I'm somewhat chagrined to report that I have not taken any absolute action in respect to Voldemort's prying and pestering, aside from not answering his calls or texts.
On Tuesday afternoon, Torrin, The Chosen One, and I departed from Lincoln. Mira stayed in Lincoln. She was to be staying primarily with Voldemort's mother, known as Merope Gaunt in the HP series. I made no arrangements with Voldemort personally but it was understood that Merope would coordinate the efforts between she, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad, who is not dead in this story).
So, we're driving through Iowa. Iowa sucks. But, all seemed to be going pretty well. The drive was progressing favorably and The Boy Who Lived was doing an excellent job at initiating and maintaining conversation (not one of my fortés). My phone rang...Santeria by Sublime, which has become (unfortunately for Sublime) Voldemort's anthem. Since Mira could have conceivably been with him, I felt it was fair to answer the call. "Let me talk to your boyfriend," he demanded. I said no and hung up on his dumb a$s.
We stopped in Dubuque for gas, as has become the custom. Torrin was passed out in the backseat by this time. We were just about to leave, when the phone rang again. Morbid curiousity won out over logic, and I answered, taking off for the service station's restroom and ditching The Chosen One as he opened the door to re-enter my car. God, that was rude of me.
But not nearly as rude as what Voldemort had just done. I said hello, and Mr. Riddle replied cooly, "I just got off of the phone with your boyfriend's mom." Then, he said her name. She has a distinctive name. The blood drained from my head and I sought refuge in the bathroom. "How did you do that?" I wanted to know. Voldemort was not satisfied with this reply. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but he gauged me incorrectly by supposing that I only wanted to know how he found it out so that I can better "hide" my "tracks next time." He considers it a sort of public service that he called The Chosen One's mom to warn her about me. Says he was on the phone with her for half an hour.
Seriously, WHAT THE FÜ(K.
What kind of crazy son of a fool (no offense Merope and Tom Sr.) calls up his ex-GF's mother to make himself feel better.
I'm not even sure how Tom Riddle got that information. I've been pretty careful to not slip any identifying information to him (duh) or his mom. We're pretty sure it must be internet-related, possibly off of the local University's studentfinder via Facebook (to get his name).
At this point one can probably gather that I am definitely p!s$ed off. Come Monday you can be certain that I will verify that there is a document stating that I have legal physical custody of my daughter. Until then, I try to forget that the whole thing happened so that I can enjoy the weekend. That waste of oxygen is not worth my time spent worrying.
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