Monday, December 28, 2009

t4m in LA area

Many moons ago, I was mixed up with this chef that lived up in Portland. I met him through a friend and we sorta hit it off (I guess) and I even went up to see him for one whirlwind weekend. Not surprisingly, things didn't work out between us. But we kept in contact and for a while I had fantasies of us meeting somewhere in the middle and starting some sort of magical Pacific Northwestern life together. He'd cook me dinner and I'd sing him songs and we'd snuggle on the couch and lament over health care and foreign policy while the world outside cried for us and everyone else.

Like all telephone relationships, the novelty began to wear off quickly. I became tired of waiting for this guy that I liked to come see me, I knew he never would, and the words of Mark Knopfler in the song "So Far Away" became less and less romantic. We started picking each other apart each time we talked, and eventually it got to the point where we were just mean to each other over the phone.

One night I must have said something that was the straw on his proverbial camels' back and he hung up on me. A few days later I started receiving phone calls from all over the country. All men. None of them would identify themselves, nor would they tell me how they got my number. One dude eventually said he got my number from Craigslist and he was calling regarding my ad for the motorcycle for sale. I posted no such ad. Strange things were amiss, but I figured there was just a misprint.

When the next guy called, I asked if he was calling about the ad. He said yes, and that he would be in town the following week and wanted to make an appointment with me. When I asked him what it was that he wanted to make an appointment for, he said "Uh. For some company." (What.) Then I asked him to read the ad aloud to me because I had suspected there was a misprint, and the dude says to me "Shit, really? Man, that's fucked up. This ad says you are a transsexual escort in the Los Angeles area, and it says your name is Lindsay."

I swallowed the vomit in the back of my throat and immediately started thinking about who it was that I could have pissed off enough to do something like this. The fucking chef. I called him up and screamed for about 10 minutes straight while he laughed uproariously and I begged him to remove the ad.

Well, he didn't remove the ad, and I continued to receive calls for another week or so. Looking back, it was the best thing he could have done because any feelings I had felt for him before had completely disappeared. It's been years since then, and he's apologized and I guess I don't care enough about him to actually be bothered anymore. Now he's married to some chick that I swear he hated up until the day of their nuptials, but at least he isn't my problem anymore.

I've been receiving an absurd amount of "wrong numbers" lately, and I can't help but think that there's someone out there that I've pissed off. More importantly, what does this new ad say about me?


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