Stalk Much?

I shoot from the hip (whatever that means). So basically, when I write shit down, it's usually because something has left an indelible impression on my brain through unbearable duress or the opposite. I mention this because I was hesitant to share the stupid fucked-up crap that has surfaced over the past few months. It has deeply affected me on an emotional level, not only as a girl, woman, female, whatever, but also, because in the past few months, I have felt uncharacteristically vulnerable and I'm not sure if it's a wise thing to share. But fuck it why not. At the very least, if I disappear and they can't find my body, you'll know where to point the cops. Due east.

When I worked at Larta, I had a few girlfriends both of whom I loved like sisters. Uh, but not MY sisters, I hate my sisters. They are religious freaks, both of whom couldn't form an opinion without clutching on to the bible with their sharply manicured verses or the other sister, who is by all definitions, a prostitute because she barters sex for furniture and tennis braceletes, but rather, the normal definition of what a sister is and how a normal person feels about their normal sister. By the way, these sisters that I speak of are not related to me by blood, but rather by circumstance, which I find an enormous relief and take solace in the fact that I may not be normal but I can think for myself and don't fuck for my supper...table. (and now that I think about it, I actually wonder who is smarter...damn it!)

Anyway, my girlfriends/normal sisters and I would joke about stalkers. S. definitely had one, this retarded dude that followed her from event to event, asking her stupid questions with that ridiculous lovelorn look plastered all over his face that only a virgin can muster. We would tease her about it unmercilessly until we got bored, then it would die down until the next event where we would reprise the teasing making sure to use the exact same jokes, phrases and jocular intonations. We were original and fun!

N. would always say, "You're so lucky, I wish I had a stalker!" At which point S. and I would always look at each other and do the "she's koo-koo" eye dance. My unpredicable response was, " You're crazy if you want a stalker, stalkers can kill you!" To which, N., in typical fashion, would respond with, " I just wish someone would like me enough to WANT to stalk me." To which I would always respond with," Don't look out your bathroom window tonight..." wakka, wakka, wakka (insert bushy eye brows vigorously moving up and down)!

Throwing in the best friends/lesbian joke was always funny/scandalous! and we loved it until my ex-husband accused me of sleeping with my best friend during our divorce. (Then it became gross and not so funny and more "I'm gonna punch out your lights if you ever talk that way about my best friend" (or wait, that could be me now (in the present) as I am typing this story from memory and the violence is rearing it's ugly head due to the 'roid rage which I expanded upon in the previous post)

So I keep digressing (and I don't even know if it's helpful these digressions, but in MY ego-centric opinion, it's the only thing that makes me interesting thus helpful) and circumventing the main point of this post/rant/therapy session, which is about this stalker dude (I don't even want to claim him as mine, so we shall call him, just like any other TOM, Dick or Harry aka Mr. CRAYS-zzzzz pants)(and for those of you snoozing, I just revealed my murderer's name, sorry it's not in haiku) and why I had to leave everything I know and love behind (except Cole, Kittyclaw, my home, my job and I still take the usual routes to work and I still also shop at the usual stores and visit the usual haunts and no matter who is stalking me) to avoid this lunatic once and for all. I guess now that I think about it, TOMdickharry is more of a virtual stalker as he has disrupted my exciting virtual life more than my physical "real" life. He has been systematically chasing me around the information super highway, gobbling up every letter of every word I post on various sites such as Yelp, my blogs, Facebook, etc. I have had to since close most of my accounts so he can't monitor my every word and interpret my musings (or as I like to refer to them, my brain gas) as secret personal messages intended only for him.

To you, my friends and biotches, I understand this does not make for very exciting or dangerous fodder. I think we all have had at some point someone who follows us online or we have followed someone online without the intentions of ever taking it to level creepy. I know I've certainly done it (i.e. Masa the hot fireman(rrroooaarrr) , Michael and his new heart, Ericka and all seven of her vices). I thought very little of it because his stalking was slightly flattering at the very least and mildly irritating at the most.

That was until he decided to raise the stakes a few thousand notches and buy an airplane ticket, rent a car and hotel room 2 miles from my house and hang out in my backyard, stew in his lust, anger, impatience and beer and wait for my eventual arrival home. Fortunately, I was gone for the weekend, and my dear old neighbor (might I add cancer riddled so justifiable very ANGRY yet still hasn't lost her edge neighbor) had the good sense to call the popo and he was handcuffed in my driveway.

This crazy fucker was just insane enough to call me later after he was released from his me(n)tal bracelets to tell me that he still loved me and that he would see me later.

FUCKER!!!!!

Stupid me was just startin' to feel what it must be like to feel...bothered but still not that scared. Afterall, he went back under the rock from whence he crawled out of, which was 2000 miles from my stupid arse. But then came more emails, flowers, letters to my neighbor, phone calls and voicemails and of course, who can forget in this day and age, the text messages.

Desperate and Clueless was unswerving in his focus and dedication and it was starting to unnerve me. I decided to take action and started the proceedings on filing a restraining order on this fucker. If all goes according to the master plan, the next time he decides to come to LA, unannounced and unwelcomed, he will find himself in a brokeback way in our lovely prison system. Hopefully, being served the restraining order will get the message across that his attentions are unwanted and he is now trodding in the garden of Crayz.

The purpose of this post is twofold...no wait, make that 3fold. First and most selfishly, I needed to write this down and get this off of my chest. I've been feeling like it's my fault, that somehow I brought this on myself and I realized that if I am feeling this way, there are other girls out there who are in more precarious situations who probably feel the same way, which(btw) is what causes inaction towards protecting themselves.

Which is the second reason why I am posting about this; Don't be afraid to do something!!!! Filing a restraining order initially, can seem over-reactive and not worth the trouble, but believe me, it's worth it. It's free for people who are being stalked. Plus you have a line of defense already in place with the police(popo) and the law (in all of is bureaucratic glory) on your side should your fucking asshole stalker decide to take it to the next level.

And lastly, a message to all you stalkers and potential stalkers out there: It's not flattering or complimentary for you to ignore us when we tell you enough is enough. Really.

When a girl says, " You're a great guy, but I'm not interested in a relationship right now..." She's letting you down nicely because she doesn't want to hurt your feelings and thinks you're truly a nice guy, but the context of the message hasn't changed, she still means No.

When a girl gives you a simple "No." She is being more direct and forthright with her feelings, probably still not wanting to hurt your feelings, but she really wants you to know that she really means, "Not a chance in hell."

When a girl says, "Stay the FUCK away from my family, my property, my car, my place of employment, my friends and me or else I will have you arrested and repeatedly anally dry molested by Tank." Take that as a definite sign that she is not interested in you or what you have to offer and would rather self-eviscerate her bowels with a dirty, bent spork. And if that wasn't clear enough, she would more likely be amenable to chewing on raw sewage, fresh from a construction site port-a-potty than ever see, hear or think about you again.