Sunday, December 09, 2012

Am I Really This Irresistible?

Turns out the best time for someone to try to wrest their way into your apartment, from the perspective of the lady of said apartment, is PMS time. Plan fail.

Of course, there really was no plan on the part of these two men at all; they just kept turning the doorknob even though the door was clearly locked, without, say, buzzing the intercom, ringing the conveniently located and easy-to-see doorbell, or knocking on the door first. No, just bum rush a person's home, then laugh at them when they get all pissed. I called the super, one stop before calling the police (who may or may not have been helpful; for me, that's been a 50-50 split overall) and turns out they were supposed to be painting two doors over. Though I don't buy the more maudlin overstatements about PMS, it did give me an edge in ensuring I was fully assertive in this case. It's bad when you have to yell-explain a concept like not grabbing strangers' doorknobs and trying to force one's way into their homes like it's at all normal. What if I was some crazy biker guy or something, someone inclined to (understandably) go for a knife or a gun in response to the horror movie image of your doorknob moving around inside?

I've had a handful, at least, of such incidents and it's a little creepy, a little zombie-like that no matter how unethused you are about, say, your current dating experiences, there will be dudes trying to get in your house without so much as sending an IM first if you (here's that dreaded phrase, gasp!) live alone.

One worker dude climbed through the window of a house I was living in once; he rang the doorbell, but I was getting dressed in my bedroom so didn't go racing to answer, considering he wasn't supposed to be doing any work inside my apartment, ahem, but painting the outside of the house, apparently leading him to decide, "Hey, I'll just jimmy the living room window all the way open and climb right in." When I say, to vent, that men are crazy, I am not being a hater.

I've been followed into the bathroom by a guy hitting on me. I remember being bewildered; he was otherwise normal -- smart, seemingly sane, good looking, like tall, blonde, and good-looking good-looking, and yet he couldn't at least just wait outside?

That reminds me of this friend I probably shouldn't have dated, though it was enjoyable while it lasted; it's just that we might still be friends today if we hadn't and we were pretty different about what we wanted dating-wise. And I handled it badly, leaving to go back to grad school, which I was going to do anyway, granted, but leaving abruptly.

A few years later, he showed up as a student in one of the classes I was teaching, though he wasn't registered for the section and it was blessedly full. It could have been a coincidence since adjuncts don't get their names listed in bulletins (and: karma). Though, and maybe this was partially guilt talking, I felt I couldn't have ethically denied him entry, I felt pretty sure someone in the department could have spared me the added weirdness of teaching him if the section wasn't full. On the silver sliver side, he's very smart, so there could've at least been some good deba--er, discussions. The waiting-outside part comes in later, when I would see him hanging in the outdoor balcony-hallway after class and the resulting conversations would be strange, strained, like he thought I did it on purpose.

I guess you could say I'm in demand man-wise if you see the latter as...romantic pursuit. I don't; I alternate between seeing it as scary and hilarious.

The best relationships I've had were friendships at their core; at the very least, you can laugh at shit like the above together.

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