Fly Paper

I should be in bed at this point, but after checking my phone...I had to write this now.

Fly paper...catches flies. But, you always end up with a mosquito.

I decided to go out in town this weekend. One-to meet up with my friend Angie who was in town. And, two-the golf tournament was this weekend and it usually brings a crowd out at the bars. (I know, I know...why are you still trying to meet people in bars? I'm not...I just decided to go out and socialize.) And I did meet someone. Many people. Between two...which one do you think is the crazy one?

38 year old man who buys and sells golf courses related to (semi) famous baseball player

or

25 year old, tattooed horror film make-up artist/artist with this web site?

If you picked choice #2...you'd be dead wrong (no pun intended.) Jay, you'll probably like this site...good art work.

It just shows....you can't judge a book by it's cover.

As I'm out I'm introduced to golf guy I think...eh, he's alright. A little old and not really my type, but I'm not looking to take anyone home. (And he's buying me drinks...so I'll keep talking, right?) I introduce myself to "old guy" next to me and tattoo guy sitting next to him because tattoo guy is wearing a cool bracelet. In conversation I find out where golf guy lives and in his constant name dropping conversation mentions a name of a family. While talking to old guy, he mentions the same family. I tell old guy to talk to golf guy because he lives near this family and b-line to the bathroom. As I come back, golf guy corners me in the hallway...
"Don't tell anyone where I live, okay?!"
"Whoa, buddy...take it easy. Whatever?" and I walk away. I go back into the bar and tell Angie I've just been chastised by golf guy for mentioning where he lives. Hello?? Not like we live in NYC where there are millions of people? Someone probably knows where you live. Anyway...golf guy comes back in and apolgizes for saying that to me, but apparently his parents catch a lot of crap for their (semi) famous other son. I tell him "sorry" but no need to chastise me and if he has a problem with that, DON'T give out your address and/or if you do, don't be so fucking vague and tell that person to keep it under wraps. (It's not like he's Brad Pitt's brother...Christ!) Anyway...I'm annoyed and talk to tattoo guy and b-s the rest of the night with golf guy becoming annoyed that I'm talking to other people. (hello, psycho?) Golf guy continues to try to impress me with name dropping, talking about how much money he makes and referencing (semi) famous brother. So I tell him that "I'm not impressed by how much you make-I have my own money (ha...kinda.) Are you bitter about your brother because you seem to be harbouring a bit of animosity towards him? and Does he still even play? *cough* washed up *cough*
He mills back and forth from the bar. Angie leaves. I'm left with the bartender leaning over telling me that "that guy is weird!" and "Don't leave by yourself. We'll have someone walk you out." Great...now I've managed to pick up jobless people, losers, assholes...but this is the first for a psycho. So tattoo guy offers to walk me out by giving me disclaimer that "I'm not some crazy guy, okay?" Somehow...I believe him. So tattoo guy walks me out and as we turn around we see golf guy peering across the other parking lot across the street. I hop in tattoo guy's car and he drives me to mine. Thanks tattoo guy...I owe ya one.

Now....this is my fault. Prior to all the psychoness, I gave golf guy my phone number. (I know, I know...but I'm trying to get back into dating, people!) Though I did give him my famous disclaimer of "I may not answer. No, I don't want your number because I don't call people. If I don't feel like talking to you tomorrow, I simply won't answer. I'm fickle and that's how it is." So golf guy calls...this morning...at 9:00. Um, hello? Don't you know the 3-day rule? Every other asshole does! (psycho tendency #2)
He then leaves a message....long message. Too long for even my best friend to leave. "This is "golf guy" a friend of blah, blah. We met last night. I'm a little concerned because you did a little disappearing act on me (get the hint Crazy) and I'm just hoping you're okay."

You would think he'd stop there....You'd think.

"I'm hoping you got home okay. This is "golf guy." "Golf guy" (psycho tendency #3 repeating name) Give me a call at 888-888-8888. That's 888-888-8888. (repeater) I'm really concerned.

You would think he'd stop maybe here...You'd think.

"I'm on my way to get some more CASH out. (Oh - no - he - di'nt) Then I'm heading to the coffee shop to get some iced tea because I don't drink coffee, ya know. Then I'm heading up to the golf tournament on this beautiful Sunday. Please give me a call. I look forward to hearing from you. PLEASE call me. PLEASE."

What the fuck? Are you kidding me? So I saved the message (to let all my friends listen.) And, I saved his number and labeled it "Crazy" so I would know if he called again. And he did. Tonight at 10:12 to be exact. Then I get a text from Angie. "That guy...calling (her friend blah, blah.) I'll explain tomorrow." Jesus. Aren't there any normal people out there? I think I'm going back to my boxed wine, SATC DVDs and pj pants.

Like I said...you can catch a lot of flies with fly paper, but you always end up with a mosquito on there as well.