Dating Women and Dating Games, Part 09
WARNING! It’s both Friday the 13th AND a full moon. As a result, this story is probably the most horrific yet, so I have to start out with a warning: this isn’t a bedtime story. Relatively speaking, graphic language, pictures, and descriptions ensue.
Catch up if you missed the previous installment: http://blogs.davelozinski.com/dating/dating-women-and-dating-games-part-08
Proceed with caution
A local newspaper had asked for my opinion on the Australian dating scene. I crafted a response, and sent it to them for consideration. Within a week, it had been published.
The article generated responses, one of which came from “Paula”. We exchanged a few emails, and then decided to meet up over lunch. She was in her early 30s.
This is where this Episode 9: “a real psycho”, begins…
How to NOT meet someone for the first time
When I arrived at the designated meeting location, I saw Paula standing there waiting. Unfortunately, she saw me too. She met me dressed in torn, ragged clothes. This was a warm spring day, but she had on one of those long black leather overcoats you see bad-boy gangsters wearing in the movies with their shotguns concealed underneath. She looked as though she hadn’t showered in a few weeks. I couldn’t tell if her hair was ragged and knotted as being the way she styled it or if it was just because how dirty it looked. She greeted me with just a “hey” in a dull tone, staring down at the ground like a sad child.
I should have made up an excuse, apologized, and walked away. My gut was screaming at me to. But I didn’t.
It only got worse.
There was very little conversation between us. No matter what I tried I couldn’t seem to get her to say more than one or two consecutive words. I started challenging myself to see if I could say something or ask her a question to get her to say just one more word than she previously spoke. I think my record is I got her to speak a 4-word, incomplete sentence.
Then the food arrived and OH! MY! GAWD!
I don’t remember what I had, but I’ll never forget what she ordered — a Japanese style soup with noodles and seafood. Not only did she chew with her mouth open, but what few words she said she talked with her mouth open too!
I got to see the intimate details of a noodle being sucked in and squished around a calamari in gory detail while being washed in saliva. The kind of saliva you see in rabid animals when they foam at the mouth.
My attention had to stay focused too because when she spoke, the occasional miniscule projectile came flying out. The angle and velocity at which they were emitted varied, so I couldn’t afford to not watch ensuring nothing landed in my food. It was kind of like scientists here on earth keeping a look out for those incoming killer asteroids that could impact our planet – you know they’re out there and whizzing by, and if one is coming straight at us, we won’t be able to do much.
Seriously, I never thought I’d meet a woman who, in her mid thirties, both talked and chewed with her mouth open!
From the point at which the first projectile was emitted onwards, I didn’t want to encourage her to say anything to reduce the chances of my getting hit.
I figured great! If she doesn’t say anything, I’m not going to.
So the last 10 minutes…
I thanked her for taking the time to meet me and walked back to work.
That night, I wrote her an email which, almost verbatim, said:
“Thank you for taking the time to meet me today. However, I do not wish to pursue anything further with you, and wish you well in your search.”
Or is it?
24-hours later, I received an sms message essentially saying what a bastard I am, how could I treat people like that, I didn’t give her a chance because it was only an hour, and a few other expletive things I can’t put in this blog without it getting blocked by foul-language filters.
Yeah. Whatever. Delete.
The next day I woke up and was reminded it wasn’t a dream when I received another text message from Paula saying, “Dave, I think you’re cute and charming.”
WHAT THE ####??!?
I never responded to any of those messages.
Nothing further followed.
I thought life was back to normal.
I was so wrong
A few weeks later, I received at least 2 text messages within the span of 90 minutes from Paula: “U low lie life scumbag you ugly con artist piss off dog.”
These messages continued on average with one per week, getting worse with graphic detail like what parts to what animals I should suck.
When those messages were ignored the phone calls started happening and then…
One day at work
I received a call from one of the ladies in the call center saying, “We’ve had some woman call us 3 times within the last 10 minutes asking if you work here, what level you’re on, and what you really do.”
“Did this caller provide a name?”
“No she wouldn’t. And she kept calling from a blocked number.”
“Okay. What did you tell her?”
I never told Paula where I worked; never gave out my work email address; don’t have it listed in any public profiles.
Somewhere, somehow, she was stalking me.
The next day — now I’m not kidding here — there was a bomb threat.
We had to evacuate and gather at the designated emergency meeting point.
While everyone else was wondering the who/what/when, my colleagues who knew of this dating experience concurred Paula was suspect #1.
We couldn’t prove it, but the supervisor at the time was none too impressed going down several flights of stairs during the evacuation because she had on stilettos that day.
They kept coming
The obscene text messages and phone calls kept coming, albeit randomly, after that incident.
But they included nothing that would implicate or tie her to the bomb threat. The police could do nothing unless she was physically caught in the act of making the calls or texting (because otherwise she could claim someone else might have been doing it).
You have to appreciate friends like this
Finally, a friend of mine, who lives in Queensland, did an absolutely HUGE favor for me. As much as she loves living the dating scene vicariously through me, I think she had enough too.
What happened? She called Paula, and had a few choice words with her.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t anywhere near when the conversation happened, and would have loved to have had front row seats to the event to hear it play out.
The highlights from the conversation were enough to send shivers down my spine, and she handled herself well.
I felt relief, but the question begged…
Is it over? As in really over?
It took two attempts, but looks like this ordeal had finally come to an end.
After a year and a half.
Friends joke about it.
But I see a good Hollywood Thriller with the following tagline:
“This story is based on true events…”
C’mon Hollywood. You know you want to.