I am looking out for your safety, here at the Not So Virgin Mary blog, and so, in the interest of keeping all of you un-dead, here is a pair of cautionary tales.
My friend Alison.
That's all you need to know.
Alison is...not good at noticing things. She doesn't notice people staring at her in public places, or that she's about to try and wear that shirt she spilled Bagel Bites on, or that she can't drink half a fifth without getting sick (this based on the fact she's tried it a couple times now and it has yet to go well for her).
There's the back story.
Here's the rest of it: Alison started taking Russian during the Fall quarter of our freshman year of college. In that class she met a boy. His real name is Cole but we call him "Russian Boy." He's not Russian, he's just from the class. He asked her to be 'study partners' and we all know what that means...except Alison. She did not see it coming when he kissed her.
He came to her dorm room, crawled onto her bed, snuggled in and tried to make her study something else (heyoh). I'll describe the following events in her own words, "I only got a hickey because I was busy thinking about sandwiches so I didn't tell him to get off my neck."
So yeah.
They 'studied' together a few times and then she stopped answering his texts and calls part way through the quarter. It was half because he was coming on really strong and half because I might have broken her phone so she couldn't read and respond to texts...who knows the real reasoning?
He got really mopey.
THEN COMES THE CREEPY PART:
One morning Alison's roommate woke up to go to work at 6am. She left the door unlocked. Alison roused a few hours later, confused and bleary eyed but certain of the thing lying next to her bed...a rose. A single red rose. YEAH. That happened. She rolled over and hoped it would go away but no, when I came over later that morning to make her come get breakfast/lunch with me, it was still there.
My theory: he broke in, cuddled with her, left the rose and gave her a single, lasting, final kiss before leaving her forever.
That rose.
A symbol for creepiness for all times.
The second tale is actually kind of scary.
Stacey was our friend during freshman year, but she was a year older than us. We loved her. She was popular with everyone, and that includes creepy dudes. She had been getting weird phone calls for a while now, all from a private number she couldn't call back. They were the heavy breathing sort of calls. You know.
One day she had a lab that got out around eight pm and she was walking across the main section of campus (Red Square) when she got the worst of these calls.
She answered.
"Do you feel safe walking across Red Square all alone at night?"
Here is what Stacey should have done: hung up, gone to a well lit and crowded place, called the cops, and filed a report.
Here is what she did: laugh it off, call her mom to tell her, then come to us and tell us about it. Point: SHE DID NOT CALL THE COPS.
My friends are not good at this 'life' thing.
Obviously.
So don't be like them: don't get creeped on. Or, more importantly, don't be a creeper.
Unless it's facebook creeping, that's unavoidable.
Moral: Don't be Alison and Stacey.
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