You Make Me Sick

Social norms across countries are randomly different (nothing new there), occasionally surprising (which can be fun), and far-too-often down-right disgusting. There are just some things that I've experienced in other countries that were beyond my normal acceptance of social differences, and crossed the line into - you're still disgusting in my book.

Madrid, Spain.

On a trip to Spain last year, my family and I stopped in Madrid. As I was also in the midst of the leasing process on a new apartment, I made frequent trips to a local computer cafe to take care of my business at home.


I've accepted that there are men and women out there who get their jollies from exploring illicit sites on the internet. I'd even partly prepared myself to experience such a thing while I was abroad. However, I was utterly floored to find that, even in Spain, this was considered "ok" enough to be used as a flirtation method.


I went into the cafe, ready to send another nasty email to the landlords who were being a$$s about the whole moving ordeal, when I noticed the 30ish year old man next to me was looking at porn. I quickly averted my eyes and continued working. But the man kept smiling at me! When he said something in Spanish, I could only grasp but a few words - enough to know he was calling me pretty and something about pictures. Maybe you'll come to the same conclusion as me, but all I could think of was... disgusting.

I mean really. Who sees a girl in a random cafe and thinks to themselves... well I'm looking at porn maybe she's into it. I don't care where you live or what language you speak, there's a line there! We weren't in the red light district, I was not dressed provacatively, and I certainly wasn't trying to get his attention.

Perhaps this guy isn't quite a "loser-ex" by our standard definiton, but it only appears that way since I refused to pose and/or go with him anywhere anyway. Had I done so, I have no doubt that he would have ended up on this blog. Fortunately, I have class.

Ladies, don't lower yourself to date a man who would ask you to pose for porn. Especially if he doesn't speak your language and is doing so in a public cafe, proudly "showing" why he wants you to do so.

Hey Hey What's That Sound?

Fratty was a frat boy. A stalker frat boy.

Let me explain.

Fratty and I had dated casually for a few weeks. At some point, I realized he wasn't really all that bright, and I had better things to do than continue messing around with him. Let me be clear, we had never slept together - at all. We hadn't been dating that long. Nevertheless, Fratty apparently didn't get the memo that he was never going to sleep with me.

We still hung out in the same circles, and occasionally ran into one another. We both happened to go to the same party one night, at the home of a mutual friend of ours who I had gone to high school with. Realizing I had drank a wee bit too much, I asked my friend if I could stay at his house. He was happy to oblige, and even offered me the guest room. Little did I know that Fratty had overheard the exchange.

Later in the evening, Fratty, "too drunk to go home," asked my friend if he, too, could stay the night. My friend, the ever accommodating guy that he was, agreed, telling him he could stay on the fouton in his room.

After I had fallen asleep, I was awakened by the door opening and shutting in the guest room I was sleeping in. It was Fratty.

"Umm, what are you doing?"

"I'm tired. His fouton is uncomfortable" And he laid down next to me.

"Uh, no. You can't stay in here. Please leave."

After repeated attempts to cuddle (you would think a couple of pointed arm removals, hand slaps, and the escalating face slaps would be some sort of deterent), I finally stood up and walked out of the room. Fratty finally left the guest bedroom a few minutes after it clicked I wasn't going to come back in for some more cuddling.

Not even a half an hour into finally falling asleep, I was awakened by snoring. There was no one in the bed, so I glanced on the floor. Curiously, there was nothing either, but snoring was still distinctly audible.

On a hunch, I looked under the bed. Fratty had squeezed, apparently quite quietly, under the bed while I slept. I shook him to wake his stalker ass up, but he was either in a deep sleep or convinced that if he faked it long enough I would leave him be.

I wasn't going to put up with it, so I went to my friend's room and took shelter on his fouton - which was surprisingly quite comfortable, contrary to Fratty's claims.

In the morning, my friend accussed Fratty of playing musical beds, and not-so-kindly told him off on my behalf. Now that's what good friends are for. Scaring off creepy loserexes.

Freakin STALKER.

It's Goodbye Time

The Sap was a nice guy. At least at the beginning. He was sweet, even went a little overboard by bringing a dozen roses to our first date. Granted, it was a week after my birthday, and he felt compelled to make sure I caught that he noticed and had listened the day I met him. It was actually a very nice gesture.

Our second date took a turn towards stalker. Let's talk about bringing up what a girl wore on the day before your date, when she had not planned or even noticed that you had "seen" her. Let's also talk about dropping the L-bomb. And, to really round it out, let's find out what you want to name your kids.

The Sap and my budding relationship quickly ended. A quick talk explaining that we weren't in the same place and I was no longer interested in pursuing this relationship, and I felt the deal was done. A few calls over the next week that were not returned, seemed to send a similar message. (Apparently, explicitly saying "no, I do not want to date you anymore" just doesn't do the trick.)

But the Sap was not done.

Six months later, (SIX MONTHS) I get a text message. From a number I do not know but has the area code that the Sap would have possessed.

"BJA, hey it's Sap. I wanted you to know I haven't met anyone who is as smart and beautiful as you and I really want to see you again. Please call me. My house number is __________, my pager is ___________, or you can email me at _____@_____.com. Hope to hear from you soon. You are the most amazing woman ever."

OMG. Stalker's suck.

You are My Princess...Right?

Romance goes a long way in relationships. Sometimes the tiniest bit of effort can produce such astonishing results that women just melt. Flowers for instance. Jewelry for sure. A card in the mail for no purpose. A note on the car window. Candy. (Yum!) Making dinner. Writing a fictional story... wait... that's a little much.

I had been dating Gumby for a little over a month. I had found that I really didn't have the time or energy to devote to the relationship as school got more intense and the college search kicked into gear. I felt as though I was neglecting him, and I told him as such.

His response was to write me a story.

Let me preface this by letting you know how Gumby and I met. He was working at the local grocery store where I lived in Colorado, and I was a friendly shopper. My flip flop shoe had broken while I was in class, and I needed a quick cheap replacement. So I swung into the grocery store which I had noticed was offering flip flops for $2. Killer deal when you needed a quick fix in the shoe department. Gumby struck up a conversation, and asked me out. We went on a double bowling date with a friend of his named Ian. And from there it became a relationship.

Now, I can get to his "story" in response to me saying I didn't really have the time for him.

"Once upon a time in a high mountain kingdom there lived a beautiful princess. One day she came to a stable far from her castle. The lowly stable hand was awed by her beauty and offered to assist her with whatever she needed."

(Pause for the corniness to sink in....)

"When he muscled up the courage, he asked the beautiful princess if she would like to meet him in the village, where they could sample the local fare and enjoy the festivities of the night. When she agreed, he was smitten."

(Seriously.)

"The agreed upon night, the stable boy travelled far into the hills, onward and onward until he reached her castle. He was accompanied by a fellow squire, let's call him Ian, as he ventured forward on the clear and crisp spring night. For weeks, the two frolicked through the fields, enjoying the serenity of the mountain air."

(Yeesh...)

"Then, one day, the princess told the stable hand that things were just too busy. And she worried that she was neglecting him and the time they spent together. But the stable hand was not worried. He knew that the princess cared for him deeply and was only concerned about hurting him. So he assured her, that any time she had available was alright by him. Just hearing her voice once a week was enough to put him on cloud nine."

It went on in that vein. Essentially, the idea was: don't break up with me, I'll be fine just seeing you less and still calling you my girlfriend.

This type of behavior is unacceptable. It comes across as needy. We women do not want needy guys. So here's the thing - even a cute story is not enough to get a girl to stay with you when she feels her schedule is no longer conducive to a relationship. Our goal, or at least my goal, was to not hold Gumby back because I knew he would eventually resent that I never saw him. I knew that I would eventually resent never seeing him.

Relationships take dedication and time. They do not require neediness. So leave the princess crap at home.

Who's There?

In response to BJA's unwelcome house guest at the wee hours of the morning...

For the most part, my stories are about incidents which took place several months or years ago, after I have detached myself from them enough to share them publicly. But, every now and then, I encounter such epic fail from a former fling, that it instantly earns a spot on Loser Ex. This post is about such epic fail.

The young man in this story is someone I dated casually for a few months, but things quickly died down once I realized I really did not like his personality at all. Having a conversation with this guy was painful. Really. I’ll always think of him as the kid who was popular in high school, but went downhill afterward. He was attractive and from a good family, but had zero ambition. I will refer to him as “The Dud,” because that is the name by which my friends know him. Aside from that, he had a lot of drama that I had no desire to deal with. But, that is neither here nor there. The only important thing to note here is that prior to this incident, we had not spoken in several weeks.

One recent Friday night, I was at WHG’s apartment. Around 2:30am, my phone started to ring. When I saw that it was The Dud, I let it roll to voicemail. The phone rang again. I let it roll to voicemail again. The phone rang a third time. Voicemail again. The phone then rang seven more times before I finally turned it off. At this point it was 2:50am. I should probably mention that I almost never turn my phone off. I am always paranoid that there will be some sort of emergency in the middle of the night and someone will need to get a hold of me.

The next morning, I turned my phone on as soon as I got up. It immediately started beeping like crazy from all the texts and voicemails I had received. First, I flipped through the text messages. They were all from The Dud. The first few were telling me that he was outside my apartment. The next few were telling me to come let him in because it is cold and rainy. The last few were telling me off for not letting him in. The voicemails followed the same pattern.

Now, let me point out a few factors that make this ridiculous. First of all, The Dud does not drive. There was some issue with his license a while ago, that I never really got the full story on (he tends to lie a lot). So, that means that despite not getting any sort of response from me, he decided it was a good idea to take a cab over to my apartment.

I should also note that cabs do not drive by my place. In order to get a cab at my place, one has to call a company. It usually takes at least 10 minutes for one to arrive. So, not only did The Dud come over to my place without having spoken with me, he also put himself in a situation from which it would be very difficult to get home.

Also, it was fricking cold. I really hope he had a nice warm coat and mittens on. It was rainy too. So, to recap, The Dud, not having spoken with me in several weeks, decided to cab it over to my place with no ride home so he could stand in the cold and rain and wait for me to come let him in. Then, he got pissed at me for not answering my phone at some odd hour of the morning.

I honestly expected there to be a brick through my window when I came back home.

Apparently he wasn't too upset though. He played the blow-up my phone game again a few nights later. I really don't know how many calls I have to ignore before he finally takes the hint.

The Laws of Dating (Part I)

A little while back, CCG mentioned a guy who google-searched her. From his google-search, he found her blog, and more specifically, an entry explaining her desire to two-week him. We agreed that this was an illegal search in the laws of relationships, and therefore he could not use the evidence found in this search against CCG.

I am not saying I have never google-searched someone before (I always want to make sure a guy I am about to go on a date with is not on the registered sex offender list for raping goats, or a member of a cult), but the point is, I know this is an illegal search. Therefore, any information I find, I cannot admit to knowing to the other party. This is just one of the laws of dating, if you break it, you are punished by not getting another date.

Today, I’ve been thinking about another issue in the realm of relationship legality. What is the legal way to acquire a phone number, and is it only appropriate to call someone whose number was obtained legally? The answer to this is very simple. The acceptable way to get my number is by me giving it to you personally.

Of course, I will accept a broad definition of what it means for me to give you my number personally. For example, if I call you first (minus call ID block), then I am letting my number show-up on your call log, therefore, this would be considered me giving you my number (don’t hold your breath for this to happen though because, I never call a guy first). If a friend of mine gives you my number after asking me for permission, this counts as getting it from me as well. It is only appropriate to call me (or any other woman) if you obtained her number in one of these ways (i.e. if she gave you her number).

With that said, let me tell you about a stalker I once had. I met a terrible sketchy old man in a bar a very long time ago (long enough ago that I should not have been in the bar…and of course, I was not consuming alcoholic beverages, because Loser-Ex does not condone underage drinking).

Ok, perhaps what I said about him being old was a bit of an exaggeration. He wasn’t old, but he in his mid to late 40’s, which makes him old by my standards of datable men. Anyway, he obtained my number in the most blatantly illegal way possible. Had he asked for my number, I would have, without hesitation, given him the rejection hotline.

But did he ask? Oh, hell no!! He grabbed my phone out of my hand (I was checking a text message at the time, and also not talking to him), and used it to take a picture (wtf?) and send it to himself! So, not only did I have to pay for a damn picture to be sent, he also got my phone number from sending it to himself.

I made it abundantly clear that I was pissed about him taking my phone from me, then using it to take a picture. However, this did not deter him from calling me a few days later.

At around midnight on a Wednesday, I got a phone call from a local number. Not recognizing the number, I answered, and it was him. He informed me that he had gone to 10 different bars the night before (6 of which are college bars a few blocks away from my school) and had not seen me. He asked where I go out. I told him I never go out.

He then said he had been to campus too. I told him I live off campus, in the suburbs. Then, I told him I had to go, and not to leave a message if he calls back because my voicemail is broken. He called regularly for 6 weeks, and I never answered the phone again. I hope he found a new person to annoy, because I sure as hell never want to hear from him again.

The point of all this is: If a girl does not give you her number, you can safely assume she does not want you to have it. Ergo, it is not a good idea to call her everyday. If you do, she will write about how creepy you are on a blog, and possibly get a restraining order against you.