Speaking of stalking...

So, I went on a date yesterday with a gentleman we'll call Librarian Frog, after his chosen profession. It was pretty uneventful- some decent conversation, some awkward moments (especially at the end, when he went in for a kiss, I turned, and he caught one-third of my bottom lip and half of my chin). Not blog-worthy, but not fantastic. I figure I'll give the guy at least one more chance to become one or the other.

That is, if he doesn't have some kind of psychotic break because I didn't talk to him immediately after our date.

It started harmlessly enough with an email he sent after last night's date, simply saying he had a great time and hoped to see me again blah blah blah. A little soon after the date to initiate contact in my opinion, but at least an email is relatively unobtrusive. And it just feels less creepy and stalker-ish.

Then I missed a call from him today at 9am. And 11am. And 2pm. And 9:45pm (ok, that one I saw and ignored).

After the last call, he left the following message, as transcribed from my answering machine (because I am that devoted to you, loyal readers):

Hello Sexless, How are you? It's Librarian Frog. It is about a quarter to ten Sunday night. Umm...I didn't hear back from you, umm...I hope it's not a bad thing, umm...I hope you had a good time yesterday because I did and I was hoping to talk to you today...umm...I don't wanna make this more complicated than it has to be. If for whatever reason you're not interested, I understand. If you could just send me a quick email, and I will go away. But I hope you're just busy and haven't gotten around to calling me back. So one way or another, I look forward to hearing from you soon. Have a good night, and Bye.

Well, damn. Talk about low self-esteem! I called the poor kid back so that he wouldn't be tempted to leap out a window or anything, and set up a date for Thursday, at which point he thought it prudent to remind me that, if I wanted to talk to him before then, just to say hi or whatever, I could call. Or email.

Or presumably send one of the carrier pigeons I have left over from Raspberry Beret.

Did I mention that this poor kid is 36 years old?

Oh, I didn't?

Maybe he is blog-worthy after all...