Sidewalk Superheroes

I swear, LA hates me. It only seems to rain on the weekends now, in the slow season, when all my bills are due, my bank account’s overdrawn, and when the only time worth working is on the weekends. Don’t worry LA, I hate you too. Tell your friends. I have been looking for other work on Craigslist, but the pickings are slim, to say the least, and most of the jobs are unpaid intern positions. Right, exactly what I need.

Meh. Anyway, I guess because I haven’t been around this weekend, standing around in the rain like an idiot, Old Boyfriend decided to give me a call yesterday. I was over at my sister’s and my nephew was having a rare cuddly day (he’s usually ridiculously hyperactive), so I wasn’t going to dump him off my lap just to answer my phone. When I did check, I saw that it was OB, leaving his usual message:

“Hi [Batgirl], this is [Old Boyfriend]. Uh, call me back when you get this message. [818] 266-6786. Again, it’s [Old Boyfriend], and my number is [818] 266-6786. Talk to you later.”

Oh, you thought I made a mistake when I posted the number? Nay nay, my friends! I promised that if he kept calling, I would post it all over the Internet and encourage people to harass him so he’d know what it felt like. So have at it. I guess the next time I see him — and really, I never do; I guess he can only lurk and hide and pop out at the most inopportune times like a true stalker — I’ll have to spell it out. I’m not interested, never have been, never will be, and if he calls again he will regret it. I’m sure my dad’s still itching to tear OB a new one, and now that you have his number, you have my permission to call him late at night or early in the morning, do the whole heavy breathing bit, and just make him uncomfortable and miserable in general.

I wouldn’t have this problem if Verizon weren’t such a dick and would let me block numbers. I finally found the block/unblock menu and put his number in, but “no response received” kept coming up. WTF?

It’s still slooooooow going on the boulevard, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. We went to the Joker’s birthday party last night, and while I only had one weak mojito, I hate rum and I’m still burping it up. It’s disgusting. I blame it for my mind being stupid today, even though I did have quite a lot of Jack Daniel’s last night. At least seven shots? Quite a lot. And rum cake. Anyway, you already know that after I drink I’m stupid for a day, and my memory’s not so great, so I’ll try to remember any good bits that may have happened.

I don’t think I worked Friday. Did I? My dad had surgery for his cancer on Wednesday so I spent a couple of days hanging out with him, which sort of threw me off time-wise. We spent a lot of time watching movies on cable and talked about going to China, I remember that. Oh wait, we did work Friday. Today’s Sunday. Sorry. To make up for the swiss cheese memory, here’s the best picture ever:

the DC universe

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Yesterday and today, Old Boyfriend has called at 9 AM and again at 11. Doesn’t he have a job? Something else to do besides harass young ladies who are old/young enough to be his granddaughter? Maybe I’m just sick of American men (okay, I am), but what is it with these losers that keep popping up? Why is it that our men refuse to grow up and get decent jobs and support themselves and be, well, men? I do believe in trying to fulfill your dreams and keeping the magic and youth alive, but there also comes a point where you have to start being an adult and balancing your life with taking care of yourself, paying your bills, and just growing and being an adult in general. The guys I’ve met just can’t seem to get this.

Anyway, I was still in bed at 9, so I didn’t get the phone, but I knew it was him. No one else calls me on Sunday mornings because I’m either asleep or doing other things that don’t warrant interruption. Just now I was on the computer doing stuff and the phone rang again, and by simply looking at the clock I knew who it was. I was beginning to think that if I still didn’t answer, he was going to start calling every hour. So I picked up the phone and stepped into the kitchen (because I was blasting Abba in the other room — oh shut up), pressed the talk button and just growled, “You need to stop calling me.” And hung up. No room for argument. It’s my phone, my life he’s interrupting and disrupting, so I have every right to just say those few words and hang up. Thankfully, he didn’t call back, but I would have just ignored it anyway.

This throws a wrench into my plans, though. It’s not raining, and the clouds actually appear to be breaking up for what might be a lovely but cold Sunday afternoon. A little break before the rain comes back tomorrow. I was going to go in and work a bit by myself, but because he just keeps calling, I can’t. I know he’s calling because I haven’t been out for over a week, because the incessant calls started after last weekend, my last time out there. I don’t know if he works Sunday, I actually have no idea what his schedule is, so I don’t know what days are safe. Yes, I could just sneak out and hang around some of the guys I know, but I also need to be making a certain amount of money to be worth my while, and there’s still the walk back to the car alone. He’s accosted me before during that short solo walk, so even that’s too much of a risk. So . . . *sigh* I guess I’ll just have to wait until next weekend, when Catwoman’s available for carpooling and the weather’s a bit better.

Dammit.

I don’t like to be serious very often, especially on here, because life is just too short and too strange to take everything seriously. But there are some things worth putting on a straight face for, and this is one of them.

Ladies, stalkers are not cute. They’re not charming, they’re not endearing, they’re never your soulmate or even a good date. They’re not what TV and most Lifetime movies make them out to be: adorable, slightly geeky guys who are just too shy to woo you straight up. In real life, they’re always socially retarded creeps who have never had a date, let alone any sort of sexual contact with a woman, and think that by following you everywhere, calling every day, eavesdropping on your conversations and just assuming they’re the perfect man for you, that they are in fact “nice guy”s and just misunderstood. They usually have hygiene problems, social problems, and mental problems, and once you’ve had to stop being nice and tell them no firmly, they turn against you in nearly violent ways. It’s a nightmare. If you can, just cut them off the second they first approach you, and save yourself a lot of headaches. America’s stalker laws, especially involving cyberstalking, are woefully inadequate and at least 15 years behind the times, and won’t protect you. (Trust me on this: I’ve had to contact law enforcement about this, and it’s a tangle of state jurisdictions and IP servers’ whimsy.)

I’m giving you this warning and telling you to just not deal with these freakazoids in the first place because I’ve been there too often and I’m tired of it. I try to be nice to everyone, even the weird ones, and it always bites me in the ass. You can always tell the ones who get too attached, so just calmly disentangle yourself from any and all contact with them and consider yourself lucky.

Old Boyfriend has called every day now, and while I never answer because I don’t want to do that crap over the phone, I’ve had it. I have never given him any encouragement, never given him any reason to even start to think that yeah, I’d like a relationship with a guy at least ten years older than my father, and even now, most guys start thinking, “Okay, I’ve called four days in a row and she’s never answered or called me back. That must mean something.” As in, she’s not interested. But now I’m going to have to watch my back and not be alone the next time I do work, because the creeps always have a way of hiding until you’re alone or cornered and then getting belligerent when you tell them that they’re freaking you out and being too pushy.

And then there’s the added awkwardness of still being around each other because he works there and I work around there. Yes, I can just stay away from the Chinese Theatre for a bit, but there’s no invisible tether tying him to that spot. He can follow me around and yell insults all day if he wants, and as long as he stays on the public half of the sidewalk, I can’t really do much. If he does it on the clock and a supervisor catches him, sure, he could get reprimanded, but having some chick in a Batgirl costume complaining about an unbalanced guy isn’t exactly the best built-in defense. All of the drivers like us and most have talked to me and like me, but that may not have enough sway. And do I really have to get a guy fired to have some safety and peace? He’s done this to other female characters, but that doesn’t make me feel any better

See what a headache this becomes if you try to be nice and not hurt feelings? All it takes is one clueless fucktard to ruin it for everyone.

1/24/09 – And ladies, any guy you don’t know who calls you before 9 AM on a Saturday morning is not your friend and is also an inconsiderate jackass. Unless someone you know is on fire and he took it upon himself to call you, cut that mofo off at the knees. I just found out that my service provider, Verizon, doesn’t let you block numbers, which is beyond stupid. I’d love to just turn my phone off for a bit and shoot him straight to voicemail, but my sister is having a baby any time now and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss that call because of this jackass. If it keeps raining and I can’t go in at all this weekend, then the next time he calls, I’m just going to yell “Quit calling me!” and hang up. I still don’t want an ugly confrontation over the phone, but seriously, this is unacceptable. If I have to take the sleazy way and tell him off over the phone (which, seriously, is a cop out, almost on par with dumping someone in an email, or through MySpace. Don’t do it if you want to have any class whatsoever), I will, but creeps like that tend to have the message stick a little better when they see your angry face and some of your good friends standing discreetly in the background, cracking their knuckles. You get me?

For the past hour or so I’ve been scouring Flickr for pictures for my next costume. It’s not going to be Zatanna Zatara, like I’ve mused upon, or even slave Leia, or even Hawkgirl like Baby Jack (the Jack Sparrow that looks about 12 years old) suggested. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned what it was on here, though I have told a few people on the boulevard about it. I sort of pushed it aside, but after showing my sister a trailer for a certain upcoming big film, it’s on the front burner again. The release date is a lot closer than I expected, and I need to get cracking! It’s also got a bit too much PVC to really be a summer costume, even though it is pretty skimpy.

Anyway, while I don’t have a movie to watch, bootleg or otherwise yet (still too early), no screengrabs either, I do have some high quality promotional stills and shots to sketch off of, and I think I can do this. I think I have all the details drawn out, with little scribbles next to them that I’ll hopefully be able to decipher in a month. What’s more, I could sew it all up myself if I had to. And I probably will . . . as long as I can find yellow PVC lying around. Think it’ll work?

Catwoman and I were debating going to work today, but it’s been raining off and on, and just an ugly, stay at home sort of day in general. Which is good, I needed some time to finish up things. I cleaned both my yellow and white boots, re-blacked the bat logo, and further took in my Batgirl costume so she looks even better. And curvier. 🙂 Plus, I had the time to put on some Nouvelle Vague and draw for a few hours, which hasn’t happened in years. I’d say it’s a pretty good day, even if I didn’t make any money off of it.

Ugh, Old Boyfriend just called again. And he didn’t leave a message, thankfully. Maybe he’s getting a clue. I just hate having That Conversation over the phone, you know?

P.S. If you’d like to know what this new Mystery Costume is going to be before the unveiling, speak up! I can’t read your minds . . . yet.

I went to donate blood yesterday, and had an interesting conversation. It wasn’t interesting because of what was said; rather, it’s what wasn’t said that made it so interesting to me. I didn’t go to a hospital or a Red Cross, it was just a weekly blood drive at the creepy old Masonic lodge nearby. They never seem to have the same volunteer staff twice. Yesterday there was a thirtysomething lady taking my vitals before the bloodletting, and she decided to be chatty.
“So, you came in on your day off?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I said. I usually don’t tell people what I do for a living unless they ask point blank — or I’m trying to be amusing and quirky. Whichever comes first.
“So what exactly do you do?” she asked. Maybe I’m just strange — okay, I am — but I actually don’t really like that question. It’s a matter of opinion as to whether that’s rude or invasive or not, but in such a horrid economy with so many jobless, it’s just kind of mean.
“I work in Hollywood,” I said evasively.
“Oh cool! What exactly do you do?”
“Entertainment.” She stared expectantly. Really? Are you going to ask for an address next, some references? I wish I was snipy enough to just say, “None of your damn business!”
“I work with kids in costume, take photos with them, entertain them,” I added reluctantly.
“Where exactly is this?”
“Um, around Hollywood Boulevard. Sometimes around the Chinese Theatre.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, suddenly cold. Oh, so you’ve heard of us. While she was cordial for the rest of my visit, I could almost literally see the veil come down between us, the I Have A Real Job And Real Responsibilities, You’re Just An Immature Dork attitude. I felt disappointed at first, but after a moment, I realized it was disappointment in her. How sad it must be to look down on so many people like that, to have to knock others down and see them as below you just to feel good about yourself. What a pathetic way to live.

Then Old Boyfriend called today. *shudder* Thankfully, I didn’t answer. I’ve had a lot of unavailables and strange numbers calling me lately, so if they’re not in my phone already, they talk to the voice mail. He did, repeating his message twice like I was old and hard of hearing. Eh. I’m sure he’ll harass me Friday or Saturday, whenever he works, and I can cut him off then, in person. Then block his number from his phone, now that it’s in my log. And a new resolution takes effect: never give out my number.

I think I’ve been forgetting to mention that Superman’s finally back out on a regular basis. He seemed to have gone MIA for a bit during the holidays, or only stopping by to talk. On my last day of work last year, he walked by in street clothes, the only time I’ve ever seen him “normal.” It was very unsettling.

Anyway, yesterday was a pretty okay day. It was Catwoman’s first in her warm weather costume, Wonder Woman. I stuck it out in my PVC Batgirl, because damnit, I just fixed her up! Heat wave be damned, I’m going to use her before summer comes in. But at least Superman had a great suggestion for a cool costume for me: Zatanna Zatara. *sigh* I know I’ll have to explain this one:

chick in a box

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