I went to a party held by a guy from Key, and I talked to some people, and one guy was talking to me about Dr Who and said nice things about me and then, and then I went, "shit, he's hitting on me." Because I don't notice things like that, because he's older than me (has a son only eight years younger than me), because I am poorly socialised, because I am reasonably non-sexual and thus expect other people to perceive me that way despite the epic tits.

And it's just going to be awkward next time I see him, whether or not he remembers.

Also I'm hoping not to see the guy who asked me if I'm a dyke. I tried to explain to him that it was not a nice word to use, but, eh. I told him, "sometimes." And a friend of mine told me she pulled him up for that, said it was none of his business and it didn't matter anyway, which was comforting.

He said if his 15-year-old daughter was a dyke, he'd set her straight. And I tried to tell him, y'know, that's not how it works, but... some people, some circumstances, you can't educate. It's not my job to make him listen.

I am still kind of wtf about getting hit on. I mean, work-ish party, ill-advised hookups are, I believe, to be expected, but... but... he's middle-aged! I'm me! What?

ETA: I have hiccups. :(

ETAA: Also he likes Rose, that is totally a valid reason to tell him to piss off, right?
Weird day. Well, evening, rather.

Crappy day, because my digestive system has gone a bit haywire. I got myself together enough to go to the shop and get some lemonade, crackers and paracetamol, and at the checkout the woman asked if I was all right and if I would like a glass of water - I think she thought I had a sore throat or something, but I was just talking like I felt utterly pathetic and hadn't actually used my voice yet.

About ten minutes ago, someone knocked at my door, moving up from fumbling at the letterbox to banging by the time I got jeans on and went to answer. Drunk old guy, leaning on the door, asking for Julie, then Shona, and I said, "no, just me," and immediately regretted it, but he sort of stumbled away. I think he tried another door, but I'm pretty sure I can still hear him out on the stairs, and I think he puked. I'm not going to go investigate. (Also, I never replaced the chain on my door which was broken before I moved in. Probably I should do that.)

And I just got a phone call, from one of the guys who delivered my carpets over a year ago, with whom I exchanged a couple of texts at the time, having given him my number because I was flattered and attempting to be "more outgoing" etcetera. Wound up hanging up on him, which I think was the most efficient way of dealing with the situation.

Oh crap, drunk guy's back at my door.

ETA: ignored it, he gave up pretty fast and I heard movement, but I think he's still out there. Also, my phone just rang again - ignored that too.

Nothing like either of these things has happened to me... pretty much ever, actually. And here I am, with both of them, at once, after a day spent feeling sorry for myself with more justification than usual.

ETAA: drunk guy tried again and I answered, to see blood on his face. I asked if he was all right, and if he was sure he was in the right place, and closed the door on him again, and I just heard the main door go bang, so he's gone. I can hear someone talking to him outside, actually - well, I assume it's him, since, "you all right?" is a major component. Maybe I should have done more, but he didn't seem seriously hurt (if he had I'd have called an ambulance) and I don't like strangers in my house and considering I live alone, not letting in a drunk guy seems perfectly reasonable. So there.



June 2012

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