I am sitting in my room with the door shut watching Veronica Mars when I hear a knock on my door.
Sr. Loco: Uh, [Lady Susan]? (said in the creepy, slightly stalkerish Sr. Loco voice which is currently being patented by freakyvoices.com)
Sr. loco opens the door.
Sr. Loco: Don’t make dinner tomorrow night.
Me: Why not?
Sr. Loco: I am going to cook dinner: pork tenderloin roast and a mystery side (mystery side indeed. Everything he makes is a mystery even when I know the intended finished product).
[O.k. brief explanation here. I am a co-owner of a BJ’s membership. Sr. Loco knows this and has been pestering me forever to let him come with me on my next trip so that he can buy obscene amounts of meat at cheap discount prices. A few days before this conversation, I broke down and took him with me. He then proceeded to buy $40 dollars worth of meat, enough to feed him for about a year. I mentioned this to him while we were at the store. He replied, “don’t worry, I will share with you.” At which point I countered with extreme sincerity “no thanks.”]
Me: I already had plans for dinner. I have food that I need to use up.
Sr. Loco: Wait a day.
There are so many things wrong with this exchange. Let’s point out a couple shall we?
1) He invaded The Sanctuary. I have been trying to keep to my room to avoid contact with Sr. Loco. The idea being that if I avoid his company, he can’t ask me out. Note to self: a closed door is no prohibition to stalker Sr. Loco.
2) He phrased his invite in the form of an order. Anyone who knows me well knows that I do not respond well to orders. I wrote my Mom a letter telling her that if she wanted me to do chores, she needed to ask me to do them, not tell me. Yeah…..I still have that letter. Priceless. My initial reaction when given an order is to say no. I don’t care what the order is; I will refuse to act on principle. Twice he told me what to do. Not smart buddy unless you want the heel of my hand connecting with your nose.
Due to this and previous incidents, I, and everyone enjoying these Sr. Loco exchanges (including my office mates) have reached the inevitable conclusion that Sr. Loco fancies me. This should not come as a surprise to me as I have decided that I am magnet for social pariahs.
Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at my history.
4th grade: I sat next to the class oddity. My memory is slightly fuzzy but I remember him being perhaps a bit slow and possessing bad penmanship. However, as I sat next to him, I went through the effort of being nice to him. We joked, etc. Imagine my astonishment when I received a missive asking me to be his girlfriend---my first (and only????) love letter. I acted as anyone presented with the preposterous. I declined, graciously, and he was hurt.
5th grade: A secret admirer was leaving “I love you” messages in the gravel in front of my house. At first I thought it was a joke by my best friend. However, she insisted that she didn’t write it. Then one day as I was getting ready for dance class the door bell rang. My mom came up to tell me that “someone” was at the door. That “someone” was Alan, the class freak, the socially awkward person in class that my mom insisted I be nice to. Unfortunately for Alan, not only was he socially awkward, he also had these unpleasant warts all over his hands. I came to the door to find Alan standing there dressed to impress. He had slicked down his hair with water and a comb and had a bunch of flowers scavenged from local gardens in his hand. My mom thought it was sweet. I thought it was a curse.
I won’t detail all of them but others include Brian, the pudgy band member in high school, a very sick (mentally) 50+ year old Ukrainian, a red-haired dude in Pasadena who assaulted (ie incessant peppering of awkward questions) me on first glance, and now Sr. Loco, the slightly stalkerish housemate.
I ask myself why. Why do I attract this type of men? Why can’t I attract decent, straight-thinking, socially well-adjusted men? And all the men I fancy? Rejection. Yup, not one of my crushes has ever been received favorably: Justin Bradley, Brandon Stephens, Gabe Bray, my distantly related cousin’s brother, concert pianist in Pasadena. And I can’t help but wonder if they view me as I view Alan, Brian, and the like. Do they see me as a social pariah?
However, I will allow myself to hope. I will hope that there is a Gilbert out there just for me--someone whom I can sit across the dinner table from and not be seized with the desire to run away screaming and/or crying. Otherwise, I will find myself plummeting into the depths of despair that not even plum puffs with cure.
* One of my favorite lines of lyric. You can find it in Cake’s Love You Madly.