So I got hit on by a high schooler

Or at least a recent graduate, hard to tell.

Hello internet, I've been ignoring you recently. It's not that you're not in nearly as good of shape as you were, or that I've been secretly seeing other forms of media behind your back (you know about our arrangement with netflix, and there's no takesies backsies) it's more I've been buried up to my imaginary tits in work to prepare for my leaving for Michigan to do some shakespeare in the woods, so I think I'll reward you with 2 posts: some front and back door action, to stretch a poor metaphor (and some unpleasant imagery).

First: I got hit on by a high schooler. A GIRL high schooler. On facebook.

See, that's the thing about being an actor who doesn't really pay attention to the friend requests he accepts, simply because he's afraid of alienating someone he drunkenly slept with.

Also, your name and picture is out there as a marketing tool, and that plus the internet makes bad things happen, which means I'm 2 steps away from being Roman Polanski

Too soon?

I think if someone "friends" you, you should be able to look at their profile before you accept them, just to make sure they don't kill small animals and wear them around as hats, or anything, but I digress.

This is the girl who hit on me:

You'll notice I've taken some liberties. She's actually quite cute, and her face doesn't actually contain great leaps forward for mankind, as defined by Stanley Kubric, but I figure my using her for blog material is punishment enough.

I've edited things to shorten it up to the best parts, as well as make my self appear wittier (of course), but here's primarily how it went:

HER: At the severe risk of coming across like a creeper, please ignore the fact that this message lacks context 

Actually, what I was really wondering was, where did you get your boots for the Romeo and Juliet thing? I need to costume a Renfaire music group, and I'm having a ridiculously hard time finding suitable footwear.

ME: (not knowing who the fuck this person is, or which R&J thing they're talking about) No, no big deal. Which r&j boots do you mean? I'm drawing a blank.

Don't worry about out of context facebook messages, by the way, I'm pretty sure what the whole things' for in the first place.

HER: Well, I'm looking for something pirate-y, and those thigh high boots were fantastic (and who doesn't want to see full grown men in thigh high pirate boots?)


Oh, fuck. Who is this person? She seems to know me- I did accept a lot of friend requests from Michigan people without looking at them thoroughly.  Good thing like the Lion's mane or the Sperm Whale's sperm, I have a defense mechanism: verbosity.

ME: Fair enough. Not surprisingly, and fairly embarrassingly, I can recommend a few internet places to obtain Piratey-boots. I was about to say thigh-high boots, but caught myself, so as not to insinuate the un-toward thing I just insinuated. Damn, foiled again.

Any other requirements besides tall boots? And which Romeo and Juliet thing are we talking about? Jog my memory- because I haven't been in Romeo and Juliet for a while, and if you think I"m someone else entirely, that makes this whole conversation much stranger, because then I"m just some random internet guy recommending where you can buy men's thigh-high boots, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that.

Anyway, let me know if you'd like me to be more specific, and I'll gladly send you one, if not two places to get piratey boots, if you like. Cheers.

HER: Haa. Well. That would be awkward. Luckily, I have no shame, as seeing as you're remotely attractive, it's all well. 

Sooo. Michigan Shakespeare fest? I'm hoping so, or else I've become a creeper


Okay, she's a festival person. Good thing I was nice. And a cute and fearless one at that. Good stuff.

ME: Oh, cool, what part are you playing? Btw, no shame, and you think I"m cute? Wow, look forward to meeting you. I mean, I can't really be too sure you don't go around asking other men on the internet where they get their thigh-high boots...that might be kind of a deal breaker : (.

Try this on for size: http://www.museumreplicas.com

HER;Actually, I'm a mere audience member. In which case, I am a creeper.  And I can honestly say you're the first I've asked. Haa.


WOOPS. Haa indeed. At this point, there are 3 options. She's either:


A) 12
B) Crazy
C) Going to ask my for my bank account information.


Because girls don't act like this on the internet. I'm not saying I don't get hit on, it's just generally in person, after they've, you know, met me, and I've convinced them I'm a baseball player from out of town or something.


Bear in mind I have no idea how old she is. On the, like, 1 in 10 billion chance she's actually my age and just crazy...well...crazy is as crazy does. You can't tell by the picture.


Then this gem drops:


HER: And, if you happen to be around this summer, you may find me at multiple renaissance festivals.  WOW. I'm just making myself look so much creepier.


Uh oh. We've crossed into crazy town. But now I'm curious.


ME: I wouldn't worry about it. Do you go to school in Michigan?


HER: Yep. Emphasis in French and Theatre  I'm way cool. You?


ME: Graduated 3 years ago from Northwestern. Where do you go?


Translation: How old are you?


HER: Currently? UM Flint. I'm getting my gen ed out of the way, then heading over to WMU.


ME: Nice. Well, always good to meet another shakespeare fan. Do you perform at renfair?


HER: Not as a music act. This year I'm doing court, and I'm premiering as a peasant dancer. Should be fun. 


ME: I've always thought about doing fights or something for one of those. I had a theater buddy who did them alot, I was always a little afraid


HER:  Haa. I feel like I'm ranting. And like I'm coming off entirely egotisticall. Sooooo. If'n you wanna continue this conversation, you can jump in with something about yourself. Never be afraid of stage combat. It's an attractive quality.


Not gonna lie, internet, my heart went out a little. Wait....not my heart. Dick. That's it. Dick went out a little. It's so hard to tell the difference sometimes.


I mean, a cute college girl who is clearly interested in me? Fuck- she's a shakespeare groupie AND she does RENFAIR? SUPER UN-HARD TO IMPRESS.


I resolved to continue this enjoyable line of fantasy right up until she asked for my credit card information.


ME: You're not ranting. If you're up in Jackson, you should stop by the festival and say "hi." 


Oh, no, not of the combat part. I actually tend to do silly things like boxing and krav maga in my spare time. More of showing my friends how dorky I really am, because I would enjoy it way too much.


I'm not proud.


HER:  Oh, I probably will be. What's wrong with being dorky?


ME:  Nothing! Dorky is awesome! I'm an uber-dork, I'm being serious. I think dorky is attractive, actually.


HER:  Nothing wrong with that. I can't sit Mercutio's mono without fuming that I can do it better.  (I'm a huge Shakespeare dork. And, well, theatre in general. If you hadn't noticed.) Haa, then... You must think I'm stunning! 


ME: Jury's still out on that one.


HER:  Hold on, I'm going to go grab some food. Well, you don't have to wait, but you could...


Okay, a little too good to be true. I tapped out.


ME: Well, now might be a decent time to excuse myself anyway, other obligations call. Until next time: c'etait un plaisir de vous recontrer. until next time : )


HER: You're a doll. I hope there is a next time : ).


Again, I'm not proud. So, this night, I'm talking the whole thing over with my brother. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but...this defied well, everything I knew about how women generally behaved, on the internet or otherwise.


Flattered, sure. Being an actor does magical things to women: like convince them that you actually make any money at it without you actually saying that, but still....


So I did a little research. Went into the "photo's" section on facebook. And there I saw the album, in bold, horrible letters:


PROM 2011.


Fuck.


FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK I need to wash out my fucking brain. Talk about feeling gross.


See? One of the 3. Happened to be she's 12, not crazy. Not really twelve, but might as fucking well be.


I felt very dirty. Like, oedipus, in reverse.

• • Fuck. I resolved to leave it at that, and never contact this person again.
    
    
    Then I get this:
    
    
    HER: Um. Hi. Haa, so I'm really sorry about this, but as it turns out, I don't know you. In fact, the person I thought you were just called me. And he turned out to be a complete prick. Which means, I just hit on a total stranger. And am really super apologetic.
    Okay, I'll stop bugging you!
    
    
    Okay, now, my pride is already slightly damaged here. I thought a cute girl was hitting on me, and turns out I was thinking things that are illegal, except in Utah.
    
    
    ME: Yah. Nice prom pictures by the way. Don't hit on boys on the internet.
    
    
    That should set her straight. Snarky? Yes. Harsh? A little. Dismissive? Absolutely. But still good advice. Then:
    
    
    HER: Gee, thanks! See my grad pictures while you were snooping too?
    
    
    Okay, kid gloves are off.
    
    
    ME: No, sorry, stopped at prom. And if it's on facebook, and a stranger contacts you, and you look through their stuff on facebook to find out what the deal is, it's not snooping. It's just facebook. And, for the record, I only did that because girls who hit on boys on the internet are A) Very young  scam artists or C) crazy, and I wanted to see which it was.
    
    I'm just saying you seem like a nice girl- my little sister graduated 2011 too. So, you probably shouldn't be hitting on boys on the internet. Definition of a bad idea. You don't need to. And there are lots of weird people on the internet. It's the internet. You can meet lots of nice people through things like ice cream parlors, and roller rinks, whatever it is you kids do these days, so while it was flattering and everything, just...something to think about in the future.
    
    Anyway, no offense intended, best of luck in your early career, and take care.
    
    
    ME: that smiley face with sunglasses in the first paragraph was supposed to be b) not 
    
    
    ME: that...came out creepier than I already feel
    • anyway, best of luck, and take care
      
      
      HER: Sorry, that was rude. But also highly offensive. I'm about to turn 19. And yes, I went to prom. As a guest with my friend who couldn't find a date. 
      Anyway, that's all.
    
    
    And I'm the queen of fucking england. Then:
    
    
    HER: And, thanks. I think.?
    
    
    Sigh of releif. I don't want to traumatize a child with my penis OR my facebook messages. That last response was what I had been hoping for.
    
    
    ME: Okay, good, yes, that's what I was going for. Anyway, you seem very nice, so best of luck with everything. Take care.
    
    
    HER: You can stop saying "take care" now, haa. I get the point. You've compared me to your little sister; it doesn't get much more final than that.
    
    
    ME: Does kinda throw a wrench in the works, doesn't it?
    
    
    Translation: Intentionally. Thanks but, I doubt a cameo on "To Catch A Predator" would do much for my career.
    
    
    HER: Um, well, it was definently an unwanted first 
    
    
    ME: Oh. Well, how about first cousin by marriage? Is that better?
    
    
    Haven't heard back. Fairly relieved.
    
    
    Anyway, to recap:
    
    
    A) If you're a girl, don't hit on boys on the internet, it makes us very nervous.
    B) Better safe than sorry.
    C) God, if you're reading this (you're not) and she really is in college like she says, then SERIOUSLY fuck you. Not cool, fair, not fair.
    
    
    So who knows? Maybe she'll show up at Michigan with a similarly hot college friend who is also improbably into shakespeare and medieval dress.
    
    
    It'll be too bad though,  because I'll have to postpone only my second three-way ever while I run out to find a kinko's so I can COPY THEIR FREAKING ID'S TO USE AS EVIDENCE IN COURT.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    Cheers.