Partying with my brother and his friends has died off pretty significantly.
A) Because it makes me feel like I'm 123 years old.
B) Because my brother is cutting back secondary to "The Wife"
C) Because I can't deal with the idiots that show up to these things anymore.
One idiot in particular.
We'll call him Ian.
Ian is a 36 yr old, single father who works as a nurse at one of the area hospitals.
Why Ian is hanging out with 21-24 year old nursing students is beyond me, but it's not as though I can say too much.
Hey pot, this is kettle, you're black.
Ian thinks he's God's gift to women. Ian is greatly mistaken.
It's not a lack of attractiveness, though - to be honest - I don't find him attractive, in the least.
It's his personality. He's comes on EXTREMELY strong. And by extremely, I mean that where most people would use a simple fly-swatter to kill a mosquito, Ian would locate the nearest arsenal, procure a bazooka and several missles, don camoflauge and go in for the kill.
To add insult to injury, Ian is also my neighbor. A fact that I wish I hadn't learned. I had seen him, infrequently, at the pool, but he had maintained his distance. Possibly because he had his son in tow. Possibly because I was constantly surrounded by younger men. Possibly because I had THAT look on my face. The one that Casper told me I had all summer whenever any guy looked in my direction. Apparently it's a mixture of "Who the hell do you think you are?" and "Do I look remotely interested?"
Well, at my brother's last gathering, Ian decided to bring his "neighbor" status to my attention. "Hey, did you know that I live two houses down from you?" Now, I'd not previously paid a lot of attention to Ian when he was in my presence. But knowing that he was acquianted with my brother and apparently friends with some of the other guys, I assumed he was a good (to be read NORMAL) type of guy. Not knowing any better, I did my best to be polite and friendly.
"You don't say. Which direction?"
"Kinda caddy-corner from you. I can see your front yard from my living room windows." This odd statement was followed with a semi-creepy wink.
"Well, that's cool." (yes, I realize that wasn't the best comeback, but seriously - what do you say?)
Apparently, though, "that's cool" is enough of an encouragement for Ian.
He sat down at the empty spot beside me on the couch and put his hand on my knee.
Again, trying not to offend, I just shifted uncomfortably and muttered something about needing to retrieve my cell phone from the kitchen counter.
He got up and followed me into the kitchen.
"So, do you have a dog?"
"Ummm, yes, but she lives here with my brother because he has a fence and I hate chaining her up."
"Oh, okay, well, do you have a cat?"
"Ummm, no. Why do you ask?"
Brace yourself, because here's where the conversation takes a turn into La-la-land.
"I just wondered if you had any pets or anything that you walked around the neighborhood so I could see more of you."
"Do ya know a lot of people that walk their cats?" I readily admit that I expressed this question with a heavy accent of sarcasm and a raised eyebrow look that conveyed my horror at the thought.
Instead of being offended, which would have been my first inclination, he giggled like a school girl and exclaimed, "That's a good one! Walk their cats!"
This man has people's lives in his hands. (shudder)
I roll my eyes in his general direction and begin to textmail my boyfriend. Anything to make it evident that I'm not interested in continuing this conversation. But Ian's not done wowing us with his prowess.
Mike puts a country CD in and a few of the diehards start singing, loudly, to Hank Williams, Jr.
Ian looks at me and says, "Hey, do you have some boots?" Not looking up from my textmailing endeavors I quip "Steel-toed boots, fuck-me boots, cowgirl boots? You're gonna have to be a touch more specific." He, again, laughs that scoff manly laugh and says "Cowgirl boots." I look up and give my best "Go A-WAY" look and ask "Why?" "Because you look like a city girl. I wanted to know if you had some country in ya." Pardon my confusion here, but what the buddha does that matter? Yet, instead of yelling this at him, I just say "Why?" again. "Cause I like girls that can do a little two-stepping from time to time." He then takes my cell phone from my hand and puts it on the counter before grabbing at my hands to attempt to lead me around the dining area in some epileptic version of a Texas two-step. YIKES!
Before we continue, allow me to remind you: He's a single father.
This means at least one woman out there had the unfortunate mental INcapability to sleep with him.
A brief moment of prayer for this woman would be greatly appreciated, for it is evident that she has suffered immensely in this life.
But I digress.
After the dancing/seizure activity, Ian continues to woo me.
"So, we should like go out sometime and get something to eat. Or do you cook?"
I'd had enough of being polite (or as polite as I could be) and decided to be blunt.
"Look. I have a boyfriend." Whatever I intended this statement to do, it failed miserably. Ian was not, in the least bit, fazed. He looked to my phone on the counter and said, "Is that a picture phone?" My patience wearing transparently thin, I answered, "Of course. Aren't they all these days?" Unaffected, he comes back with, "Well, then show me his picture."
Needless to say, I did a double take. Do what? Huh?
"I don't have a picture of him on the phone." He broke into this jack-o-lantern grin and said, "Well, then you don't have a boyfriend. If you had a boyfriend, you'd have a picture of him. All girls have pictures of their boyfriend."
Really, now. All girls have pictures of their boyfriends. Go figure.
My disdain has become palpable and I parry with "Umm, maybe hanging up on my locker door when I was in 8th grade, but grown women don't keep pictures of their boyfriends on them. Sorry to disappoint you." And there's the grin again. "It's okay. You can just tell me you don't have a boyfriend."
ARGH!!! I call my brother and "The Wife" over to verify my boyfriend's existence and even threaten to call said boyfriend to let Ian speak with him. Ian shakes his head in mock disbelief and then says, "Well, you can't be that happy with him if you're here instead of with him, so I know I've got a chance."
Seriously? No. Seriously.
That was my cue to exit. Stick a fork in me, I was done.
But the battle is far from over.
Ian periodically drives by my house and honks, attempts to stop and chat if I'm unfortunate enough to be gathering my mail and even tries to pull me over when he finds himself behind me in the neighborhood.
Carolyn, my immediate next door neighbor, tells me that she sees him ring my doorbell occassionally during the day.
I'm convinced the only thing that's saving me is that he works nights. But even so, it doesn't stop me from closing my garage door the second after I drive inside it. Perhaps if he never sees my vehicle there, he will assume I spend every evening at my boyfriend's - instead of just being a 26-yr old trapped within her own home.