After I begged you lot to help me, oh LORD help me to figure out what to write about I was asked a couple of times as to why the hell I blog. And the answer is deceptively simple.
I started blogging with my friend Chris back in 2004 after we’d come into contact with a number of, for lack of a better word, Lame Blogs. I won’t bother trying to track them down or anything just to illustrate my point, but let’s just say they committed various blogging sins:
1) They were too deep and/or meaningful
2) They took themselves too seriously (Aunt Becky’s Cardinal Sin)
3) Instead of real content, they substituted recipes, naked self portraits (yes, really), or links. Once in awhile, fine. As a substitute for content? No way.
4) Plus blogging itself seemed to me so incredibly self-indulgent, I mean, pages upon pages about YOURSELF? C’MON NOW. Who CARES what I ate for lunch (pot-stickers. Verdict? Just what the Doctor ordered).
But back in 2004, I had a stalker. Yes I did. And some of the things that he would do made Dave tell me that I needed to get a blog to chronicle the hilarity. I never did say much about it. UNTIL NOW.
I will take you back to January 2004 and fill you in on what was going on, it wasn’t anywhere near as boring as my life now. I was midway through my nursing education, shlepping my ass back and forth from school to the hospital and eventually home (my parents house) to occasionally see the Fruit of my Loins. Ben must have been…2 and I didn’t get to see much of him. My schedule was grueling.
At night and on weekends, I waitressed at a pizza joint to pay for such things as insurance for my son (Nat had been laid off and was too lazy to find real work) and diapers! Oh the diapers!
So, I met The Daver in 2003 via a friend (also: Chris) but we didn’t meet face to face until 2004. Pretty much instantly we started dating (a story for another day), which meant that every Tom, Dick and Harry who’d been nursing a secret candle for me began to flip out. In my relationship experiences, I’d always have a number of guys to choose from AFTER a dry spell.
I guess that when it rains, it pours, right?
So back to the Original Uncle Pervy. He was a manager at the pizza place that I worked at and he and I always got along famously. We joked around all of the time, we enjoyed our shifts together and I considered him a friend. I’ll call him Milan (a gross misspelling of his actual name).
Well, the moment he saw that I had another guy who might possibly be interested in stuffing his sausage in nasty places, he got super-territorial. Like, if I didn’t answer a text message, he’d call me 100 times leaving me increasingly desperate voicemails:
“Hello, Rebecca, this is Milan, YOUR FRIEND. Call me back!”
“Hi Rebecca, Milan again, you haven’t returned my phone call YET. Where are you?”
“Okay, I see how it is! You don’t have time for your old friend Milan. This is my last attempt at calling you.”
“Rebecca, CALL ME BACK.”
It would have been scary if he wasn’t the least threatening guy on the planet. He seriously was like an Eastern European fag hag. I would never have worried about being alone with him or anything, he was harmless and let’s be honest: I could totally take him in a fight.
He was turning out to be quite the hilariously possessive freak, tho.
Part II will air tomorrow.