IH8FACBK
If I ever get a personalized license plate, that will be it. Yes, I do. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. While the thought of connecting with people who walked divergent paths many years ago is nice enough, it just don’t happen for me.
See, this crazy chick I dated something like 15 years ago friended me and started sending me messages last week. Okay, crazy may be harsh, because I think clinical depression is the extent of psycho-malady she claims. Incredible narcissism and a weird vindictive nastiness – does that qualify as crazy?
Anyway, I gave a pleasant “here’s where I am in life” response. She followed with several books worth of stream-of-consciousness babble telling me about her academic triumphs, her sexual exploits, her drug use, her advanced degrees, and something about learning fellatio from a nurse. Oh yeah, and she wants to have a kid because she and her husband are so beautiful they would make a beautiful child. I made the mistake of not responding fast enough (because I hate Facebook) and she quickly soured into some real nasty comments.
I am sexually repressed. I am a hermit living in secret. I think I am high and mighty because I have kids. My wife is sexually repressed (apparently because she married me). I am jealous because I am not living the life of the artist and I am not as beautiful as she is. I am really an asshole, I guess. And, this is like a cherry on top – she can’t fathom why I started bothering her just to pick on her and be mean. So I am apparently now no longer her Facebook friend. I am blocked or something. I haven’t gone in to check because I hate Facebook, but I probably should.
But wait – there’s more. I emailed her to leave me alone – mostly because she’s fucking nuts. Want to see the response?
Email me again and I will call the police. I don’t threaten. I follow through. And
trust me, the police loooove being chivalrous with a beautiful woman like me, and we
can find you through Amherst, and you can get arrested for threatening me, as it
feels to me, because I’ve made it clear you are to stop stalking me, and then you
can explain to your wife, who doesn’t deserve this, why you’re obsessed with
contacting me.
Other people get “Hey, how are you doing. Can’t believe it’s 20 years since Freshman Algebra.” I feel like I’m taking crazy pills.
For the record, I emailed her 3 times – the first to accept the Facebook friending, the second two to tell her to leave me alone. Somehow, I think Carol will find it in her heart to forgive me.
I HATE Facebook.
15 COMMENTS
will you be my facebook friend?? Please ..
Only if you tell me where you learned so much about fellatio.
in a van down by the river ..
Oh man, I’m laughing so hard right now. so much crazy, but so much funny too. Thank goodness you have nothing better to do than read this claptrap.
I am glad I can be there to support!
She is out of her freaking mind, and quite honestly she scares me more than just a little bit. Maybe you’re boring and repressed, but at least you’re stable. Doesn’t she have a shrink for this shit?
Oh, and I don’t think you’re either boring OR repressed. She can ask me how I know 😉
Be careful, if she asks you anything, that will mean you’re a stalker too, right? Then we’ll both be waiting for the police to lock us up.
Eeek. Crazy is as crazy does.
Uh, this is the crazy police. Yeah, we’ve got a problem here.
And you can find me on facebook too.
Oooh boy… I’m so sorry. saw your comment on FB and didn’t realize the Crazy was quite that bad. Yes, being find-able is certainly a double-edged sword. I’ve found the ‘ignore’ button quite handy.
Is this who I think it is?
I don’t think so. This is a girl I dated in the first semester of my sophomore year for about a week. She had this real melodramatic Sunset Boulevard vibe back then and she was kind of annoying. I broke it off, which really seemed to confuse her (I think becuase I’m not as pretty as she is) and, long story short, I had to take her to the UMass Emergency Room for supervision after she claimed to take a bottle of pills.
I heard from her a couple times in the year or two after I graduated – presumably Prozac’d up because she seemed a little more normal.
Until a couple weeks ago it had been just about 12 years of silence. I know I probably should have used the flygrrl ignore trick, but I guess I figured Nutso would be somewhat less…well, Nutso. I mean, in 12 years she could take a couple aspirin or rub on some Vicks or something? I mean, what the fuck?
Somebody get me a Chill Pill. Stat!
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