Hey, Have We Fucked?

Walking into the laundry room today, I see some guy bent over and in the bottom dryer pulling out the last of his clothes.  Blonde and toned, nice.  As he pulls his head and clothes out from inside, we both stop and stare directly at each other, a mutual and obvious look of recognition shared between us.  FUCK I KNOW YOU!  Both slowly moving past each other, we’re still staring and studying one another as I’m overcome with this overwhelming feeling that I know him a little more intimately than just recognizing him from somewhere.  Is he on my favorite reality TV series?  Last time I recognized somebody like this in my building it turned out to be one of the main actors from Glee!  Hmm…considering I only watch DVR-ed episodes of Teen Mom 2 and Mob Wives right now, I’m willing to bet he’s from neither.  Oh shit…have I fucked him?  UGH!  In a daze over feeble attempts at picturing his arms around me and my fingers pulling on his hair from a night of hot sweaty UNMEMORABLE passion, I realize that there’s no way in hell this could be somebody who’s been in me; I’ve been in a fucking drought (the term “fucking” here used as both an adjective and a noun) for the longest time now that if I did get laid within the interim I’d definitely remember it and probably still be fantasizing about and masturbating over it.

Snatching up my clothes and running upstairs, I run onto my computer to try and see if it’s one of my recently and randomly added friends on Facebook.  Nope.  None of those.  While still trying to remember every random, drunkenly romantic encounter during the past several months, it immediately hits me: MATCH.COM!  Having deleted my account from realizing there was no way in hell I’m going to continue to pay for something that I can get for free (yes I’m referring to booty, not love or a soulmate), I sign back on and go through my list of most recent emails and winks, when I see him; there he is, my laundry-room encounter!  Over the past several months, with me having never answered him ONCE, he has creepily emailed me time and time again, demanding that we meet and have coffee, that he’s a really great guy and he thinks I’m just as great and bla bla bla bla bla NO MOTHER FUCKER I DONT WANNA SEE YOU!  While I normally would be swayed by blonde hair, blue eyes, and bulging biceps, I remembered that he was a struggling actor currently working “in the restaurant business.”  While I do adore gawking at and love em all, I’ll PASS.  It’s only a matter of time before he put the pieces together as to who I am.  Great, he lives in my building.  I’ve already fucked and made an awkward situation with ONE neighbor, I don’t need that shit again.  UGH.  I’m moving.