The Iguana Guy

OH... MY... GOD. While reading this I know you're going to think, "Why on earth did she go out with this guy more than once?" In my own defense, I'll say it was because I found his offbeat personality to be intriguing, until the situation got so weird it overwhelmed me....

Things went well the first night we met. I thought he was interesting, and I was attracted. We made a plan to meet again two days later, on a Friday night, and ended up spending the entire weekend together.

The first sign of strange behavior occurred during that weekend. It was around two-thirty in the morning, and we were talking in bed and doing some mild fooling around. He wanted to do more than I did, and I stopped him, explaining I didn't know him well enough. He said that was understandable.

A few minutes later, however, he seemed very distressed. I sat up and turned on a light. We began to discuss why he was troubled. He sobbed, "I... I... touched your flower." I said that was okay. He replied, "No, it's not okay... you don't understand me... nobody does... I have to leave."

"Right now? But it's two-thirty in the morning!"

I tried reasoning with him but it was to no avail -- he insisted upon leaving my apartment then and there. On his way out he said, "I just have to feel the wind blow through my hair." (He had long hair.)

"Alright, if you must. You can come back when you feel better."

My doorbell rang about an hour later. When I opened the door to let him in, he acted like the event had never occurred. In the morning, his behavior of the night before wasn't discussed, although it certainly wasn't forgotten -- by me.

As we spent more time together other things began to surface that were equally as bizarre, but I was enjoying his company so I didn't focus on them too much. For example, one night he had to stop at a friend's house before we went out to dinner, to pick up his chef's knives that had been stored there temporarily. We were sitting at the bar in a restaurant, waiting for our table, when he asked, "Do you want to see my knives?"

Before I had a chance to answer, he opened his pouch and began to remove this extremely large one, right out in the open. "Uh, not now! I don't think this is a good time!" I exclaimed, as I quickly made him put them away.

And then there was his infatuation with iguanas. When we'd first met, he had four small iguanas (each about five to six inches long), housed in an aquarium tank in his bedroom. I'm not the reptile type -- more the soft, fuzzy cat type -- so I didn't get as enthused about these little "pets" as he did.

One day I arrived at his apartment, and he was so excited about something he could barely contain himself. He told me recently he had seen a pair of iguanas in a pet store that he just had to have. Telling me about these fantabulous iguanas got him even more excited -- so much, that suddenly he decided couldn't live without them a moment longer. I waited in his apartment while he grabbed the little ones (they were to be a partial trade), and rushed out to the store.

Soon he returned, proudly carrying his two new iguanas. My jaw dropped when I saw them: both were OVER FOUR FEET LONG. I could deal with the little ones, but the four-foot ones were too much for me -- I wasn't into them at all.

He, on the other hand, was completely enthralled. He thought it was funny to name the female iguana "Puffy" (the name of my beloved 18 year-old cat). I was not amused by this choice of name, and told him he couldn't call it "Puffy" around me. He then called it "Fluffy," which didn't remedy the situation. The male iguana was called Juan (the name the pet store owner gave it). Fluffy and Juan -- great.

That night I stayed over, and went to sleep first. I woke up around three, and noticed he hadn't come into bed yet. Where could he be? I stumbled out of the bedroom into the living room, and was stunned and confounded by what I saw: he was fast asleep on the couch, with both of the iguanas draped over him. That was surely a sight for sore eyes!

After taking a moment to digest this... spectacle (gulp, swallow), I walked to the couch and gently tried to rouse him. I asked, "Don't you want to come into bed?"

"No, that's okay," he mumbled, "I'm fine here."

Hello! Let's assess this situation: You're dating a new girl -- she's sleeping over your apartment for God sakes -- yet you'd rather sleep on the couch with the iguanas? Forget about my being jealous of other girls -- imagine being second fiddle to a couple of reptiles!

At this point, things were rapidly on the downslide, but they hadn't quite hit bottom yet. (It can very well be said that I showed a tremendous amount of patience and open-mindedness.) But within a few short days the following two events took place, and then, all things considered, I was pushed over the edge:

#1: He told me he had turned his bedroom into a "home" for the new iguanas. He was letting them roam all around the room, and sleep in his bed at night, while he, too, was sleeping in it. Gross! He even went so far as to refer to the iguanas as "cuddly."

#2: When we had first met, he told me he'd been taking Prozac for the past two years, and was currently down to a very low, maintenance-level dose. But later, he told me after a recent visit with his doctor back home, he had decided to return to large doses, simply because the doctor had given him an ample supply. I asked, "Don't you want to not have to use it, and be happy without drugs?"

"No," he replied, "I think Prozac is great... I don't care if I'm on it forever... I think they should put it in the water supply! When I was back home I gave some to my dog -- she loved it." This statement particularly disturbed me, and I realized this whole thing was far from being a joke.

I waited until the next time we saw each other to break it off. I tried to be as kind as possible, because I knew it was a delicate situation and he wouldn't take it well. I was right. He burst into tears -- sobbing, tissues, the works. I felt sorry to have to hurt him, but I had to do what was best for me (i.e. get out).

I am definitely a changed person after all of the crack-brained things I witnessed during my time spent with Iguana Guy. (There were additional, even crazier things I left out because I don't want anyone having nightmares on my account.)

I've discovered that I now need to specifically address another category in boyfriend prerequisites: SANITY. "Excuse me, but do you consider yourself to be sane? Or would you say that perhaps you might be... insane? Oh, just thought I'd ask -- no particular reason. Well, come to think of it, there is a reason, but we don't have to get into that now...."

I've also learned a valuable lesson: There is a fine line between harmlessly eccentric, and downright psycho. One must pay attention to such details if one wants to live a longer and more fruitful life.