Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?!

And this is why I started this blog. Because things like the scenario that follows only happen to me. First, a little history. Then the actual point of this post.

Meet Jason (fondly remembered as squinty-eyed Jason to some...), a man 7 years my senior whom I dated briefly (read: 2 months) in 2003. He is a nice enough guy, for a rocket scientist. Literally, a rocket scientist: He was getting his Master's in aerospace engineering via a certain branch of our fine country's armed forces.

Things went south after a few weeks of dating...that happens to me sometimes. I think I like a guy, we date for a bit, and then I get bored and stop dating them. The boyfriends I have had (three official ones) have been the guys that capture my interest immediately and then keep capturing it. Aaaaanyway, that's what happened with Jason - after a few weeks, he started to annoy me and I got bored. I thought I'd just stick it out and see if his annoying habits became less annoying over time. They didn't. I started to pull away. He started to cling harder. Oh god.

And then the fateful night that will be indelibly printed on my mind forever, and the night that I officially became the worst person in the world: New Year's Eve, 2003. A party at my house. A very fun party, with lots of food and drink, and a few good friends. The perfect get-together. Until HE showed up - that'd be Jason. Already slightly drunk from another party he'd attended. Ready to ring in the new year with his girl. Ew.

I'm not even sure how it started...but somehow, we started arguing. He pulled me out onto the front porch of my house. More arguing ensued. Then the unacceptable: He yelled, "What the f*#%, LAUREN!" and did that whole angry moving your body towards the other person thing. Hands in the air, flailing wildly.

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

I politely responded that no one speaks to me in that way. Then I told him to get the f#$% out of my house. Immediately. And that is when he started crying. I kid you not, ladies and gentlemen. Crying real, grown-men tears. Over a girl he'd known exactly two months?

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

And that is when I told him he really needed to leave. That it wasn't working out. That he really needed to go, because I didn't want him at my house anymore. Yes, I "broke up" with him on New Year's Eve.

He ended up leaving, and a few days after the "break up" when I dropped off the alcohol he'd left at my house (there was no way I was keeping that shit) he told me about a very informative story he'd seen on CNN, about couples who had been married less than a year but were already having trouble. He informed me that he could see parallels between our relationship and the ones on tv. He felt that we could work through our problems, and take some of the marriage counseling tips that the CNN story had and apply them to our relationship to make it better. I told him no. He started crying again. I got out of there - fast.

And then he started stalking me.

I guess technically it isn't stalking - not in that scary, police on speed dial, restraining order stalking way. But he called me every Wednesday, at the same time of day, for a month. He emailed me three or four times a week (plaintively asking "why aren't you returning my calls?" each time). Until I finally told him that I thought it would be a good idea if he stopped contacting me altogether. When he moved to California in May of 2004, I was relieved that I'd never see/hear from him again.

The emails started coming about a year after we met, but only sporadically and always very neutral in tone - you know, the "how is the family" and "how was your Christmas"-type emails. I send friendly replies. I send Christmas cards. But that is the extent of it. Until today, when I received an email informing me that he'd been in my neck of the woods next week. Keep in mind that my neck of the woods is Dayton, Ohio. He'll be in Nashville, Tennessee. And as he said in his email, "I know its kinda far, but if you can make it down, we can party like country rock stars, plus you'll have a place to stay. I'm staying at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel..."

Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?! You crazy-ass muthafucka, did you seriously just ask me to drive to Nashville to see and STAY WITH YOU after I haven't seen you for TWO YEARS? And, like, who else does this happen to? And by this, I mean stalker-esque, squinty-eyed, emotionally damaged ex-whatever-he-is's asking them to come visit him in Nashville, a good 6 hour drive away. When, for all he knows, I could very well have a boyfriend (and I did, the last time I talked to him) or be married or a lesbian or JUST NOT INTERESTED.

Now, am I being a little over sensitive, or is that just weird? And how do I keep this from happening again? Thoughts, reactions, gag reflexes? C'mon people!