We Don’t Stalk Anymore

Sometimes your ex just pops up out of nowhere and ruins your day for no damn reason. For example, this morning I was making coffee and I hadn’t even put the grounds in the filter yet and I pulled the sugar out so I thought Slow down we’re not there yet. Then I remembered when he said he “wasn’t there yet” and I started melting down and knocked the sugar over. Now this is going to take forever to clean up. HOW IS HE STILL RUINING STUFF WHEN HE’S NOT EVEN HERE ANYMORE? THIS IS BULLSHIT.

I thought I had gotten past this. I went through the 5 mother fucking stages of grief already. But the fucked up thing about that bullshit is, as it turns out, that just because you cycle through it, doesn’t mean you’re done. So it’s not necessarily 5 stages. You might have to cycle back through a couple of stages or maybe all of them so it might be like 7 stages of grief or 10, or 50 if you’re really fucked up. So it should probably be called The Stages of Grief But We Don’t Know How Many Depends How Fucked Up You Are.

It gets easier to just give into the grief as I get older, as opposed to acting on it and calling or texting or hiding in his bushes waiting for him to come home. I mean mostly. It’s just those efforts have been fruitless in the past so I don’t stalk. Anymore. If I really think about it, the exes I stalked weren’t completely disappointed that I stalked them. It could have been worse. I’m a pretty cute stalker. But when I get stalked it’s always by someone with a rare medical condition or physical deformity, like the time I legit got stalked by a dwarf and I know I’m only 5’2” but maybe you should shoot for the 4’10” and under crowd my man. Or they’re homeless or missing limbs. To be fair, I do roll with a lot of veterans and some of us are either mentally or physically not all there. Or both. I just think if I’m going to be stalked by someone, l would like them to have all of their eyes. But I digress.

The thing about stalking guys is that women do it because it works a little bit. Guys will call stalkers “psycho” but then totally still fuck them. I kept a thing with a guy I was crazy about going like that for 7 years. Once I “somehow ended up” at a bar in New York City that he was at and “what a crazy coincidence right? I was just in the neighborhood and here we both are!” Except that I LIVED IN PENNSYLVANIA NOWHERE NEAR BLEECKER STREET IN NEW YORK CITY. And I was 17. And got kicked out for my shitty fake ID. But here’s how I know he kinda liked the fact that I stalked him. Even though the “run-in” was painfully awkward at first, he tried to talk the door guy into letting me stay. That, and the fact that at every run-in after that for years to come (many were legit, we had mutual friends) we’d always hook up. I mean if he didn’t want 32 unsolicited messages a day, 3 nightly drive-bys and 1 weekly stakeout, he wouldn’t have kept rewarding me with a little candystick every now and again, now would he?

So, ladies, look the moral of the story here is stalking is ok if you just want to get a little of the pork sword every now and again, but it’s not gonna get you a relationship. I mean, not in my experience anyway. It certainly never won me anyone’s respect. So, even if I had managed to trick him into a relationship with me eventually, it would have never been fulfilling. But, come to think of it, I’m not fulfilled now either, nor am I getting any free rides on the baloney pony anymore. At least when I was following this guy around town I had places to go and once in a while he’d diddle my love button. Now I’m sitting here in my sad pajamas, drinking black coffee and writing bullshit about how stalking is fruitless which is a fucking lie because I totally got plenty of banana out of it in the past.

This morning I was in bed alone double clicking the mouse if you know what I’m saying and I stopped just before climax so it would feel like sex with a real man, but it still didn’t. I had all of the frustration but no one there to share in my regret. Misery really fucking does love company. Instead I got out of bed alone, threw sugar all over my kitchen and have no where to go tonight because I haven’t been tracking anyone.

Look, ladies, you can’t give up. Stay on the trail. Don’t lose the scent. Keep following his ass. Don’t end up like me, sad and alone, giving up on the dream of breaking someone down so much that they’re too mentally and physically exhausted from running from you that they just stay and you eventually get to keep them. I’m too old now, my eyes tire too quickly surfing Facebook to look for clues of where he’s at. Women in their 30s don’t stalk anymore, but, you … You … You’re young and full of hope and your eyes and intentions are still good. You scroll and you find that tagged check-in from someone he didn’t accept on his wall but still shows up in other places like searches and newsfeed. You go after him and you wear him down, girl. I’m gonna clean this sugar mess up and call the guy with one eye. I’m thinking if he only has one eye, he can’t get mad when I stop shaving. Because that’s the stage of the game I’m in now, where marriage is the point at which 2 people just decide to give up on the rest of their dreams together. But you keep chasing that 10, with all his limbs and eyes and above average height. If you can’t catch him, hit me up, I know a dwarf in upstate New York with low standards and an Escalade. Good luck and Godspeed.

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