Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

The neighbor who lived in the apartment behind me had been lurking around my place for weeks, trying to get me to go out for a drink with him. Finally, I relented. I mean, the guy seemed normal: was a cyclist, worked as an animal specialist at the zoo, was pretty cute... Plus, I hadn't dated since I broke up with my boyfriend a year ago and it was time to get back out there. I figured, what could possibly go wrong?

I walked over to his apartment before the date, and he asked me if I would mind driving, since he'd just had a couple of beers. He didn't seem soused or anything, but I though that was pretty responsible of him.

So, we went to dinner, chatted for a while, and generally had a nice time. During the conversation, he confessed that for the last few years he'd been suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and hadn't gone out much socially because he simply didn't have the energy. He'd really been looking forward to going out with me, and getting reintroduced to social life. The telling of this painful story required consumption of another 2 or 3 beers.

After dinner, we went to a club to dance and listen to music. He downed still more beer, and later whispered to me conspiratorially, "Want a Valium? I brought extras!" I politely refused, but he insisted, so I smiled and slipped it into my pocket saying, "I'll take it later."

After a while he started to look a little green, so I suggest that we step outside for some air. He agreed and grabbed my hand and headed for the door. Just as he pushed the outside door open with his free hand, he passed out stone cold and fell forward onto the bouncer like a ton of bricks, dragging me forward with the vise-like grip of his other hand!

The bouncer managed to lay him down on the ground and pry his hand off of my wrist. A guest who was an off duty paramedic checked him out and suggested that we call an ambulance. We were close enough to the hospital that I decided to drive him myself, so I pulled up the car and they poured him into the passenger seat. He came to a few seconds later and protested madly when I told him that we were en route to the ER.

He said that he just needed to sleep it off, and that I should take him home. I reluctantly agreed, but told him that I would just wait with him for awhile, feed him coffee and make sure he didn't expire or something! Finally I got him home, hauled him up the stairs, plunked him down on the couch and took a good look at the place where this character lived.

Now picture this: at least 13 tropical birds flying all over the place, crapping on the furniture and squawking like crazy; a sink containing at least a month's worth of dirty dishes; and two recycling bins -- one full of Mountain Dew cans, and the other full of empty Schaefer's beer cans. I perched on the arm of a chair and talked to him for about an hour, until I was convinced that he wasn't going to die, and then gathered myself to go home.

It was at that moment that he moved toward me, licked his lips, and said the unthinkable: "Gosh, I was hoping that you would spend the night. We were hitting it off so well..."

Can I pick them or what????

-- Julie