We all tend to go a little crazy on New Years Eve.
We go out, we get astoundingly drunk, and we hang out with a bunch of other crazy people we don't know. And it's great time, because everyone's being crazy.
But therein lies an interesting problem.
If we're all expected to act crazy on New Year's Eve, how do we discern normal people acting crazy because it's New Year's Eve from the people that are actually psychologically crazy?
How do we know who's just having fun vs. who goes home from the bar and sews a coin purse from the scrotum of the neighbor's dog?
The answer is, we don't.
And unfortunately, Erika found out the hard way.
Erika went out on New Year's Eve with some friends, and some friends of friends. Normally a pretty safe and secure group if you trust your friends, which obviously you should.
Erika admits she's a little off-kilter, and ended up meeting a nice gentleman named Robert. Robert and Erika really hit it off that night, and Erika was rather charmed by Robert's sick and twisted sense of humor.
Robert kept mentioning he was crazy, but Erika assumed he meant like the boyish "I'm so crazy, I find the most disgusting things funny.... ..." type of crazy.
Robert lived about an hour of town, and the two lovebirds were drunk out of their minds, so Erika invited Robert to spend the night at her apartment.
They went home and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They exchanged some DNA, exchanged their phone numbers, and had a great time.
"The next morning," Erika says, "everything seemed totally cool."
Robert returned home, and Erika and Robert spent the next few weeks text messaging each other daily. They had a funky little long-distance romance going, and couldn't wait to see each other in a couple weeks when Robert was coming back into town for the weekend.
Finally the big weekend arrived, only Robert didn't arrive with the weekend. He never came by at all. Erika was a bit concerned, until she got a text message late on Saturday night from Robert.
Robert: Sorry, I was in jail.
Erika: For what?
Robert: I about damn killed that boy.
Now, this concerned Erika.
Most people call frantically from jail, screaming of false arrests, confusing circumstances, and huge misunderstandings.
Robert, on the other hand, said "I'm in jail" the same way you or I might say "Please pass the green beans" at a pleasant Thanksgiving dinner hosted by your grandparents.
Erika was beginning to have second thoughts about her quirky New Years Eve lover, but dismissed it as an isolated incident. He seemed like a really nice guy, and they had a lot in common.
A couple days later, Robert sent her a new text asking Erika for a picture.
Erika: What do I get out of this?
Robert: Have faith.
Erika: Faith we will get to hang out this weekend?
Robert: Faith that I'm an alcoholic and I'm going to whoop you.
Robert: Have faith that I will get drunk and beat you to death with my fist.
Erika's jaw hit the ground.
There had been no argument, no miscommunications, nothing. "I stopped all communication with him at that point," Erika says, "I hadn't done anything to make him mad."
The next weekend Erika was out at a bar when her phone rang. She looked at phone and saw "Robert" on her screen, and assumed it was another Robert she knew. She answered the phone to find "I'm going to beat you to death with my fist" Robert on the other line.
He was in town, and wanted to get together. Erika told him that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Robert explained that he had just been joking with her, and figured she would understand that he was kidding around. He just had a crazy sense of humor.
"I don't really want anyone to tell me they're going to kill me, joking or not," Erika told him. He pleaded with her to no avail, and Erika eventually ended the conversation. It was over and done with, she thought. She promptly changed his phone ID to "Robert Do Not Answer."
Then the texts and phone calls really started coming in at all hours of the day and night. Robert called her constantly, pleading for her to pick up the phone. He called from other phones and left messages for her. She ignored all his texts and phone calls.
Finally, during Mardi Gras, Robert decided to leave Erika some special messages at 2:45 in the morning.
Take it away, Robert.
(Edited for clarity. As if that helps any.)
Suck my dick like an ice cream bar. You know who I am, you don't want to know. Cause I'll fuck you in your bootyhole. I'm crazy. I'll use dawn dishwashing liquid to fuck you in the pussy, you dirty old dish liquid. I hope you die you dirty old whore.
And 2 minutes later:
It's a goddamn mother fucking thing you didn't answer your goddamn mother fucking phone. Cause you fucking fatass motherfucker don't ever get no dick in your life and now you have to worry about Robert in your life. But don't worry because I'm going to pimp your ass and when you hear a thump at 2 in the morning, you know it's gonna be Robert up in the motherfucker.
And you know Dean's got your number. Dean's got your number. So it ain't just me, it ain't just me. You stupid ass whore. you come all the way from my city, you stupid ass mother fucker. You rich ass. Toyota. Toyota.
Certainly sounds like someone needs a prescription. But is he done?
Two nights later, Robert sends a solitary text to Erika.
"It is what it is."
True indeed Robert.
It what it is.
Thankfully, Erika hasn't heard from him since. She adds:
"I'm not sure if he got bored of me, or gave me up for Lent."
Let's hope both.