2006-10-13 @ 10:13 p.m.
Mixed in with my bills today was a rather strange letter from Harold the Geek. I guess he finally tired of climbing the stairs to my apartment and averting the murderous gaze of Garden Hacker Guy to slip pieces of paper in my door. Today I got an actual letter from him on his official Harold the Geek imprinted letterhead. Why am I not surprised that a sad single guy who lived with his mommy for over 50 years has letterhead. Who knows. Although I can't imagine who he ever wrote to. Other members of the Stamp Club of North America. Fan letters to Bill O'Riley. Letters of apology to his mom for not taking out of the garbage. I was carrying about 14 bags of groceries when I picked it up, so I had to wait until I got to the apartment to read it.
Of course, it was already amusing before I even opened it. He had put a P.S. on the outside flap that read: "my mother's (and my) headstone is in at her grave now. Harold."
Is that not a fucking creepy to write on an envelope to a woman you want to date????
Yeah, so that like totally won over my heart immediately. And as usual, the letter had its time stamp on it. Friday, October 13, 2006, 3:27 a.m. EDT, which I didn't understand since I was standing, holding it Friday October 13, 2006, 3:30ish p.m. How did I get it TO ME the same day he wrote and mailed it? There was a postal mark on it, so I knew he didn't just slide it into my box....although those stamps with the long suggestive red peppers on it...nice touch, Harold! Yeah, as if he'd know to do something like that. I also didn't know he knew my last name, except that maybe "A" gave it to him.
Anyhoo, he writes as weird and stiffly as he acts. And then some....
"Dear witty: I continued reading in that book I had started to read for our date, How to be a gentleman., overnight yesterday. I found out that a gentleman is expected to write a note to a woman he has gone out with. This is something my mother didn't instill in my psyche (the book also said that mothers "take care" of lots of those details for their sons, but that there comes a time in every man's life when his mother is no longer there.)
The letter continues: "I wanted to thank you for simply going out with me on Tuesday, October 3rd. I had a good time -- possibly too good a time ---as you may have noticed....blah, blah, blah....your "unflappability" counterbalanced my exuberance and I almost got away with an evening of embarrassing myself..."
He almost got away with an evening of embarrassing himself? What does that mean? Did he forget a word in that sentence? And then I almost burst out laughing when he said I counterbalanced his "exuberance" with my unflappability. Huh? Exuberance? Compared to what? Lint? There were times he so lacked inertia, I thought I was going to have the call the paramedics to check for a pulse. That's why I was able to handle the "date" so easily. He barely even registered on the Richter Scale. I mean if that's his usual exuberant self, god help me when he relaxes. I'll need night goggles to find him.
So anyways, he did ask me for another date at one of the two coffee houses down at the bottom of "our hill" (we live two blocks apart and now evidently co-own a hill together). And then he signed his name with his usual time stamp. Harold 3:47 a.m. EDT. I guess it took him exactly twenty minutes to write this epic tome. He even added that if my apartment ever "burns down" I can come and use his phone. Isn't that exciting? Whee! I just hope he's not thinking of excelerating the process in any way. You know, as in, cue music from "Psycho" and
"Thank you for going out with me,
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty