I didn’t mention that I slept at BoyFace’s house on Monday night. I have to stop reading too much into this. He’s busy and I’m being a freak but I said my part about what the hell is going on and he said his about school being nuts for another week and well, there you have it. Spent all night talking again. Yes! Talking! No details you fuckers because I like him and details aren’t funny when you really like someone. Now, on to details about people I don’t like.
The Hungarian called me today. He said that I’d been wavering up until this point but it seems that now I am showing no interest in him so he’s going to stop bothering me. Great. What? I didn’t realize I was being duplicitous. Or perhaps it’s just another case of men only hearing what they want to hear. In either case, I think this chapter is closed.
I have got to figure out how to get out of this dating service from Hell. Damn my brother and sister-in-law. They thought this would be so fun. So did I. In case I haven’t covered this, and I don’t think I have, my sister-in-law got me into this crazy It’s Just Lunch thing. She was going to give it to our other brother for Christmas but we told her not to because he would never go and he has a girlfriend anyway. The pretense of this is that you have these lunch dates with people. The reality is that it’s a fucking nightmare. And it lapsed for so long that I forgot about it, but then they just loaded me up with three dates in one week. Fine by me, I want out of this thing. But apparently you can’t get out. It’s like the Hotel California, hence today’s title. You can’t get any money back, you can’t transfer, you can’t do squat.
Friday they set me up with the Lawyer guy. Yesterday they set me up with the GreekFreak, who came all the way from Baltimore and had a few screws loose. He was probably twice my age (so, 44) and he was making me uncomfortable. When he ordered his food he was like Sally in “When Harry Met Sally” asking for everything dry and on the side. The waiter was like, “Ok, ok” and didn’t seem fazed by this. But then the guy calls the waiter a name like, “Fucker” under his breath when the waiter walked away. He says to me, “I’m really very low maintenance.” Yeah, sure. Then, he started talking about strippers and lap dances and I’m like, “What? Where am I?” This dude had his foot in his mouth so far that I could only see his kneecap. Then he told me he just moved out of his parents house but that he still goes there every night for dinner. DUDE!! You are like 45 years old, what the FUCK are you doing?? I should have been like, “That’s great. Did I tell you about my latest yeast infection?”
The funniest part of this whole event was that damn Sara and another friend of ours came to the restaurant where I was, sat at the bar, and sent me text messages the whole time. The unfunny part is that they told EVERYONE at the bar what was going on and so when I took a break to feed the meter, I crawled by the bar where The Greek Freak wouldn’t see so I could talk to the girls. Everyone at that bar was staring at me. I used to lead a drama free life. Le Sigh.
I called the fuckers at It’s Just Lunch, HELL Division, and said, “Look, can I transfer this thing to someone else?” They said no. I asked what my other options were. There are none. I hate them. I don’t know what to do. I really don’t want to bother with anyone but BoyFace right now. I’m bad at multi-tasking. If it doesn’t work with him and I have to go back to the drawing board, then so be it. Hopefully they will leave me alone for a while. I’m more than a third of the way through my obligation with them. I suppose I could always tell them to fuck off, to stop setting me up and to keep their money. And I’m sure they would be glad to do that. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time someone said that to them.