Intelligent Design: The Deep End

Why don't I have more gay friends? Besides my fear that Allen will sleep with them all, there is this cute little episode from last week.

About a year ago I met a homosexual on one of our dive boats. There is an unwritten rule at the shop that all homosexuals must be immediately introduced to and befriended by Brian. Apparently, no homosexual is to go down without a proper orientation by Brian. (Go down? I mean underwater, you pervert!)

This guy is a little intense. Maybe its the result of too much therapy. He'd call me almost every day just to talk. I don't "just talk" on the phone with anyone who lives in the same city. The phone is best used for making plans to "just talk" in person, where I can undress you with my eyes.

This is how the silly fag earned the name, "my stalker." I think there's a good chance he wanted me. I can't really blame him. However, he had this little personality quirk. He thought everyone was fat. Everyone. After we saw Into the Blue -- mmm, Paul Walker -- he kept talking about how fat Scott Caan was. Now, he may not be as hot as "mmm, Paul Walker" but fat he ain't. In casual conversation, my stalker would admit to his own body issues, eating disorders, gym-going addictions, and years of therapy. Completely useless therapy. This fucker is still nuts. And not that skinny himself. And definately ugly.

I'm not that superficial. I will freely and often admit I am carrying a few extra pounds. But I'm still cute. Even at my heaviest I'd consider myself cute. This guy, at Lindsay Lohen's heaviest, is still ugly. He combs his hair the same way I did in 7th grade. He has the sense of style of a 40 year-old virgin Republican tax accountant from South Bend. (He's 28, a young lawyer, and lives in a posh neighborhood in LA.) And I wouldn't say any of this about him if he wasn't the first to point out everyone else's failures.

Over a year, we've had some heated discussions, which don't amount to much really. Over the past 45 minutes I've had heated discussions with everyone from our new intern to the lady at Subway who made my lunchtime sandwhich. Apparently, they meant something to the stalker.

Realizing I hadn't talked to him in several weeks -- maybe even months -- and not sure if I owed him a call, I decided to give him a ring. My message went unreturned. This stung a little because it's all part of my new plan to be more proactive with my friends.

This past Friday I learned why the call went unreturned. Apparently, I'm an ass.

He was at the dive shop, likely getting on someone's nerves, and so I said "hi." After commenting about not seeing him for a long time he told me that it was because the last time we spoke -- a fruitless, endless conversation in which he kept making cheap ass excuses not support the Catalina Chamber -- I told him he was wasting my time. (He was.) That was the fourth time -- yes, apparently he was keeping score -- that I was unnecessarily rude to him and he decided that I was such a horrible human being that he would "need to sever ties with me." Unilaterally. Without saying anything. Passive aggressive little twit.

Unless of course I wanted to apologize. What did I do?

"Well (insert stalker's name), it seems like you want an apology. However, I don't really think that I can nor should apologize to you because you are hypersensitive and passive aggressive. My friends know me and love me for who I am. They don't expect me to change or apologize every time they're not happy. Clearly, its best for you not to be counted among that group. Have a nice life though."

What does this mean for you, dear reader? It means that the position of Brian's stalker is once again open. Please submit resumes, headshots, ManHunt profiles, and other necessary information to freakingyouout@crazyasbatshit.com.