Not My Finest Hour

Monday, March 26, 2006

I have tasted freedom. I have lived a year of debauchery, general hooliganism, mayhem with just a touch of promiscuity.

I am faced with the possibility of a break from this, faced with someone whom I like a lot and apparently likes me a lot. Someone who wants to do nice things with me like go for long hikes with Jeeves, discuss the meaning of life and have great sex. What do I do?

I give my phone number to a Portuguese Stanford post-doc that I met at the Nuthouse. The Nuthouse.

It seemed like a fine idea at the time, after 3 Bloody Mary's, a Fat Tire and a Stella, a great way to assert my independance and, more importantly, my control over the situation. Now that he's texted me 4 times and called me 5 times, it doesn't seem as though it was such a great idea. Especially because the texts were overtly forward, ending with the words "Kiss.... Paolo".

As grossed out as I am I still feel like a total bitch not responding, but I don't know what to say.

1. "I'm sorry. I'm seeing someone who's taller and more attractive than you in just about every way. I only gave you my number because I'm trying to run away from my emotions."

2. "I'm sorry. I can't really stand the thought of you, so you see this makes it impossible for us to have a relationship.

3. "I've a VD, d'you?"

4. "I'm only 12."

5. "I'm actually 58"

I'd like to add, at this point, that he is calling me as I type, this makes it 6 calls.

6. "I'd like you to meet my parents. Why? So we can start planning the wedding, silly!"

Call number 7.

7. "I'm sorry. I confused my real number with the fake number I normally give out to strangers in bars. So this whole thing is really just a typographical error."

or, and this one's borrowed from a television show we all know and love,

8. "Dear Paolo, Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: You."

I'm welcoming further suggestions. I still feel like a total bitch.