While I love writing about boys and all the adventures they bring to my life, I haven’t written about any frisky bedroom escapades in quite a while. About two years, to be exact. And those are all password protected now. (HI COWORKERS! HI MOM!)
But there’s this one story I keep forgetting to tell. In fact, I keep forgetting it happened at all until I remember and crack up and think to myself, “I have GOT to write that down!” The premise of the story is the hookup, but as you’ll see, sexy-times are so not the point here.
It was fall of 2010, the peak of my drunken-low-standards phase. Making good life decisions was just not something I was interested in doing for a while.
I met this guy through a friend, as it happens when you’re not making good life decisions, ended up back at his apartment that night. Some more-than-G-rated things are happening and it’s all good fun, but his phone just kept buzzing. And buzzing. And buzzing.
“Um, do you need to get that?” I asked.
“Nah, it’s just my psycho ex girlfriend.”
As he turned off his phone, a horrifying thought occurred to me. “Does she know she’s your ex?” I asked, ready to cut and run. (I wasn’t making such bad life decisions that I was ok with hooking up with guys already in relationships.)
He laughed it off and said of course she does, that they broke up six months ago, and that she’s just seriously crazy and still totally in love with him.
At this point, the mood for doing fun things in varying levels of clothing was kind of awkwardly just not there anymore, so we lay back to go to sleep … when his buzzer rings. The buzzer you buzz to be let into the apartment.
We both bolt upright and I demand an explanation.
“I thought she might do that,” he sighs. The fact that he wasn’t in total shock that this girl would appear at his doorstep in the middle of the night is mind boggling to me. (Did I mention it was a Sunday?)
His apartment buzzer buzzes for about ten minutes – TEN! MINUTES! – until he finally DISCONNECTS IT FROM THE WALL.
But this nutjob of a psychotic girl is not to be deterred. She begins buzzing his neighbor. We can hear it through the walls and it’s awkward because it’s legitimately 3am at this point.
Finally, the buzzing stops. We breath sighs of relief and close our eyes. Except then there’s a pounding on the door.
(Seriously, I swear this is all true. I think this is why I forget it happened, though, because it all seems so freaking unreal.)
Anyway, so there I am, in this guy’s bed, with his (supposed) ex-girlfriend literally pounding on his door, crying his name (like sobbing-crying, but also yelling-crying), and generally disturbing every ounce of my being.
Just as this gent turned his phone on to call the cops (as well as see a total of 47 text messages from this chick), she gave up and went home. Or passed out in the hallway, but at least she was gone in the morning.
This is why guys think girls are crazy.
Because some of them are.