soapboxdiner

More talk on the stalk

Last night the good neighbor, the baby, the girl, the boy, and the SBD piled into Geo and treked to the Costco.

Costco, ah Costco, how I love you so. Where else can you buy 90 liters of cooking oil, custom jewelry, a riding lawn mower and a 50 pound box of Jimmy Dean sausage all in one place? It's like an upscale WalMart, cardmembers only, please. I should have worn my pearls.

We got up to the register and this little bittie in weight-lifting gloves rang us up. The Good Neighbor's paycheck hadn't cleared the bank yet. This I discovered after unloading my gross of cheesy mac and progresso chicken noodle soup. The GN says, "we have to come back tomorrow. My card didn't clear."

Oh hell. "How much was your stuff?"

"A hunnerd dollars." says the bittie.

Crap. Just let it ride. I'll cover you.

I hate it when that happens. No way in hell I'd come back. How embarrassing.

But I got a kiss on the cheek, so I suppose it was all worth it. Having the bittie sling herself over the counter to produce it for me was awkward though.

In other news, I think the stalker and I have reached that uncomfortable point called Premature Climax. Sigh. we keep missing each others' calls and as sweet as he is to keep telling me he thinks I'm beautiful, I'm really ready to move beyond that topic of conversation. True, I love be to complimented by admiring men as much as the next girl, but there are really only so many ways to respond to it before you ultimately reach the point of narcissism in the form of "Yeah. I know." And I'm a humble girl, you see.

In yesterday's installment of SBD Gets A Stalker, he... told me I was beautiful! Which, come on. I have a mirror, you know. I know what I look like, good features and bad. Beyond grooming, these are things I have little control over. I haven't seen the Misses department in the mall in five years and without the make-up I only wear once in a while, I have deep black circles under my eyes. If you take the hirsuit unibrow thing into consideration, and I'm probably not fashion model material. Perky and cute? SURE! Beautiful? Eh.

So I shot The Stalker off an email and said, "Though I wouldn't consider being beautiful my main selling point (as I am a humble girl), I do appreciate the attention. Any girl who says she doesn't would be a liar. So, again, thank you."

The whole situation is smacking of 1. The Stalker is desperate to get laid and thinks being trite helps the cause, and 2. SBD getting bored with the stilted and singleminded nature of the conversation, and wondering if or when we can move beyond it to something more substantial. Talk of my beauty is quickly culminating into roughly the same value was the words, "I love you." in a singles bar.

So, the ball's in his court. I'll leave to him the effort to contact me for that movie. The Good Neighbor and I already have alternate plans if his efforts amount to nil.

Sigh.

And now that I've racked up bad date karma, I think I'll track down Marcus's number (which he hasn't given me) to invite him to the Gathering de SBD. You don't suppose he has a diary somewhere and writes entries in which I am The Stalker, do you? How embarrassing would that be?

6:10 am - 04.02.03
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