Facebook Love Poems and Stalker Phone Calls

Welcome to another post in my Dating in Buenos Aires series. Today’s post features a subject you have seen before. His creepiness was so abundant that it had to overflow into a second post. If you want to catch up, check out the first post: Love Letters from a Clueless Metrosexual.

Today’s Subject: Joan

Pronounced Sho-an

It is important to once again make this clear:

I did not date Joan

You can check out the first post about Joan to get the details on how we met and how he his creepiness emerged. The point is, he is simply a friend turned stalker.

Last post I left off with Joan’s love letters, which were usually written in hidden pages in my notebooks while I was in the bathroom or something. Creepy. I wish I could say it ended with love letters.

Lightweight thinks he can dance.

Joan was a 19-year old lightweight. This kid loved to drink, but couldn’t handle his alcohol. He once told me he had been taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning after a night at the club. He said this like I should be impressed by his badassery or something. Joan loved to get wasted while we were out dancing and pretend he was the best dancer known to man and also my boyfriend.

To be fair, it is common for a guy friend to pretend he is your boyfriend at clubs just to protect you from sleazy dudes trying to grope you. However, it is a lot less helpful when the guy pretending to be your boyfriend is also groping you. Joan would “protect me” every 5 minutes. Even a forceful shove or even an “enough, stop touching me” could not give this drunken idiot a hint. He even tried to take photos of us and sneak in a kiss at the last second, as if he was dying to catch it on film.

The end of an non-existent relationship

One day Joan convinced me to meet up with him after work. He bribed me with the promise of ice cream. As strong as my love for ice cream is, I was dreading it. When my buzzer rang and I answered, Joan yelled “tu principe!” (your prince!). I let out a loud groan and proceeded to mess around on my computer for 5 more minutes, feeling that he deserved to wait outside in the cold for awhile. We only hung out for about and hour and a half, but I must have said “no me toques!” (dont’ touch me!) 5 times at least. I was mean to him, meaner than usual. I snapped at everything he said. I could not take this kid’s bullshit anymore. After that, I ended all contact with Joan. I was finished with him.

Joan was not finished with me

Joan’s texts and phone calls slowed a little bit as he realized how serious I was about not responding. His obsession was far from over though. At the time, I felt obligated to remain his Facebook friend only because of our mutual friends. He began obsessively liking photos of me in other people’s albums. He also posted a series of horrible love poems, all clearly about me. They went on and on in bad rhymes and rhythm about how some girl didn’t see how meant for each other they were, and how there was no one else. I didn’t find these notes on my own, several friends sent them to me – half worried, half amused.

Eventually, I unfriended him all together. Within days, a mutual friend asked me if something had happened with Joan. When I told her I had unfriended him, she said that made perfect sense and proceeded to send me the newest poem. This poem stressed that “it was not over” that “it would never be over”.

Phone calls with heavy breathing

I then began to live the life of a girl in a horror film. I had a land line in my apartment, one that only two people had the number to, Joan being one of them. One day, months after I had ended contact with Joan, I answered the phone expecting a telemarketer. Instead, I got this:

Me: Hello?
……creepy silence then some heavy breathing
Me:…..hello?
Caller: Hello, how are you? How are things?
Me:: Who is this?
long pause
Caller: Oh, you don’t recognize my voice? Hmm….yes….it has been quite a long time…

A horrible chill ran up my spine before I choked out “….Joan?”

I sat in shock as he chatted me up like nothing had happened. I gave him one word answers until I came back into reality enough to tell him I had to go. He called one more time, a few days later. I demanded that he tell me why he was calling. I screamed “we are not friends!”

He chuckled at my frustration. He paused dramatically. He oozed on his pseudo-charm

He finally joked “If you don’t want me to call, then say so”. I said “Never call me again” and hung up.

That is the last I have heard from Joan, so far. Thankfully, I have since moved, as my friends and I have always assumed he would eventually show up at my house with flowers and a knife, giving me a choice between the two.

Stay tuned more more of my dating horror stories to come. Up Next: Andres the Cocky Colombian.