I’m in one, and I don’t know quite how to gracefully get out of it. Some background information:
I hang out with two roommates that live down the hall. Hanging out generally occurs in small doses, because things can quickly become racially charged between us–that ol’ You Ain’t Black Enough bit that I get so tired of. But we can joke around lightheartedly for the most part, and we’ll often pitch in for dinner on a Saturday night or something. Now, these girls have a male friend that lives in a nearby dorm–we’re going to call him… Nikolai. Not a terribly interesting character, but important to the plot. (Major kudos to anyone who correctly guesses what that name is a reference to.) Now, Nikolai is a nice guy, fairly smart, he’s a Software Engineering major that’s studying Japanese and, is as kooky in his own way as such a major might suggest. But not necessarily in a good way. He’s taken lately to sleeping in the girls’ room down the hall–the RA has, obviously, not caught on to this yet, or he would probably be given the boot. So anyway, Nikolai has also taken an interest in me. He thinks I’m “sweet”. I don’t know who the hell he thinks he’s talking about, but apparently it ain’t me. In the interest of meeting new people and the like, I’m like, well, feel free to drop by my room and hang out if you’re ever on my end of the building, and we can talk shop or tell truncated, highly-edited, light-hearted life stories or whatever. I don’t care.
I didn’t expect him to stop by, cuz, well, no one really stops by to see me, with the exception of some of Bridgy’s friends. But one day, while I was researching my little link-blog on Chomsky, et. al, he comes in. And then he sits on my lap, hindering typing and mouse-using abilities by just fucking blocking access to the computer, and, while I can operate Mozilla with one hand using the keyboard only, it goes much slower. And then he starts in on my physique, telling me I shouldn’t lose any more weight, that I’m perfect the way I am, etc., etc. And then he starts trying to tickle me, at which point I’m like, “For rizzle, guy, stop.” Attempts on my part to turn the conversation to something other than me fail miserably, and I am left feeling ridiculously embarrassed and just wanting him to leave. (This accounts for any confusing incoherence that may have been in that post, by the way, as well as the general lack of personal commentary on the people.) Finally, I posted the entry, pleaded homework, and he got out. I felt like scrubbing down with a Brillo pad after he left. It’s not that he’s a smarmy guy or anything, it’s just he’s… I don’t know. Too physical. Some touchy-feeliness with friends I can handle–people sit in my lap, give me hugs, whatever, but…
Now, I had absolutely no retorts to his compliments about my physique, so I just sort of pretended I hadn’t heard what he said and tried to move the conversation forward, which I know is rude and unlike my usual blunt self, but what’s a girl to do? So I later asked Bridgy how she responds to those types of comments. She said she plays up the fact that she’s blonde. Her reply was a hilarious, “I just sort of go, ‘Huh? [Twirls hair in very blond-esque manner] I don’t understand. But don’t say that again, okay?'” that left me in stitches (she’s starting to learn what can make me laugh, and can now keep me laughing for hours on end). Obviously, this isn’t something I would be terribly successful at implementing, lacking the blonde hair, and the acting skills to pull of a ditzy manner when I damn well heard what someone said. But I doubt Nikolai actually got the idea of me avoiding the issue, and yet, he didn’t make a definite, point-blank overture of anything (I rack all the above up to a sort of touchy-feely friendliness–this is me after all; the problem is not so much his actions [or even his purposes behind them] as my weirded out response to them) so there’s nothing to really say no to, other than the tickling. And that was just weird. Tickling threats are currently reserved for Thorn staff, sorry guy. There’s no chance of it being sexual with them, you know? Safety, safety.
Continue reading A Weird Situation