Ole'!

I should clarify some things about L*%$#%, my shaggy-haired stalker. 

 

1)       By older man, Brittany means that he was a sophomore while I was a lowly freshman.  In the world of an 18-year-old, someone who is that much closer to being able to legally buy beer is an Older Man. 

2)       He was, in all senses of the word, a total and complete rebound.  I had just finished a ridiculous relationship with Kevin, Man Of The Facial Hair, who had decided to move.  I know.  Moving.  That’s almost akin to maiming small woodland creatures in the presence of children.  THE PROBLEM would be that he moved.  And forgot to tell me.  I’m mentally slapping my leg now in my fit of hysterical laughter.  Because that shit is fun-neee.  Kevin was quickly followed by Hunter who is now infamous for the following phrase: “Come back when the white van is gone.”  The white van being his druglord, obviously.  Oh, and those strange smells in the back garage?  THAT WOULD BE METH.  But did I know? Of course not.  I’d grown up in Small Town Southern Middle Class Suburbia where throwing back a 30-pack was way more hardcore than snorting a line of coke.  Then L^$#% showed up with his shaggy hair and soft-spoken demeanor and twenty page papers on the Euthanization of the Mentally Diseased and my heart, it went pitter patter. 

3)       Brittany was right, I was passive aggressive about this guy for about a three week span.  But never fear, my normal cynical and obnoxious nature got it’s chance to shine one evening following the letter Brittany and Emily so lovingly composed. I was lounging in bed that night with all the lights off and the windows open.  It was one of those rare fall nights that weren’t terribly cold or terribly sultry and the breeze was unbelievably soothing.  I should probably try to explain why I like lounging in bed with the lights off but that would take too much damn time and I’m not in the mood.  I was contemplating the nature of toenails when I heard a rustle outside in the holly bushes… a sound I knew as L&^%% wiggling his way between the hedges.  So I calmly picked up my phone and quietly punched in the number to the front desk where Emily, the RA, was stationed for the evening.  I whispered the code phrase “The goose has landed” and placed the phone back in its cradle.  No less than 45 seconds later and I hear our favorite Campus Cop, Hollywood (dubbed so in a tongue-in-cheek homage to his C-movie star looks and fubar teeth), crashing around the side of the building waiving his big Campus Cop-issue stick in the air.  L*#$% takes off at full speed as Hollywood screams all manner of obscenity, finally giving out the chase at the end of the parking lot.  Notso strangely, I was never bothered again.

4)       Brittany forgot to mention the most important part of this story: Halloween was a few weeks after our, um, breakup and in a stunning display of utter scariness, L*$%& showed up in head-to-toe black spandex, a yellow tutu and a gold and black furry antenna.   After viewing what can only be described as the world’s most revealing Halloween costume, a male friend of ours remarked, “Ya know, if I were him, I woulda at least stuffed a sock in there.  Does he know he looks like a 12-year-old girl down under?”