31 July, 2006

The Mail Man's Child

She was sent to us via aliens; hence the drool and the big eyes.

Come to think of it, that drool may actually be inherited. I do recall a time when my brother at the age of ten liked to tackle me, pin me down and let his spit dangle over my face while I screamed for the God's or Dad to come save me.

Oh, you finally get why I need therapy now huh? The spit coupled with the fact that my parents continue to ask why I haven't spawned one of these yet? I keep telling them that I would like to, but I haven't met any alien's that I thought were hot.

The Other Side of Crazy

Dating can be ridiculous. Let’s be honest.

In this wander through the dating world, I have met men who want to date you, but tell you that it’s just casual. Want to sleep with you, but don’t want commitment. Men who buy drinks and then expect a snog at the bar – IN PUBLIC. The guy who asks for your phone number, calls you, makes arrangements to pick you up, takes you out and then tells you that THIS is not a date, because HE does not date. (Okay?). And my all time favourite; the guy you meet in a bar, who has spent the entire evening buying you drinks and chatting you up and then he shrugs his shoulders when he tells you that “yes” he is married, but he just thought that he could come home with you just this ONE time. (I blinked twice at that one, shook my head to clear it out and said “pardon?”).

Okay fine, so dating is a bit rough at times. And of course my usual way of handling all of it is to pick up my mobile, text a message that reads something like “OMG! Meet for drinks NOW!” to all of my girlfriends. (Which is code for “I have ONE hell of a story for you, and we can use that excuse to have Train Wrecks”) And then laugh my ass off. No harm, no foul.

Until I met Crazy.

This is that nightmare story that your Mother always warned you about. This is THAT story that she used on you so she could convince you that her setting you up with her long lost best friend’s single doctor son would be a good idea. Only because he comes from such a “beautiful family”. Well truth be told, if I listened to my mother, I would be married to the nicest man in the world from the most beautiful of families, but God I would be bored out of my skull.

But I guess boredom is better than Crazy.

I met Crazy at the very beginning of my New Zealand travels. Remember that moment of excitement at meeting all these new and interesting people? Remember that boat load of Navy boys I met? Remember when my Mother freaked out on my ass when I told her that story about meeting all those Navy boys? Oh, you weren’t there, sorry. I’ll just tell you that Mom already yelled at me, so you don’t have to.

He was among the group and became one of the drinking buddies. We would meet out on the town, tell stories and laugh. Innocent fun. Stupid me.

Over time it became clear that Crazy wanted to be more than just good friends, Crazy wanted me to become Mrs. Crazy and I was having none of that. After one particularly creepy set of text messages and one hand written letter dropped off at my front door, I informed Crazy that I NEVER wanted to hear from him EVER AGAIN. And his ship was leaving Auckland for six months anyway, so I naively thought that was that. Six months out at sea, he’ll move on, I’ll forget it all and whatever. One more episode to add to my book of “funny things that happened, but that didn’t seem so funny at the time”.

Well, welcome to the world of Crazy. Pass the naive sandwich please, I’m hungry.

Usually when a guy likes me and I am not interested, I get the normal “Okay fine.” Or even sometimes a “bitch!” thrown over a shoulder as they walk away. But I usually don’t get Crazy. I mean not just crazy, but stalker-esk kinda Crazy. The creepy kinda crazy that after you have spoken to the Navy and contacted the appropriate people in the Anti Harassment Department and EVEN call the highest ranked officer on that tug-boat of a Navel base, and AFTER they sat him down and said NO more contact. After ALL OF THIS his comment was (that was reported back to me) “But she’s my GIRLFRIEND, I don’t understand!”

Yeah, that kind of Crazy.

The kind of Crazy who’s ship is docking in my port after being out at sea for six months.

So; with many hysterical phone calls, two weeks worth of not sleeping, evenings spent at other friend’s homes, and one really wicked spell of loosing my shit completely on a Wednesday morning at 4 o’clock AM, I decided that I had had enough and that I was going to fucking take Crazy down.

I called the police and filed a restraining order. Yep, I did. I just filed my first ever restraining order against another human being. And I’m from New York, so I would say that that’s sort of an accomplishment.

And now I can sleep. And date again; with humour, and without the crazy.

A few lessons here learned. The first one being that I will be damned if I become New Zealand’s version of Rebecca Schaeffer. And the second one being my newly developed attitude towards the first sign of Crazy. I have a problem with being to nice sometimes. I am now working on that. And I no longer care if everyone likes me.

And tonight I have a date, for coffee in a well light place, with a cute guy that that doesn’t seem crazy. I’ve already asked him a few questions about himself. He has 7 seven brothers and sisters, and he is the baby. So he is probably crazy. But in a different sort of way.