I made my famous cheesy chicken and risotto. And it was DELISH!
We watched Elf, Christmas Vacation, and DVDs of the Keane and U2 concerts that we attended. He lit the fireplace, I downed too much wine and we had ourselves a nice little night.
I laid around most of Saturday, but after watching "It's A Wonderful Life" on NBC and polishing off the rest of the wine, I got ready and met up with Sandy. That girl is just a huge ball of energy and truly a pleasure to be around. I loves her!
Sandy slow dancing with some random hottie in the middle of the bar that was not slow dance-friendly.
These are from 2 weeks ago. I just pulled them off my camera.Iit was our last night hanging out all together at Sports Corner before our dear friend Alex moved to Miami. They capture perfectly what we spent most of our time doing at Sports Corner. Cheers!
What was up with Desperate Housewives being AWOL last night? LL and her man came over so we could all watch together, but instead, we were inundated with even my Ty. He is working my last nerve. So we said screw it. We popped the Best Of Will Ferrell from SNL DVD instead. And I think they really dropped the ball on that one. There has been much better sketches of Mr. Ferrell than the ones they picked. The only one I laughed at was More Cowbell, of course.
Ok, time to go use the $15 gift certificate the Express mailed to me for my birthday. I'll end up spending at least $80. Those clever bitches. Happy birthday to you, dear Express stockholders.