The name "Alex" is slowly fading from my list of friends with each attempt he makes. I don't know what has gotten into this kid, but... he won't leave me alone.

I didn't mind his calls this afternoon, even though I was busy. And I was only slightly miffed when he decided to stop by, unannounced during his job (he said he had to deliver a pizza in my complex), sopping wet from the rain. I even gave him a towel to use, after saying loudly, "Alex, what the fuck? What are you doing here?" And sure, I have plans tomorrow to take care of stuff starting at 9 am so I was hoping to go to sleep at a decent hour, but I said "okay" when he called and asked if he could come over. Probably because he said those two words that will always have me lending you a shoulder to cry on.

"I'm depressed."

"Alright, come over. But you have to promise me something. No...touching, or anything. Because I don't want ... you know... I don't want that to happen again."

"Alright, I know!"

"I'm SERIOUS, Alex."

And even though he agreed, that didn't keep him from trying.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are?" he asked, for the 10th time--I'm not joking. 10 times. And might I add, I have no makeup on, I am wearing dirty clothes, my nose is probably still red from my session of blackhead-popping, and I haven't brushed my hair.

"Did I tell you--you look gorgeous. You really do."

Hm, think it could have anything to do with that open bottle of cabernet he drove over with?

Yes folks, Alex drank the goddamn bottle WHILE he drove over. And when he got up to go to the bathroom, 2 percosets fell out of his pocket onto my couch.

So I end up torn. I want him to go home, because he smells pretty ripe; you can recognize someone drunk off a red wine by the blueness of their teeth, the smell on their breath, and the dryness of their parched lips. (How do I know? "Been there, done that.") He's trying to lean on me, and I become a cold and most unreceptive pillow. But then I get worried he's going to get himself fucked up, either on the ride home getting pulled over by a cop--or by deciding later that percosets go good with booze. And finally, I end up seriously PISSED OFF because he KNOWS that there's no more funny business; I no longer want anything but a friendship between the two of us, a simply platonic and hands-free friendship.

I tell him to leave, and he finally does, ...looking sad. And as I write this, I realize it's all my fault. I should've just said "No, you can't come over."

...And I never should have allowed to pass what is now turning out to be a very bad mistake...

"I hate your boyfriend; he better treat you good. [Pause] Can I pine over you?"

"No."

"Don't you like it?"

"No, not really."

"You must feel like a god, having someone pine over you like this!"

Huh?! And I laugh. Because he's being funny. I mean,...I think he's being funny... You need to see the way he breaks into a goofy smile right after he says this kind of stuff. I can't imagine there's anything more than drunken exaggeration behind his words, but he continues.

"Knot, I call you every day. I mean... I like you!"

"I like you too, Alex! You're my friend."

"What am I supposed to do--change my life for you?" he shouts, as if I'm arguing.

Speechless, I shout back, "Alex, I'm not asking you to!!"

I start to wonder if he's either pulling my leg with a broken-hearted string, or if he's actually being serious. And really, kids, all I wanted to do tonight was fucking go to bed early to get a good jump on the morning's chores.