the line separating stalking and courtship? razor thin, man.

Dear i+i: I've fallen for a woman I had a one-night stand with. To her it was just a fling. How can I change her mind? - DEEP FEELINGS FAST

ian: Well, DFF, you're obviously a guy with a lot to offer. "A lot" here referring to your unbalanced and obsessive tendencies. If I were to conduct a quick poll of what friends you've managed to retain, I'd be willing to bet I'd get a lot of "he's… KIND of intense," or "he falls in love with any chick that will talk to him," or "his glove box is stuffed full of restraining orders."

Lucky for you, this one's easy. Call her. Like fifty times. Now. Right now. She might be with somebody else. 


I bet she is. I bet she's with him right now. 


I bet she's having mind-blowing sex on his boat right now. Or his private jet. Or his dirigible. I bet they're having nasty steam-punk dirigible sex as I type this. He's all dashing in this Rocketeer-style uniform with his jodhpurs around his ankles as she's bent over a control panel with all these awesome-looking brass fittings and shit. 

After like the first six or so successive calls, she's likely to let it go straight to voicemail. The tone of each message is critical. I CANNOT stress to you the importance of sounding super-relaxed and casual each and every time you leave her a "thinkin' 'boutcha" message. 


Go for breezy. It's CRITICAL that you sound breezy and unconcerned. If you don't, it will be disastrous.


Here - rehearse it a couple times. No. Do it again. Nope. Again. WRONG. Just sound NATURAL, man - don't over-fucking think it, or she'll recognize you for the hopeless lonesome weirdo you are. Rehearse it in the mirror. With a ghost story flashlight shining under your chin. And your face streaked with the dried salt of your tears. Rehearse it till each of the words is drained of individual meaning, and they're reduced to a baffling collection of noises falling out of your face. Rehearse it till it's like The King's Speech and Candyman had a baby in your mind. And remember: super-casual.


And quit blinking so much. No - don't THINK about blinking, cause that'll make you self-conscious. You don't wanna sound self-conscious, do you? Or wretched. Don't sound wretched or self-conscious. Take a deep breath. DEEPER! Good. Now clear your mind. QUIT FLINCHING AND CLEAR YOUR FUCKING MIND!!! RIGHT NOW!!! OR SO HELP ME CHRIST I WILL SLAP EVERY THOUGHT OUT OF IT.


Now try it again. Oh. God. No. Jesus. You sound like fucking Voldemort. Are you actively trying to repel her? She's a human female, son - she does not need you on her voicemail sounding like your nuts are in a tourniquet. 


You know what? You're not a phone guy. That's all it is. Why'choo send her a text? Yeah. Better. Send her a text.


Every six minutes for the next four days. 


"Hey, Boo. Where you at?"
"Hey. It's me. Wasn't sure if you been getting my texts or not."
"Hey. My car still smells like you. Which is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo awesome. Hit me back."
"Where ARE you?"
"Not sure if your phone's dead or whatever. Call me, OK? I'm worried about you."
"omg. did you lose your phone?"
"STOPIGNORINGME!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"sorry. sorry. r u mad @ me?"
"wy u gotta be a bitch?"
"fml"
"u 'member I pikt u up @ yr place, yah? u know i know whr u liv"


If she doesn't block you, it's love for sure.


If she does block you, it's not you, man. It's her. You're being totally sweet and attentive. She's got daddy issues or whatever, cause she just can't handle your intimacy. She's probably freaked out cause she's never had a dude treat her THIS well before.

Time to escalate.


Swing by her place. Ring the bell. For a long-ass time. Really lean on it. All right. She's gonna play it that way. Ignore you some more. Leave her that Beanie Baby® on her stoop. But first rip its fucking head off. 


And the next time leave her flowers. Dead ones.


Then leave that pic you took of you two with your phone. Don't tear it in half or anything. That's cliché, man. Burn her eyes out with a cigarette.


Then leave the upskirt pic you took under the table at dinner.


Then leave a pic of your junk. With the ball-strangling ribbon wrapped around the whole business. Because it's a present. For her. That demonstrates your burning and furious love.


And if none of that works, take a dump on her stoop.


On the off chance that you don't see where I'm leading you here:


You're out of your fucking mind. There's no such thing as falling for somebody after one night. You're a deluded and defective need-monkey. You're a vial of poison for anybody else. You're chronically afraid of actual connection (which takes time and work), so you construct these fabulations that only demonstrate your catastrophic failure to understand interpersonal dynamics and the life cycle of romance. Dr. Drew would kick you to the curb, you hapless piece of shit. 


You got your dick wet - this is veering toward the miraculous. Why can you not be made happy by this? I been married 14 years. My sex life is packed in one of those crates at the end of Indiana Jones, dude. 


Maybe if you dial down your fucking crazy a little bit, you'll get laid again. Then you could describe the experience to my mummified ghost penis to see if it remembers anything. It won't, obviously, but I'm keen to try. Text me, buddy.