I’ve always been really bad at breaking up with people. It’s just not skill I was born with, I suppose. In fact, rather than break up with people, I’ve usually gone to extremes to avoid having to do so. For example, there was this girl I saw in college for about a month. She was okay, but kind of boring. There just didn’t seem to be much of a spark there, so I knew something had to be done. However, as I stated before, I don’t like doing things, so I had a dilemma on my hands.
In this particular situation, the girl in question gave me an out that allowed me to end the relationship with as little contact and conflict as possible: she went out of town for the weekend. I saw her off on Friday, then partied all weekend like I normally would. Then, I spent all day Sunday, the day of her return, locked in my dorm room. The phone started ringing around 1 pm, and I refused to answer it. The phone kept ringing on cue at least once every hour for the next several hours, and I received several messages on the answering machine from her, but I knew I must stick out this passive aggressive plan to the end. Also, who calls every hour? Her obsessive behavior validated my decision to dump her by not dumping her.
The calls continued through the next few days, and I found it a bit difficult to sleep with the alternating bouts of phone ringing, screaming messages on the answering machine, and pounding on my door. I missed a few classes and was probably losing a couple of pounds while waiting this thing out, but I knew that the pain would be worth it once I had escaped from this relationship without having to talk about it.
After about a week and a half of this nightmare, I began to think maybe I had made the wrong choice. This girl really wasn’t letting up! She started shoving notes under my door that had disturbing messages on them, like “Are you okay? I’m getting worried! Call me, plz!” Psycho, right? And still with constant phone calling! It had slowed in frequency a little, but she was still calling at least two times a day. I think even the police showed up knocking at my door at some point, which I of course couldn’t answer. What if she was with them?
No, it looked as though action was needed to finally put an end to this psychotic stalker’s obsession and her daily phone-calling. I decided to bite the bullet and call her up to let her know it was over. Of course, I couldn’t just tell her that. Too much conflict! So I decided to impersonate my dad. Disguising my voice to make it sound all fat and mustachioed and boring, I dialed the number.
“Hello?” answered Calliope’s voice on the other end (names have been changed to make her sound even more lame).
“Uh, hello, is this Calliope Hosebeast?” I asked, sounding fatter and lamer and more mustache-laden than ever before.
“Yes, who is this?” she answered.
“Hello, my name is Calvin Austinite, Jason’s father. I found your number on his cell phone, and he has told me so much about you that I felt I owed you a call.”
“Oh, hi. Is… is something wrong?” asked Calliope, her voice beginning to quiver.
“Yes, Calliope, I’m afraid there is,” I said, stifling the urge to giggle. “Jason was on his way back home to see us this weekend, and he got into a little accident. Seems his car broke down, and he got out to look at it when he was struck by, like, three different cars. It was kind of a pinball effect as he bounced from one car to another. The police and medical examiner said he died pretty quickly, and he was totally smashed up and pretty gross-looking, so you should definitely not ask to see the body or anything like that. It was all nasty and bloody and mangled. Yuck.”
“Oh my god! No!” Calliope said in a hushed tone. “I can’t believe it. He’s… dead?”
“Yes, young lady, I’m afraid so. Sucks, right?”
“Um, yes. Listen, can I please see him? I know you said he looks bad, but I don’t care! We’d only been together for a month, but I was in love with him. I need to see him just one last time, or else I’ll feel like I’ve lost a part of me without getting to say goodbye!”
“Oh, uh,” I said, thinking quickly, “I’m sorry, dear, but we’ve already had him cremated. We took the ashes to the zoo and had him scattered all over the monkeys. He always loved those monkeys. The monkeys weren’t too pleased about it, though. They got a little screechy. Started throwing some poop. But other than that it was nice.”
After that, she said some other stuff, but it was all wailing and moaning and blubbering, so it was mostly unintelligible. I ended up telling her I had to go mow the yard or whatever it is that dads do, and that was the last I ever spoke to Calliope. Phase II of my plan took effect with my first visit to the plastic surgeon to have my facial features modified, followed by a trip to the county court to have my name legally changed. After the purchase of a few fraudulent documents, I was back at the university with a new face and name. I never really saw Calliope on campus after that, so maybe the plastic surgery was a bit excessive, but there’s nothing wrong with a little insurance. The best part was I got out of there with as little conflict as possible. No harm, no foul!
A few years later, I read a news article about Calliope. Seems she had taken up drugs just a few weeks after my “death,” using heroin to excess right from the start. She apparently dropped out of school and started stealing to support her habit, eventually living on the street. They found her frozen under a bridge that winter with nothing to her name but a picture of me (pre-surgery, of course) clutched tightly in her hand.
See? I got out of that one just in time! What a train wreck that chick turned out to be!
OH MY GOD!!!! I DID THIS except for the facial surgery part. It was about 2 years ago.
I was seeing a girl for something like 3 months and then her folks decided to move, but she wanted to “stay in touch”(read as wanted to try long distance). After a month or so I got tired of the frequent phone calls and her neediness and so really wanted to end it. But, I had broken up with girls only twice before and didn’t like it either time. So took my balls off and decided to do something…different, for the lack of a better word. I had an idea from an episode of “My Name is Earl”,which I was into, at the time. I got a friend of mine to pretend to be my uncle and tell her that I died in a car crash, however, I made 1 mistake, this friend of mine called her cell phone from his home phone so the very next day she called him up to ask him how the family was holding up, his dad answered the call, she got suspicious and then she decided to blackmail my poor buddy, the fuckin bitch. Well, eventually I somehow convinced my mother to tell her I was in coma(my mom is NOT a good liar) and I got out.
Damn that post brought up some chaotic memories. I usually just turn to this blog for ridiculousness but that was quite nostalgic.
You took your balls off? That must have hurt.
Do you still have that girl’s phone number? She sounds hot!
Sadly, yes…she called me SO many times I unfortunately had it memorized.
So, you gonna hook me up with them digits or what? I’m a glutton for punishment.
(DISCLAIMER: This comment was written for humorous purposes only. Please do not post her phone number here. I can’t afford to be sued. Please see my latest post for details)
I think if I posted her phone no. here I would get sued too. Also, there are humanitarian reasons for not doing that, eg. I would say that getting tortured in Gitmo while listening to Carly Smithson’s failed album might be slightly less painful than dating her.
But If you do want to date someone, I do have someone’s phone no. that WON’T get us sued and this person is also a lot like her.
Her name’s Sarah and she’s from Alaska(did you know you could see Russia from Alaska?!?!?). So are you interested?
Mmmm, VPILF.