Yesterday morning I came in to work, did a little reading on CityPages.com, and was generally minding my own business when this article jumped off my monitor and almost almost throttled me between sips of a sweet, sweet morning latte. [link]
After breaking out with a mild case of hives and nearly spitting hot latte out my nose, I re-read some of the more interesting bits of the article before promptly forwarding the link to every single male friend I know. The subject of my email went something like this, "HOW NOT TO PICK UP A WOMAN - otherwise entitlted - HOW TO GET SLAPPED WITH A RESTRAINING ORDER... or worse." I'm not 46 and my name is not Denise, yet I still fear for my safety. Guys like this actually live in the same city as me? But... how, I mean why... ??? I'm telling ya, this dating thing should have its own color-coded warning label and be slapped on the forehead of every single guy in town. You'd think the human race (or Google) could figure out a more streamlined process for the ritualistic mating habits of those who consume oxygen, especially after landing people on the moon. But here am, proved wrong yet again.
Speaking of dropping off people on the moon... someone get this guy a helmet.
Alright alright alright, maybe I'm being a bit harsh. The 8-year old in me would have said, "Awww, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard since the last time I watched The Princess Bride. Love at first sight, hugs, kisses, flowers, and DANCING! Isn't it all so romantic? Dude can't go on without her. *sigh* I want one of those someday!"
The pragmatic 28-year old in me wants to find Denise, give her a hug, and then put my poor, naive, little 8-year old Margaret self out of her misery with a big, fluffy pillow and some Lithium. We've all been there so don't shake your head feigning disbelief at me. You're out with your friends, it's a special occasion, you toss back one too many Margaritas... tra la la... and before you know it you're line-dancing on the bar with some schmuck who's 4 inches too short and smells like old tweed and Old Spice. But, ya'know? It's all good. The next day a big, fat case of temporary insanity is understood between all parties involved and, AND!, better yet the alcohol can be counted on to erase virtually all memories from the night before. These things happen and that's okay.
But this tool has freagin' gone off the deep end needs that bottle of Lithium more than 8-year old Margaret does.
So, he lived with his mom. All other things aside the logician in me says, um, how are you gonna bring someone home after a late night out? It's just, you don't, No.
Second, he had never been intimate with anybody? Here I thought *I* had commitment issues.
Third, I hope the chick from The Gilmore Girls contacted her lawyer 10 minutes ago. There's a new breed of stalker in town, he thinks he's a clever poet, and he's armed with a cell phone and an internet connection.
Fourth, he gave her his business card and she told him she had a boyfriend. So, um, what about that wasn't clear again?
Fifth, I've decided tattoo artists have probably seen it all. Someone get those guys a book deal.
Sixth, after running ads in the City Pages for two years and spending $1500 bling, how do you get to sleep at night? No really, do you think he's a robot or something? If he was a robot we could call this whole thing an episode of Punk'd and call it a day.
Seventh, the first sign that you are in fact a stalker is when you tell everyone within shouting distance that you're not a stalker. The second sign? Buying a stuffed animal holding a heart (anyone else see SNL's view on the matter?).
Eigth, I can't believe I'm still enumerating. What the fuck?
Nineth, if your name is Kevin and you show up at my next photowalk, I recommend spending some seriously serious time considering how you will appropriate every piece of protective hockey gear you've ever owned to your respective body parts. Cuz damn.
Comments
There are stalkers EVERYWHERE these days! You just never know anymore. They seem all together and stuff and then all of a sudden they're ringing you from the downstairs lobby crying/whining out, "I fuuuucking loooooove you."
Be careful and always carry your pepper spray.
And your AK-40 ;)
An AK-40 could be a *little* violent for my tastes, then again my phone did ring at 5am late Saturday night (early Sunday morning). Apparently one of my stalkers was standing in the foyer and was calling up, trying to get buzzed in.
Um, yeah. That actually did happen.
Wait, no, I mean the calling part happened. Of course I didn't answer or let the psycho-phant in.
Ok, out of curiosity what does old tweed smell like?
Wet Englishman.
Okay, that is really scary. Seriously--two years, over one hundred ads, $1,500? Something is clearly wrong with that guy.
Don't forget that he bought her a stuffed animal holding a heart!
Not just any stuffed animal but a stuffed FROG holding a sign that says, "Kiss me."
And now that I went back to the original article to confirm that frog thing, I found this doozy:
"She inspires him. Kevin has been writing poetry and songs, and singing karaoke. Everything he does is for and about her. "
ARE YOU SERIOUS? He talks to her for less time than it takes to cook a pizza and suddenly everything he does is for her? W.O.W.
Sopheava has stalkers calling her at 5 a.m...
This guy spends 3 grand and gets a tattoo.
My stalkers can't even be bothered to get my birthday right... Nothing more depressing than having a stalker that sends you flowers on the wrong freaking day.
No respect I tell ya.
Holy delusions, Batman!
I mean, I don't claim to have an especially strong grip on reality, but dang!
At least he consented to be interviewed and have his picture run. If you see him, you'll have been warned.
Just don't go anywhere near the Minnesota Music Cafe without having a tazer and a rape whistle.
Aren't you glad they put his picture in the article? Easier identification. Guys who talk like that typically have more issues than stalking. What a waste of $1500. He probably could have mail-ordered a Russian bride for that much.
Hopefully his parole officer saw the story...
BTW - My promised cookie will never clear Customs here without being eaten by grubby, greasy, smelly, selfish, fat, greedy, ugly, dumb, can't-speak-English, bastard, rotten, stupid customs agents. I'd like to switch from a cookie to a puppy. And hopefully he bites - them.
(Can you tell I had a rough day trying to clear a FedEx pack from home through Customs? Six fucking hours, Margaret. Six hours to get a stupid FedEx small box with my old Fairview scrubs, 1lb bag of Skittles, my stethescope, and a 'we-miss-you' card from Dad.)
Whoa, hold up there a sec.
My name IS Kevin and I have been thinking about joining the folks on the flicker Twin Cities group on one of their photowalks.
Does that mean if you're there too, or if I show up on one of your walks, I'll be subjected to serious bodily harm?!?
Cuz damn.
The phrase "rape whistle" nearly made me fall on the floor in laughter. Is that a legitimate device?
Well, at least you know the City Pages has a sense of humor. Either that or they just don't want to get sued by the entire female population of the Twin Cities for keeping his identity a secret.
Kevin, I think you'll be okay so long as your non-tattooed left arm enters the room before you do. Better not wear yellow or bring along a stuffed frog, either, just in case.
Yes, rape whistles are legitimate devices, but as http://www.aware.org/toolsntechnqs.shtml#Alarms.whistles points out, they're not horribly effective.
As for pepper spray, they say it's effective, but I wonder at defending oneself with a condiment.
This guy is a tool. Pedestal is not even a remotely appropriate metaphor for where he's putting Denise. Denise sounds like your typical Bobo, is appropriately eclectic (digging the MMC scene) and showed a moment of weakness one night, never to let her guard down again - lest she be mortified via press of the one night in 5,000 she decides to flirt. Tennis coach? Ewwwww.
When I started college at Marquette Univ. in Millwaukee-- we were all handed rape whistles. Fantastic.
And after 10 years in TV, I still can't get a stalker. Damn! What's wrong with me?
Ha. Just start hanging around me. You'll get your first stalker within a week flat!