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[Jun. 27th, 2009|04:34 am] |
It's my birthday. Yay me! I was born! Whooooo!
So, exciting story:
I finished work at 10pm, got home about 11, had some leftover whisky, played online computer games, watched bad TV...I should have been in bed by 1 or 2, but it was just after 3am.
There's a knock at my door. I call out "Who is it" because a) I never just answer my door no matter what time it is, because it freaks me out, and b) I don't quite dare to pretend I'm asleep, because I'm suddenly, irrationally, panicked that I've been typing on my computer too loud and it's the landlord (who lives next door) come to tell me to keep it down (which is the beginning of another story, which is really to pointless to get into). No one answers so, still afraid it's the landlord, I wrap my bathrobe around me and answer the door.
Instead, it's Mark. Mark who? Mark, the neighbour who tried to help me move my couch out of my apartment a couple of weeks ago (a long and pointless story). He's a scrawny, older guy who I've seen around but never really talked to.
He's wasted, but his first words win me over: "Wanna smoke a joint?"
So I let him in.
My usual good judgement would protest, mainly because I hate people and social situations and once you've invited a neighbour into your house, you're suddenly required to invite them in all the time, and say hi to them when you pass, and ackowledge them and things. But it's been a while since I had pot, it's my birthday, and I've kind of been lonely in a really difficult-to-explain way.
Oh, so he was wearing a speedo and running shoes. And just came from Pride (so, maybe "solidarity" is part of why I let him in) and was smoking a cigarette that had about an inch and a half of ash.
The first few minutes of crazy guy Mark being my guest involved me trying to a) find something he could tap his ash into before it fell on my floor or (worse) my new furniture b) trying to get him to sit on the appropriate new furniture that I don't have to sleep on and c) being polite.
The ash fell on the floor, he sat on the furniture I wanted him to avoid, and I must have failed to be polite, too, because he then asked if I could so kindly provide an ashtray for my guest.
There was about 90 minutes of awkwardness that I'd love to describe in detail, but the basic story is he kept trying to hit on me, kept asking me if I was "married", when I said I had a boyfriend he'd keep asking me how long we've been dating, when I told him how long he would say "Oh, but he's not your HUSBAND! It's not like he's your HUSBAND!" At one point he lft, because I didn't have any cigarettes, and he came back wearing only a jock strap.
He tried to kiss me, to sit on my lap, to "hug" me in that special way. I was able to rebuff him with varying degrees of discomfort, and basically none of that really bothered me much (except for being polite....I hate not knowing how to be polite in a given situation, and it's really fucking uncomfortable to "politely" peel someone off of you when he's all but naked and you've spent the night pulling your bathrobe tighter and tighter around yourself for protection), but what bothered me is that he started to become an angry drunk around one particular issue.
Crazy Mark's points were threefold: 1) I'm not really in love with the boyfriend. 2) The fact that I'm in a long-term relationship shows that I don't love myself and I'm not really happy. 3) I should sleep with him.
I could handle this, but after about 90 minutes of putting up with it, he started to get fixated on how I lived. Why did I live -here-, he kept asking, if I had a HUSBAND? Who lives -here- if they're legitimately in love?
I live in a boarding house, basically, and you don't have to read all that far back here to know that a boarding house is 3 steps up from some of the places I HAVE lived. I've -struggled- to put something like a life together, and while I don't really parade that around these days (maybe a bit on this blog), it's a point that I'm -very- sensitive about.
I am NOT going to defend my living arrangements and my life to some asshole who knocked on my door at 3am and dares to tell me I'm not "happy". Who spent more than an hour telling me that the man I love is an asshole, and NOT EVEN FRICKEN ROLLING THAT JOINT!
So, after he'd started demanding that I "go and stay with your HUSBAND! If you're in love why aren't you with your HUSBAND!" I politely asked him to leave.
I said, "Mark, I think it's time that I ask you to leave."
He pretended not to hear, so I stood up and said "Mark, I am politely asking you to leave." (by putting "politely" into my sentence, I showed how classy I am)
He protested and tried to act hurt. I interrupted and said, "Mark, you came to my door at 3 in the morning, and while I could have shut the door in your face, I instead invited you in and gave you a drink. I am now asking you to leave."
"Can I at least have a drink?"
"I gave you a drink already. Now you have to go."
He fumbled with his lighter and cigarette pack, and then stormed out, as if I'd offended him more than he'd been offended in his life.
-This- is why I prefer to live as a recluse. |
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