A Long, long time ago, in a very far place called Facebook, some dude stole me from a guy’s friends list [whom I liked very much at the time] [The friend list guy, not the random crazy dude] I didn’t know him from a bar of soap, but he felt it necessary to “like” all my statuses. He commented on all my photos, wall post, statuses, he even popped up in randomly bars and pubs where he knew I would be etc just like any other good stalker would do, but I must admit the standards of the stalkers really went south… Don’t get me wrong. I love stalkers, as much as the next person, but I prefer 1,000 muscle-bound men kneeling in front of my home or work chanting “we’re not worthy we’re not worthy” They are much more elegant. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me explain what happened on this one dreadful Friday night …
So a while back, we went on a girl’s only night, because that is what we girls do. I was sitting there drinking my cocktail minding my own business, touching nothing. I promise… anywho… This guy walked up to me and said: Excuse me, Miss, if you don’t mind me asking, but did you just fart? I was like: Uhm … No. why? He was like … cause you just blew me away … I naturally found it hilarious!!
He turned out to be my crazy stalker from Facebook. All hopes for a muscle-bound man kneeling in front of me flew out of the window when I realized that he was in fact not sitting on a chair but standing next to me. Yes people. That’s how short and tiny he was. When he hugged me hello he nestled his head in between my boobs. I swear till this day; he tried to hump my leg. Can anybody say awkward? I felt like a GIANT. A big fat Giant. I was mortified. All I can hear is the roaring laughter of my friends, who at that time had too many Martini’s
After that, he constantly asked me out on dates. He was like a bad rash that just didn’t want to go away… The more I declined, the more he phoned. I think that made him want me more… tactical fault on my side.
Whenever I went out for drinks with the girls there he was. Standing at the bar. Staring. So it was official. I had a creepy stalker and no muscle-bound man kneeling and chanting before me… I thought one can only use “Oh I’m sorry, I’m washing my hair tonight or my Gold fish just died today” so many times, but not with him… oh no… he had no limits whatsoever. If I was him I would have phone SPCA on my ass – I can see the Herolds headlines: “Single, white female arrested for serial Gold Fish killings”
It was a Friday night. The club was pumping. I had my trusty stalker waiting at the bar. Watching my every move. I had the time of my life. The wind was blowing through my hair … or it could have been the fan. I forget.
Anyway he walked right up to me. It was more like a stumble crossed with a crawl, but hey… who am I to judge. He hurled himself a crossed the table to where I sat and slurred the following words: “thiiiiiis isnnnnnnn’t woooorkin’ foooooooor *hick* meeeeeeee *hick* I’mmmmmmmm breaaaaakkkin’ upppp *hick* wiff yooooooouuuu *hick*
As my luck would have it. The music died. Complete silence … and then the roaring laughter of the whole club.
You are lucky to be out of that “thing”.
Gosh that would suck to be stalked like that. What a weirdo. I have to admit that I’ve never been stalked, not in my whole life, and I am 54. Maybe we don’t have that many stalkers in the US.
Or maybe they’re just better at it…