The Office Mate and I were doing our Forced Fitness this afternoon and as we were walking around the track, I told her I needed to come up with a good nickname for the stalkery histrionic narcissistic attention whore girl I have known since probably the 7th or 8th grade. We tossed about several names and just couldn’t come up with anything until the Office Mate suggested “man-eater.” Immediately, I yelled out (yep, people love me at the gym!) “Man-Skeeter! You can swat at her as much as you want but she never goes away!” (P.S. When I told my mom the name, she misunderstood me and thought I said Man-Peter. “I really would prefer you don’t use such a sexual term.” This is where cell phones and conversations with my parents just don’t mix.)
[I love Charlie the Unicorn almost as much as I love the leapy little goat I am currently obsessed with!]
I texted the Really Cool Teacher Friend and told her I am starting a semi-weekly series about the Man-Skeeter. She thought it was an excellent idea, as did I, so I present you with:
Man-Skeeter, Part One
I met her back when we were boy-crazy just-turned-teenagers. It was normal and even expected at that age for girls to be all gooshy gaga over a different boy every two weeks. I had guys after me and yeah, maybe a I chased a few. What did we know then about the dance of love? We were psychotic hormonal misfits, just like every other teenaged girl we knew. Still, even at that time, I thought she was a bit too clingy. I mean, yeah, I loved boys but I also had other interests. They didn’t consume my every waking moment. I was crazy back then, but I wasn’t that crazy.
We all grow up (well, most of us do) but she still seemed stuck in high school. A guy could look at her for more than five seconds and she would think he liked her. Then she would pursue him to the ends of the earth. (Think Gigi in “He’s Just Not That Into You,” except on steroids.)
I got kind of fed up with her after her first divorce because she seemed to want to party every night and there were young kids at home. I normally am not judgmental but shit, those are the precious years with your babies! Hell, I can throw some shit down like the next motherfucker, but I didn’t have kids and I kept it (for the most part) under control. So we eventually lost touch because I stopped making the effort. Years passed.
Then my mom, bless her heart, gave Man-Skeeter a second chance a few years ago and told her my cell phone number. (Nice move, Mom! And don’t call me to tell me you are sorry again – the first 400 times were enough, thankyouverymuch!.) Thus, the Man-Skeeter came back into my life.
It was okay for a while and then about two years ago, things were really crazy busy at work. I had my assistant out for a good four weeks and I was trying to get my budget for the following year done, along with doing my assistant’s job. The resentment of her needing me to approve every guy she had the hots for, the constant texting and phone calls caught up with me. My mom came in to temp for me and type up all the market research I had done for the budget. She got to experience first-hand just how awful things had become.
[By the way, my mom would make one hell of an excellent employee, if she were in the market for work. I think it was around 2:30 when I asked her didn’t she need to go pee or something?? Thought her bladder might burst and I don’t want to clean up that mess in my office, jeez! I have a stellar work ethic, but not at the expense of my kidneys, for fuck’s sake. Old people, WTF?]
After the fifth “DENIED!” phone call of the day, and about 11 text messages – all updating me on the guy-of-the-month – she sends me a text asking me what had she done and was I mad at her?
I gave my mom The Look (The Look is pretty much when my brown eyes turn completely black because I am so pissed, I could spontaneously combust shit with my glare), and she said, “If she was a guy doing all this, you could get a restraining order for stalking.”
I reluctantly called her back. This is when she tells me she packed some clothes and left her home to travel half-way across the country uninvited to “see some relatives”/stalk the guy who just moved over a thousand miles away from her. To “find herself,” as she put it.
Stay tuned for Part Duex, because it gets even better…