THE OFFENSE: disorderly conduct, stalking, general stupidity
THE CULPRIT: Oil Boy. 25 year old male, 5'9", not as slick as his name, creepy as creepy goes.
THE INCIDENT: [Summer, 2008]
I still have the email I sent out to my girlfriends from the day after I ended it with Oil Boy. It is hilarious even as I read it again. Very little in this post has been edited from that original email.
I met Oil Boy at the greatest bar in the west, Oil City. I say this because despite its reputation for being pretentious and loud, Oil City has consistently been chalk full of blogging-worthy-boys, and they play almost nothing but country music. Let's face it, one cannot take life seriously while listening to country music. No matter how screwed up you think your life is, Kenny Chesney probably has you beat. (ha! Beat. That works on so many hick levels...)
Anyway.
So Oil Boy and I met at Oil City, and immediately hit it off over our mutual love of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band classic "Fishin In The Dark". We decided to go out to eat after the bar, I won him over with my wit and charm, he won me over with...paying for food. (Funny how alcohol can lower one's standard, innit?) At the end of the night/morning, we exchanged phone numbers, and the magic sprung from there.
So I met up with Oil Boy over dinner the next evening, had a lot of fun, and didn't see him for another week (I was in Vegas and he was in Phoenix). But hark, Oil Boy had not forgotten about me. He called me the minute he got back from Phoenix and took me out for a romanic dinner that weekend, had a great time, came back to my place and...
...*censored*.... (don't worry. It wasn't that great. You're not missing out on the juicy deets.)
So he ended up leaving my place after telling me "I haven't felt this way about a girl in a long time. I was literally dizzy when I left your place last time because I liked you so much." (RED FLAG #1)
Skip ahead to a week later when Oil Boy invites me to meet up at the bar with him and his friends. He tells me how much his friends want to meet me after how amazing he tells them I am. (RED FLAG #2)
I eventually show up at said bar at midnight, and already am unimpressed that I have to wait in line for a whole 9.5 minutes. I finally get in to the bar and...Oil Boy is nowhere to be found. I text him asking where he is. I get no answer. Fuming, I leave the bar and walk home.
At just after 2am, I am about to settle into bed when I receive a text from Oil Boy:
0228h:
text message, Oil Boy: "Where are at? . I'm so drunk. I wanna see you!"
I text back: "I couldn't find you at Hudson's, so I left."
0230h: incoming call, Oil Boy:
Me: Yes?
OB: Where are you? I am so drunk! Can I come over? I wanna see you.
Me: ...I have to work tomorrow
OB: so...you work...3-7?
Me: I work all day. [i actually work nights]
OB: I really wanna see you. What are you doing?
Me: I'm sleeping. It's 2am.
OB: okay, well..I really wanna see you, but I understand that you have to work tomorrow and I want you to have a good day at work, and I'll call you tomorrow and maybe we can do something cuz I know you work tomorrow.
Me: er, okay. [click. Put my phone on silent.]
I wake up the next morning and find this (directly copied from my message history):
0243h:
text message, Oil Boy: "So I really want to to see you. I am so drunk, please meet me somewherE!"
0250h:
text message, Oil Boy: " I am so drunk right now. I just wanna see you!"
0253h:
text message, Oil Boy: "I wanna meet you for a donair!"
0257h:
text message, Oil Boy: "Where are you? I wanna kiss you! You complete me!"
0312h:
text message, Oil Boy: "I am eating a pita!"
0403h:
voicemail, Oil Boy [voice of some random other guy, Oil Boy's drunken voice yelling incomprehensively in the background]: "Hey. I don't know you, but I found your boy passed out on the curb along whyte ave, so I stayed with him. Didn't wanna get a brother mugged n all. So.. I just found your number on his phone and called. Wanna know where you live. K Bye."
0413h:
voicemail, Oil Boy: "I am so f*cked up right now. But I'm okay. I got my buddy Todd here taking care of me. I don't know where I am."
0421h:
voicemail, Oil Boy: "I'm so sorry for being drunk. I am so fucked up. I wanna come over so I can...sleep. Please call me."
0444h:
voicemail, Oil Boy: "I'm so drunk right now. I'm walking down whyte ave. I don't know where I am. I got a buddy here taking care of me, so I'm okay. I just wanna see you."
0614h:
voicemail, Oil Boy: "So...I just lost about 3 hrs of my life. I am so fucked up, but I'm okay. I got a buddy here taking care of me. Please call me tomorrow. Maybe we can hang out. I'll talk to you tomorrow or monday....I'll talk to you tomorrow. Hope you have a good day at work."
So after ending things the next day, I find out that Oil Boy got obviously hammered, and ditched his friends to try to find my house. Upon unsuccessfully finding where I live (thank God), he passed out on a bus stop bench, and got picked up by some random person (who I can only assume is "Todd" from my voicemail). According to Oil Boy, Todd wasn't that much of a saint because he ended up driving Oil Boy home and promptly held him up for money....which Oil Boy so innocently turned over $600 (allegedly, as told by the culprit himself.)
After all this, the dumbass has the audacity to try to smooth things over by inviting himself to my house to make an apology dinner.
Thank goodness he has not found my house to this day.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
"What We Have Here Is a Failure To Communicate."
THE OFFENSE: disorderly texting
THE CULPRIT: George R, The Texter. 24 year old male. Athletic, good looking, a little on the short side, otherwise lame.
THE INCIDENT: [Winter, 2007]
For those who know me (and a little trivia for those who don't), I only started drinking a few years ago when I went back to university. I had never been the kind of teenage girl who traipsed around town underage drinking, so by the time I reached my early twenties, I was ready to make up for lost time...(except the underage drinking part...because legal age is 18y in Alberta, so trying to accomplish that would have involved some sort of time/youth machine.)
I was out at the bar for my friend's 24th birthday party, sufficiently inebriated by the 3 coolers I'd downed one after another (which, again, for those who know me, is A LOT). It was a Girl Party, so we six hot young things were dancing the night away at what used to be The Stonehouse (the actual bar has since been reno'ed and turned into another, much less successful bar.) Having an eye for flirting, I scanned the room for potential eligible young men, when I ran into my roommate and his girlfriend with a bunch of their friends. After our drunken reunion (because, having not seen each other in 6 hours, we were thrilled to be in the same building again), my roommate's girlfriend (let's call her Sally) introduced me to the one single boy at the bar that night.
I'm going to finish the rest of this story in dialogue form, because my narrative writing skills are at a 3rd grade level, and I'm embarrassed to continue this way.
SATURDAY NIGHT:
Sally: This is George! He's single! George, this is--
Me: Angelina Jolie.
George: Then call me Brad.
Me: Thanks, I will.
Sally: You two should TOTALLY hook up!
George: [blathering on about something obviously not interesting enough for me to remember]
Me: Do you want my phone number. [yes, it was a statement. Not a question. It made sense at the time.]
George: well, if I call you will you answer?
Me: You have ten seconds to take down my number.
George: God damn, hand it over!
We exchange phone numbers and go our separate ways.
The next week, George texts me asking me out on a real date.
MONDAY: [texting]
G: Hey, it's G from the bar last weekend. Do you still want to link up or was that just a drunken rouse?
Me: It was a drunken rouse, but I'll give it a go nonetheless. How does Tuesday sound.
G: Tuesday sounds good. What do you want to do?
Me: How about we put you in charge. You make the gameplan. I'll be ready on Tuesday at 8pm.
G: er..ok...
TUESDAY: [texting]
G: Are we still on for tonight?
Me: yup. What's the gameplan, coach?
G: Um, well, I don't know. What do you want to do?
Me: I put the ball in your court so that you could knock it out of the park. What did you have in mind?
G: Maybe...a drink or two somewhere?
Me: Sounds good. Where?
G: Well what side of the city are you on?
Me: South. You?
G: North.
...*prolonged texting silence*...
Me: hello?
G: Sorry, I'm just trying to think of where we could go.
Me: How about somewhere downtown? It's a good middle ground isn't it?
G: Sure downtown sounds good.
Me: Anywhere in particular downtown that you like?
G: I don't know downtown very well...
Me: Do you know anywhere very well?
G: Well, where's good?
Me: (thinking, "For Eff's sake.") Let's just meet at Hudsons downtown at 8pm. It's on 112st and Stonyplain.
G: Oh that one. I forgot about that one. okay see you soon.
[By this time, we had been texting for an hour or two and 8pm was only 30 min away. So we met up, had a decent time, and agreed to go out again at a later date. Except the second date never happened. Instead, we were texting back and forth for a week or two before one of us (me) even broached the subject.
THE NEXT MONDAY: [texting]
Me: So are we going to link up again or does this daily texting satisfy you.
G: Considering you never answer my texts, I didn't think you'd be interested in 'linking up'
Me: Um... I always answer your texts. I might not see them till the next day because I HAVE A JOB but I always answer.
So I pick up my damn phone and actually call this loser to ream him out in person.
...except he doesn't pick up. But he does text me right away. And this texting goes on for days again, mostly around the fact that both of us were interested in going out again, but neither of us is committing to a day or time. In the end, I sent him one last text telling him he was cut from the team.
So knowing what I know now, this episode would definitely not have lasted that long (from start to end, the back and forth texting went on for probably three weeks or more.) Of course, I didn't know how AWESOME I was back then, and that nobody deserves to be jerked around by text messaging, ever. What I never understood is why someone would go out of his way to text me on a regular basis for weeks on end (most of that texting was initiated by him), but be afraid of actually putting the phone to his ear. What say yee, jury? What sentence does The Texter deserve?
THE CULPRIT: George R, The Texter. 24 year old male. Athletic, good looking, a little on the short side, otherwise lame.
THE INCIDENT: [Winter, 2007]
For those who know me (and a little trivia for those who don't), I only started drinking a few years ago when I went back to university. I had never been the kind of teenage girl who traipsed around town underage drinking, so by the time I reached my early twenties, I was ready to make up for lost time...(except the underage drinking part...because legal age is 18y in Alberta, so trying to accomplish that would have involved some sort of time/youth machine.)
I was out at the bar for my friend's 24th birthday party, sufficiently inebriated by the 3 coolers I'd downed one after another (which, again, for those who know me, is A LOT). It was a Girl Party, so we six hot young things were dancing the night away at what used to be The Stonehouse (the actual bar has since been reno'ed and turned into another, much less successful bar.) Having an eye for flirting, I scanned the room for potential eligible young men, when I ran into my roommate and his girlfriend with a bunch of their friends. After our drunken reunion (because, having not seen each other in 6 hours, we were thrilled to be in the same building again), my roommate's girlfriend (let's call her Sally) introduced me to the one single boy at the bar that night.
I'm going to finish the rest of this story in dialogue form, because my narrative writing skills are at a 3rd grade level, and I'm embarrassed to continue this way.
SATURDAY NIGHT:
Sally: This is George! He's single! George, this is--
Me: Angelina Jolie.
George: Then call me Brad.
Me: Thanks, I will.
Sally: You two should TOTALLY hook up!
George: [blathering on about something obviously not interesting enough for me to remember]
Me: Do you want my phone number. [yes, it was a statement. Not a question. It made sense at the time.]
George: well, if I call you will you answer?
Me: You have ten seconds to take down my number.
George: God damn, hand it over!
We exchange phone numbers and go our separate ways.
The next week, George texts me asking me out on a real date.
MONDAY: [texting]
G: Hey, it's G from the bar last weekend. Do you still want to link up or was that just a drunken rouse?
Me: It was a drunken rouse, but I'll give it a go nonetheless. How does Tuesday sound.
G: Tuesday sounds good. What do you want to do?
Me: How about we put you in charge. You make the gameplan. I'll be ready on Tuesday at 8pm.
G: er..ok...
TUESDAY: [texting]
G: Are we still on for tonight?
Me: yup. What's the gameplan, coach?
G: Um, well, I don't know. What do you want to do?
Me: I put the ball in your court so that you could knock it out of the park. What did you have in mind?
G: Maybe...a drink or two somewhere?
Me: Sounds good. Where?
G: Well what side of the city are you on?
Me: South. You?
G: North.
...*prolonged texting silence*...
Me: hello?
G: Sorry, I'm just trying to think of where we could go.
Me: How about somewhere downtown? It's a good middle ground isn't it?
G: Sure downtown sounds good.
Me: Anywhere in particular downtown that you like?
G: I don't know downtown very well...
Me: Do you know anywhere very well?
G: Well, where's good?
Me: (thinking, "For Eff's sake.") Let's just meet at Hudsons downtown at 8pm. It's on 112st and Stonyplain.
G: Oh that one. I forgot about that one. okay see you soon.
[By this time, we had been texting for an hour or two and 8pm was only 30 min away. So we met up, had a decent time, and agreed to go out again at a later date. Except the second date never happened. Instead, we were texting back and forth for a week or two before one of us (me) even broached the subject.
THE NEXT MONDAY: [texting]
Me: So are we going to link up again or does this daily texting satisfy you.
G: Considering you never answer my texts, I didn't think you'd be interested in 'linking up'
Me: Um... I always answer your texts. I might not see them till the next day because I HAVE A JOB but I always answer.
So I pick up my damn phone and actually call this loser to ream him out in person.
...except he doesn't pick up. But he does text me right away. And this texting goes on for days again, mostly around the fact that both of us were interested in going out again, but neither of us is committing to a day or time. In the end, I sent him one last text telling him he was cut from the team.
So knowing what I know now, this episode would definitely not have lasted that long (from start to end, the back and forth texting went on for probably three weeks or more.) Of course, I didn't know how AWESOME I was back then, and that nobody deserves to be jerked around by text messaging, ever. What I never understood is why someone would go out of his way to text me on a regular basis for weeks on end (most of that texting was initiated by him), but be afraid of actually putting the phone to his ear. What say yee, jury? What sentence does The Texter deserve?
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Welcome to The Ex Court.
Welcome to The Ex Court, a blog following the misadventures of an avid dater. This is a place where dating crimes will be recounted and judged. They will be presented according to the misdemeanors involved, and the perpetrators will be sentenced accordingly by YOU, the jury.
Stay tuned...and get your gavels ready.
Stay tuned...and get your gavels ready.
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