Nothing turns me on more than a good old fashioned lynching.

As outrageous as I am, the one thing I cannot tolerate is blatant racism. Mix that in with a cocky asshole and it's a recipe for disaster. Two years ago my roommates and I were going out for some wholesome innocent fun. We first headed over to T's boyfriend's house to meet up with him and his friend who was in town. "George Wallace" seemed polite enough, was decent looking, (despite being vertically challenged.) I wasn't interested by any means, but certainly not uncomfortable.

Then the racists jokes started. I'm not sure why he thought my friends and I would be okay with this, and despite the lack of laughing, he continued with the racial slurs. He was so creative, that I learned a few new ones that night. Fabulous. After enduring this behavior, we all left for a friends party. While at the party I did not talk to Georgie, nor did I show any subtle signs of interest. I decided to go hang out at a different party and bade them adieu. At this point Georgie got clingy. He acted very hurt and asked why I was leaving him. Confused, though I was, I left anyway.

Later that night I returned home to find a small gathering of people, Georgie included. My roommate T pulled me aside to show me her phone. Apparently Georgie asked for my number, and T thought it would be funny to give him hers instead, so she could see what he would write. He sent about 15 texts, "I'm sleeping in your bed tonight," "Why'd you leave the party?" "Get ready to cuddle," and so on. Cool. So now I'm pretty freaked. Back in the living room I'm hanging out with my buddy Paddy, when it dawns on me that my room is unlocked. I run upstairs to lock it. Not two seconds later Georgie is behind me. I said excuse me and ran back downstairs. Paddy later told me that he and the other guys were moments from following as well to keep an eye on this guy.

At this point I've had it, both with his awkward advances, as well as his offensive jokes. After I left him upstairs he hid in T's room and wouldn't leave. He wouldn't even listen to his friend that brought him there in the first place. One of Paddy's friends (the biggest one) proceeded to grab a bat and go intimidate the boy. It was at that point we were finally free of the racist little gremlin.

Moral of the Story:
Despite what the movie Clerks 2 would have you believe, it is not possible for a white man to "bring back" the phrase "porch monkey"

Lucky for you, I'm taken

Today I will share another example of delusional older men. Last year I was waiting outside my professor's office when some random guy walked by. I'm not really sure what his job description was, besides, you know, creeping. He was bald, probably in his late thirties, and ugly as sin. He starts up conversation and being the polite midwestern gal that I am, I reciprocate. We talked about the weather, and other random crap like that. I still haven't figured out what he was doing in that building, but whatever. Then, I give up on waiting for my professor and start to leave. Well, baldy starts following me up the stairs. At this point warning bells are going off in my head, seeing as I'm walking in an empty stairwell to leave. I pick up the pace while he continues the conversation.
Baldy: Would it be awkward for me to give you a compliment?
Me: Excuse me? (I think I was too freaked to register what he was saying).
Baldy: Can I pay you a compliment?
Me: Oh, sure.
Baldy: Well you are just absolutely beautiful.
Me: Thank you.
Baldy: If my heart weren't already taken, I would ask you for your number.

That's great buddy, but I certainly wouldn't have given it to you. Keep in mind this happened not one week after the old dude from Hobby Lobby asked me out. Apparently I give off this vibe that I am open to multi-generational experimentation. My bad.

Moral of the story:
Stop conversing with males over the age of thirty unless they are family.

Does That Mean the Carpet Matches the Drapes?

A trip to Aggieville always has three main goals associated with it:
1. Do not stay sober
2. Do not spend more than $10
3. Do not lose cell phone
However, going to the Ville can sometimes become a bit routine, so it is necessary to set new, loftier goals than the usual ones. One of these goals goes by the name of "let's find our first husbands,” and we set it one night.
About halfway into the evening, we found ourselves at Aggieville's newest, hippest, pseudo-classy bar, the Kathouse Lounge, with only primary goals 2 and 3 accomplished. We were sitting at one of the tables fiddling with the straws of our freshly emptied drinks, when suddenly we were approached by two males. They went ahead and sat down with us and started striking up awkward bar conversation: “So, you come here often?” We were uninterested and after delivering fake names in horrible Southern Belle accents, I decided to clue them in on our night’s objective. I expected the disclosure of our plan to be met with some confusion, and possibly amusement. Instead, I got a minute-long ranting lecture about how this guy was working on his second graduate degree and how successful he was, no thanks to anyone but himself and his hard work (oddly enough, perfect qualities for a potential first husband). My accomplice was sitting next to me, unaware of the angry outburst, and she leaned over and asked if his red beard matched his hair color. In response to this, he ripped off his hat and shouted, “Yes, my hair matches my beard. And you know what else it matches? One hundred percent success!” He then stormed off.

Moral of the Story:
Don’t base success on pubic hair.

Eau de puppy piss

Last summer I worked at a clothing store in Kansas City. There was a period when we were hiring, and we received a myriad of ... special applicants. One day, I came to the front of the store from the back and immediately noticed a horrible stench. It reeked of urine. Odd, considering our staff was potty trained. I then noticed a scruffy looking man sitting on one of our couches filling out an application. Okay, that in itself is not odd. We have had male sales associates in the past, as well as male stock support. What was odd was that the stench was coming from his direction. I kid you not, there was a five foot radius of the toxic fumes around this fellow. As I walked to the cash wrap I happen to look in Smelly's direction and he is giving me crazy eyes. This continues, with him distributing his frightening gaze to all who were present in the store. Finally, as I try to stick to the outer edge of the store to avoid both his leers and his smell, he turns in his application and leaves. He does remember to ask where the bathroom is.
My boss shrieks and calls me over to look at the application. It was both disturbing and hilarious at the same time. He wrote that he had no transportation, and his references were "Pete and Nick." Literally, that's all it said, no phone number or last name, just "Pete and Nick." The best part was under the question about being convicted of anything. Smelly wrote the most in this portion.
"I was arrested for sexual battery. I went to a hooker and asked if I could touch her boob and she was a cop and arrested me."

So yeah, considering he asked for the nearest bathroom before he left, he was clearly trying to drum up material by getting a reaction out of us. Because obviously he wasn't going to use it to actually urinate, judging by the smell of him, he'd already done that.

Moral of the Story:
Don't pee where you play.

So, do you want me to slap you around a little?

As crazy as it may sound, I am a bit outspoken. Ever since I was little I have harbored the inability to keep my mouth shut. So, last semester I was in a class that I like to refer to as "Gender Confusion." It had something to do with sexism and the media. Anyway, there was an individual who was convinced he was playing the role of devil's advocate. He was not, he was just being the world's biggest dumbass, as evidenced by some of his statements. One day, we were in the middle of a discussion, and I was making a point. Well, dumbass apparently got confused and thought I was done and interrupted me. I did not stand for such treatment, and turned around in my seat and gave him a piece of my mind. I got many a thank you from others in the class who were equally put out with his behavior.

Fast forward to this semester. Last night I went to the bars to celebrate my platonic life partner's birthday. Wouldn't you know, somehow dumbass knows someone in our group. After some prodding he remembers who I am. He then proceeds to regale everyone with the time I "yelled" at him. Dumbass admits that after the verbal lashing, he became "very into" me. What? I wasn't teasing, I really do dislike this kid. He continues by making awkward head motions, which I can only conclude are a result of being dropped on his head as a child. He then keeps trying to coerce me into dancing with him, and many an unwanted touch occurred on my arms and back. Needless to say, I declined his offer to dance. I continued to verbally abuse him, which only served to stoke his fire more. At this point I deduce that dumbass is into S&M, and ask him if he enjoys being hit. He fails to comprehend. The night ended with him begging me to go to another bar with him, me saying no, and him walking off in a huff.

Moral of the Story:
Unless I'm holding a whip in my hand, I'm not abusing your for sexual enjoyment. I just don't like you.

What? We can make it a family affair.

This incident is fairly recent, and I finally learned to quit involving myself with guys that I meet at bars. I went to a Karoke competition that my musically talented roommate was in, and met the Mexican. The Mexican seemed like a decent fellow, a little awkward, but so clearly am I. He was getting his PhD in computer sciences, so I was attracted to the intelligence. The good looking part didn't hurt.

Well, after hitting it off, the Mexican and I hung out a few times while I was still in Manhattan, and while I enjoyed myself, I didn't see it going anywhere. I had just broken up with someone, and was really just looking for a distraction.

Summer came, and I ventured back to Kansas City. Since we had never set follow up dates, I decided to just let my Latin experience fizzle out. When I started getting emails from the Mexican, I figured, aww what the hell, maybe something will develop from this, I'll give it a try.

The Mexican contacted me to let me know he would be in town for a buddy's housewarming party, and wanted to know if I'd like to hang out. He also mentioned that it would be him and several friends that would be in town. At one point I got an e-mail saying he may have to cancel, because he didn't have any place to stay. I still didn't know him very well, nor did I know his friends, so I wasn't about to offer my parents' place up. I said as much (but much nicer) in an e-mail. He figured out a place to stay, and we were back on track.

So, that weekend he picks me up after work to take me to the new bar scene downtown. I have no sense of direction, and he is not from the area, so it was a little difficult getting there. Apparently that made it okay for him to be rude to me. Not okay. Then, we get to the Power and Light district, and one of the bars had a cover charge. I don't have cash, he doesn't offer to pay. Not to be old fashioned, but he invited me. I tell him I will get him a drink if he pays my cover charge. Instead of being a gentleman, he takes me up on it. Ooookay. We meet up with one of his friends and the night is filled with awkward, stilted conversation. I realize that I should have trusted my first instincts and just let it fizzle out.

The best part is when he took me home. We pull into my driveway and as I'm about to exit the car, he turns to me and says.
"I don't understand what the big deal is, why I couldn't stay."
"What?"
"Well, I don't understand why I couldn't have spent the night."
"Um, because this is my parents house and that's disrespectful, plus, I thought there would be more of you coming."
"Yeah, I guess I still don't understand what the big deal is."
"Ookay, well have a good night."

Well, here's what the big deal was. I didn't know him that well, and I didn't have my parents permission. Not to mention, I was under the impression that he had a group of friends that needed a place to stay. If he were a good friend, or even a boyfriend, it would have been a different story.

Moral of the Story:
Sleepovers are a privilege, not a right.

I would, but I already have an imaginary boyfriend.

My second year as a lifeguard (I was 16 at this point) I had a mild flirtation with "Mack." (Only because I can't remember his name). Anyway, Mack was a student at a Naval prep academy, and this was his last summer of freedom before he enlisted. There was nothing noticeably wrong with him, and despite learning he had a girlfriend, I still enjoyed the innocent flirting. I just knew enough to expect nothing out of it.

Well, Mack realized that he would soon no longer be available to his girlfriend, so he broke up with her. Since I knew he would be leaving soon, I decided not to pursue anything after the break up. Apparently Mack had other ideas. Mack was a member of that fun breed (of both men and women) that cannot fathom the idea of not being in a relationship. Two weeks before his last day, Mack approached me and asked if I would be his temporary girlfriend. While flattered, I politely declined.

Moral of the Story:
You can have temporary living situations, temporary jobs, but a temporary girlfriend may as well be dubbed an escort. At least then she can demand pay.

It's a small, bloody world, after all

Last year, my living situation was a little tense, to say the least. One of the roommates had an ongoing problem with locking the doors. It is difficult, I'm sure, when one is intoxicated 90 percent of the time, to remember such trivial things. How does this relate to men? I'll tell you.

One evening, all of the roommates but myself had gone out for the evening. The next day I get a knock on my door. My favorite roommate was at the door, and asked me if I was okay. I looked at her funny and said of course I was. I then saw the origin of her concern. Our bathroom was covered in blood. There were drops on the floor, in the sink, and in the toilet. It looked like someone had attempted to wash themselves, and failed horribly. I then ventured downstairs.

In the middle of the dining room floor was a huge bloodstain, and hand prints on the door jambs. What the hell? After much confusion, and an eventual call to the police, we had an idea of what happened.

Some guy had apparently gotten very drunk and took it out on his arm. He then took a very bloody, very long hike to our house, more then ten blocks away. Since genius had forgotten to lock the door, he walked in and proceeded to bleed all over our house. Considering all of the blood he left at our house, and his ten-block trip, it's a wonder we didn't find a dead body in our house. He then passed out for a little while, woke up, and dragged himself to the hospital.

Well, following a little facebook stalking, it turns out that I used to date one of his frat brothers. Go figure. This made the clean up a lot easier, i.e, our mutual "friend" got him to pay for the clean up. I'm assured that the bleeder does not have a problem with alcohol or depression. I beg to differ, but as long as he's done bleeding on my belongings, it's out of my hands.

Moral of the story:
Don't live with people who can't lock the door, and invest in teflon flooring.

Tips and Tricks of the Trade

Apparently I am being too picky when it comes to men, and I was asked to outline how a guy should approach me without being labeled creepy. Fair enough. Here's a quick summary of my past posts as what not to do when courting a lady. Hell, the same goes for women. If you don't want a guy to think you are bat-shit crazy, pay attention to the following:
-Unless you are drop dead gorgeous or loaded, it's probably best to stay away from women who are more than twenty years younger than you. Even then I would probably tend to pass.
-Following a girl as she leaves work can sometimes be interpreted as threatening. Crazy, I know, but most women are.
-It is generally a good idea to not try and lay on someone you just met, especially after they make a visible effort to put space between you two.
-If you like someone, APPROACH THEM YOURSELVES! For goodness sake, we are adults, start acting like it.
-Unless you work for a media outlet that pays money for your photos, don't post pictures of girls on your website without their knowledge. I mean, sure, you can do it, but don't expect a warm response.

If any of the following seems irrational or out of line, please, do alert me to this fact. I would hate to think that one of these men could have long since become my husband and have me barefoot and pregnant by now. Aww, what the hell, I am probably just being a heinous bitch and should give these gentlemen a chance.

No, the only job requirement is that we have big boobs

When I first accepted a job at Victoria's Secret I was a little nervous that I would have to deal with creepy men. Up until last week, I had no such encounters. The men that came into Victoria's Secret were covered in the sex department, so they had no interest in bothering me. Then, Joe entered the store. By Joe, I mean G.I. Joe, who entered the army straight out of high school and frequents the local bar scene hoping to get laid by a college girl. As far as I know, few succeed. Living near an army base is great, between the explosions and sexual harassment. (The two men that I do know in the Army are exempt from this rant. You're welcome).

So, I'm working the cash wrap when Joe 1 and Joe 2 approach the head of the line. Joe 1 is slightly attractive with a dash of thug, i.e. not my type. I ask him if I can help him with anything.
Joe 1: Yeah, you sho can. I need a thirty dolla gift card.
Me: Okay, pick one out and I'll get that ready for you.
Joe 1: So, is it like, required to be gorgeous to work here?
Me: What? No.
Joe 1: I mean, you just have a really good looking group of girls.
Me: eh, thanks. That'll be thirty even.
Joe 1: So, you from Kansas?
Me: Yeah.
Joe 1: And you go to KState?
Me: mm hmm. Would you like your receipt with you?

So, Joe 1 and 2 finally begin their exit, but not before leering at my two bosses and announcing "See, they're even all the same height!" Okay, so a lot of us that work there are short, but this does not lessen the creeper factor.

I try to block the memory from my mind, even though I still found it odd that Joe 1 would hit on me while he was buying what I assume to be a present for a girlfriend. I finish my shift and prepare to leave the mall. As I walk towards the exit, wouldn't you know, Joe 1 and 2 are nearby. I avoid eye contact, and hear Joe 1 say, "Hey, that's her!" They both get up and follow me. Instead of going out the service exit (which is a rape scene waiting to happen) I head to Dillards, where they continue following me. After walking in circles, they disappear. For all I know they are still there.

Moral of the Story:
When Joe appears, get security involved.

No, No, We've Met

Next to Halloween my favorite holiday of the year is Fake Paddy's Day. At K-State, St. Patrick's Day is during Spring Break, so our local bars host Fake Paddy's Day, the Saturday before Spring Break. The beer is green and ready around six in the morning. My sophomore year I attended my first Fake Paddy's and had a great time, with the exception of one individual. I was tagging along with the campus radio station, handing out t-shirts and what not. One gentleman had brought his ill at ease frat brother with him. The guy was creeper extreme, kind of huddling outside the conversations, but not really doing a good job of involving himself. He kept smiling at my friend Tara and I, looked like he was going to say something, and then thought better of it.

Tara and I began taking pictures of each other and our surroundings. We both looked up and creeper was holding a camera in our direction. We both had deer in the headlights looks and then turned away. I didn't think he got a picture, but turns out I was wrong.

The next year I was taking a constitutional law class, and wouldn't you know, creeper was in my class. I ignored him, though he tried to catch my eye. About a week into class he adds me on facebook. I didn't even know his name until then, since we had never talked. Before adding him, I took a look at his facebook photos. In one of his albums was a picture of Tara and I in the middle of looking away. Not only had he taken the picture, he proceeded to post it on his facebook! The following e-mails ensued:

Me: Hi, I don't mean to be rude, but seeing as I don't know you, I would appreciate it if you would remove that picture of me from your facebook photo album. It makes me uncomfortable having my picture displayed on your site, especially since I clearly was not aware it was being taken. Thanks.

Evan

August 27 at 9:05pm

Sure, no biggie.

Evan:
August 27 at 10:13pm

Oh, and we met on Fake St. Patrick's Day last year at the 91.9 thing. We're also in Con Law together which is what dredged up your name for me.

Ooookay, you following behind the group that I am in does not mean we met. I never talked to this guy, and he had to have asked my name from someone else. Apparently he was a little confused as to the meaning of "met."

Moral of the Story:
Taking someone's picture without their knowledge does not make the two of you friends. I know the paparazzi would disagree, but this is not Hollywood.

Did I impregnate you in my sleep? My bad.

This particular incident didn't happen to me, it happened to my sophomore creeper-magnet roommate. (She's a sophomore, not the creepers). We'll call her Lolita. Now, Lolita had a mild crush on a popular school mascot of the freshman persuasion. Lolita and Mascot had an ongoing flirtation, and hung out sober. Despite the six month age gap, Lolita was becoming increasingly attracted to Mascot. One night, both Lolita and Mascot hung out and went to a few parties together. Alcohol was involved, as is common at college functions, and being a young one, Mascot drank more than necessary. Back at our house, Lolita and Mascot participated in an innocent make-out session before heading to bed. The next day all seemed well. Or so Lolita thought. Later that evening she received a text message from Mascot.
"I didn't mean to make out with you and fall asleep in your bed. I hope things aren't awkward now."
Well, they are now buddy. Lolita, more amused than hurt, wrote off Mascot. Three weeks later she began getting text messages from him again.
"I'm sorry about what I did. I'm just so intimidated by you. You are such a beautiful older woman."
Needless to say, Lolita has moved on.

Moral of the story:
Leave the mask on the mascot and pay attention to whose mouth and bed you pass out on.

My friend here is a mute

On two separate occasions in the last year I have had guys who sent their friends to do their dirty work.

The first occurred during my friend Megan's 21st birthday at the Casinos. First of all, while in line to get our cards, some guy accosted Megan, and told her to tell me that I was "Smoking." Apparently not smoking enough for him to actually talk to me himself. Then, we were all in a group, huddled around a slot machine, when I noticed two white trash guys looking at me. The whispered to each other and then the taller one approached me. "Hey, my friend over there wants to buy you a drink." Disgusted by his friend's inability to tell me that himself, I informed the guy that I was a recovering alcoholic. He apologized profusely and walked off. Apparently he didn't find it odd that a recovering addict would hang out at a casino. Funny enough, every other time I saw those guys that night, I didn't have a drink in my hand.

The second time was when I was out at the bars with my girlfriends. Again, I noticed two guys staring and whispering. One was a skinny little white boy, no more than 5'6", and the other was a tall, 250 pound Mexican. The larger fellow came up to me and the following conversation ensued.
"Yo, my homie over there wants to dance witchu."
"Well, I'm not really a good dancer."
"That's cool, just give him five minutes."
"Ok, honestly, I'm just here to have a girls night, and I'm not really interested."
"Seriously, he's a really cool guy. You should dance with him."
"I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, he made you ask for him, and I already told you I am just looking to have a girls night."
"Ooookay, but I still think you should give him a chance."

There is so much wrong with this. When a girl says no once, back off, she is not going to change her mind. It only makes her begin to fear for her safety. I was not playing hard to get.

Moral of the Story:
Past the age of 12, if you find a girl attractive, approach her yourself, don't send a friend.

You Can Call Me Daddy

Okay, so no one has ever actually said that to me, but this guy may as well have. For a short period of time I worked in the fabrics department at Hobby Lobby (I have an obsession with yarn, lay off me). One day this guy comes in, probably in his early forties with two children. His daughter was at least 15, i.e. six years younger than me at the time. He was asking for help finding some materials for his daughter to make costumes for a play, something to do with Africa, I don't remember. I have worked in customer service jobs for awhile, so I am just doing my best to help them out. He seems like a really nice guy, you know, for being old. He also somehow manages to slip into the conversation that he is divorced from his children's mother. Whatever.

A week later buddy returns sans children needing more help. This time I am getting an awkward flirty vibe from him, so I do my best to help him, then point him to another area of the store. Well, he leaves, gets the stuff and comes back. He thanks me for my help and then says, "Can I ask you a question?" I swear I had a mild anxiety attack, having an idea of what was coming next. "Um, sure."
"Can I take you out to coffee sometime?"
I'm surprised I didn't die from a combination of embarrassment and disbelief right there. My entire face turned bright red, and it was all I could do to just half smile and say, "No...sorry."
My flat out no, mixed with the look of absolute horror on my face sent him running, "Well, I figured it couldn't hurt to ask." Then he was gone. I am just confused as to what gave him the idea he had a chance. I also wished at that moment that I was still underaged, meaning men like him were not allowed to ask me such questions. If he had asked me to mentor his daughter, sure, since we would have more in common anyway.

Moral of the Story:
Don't be nice to 40 year old divorced dads, they will confuse it with flirting.

Michigan

This was probably my first uncomfortable experience with a man, no, a boy. My junior year of high school I was involved in competitive speaking and qualified for the national tournament in Boston. The trip was awkward for many reasons, not just boys. First of all, my coach was a young divorcee who was dating. Prior to the trip a classmate had discovered her online dating profile in which she alluded to enjoying self-love. While I understand that a woman has needs, as a her 17 year old student I did not want to be aware of these needs. Every time she would mention meeting someone online I would cringe. But I digress.

The other awkward situation concerned my roommates. Since I was the only one from my high school to qualify, I roomed with girls from other schools in our district. I had to share a bed with a stranger, which wasn't a huge deal, until I found out she was a lesbian. Cool.

Also, while shopping at the GAP with my coach, I was accosted by a women who told me that she worked for the bunny ranch in Nevada (a whorehouse), and asked if I would be interested in working there.

Back to the male front. During one of my rounds there was a very intense performer by the name of Chris, from Detroit. I was impressed by his performance and flattered when after the round he asked me if I wanted to join him for lunch. Considering I had no friends with me in Boston this was great. After lunch, Chris asked me if I wanted to go to dinner with him after we were done competing. I said sure, why not.
Well, dinner was when things got weird. He was very touchy feely, holding my hand and acting really attached. As a 17 year old prude this was very disconcerting. After dinner we went back to the hotel and sat on a couch in one of the lobbies. He began stroking my arm and kissing my forehead. If I were older and had known him longer this wouldn't have been odd, but then he started asking me why I couldn't move to Michigan. He didn't just say it once, he said it multiple times. "I wish you would move to Detroit, you are such a cool girl." Mind you, I hadn't really talked much this entire evening because he was giving me the heebee jeebees. So how he had been able to ascertain that I was a cool girl is beyond me. At this point I freaked and said I was sick and bade him adieu. He tried calling but I ignored it.

My coach on the other hand, had a lot better luck than I did. On the plane ride home she hit it off with the guy sitting next to her and they exchanged screen names. Go figure.

Moral of the story:
While Boston is great, it was the source of many awkward pseudo-sexual experiences. Also, guys from Detroit are nutty.

The Kling-On

Last year I attended a Christmas party hosted by a friend. Afterwards I went to the bars and ran into a guy that had been at the party. I think his name was Brandon, but I could be wrong. Anyway, we talk a little, and he convinces me to give him my number. I go home and not ten minutes later I start getting text messages.
"You looked really sexy tonight. We should hang out."
Okay, I'll admit, I am somewhat to blame for responding. However, I was bored with life at the moment and figured, what the hell, I should live a little. I tell Brandon (?) that we should hang out tomorrow night.

The next night my friend Kylie and Michelle and I were watching marathons of The Santa Clause (we rock) when Brandon came over to join us. He mentions having lived in Texas, so being the polite host that I am, I ask why he is now in Kansas. Bad idea. This launches a 15 minute diatribe on how his parents got divorced, his mother is a dirty whore who he hasn't seen in 10 years, and he may or may not have a half-sibling that attends K-State. Whoa! Dude is crazy!

Now, I am trying to figure out a polite way to get him to leave. I move to the opposite side of the couch and lean against it. Instead of realizing that I am trying to distance myself from him, Brandon sees this as an invitation and lays up against me. Did I mention that we met the night before? I begin talking with Kylie and Michelle, and mentioning how crazy I am. This has the opposite effect and he just cuddles closer. Finally I mention having to get up early for class, so he gets the hint. I give him a church hug (read: chest forward, hips back so there is no contact with the pelvic areas) and send him on his way. Again, not ten minutes later:
"You looked really sexy tonight"
This time I am a little smarter and just ignore him. I made a mistake, now that uncomfortable moment is over. Except it's not.

The next day I get about ten text messages from him, which I ignore. Then, he leaves me a five minute long voicemail about how bad he wants to hang out with me and he hopes I didn't have beer goggles when I met him. This is all very attractive from my standpoint.
The day after, (we're at day four since meeting), I message him saying that I'm just not that interested. He then proceeds to get angry. One memorable text message read; "You know, I have a word for people like you, who don't respond to text messages (even though I had, telling him to buzz off): a CRAZY LIBERAL!" I never mentioned any thing concerning politics, so I can only guess that he did a bit of facebook stalking. Now, riddle me this, what on earth do my political views have to do with not wanting to date Mr. Nutbag? I'm pretty sure any self-respecting conservative girl would have felt the same. Also, keep in mind that we had known each other for FOUR days, and our only contact consisted of watching the Santa Clause with two of my friends. By the fifth day I enlisted the help of my friend Morgan, who is bigger than Brandon, to call him. I'm not sure what Morgan said to Brandon, but I haven't heard from him since.

Moral of the Story:
Don't respond to "You're so sexy text messages" from someone you just met.

In the beginning

I have had good experiences with men, I've had bad experiences with men. Mostly, however, I've had WEIRD experiences with men. For God knows what reason I have the uncanny ability for attracting the most bizarre of the Y-Chromosome holders. So, I felt it appropriate to put these odd encounters into writing. Enjoy.