Office Stalker Quotes of the Day - Weekly Wrap Up

Monday
Am I ever going to see your boobs?!

I love anal. I bet I could make you love anal too.

Tuesday
You know, you just have to say the word, and you could be having sex with ME in three minutes.

Come on, just give me a little peek….

Wanna touch my muscle? Come on, touch it.

Wednesday
You know, I actually feel really really sorry for you that you'll never experience the mind-blowing, life altering sex you could have with me. But I guess I HAVE to believe you when you say you're in love with someone else.

Thursday
This girl I went out with sent me a text. She's really into me, but I'm just not interested, so I told her I'm in dating mode and not relationship mode. She became VERY upset. Doing the right thing is so hard. Women misinterpret my charm and warmth etc (stuff I can't write in an email …) they fall for me. I feel awful about it.

Friday
Just one boob? How about only the nipple?

Chag Same'ach - Or - Where can I hide out until this is all over

It's that time of year again. It's the Jewish Holiday Season. Replete with all the familiar and endearing family dysfunction it brings.

It used to be that celebrating Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, was about family, new beginnings and resolutions, plans for an even better and more fulfilling life.

At some point all the spiritual meaning behind the holiday was replaced with something considered far more important: My ability to land a husband.

The new focus of the holiday was on what to wear to Temple, which Temple service to attend, to make sure to go to the one where all the young people are, and not to forget to make hair and nail appointments prior.

A holiday meant to bring a fresh start, to help us grow as people, to force us to reflect on who we were and who we want to become, had turned into an auction. Temple was no longer a place for prayer and communing with god, it was a place where prime grade A beef was for sale to the highest bidder. And I was the cow. Actually, not just me, but all of my female friends. We were a herd.

Now, I haven't been to Temple since I got married and never went after my divorce. But my mother is on a kick to get me back there. She thinks I might meet someone. I keep telling her I have someone. She says he doesn't count, because he's so far away. I told her that I'm moving there soon. She told me that as long as I'm not there yet, everything is fair game. Including meeting someone HERE, in Temple.

I can't argue with Jewish Mother Logic. And I've never even met anyone at Temple. Never. Not once. Why my mother thinks a miracle will happen this year, I don't know.

I'll outmaneuver her. There's so much fresh meat on the market right now, that parading old, used cow will only be humiliating. And anyway, someone's already bought this cow, he's just waiting for shipment.

I only think I live alone

So there was an insect in my bedroom last night. Not a regular bug. Not a little baby bug that you could confuse with a piece of lint, until it starts to move. No. Not like that.

More like a bug that survived Chernobyl. It might have been smoking a cigarette and flipping channels from my bed when I walked in. Something that size owes me rent.

Now, I'm not afraid of mice, or snakes, or rats, or lizards or anything of that type. But I am deathly afraid of insects.

And, I don't kill bugs. First, because I'm afraid to get close enough to do the killing. Who knows, it might jump onto my face, crawl up my nose, and embed itself in my brain, laying eggs and having dinner parties. Second, because I try to avoid the crunch they make when you kill them. Third, because I'm not a fan of the carnage-clean-up. Bug body parts could go everywhere, legs, antennae, a wing or something equally ridiculous could end up inside one of my shoes. Just the IDEA of that makes my head hurt.

Since I live alone, I had to devise a way to deal with this. So, my brilliant McGyver mind has come up with the most genius of plans. I TRAP the bug under a bowl. Preferably clear tupperwear. Hopefully tossing with aim accurate enough from four feet away to land right on top of it. And then, I just wait until it starves to death. I'll leave that bowl there for weeks if I have to. I don't care.

Now I say clear tupperwear because there have been times when I've trapped a bug under something opaque, and when, three weeks later I went to remove the bowl and the carcass, I found nothing NOTHING underneath. Oh. My. God. That just means it's waiting somewhere in a dark recess of my apartment to do the crawl up my nose, eggs, dinner party thing.

I know it sounds cruel to starve an insect to death, especially an insect whose size requires it travel with a valid passport, but then, it's also cruel to stab it with my stiletto. And really, why get bug insides on my pretty stilettos? So now, I have a pet. A pet on death row. I think I'll call him Stanley.

Technology IS your friend

My office stalker was really mad the other day because his date cancelled on him the day of, via email. He got all persnickety and sent her a nasty-gram because he felt he had to "stand up" for himself against her "rude behavior. She should have at least had the courtesy to call."

They had only been on one date and she wasn't canceling for some esoteric, non-informative (i.e., she found something better to do) reason. She just had to work late.

I told him to stop getting his panties in a bunch, he was acting like a Sheila, especially since he was dating three other women. She doesn't owe him anything after one date. He was just bent because he spent $100 to try and impress her.

If it's perfectly ok to set up a date via email (which it is), then it's perfectly ok to cancel via email. People break dates all the time that way. Hell, people actually break-up using text messages. "things rnt wrkn out good luck." "ur not 4 me, peace."

People aren't brave. We're a bunch of candy-ass pansies. If I can avoid talking to a person about breaking a date, OF COURSE I'm going to use whatever other means I have. I don't want to hear disappointment, I don't want to open myself up to questions, or have him try and persuade me to go out, or even worse, deal with criticism or abuse he might hurl my way.

I once called a guy to break a date the day before. His head almost exploded. "I can't believe you would behave this way. How could you be so rude to break a date the day before we're supposed to go out. Shame on you."

I was like, dude, put down the crack pipe. WE'VE NEVER EVEN MET.

You + expectations ≠ reasonable.

I've even gone so far as to blatantly ignore calls from guys I went out with that are calling for another date. Instead, I send a simple, "It was nice meeting you, but I don't think we're a good match" fuck-off email. I don't want to answer that phone. I don't have the balls to tell a guy I don't want to see him again to his face, or ear, as it were.

Men don't have to deal with this. If they go out with a girl they don't want to see again, they just don't call. So simple. It's us girls that have to do the 'let him down easy if he's interested' chiki-chiki boom avoidance dance.

I would never dream of saying something to a guy who breaks a date with me, besides, "Okay, not a problem." There's no chance I'm going to go out of my way to send him a nasty-gram, or call him and show him I'm upset. That's the kind of humiliation you reserve for when alcohol and heavy narcotics can be blamed. I don't understand people, like my office stalker, who feel it's within their right to be rude or nasty because of the means or timing someone used to break a date. Have some pride, man.

Once, a guy I really liked broke our second date half an hour before we were supposed to meet. Exactly one hour after I just spent tons of money on a new outfit. He never called me again. Two days later I saw him arm-in-arm with another woman walking down the street.

I never said anything to him about his mode of date-break. Anything I could have said wouldn't have made him feel bad, and would have only served to make me look desperate and somewhat mentally unstable. And if I wanted him to know I was mentally unstable, I would just cut to the chase and show him my blog.

Rejection is one thing. But sending nasty emails, or text messages or calling the person and bawling them out because they cancel a date in a way you don't like, only reaffirms their initial conclusion that you are not someone they want to go out with. You can’t force people to behave the way you want. And trying to impress your ideas of proper behavior on someone else only stinks of improper behavior on your part anyway.

Of course, my office stalker doesn't get this. In order to make himself feel better after he sent her the nasty-gram and left the how-dare-you-phone-message, he came into my office and asked me to sit on his lap. And call him Daddy. Clearly his indignation at being treated improperly is teaching him fundamental life lessons.

Evolution

So, my office stalker and I are slowly but surely leaving the harassing, oh my god I need a shower after what he just said relationship and are entering much friendlier ground.

At first, when I told him I'm in a relationship, he really didn't seem to care and couldn't understand how I wasn't feeling this "connection" between us. He kept trying to convince me that something is "there" and I'm just too shy to admit my true feelings.

He would also try to stand uncomfortably close to me, with the obvious purpose of having some part of his body touch some part of my body, but still pretend that it was an accident.

So I basically told him that if the world were flooded in urine, and he was the last person alive hanging on to the last standing tree, I wouldn't touch him in order to save myself from drowning. He's slowly getting it.

The thing is, he doesn't really want me. He just wants what he wants, and he's peeved he's not getting immediate satisfaction. He's currently dating at least four women and meets new women everyday (internet dating sites - not like shooting fish in a barrel, more like nuking fish in a barrel).

He tells me stories about the girls he meets and dates. I know he's not lying because everything sounds suspiciously similar to my own painful internet dating experiences, except this time, I'm seeing it from the male perspective. Which, I must say, is information I really could have used WHEN I WAS GETTING PLAYED.

Once in a while, in the middle of his date rotation recap of women for the weekend, "Stacy on Friday at 8, Judy at 10, Melanie on Saturday for coffee, Jessica for dinner, and a brunch with Amy on Sunday....." he'll stop, and look at me intently, and exclaim, "How can you possibly not want me?"

To which I can only respond, "I don't know, but you're getting harder and harder to resist."

Enlightenment

We all have a mental checklist of what we want in a partner. The problem is, when we actually find that person, they don't necessarily fit into that checklist.

I had a really great friend in law school. She was a fantastic girl, very bright, very fun, very cool. She was also, by self-admission, not a very "nice" girl. She had a baby at 16 that she gave up for adoption, and had some loose morals about sex. To the point where most of our male friends likened an experience with her to tossing a hot dog down a hallway, or giving a whale a tic-tac. You get my drift.

She ended up getting married to a devout Christian man, who at the age of 26 or 27 was a virgin until their wedding night. Who would have thought that the girl "who might as well charge for it" would marry a virgin.

That's the problem. God has a sicker sense of humor than any of us. I wouldn't date a man who lived in New Jersey because I considered him locationally challenged. Well, hardy fucking har har, I manage to find someone ON A DIFFERENT CONTINENT. And not only that, but my list, you know the one where he has to be Jewish, and older, and fit perfectly with my family?

Yeah, not so much. Why do I even bother. My guy might as well be a fucking alien at this point, he's so far away from my list. I didn't know I lived in Demento World, but I should have.

But I'm still very lucky to find him. Well, actually, I'm not sure there's anyone left for me to date....

But in all honesty, sometimes, the criteria we use to find happiness are the very things that actually keep us from finding happiness. So I'm trying to learn to readjust my vision, and who knows? This relationship might last five minutes longer than my marriage. A whole six minutes people!!!! That's progress.

Things even your best friend shouldn't know about you

I know that if I ever lost my ipod, I would be too ashamed to ever try and get it back.

Because the person who found it would know I not only listen to Air Supply, Wham, Bon Jovi and Neil Diamond, but I also might have a song OR FIVE by Barry Manilow.

I may not admit this to people who actually know me, but Barry ROCKS!!!!