… or at least that’s what I have been told. Ahem. 😉
Okay, so we all have facebook-stalked people at least once in our lives..especially love interests, boyfriends, girlfriends, wive’s friends, husband’s friends…right? Can we admit that so I don’t feel so bad about myself here?
Admit it, you realized you had gone one step too far the minute you freak out because you accidentally ‘liked’ a picture of someone you were ‘studying’ that was posted 2 years ago. Ya, you went into their history and you ran through their images and posts. We all do it once in a while. It’s human nature. It’s our animal instinct, people. Hell, we are so good at stalking that we even stalk ourselves sometimes.
Now, I have been known in the past four years to take that to a new level. I am not proud of it. It was all mania induced – a harmless stalker status was bestowed upon me officially this past year when I fell in love with, yet ANOTHER, musician. I don’t know what it is, but the majority of my boyfriends were musicians in some way shape or form. All had long hair, all smoked, all were in bands, all wrote, all thought creatively and all fell deeply madly in love way too soon. And they ALL impressed Daddy with their combat boots, ripped tees, and latest drug paraphernalia. Let me tell ya…that man was proud of me for picking his worst nightmares!
I’ll never forget the day my therapist asked me point blank if I was stalking my love interest at the time. I was horrified and utterly guilty. I had indeed, sped across the united states in hopes that I may see him in a psychotic manic fit. Now, I knew him personally and pretty well. So, it wasn’t like it was too far fetched. But still. I immediately denied any stalking of any sort. But inside I was dying. Had I really gone that far? Was texting him 4-5 times per day too much? Was calling him from mental institutions a tad overboard? Was sending him letters at work a bit too forward? It’s not like I was searching for him in his hometown or anything. At least I left the state in search of love – far from him as it turned out because he was in different countries touring. Yes, it was way too far.
From that moment forward, I deleted his number off my phone and computer and haven’t dialed him since. Proud to say that my therapist rocks. He scared me straight that day and knocked me right back into hard, cold reality. I didn’t want to be THAT girl! God, man, that’s really scary. And sad. That isn’t me!
Now that I am stable, I wouldn’t even dare try a stunt like that again. Besides, I don’t even really think of the guy that much anymore. It was simply a manic phase that reeked of residual pain from my past boyfriends, heartache and being mentally abused. I suppose that it is something that lies deep within and now that I am sober, I am seeing this clearly. I now can check myself immediately before it goes too far…where as when I was drinking, the alcohol was like a lubricant – a slip and slide into oblivion and stalkerdom if you will.
UGH. that was hard to come out with. But I had a slightly funny conversation with Monkey Sauce just now about stalking bands and it brought up my musician fetish. It’s my achilles heel.
I was at a resort in Punta Cana for work once. It was right after my ex of 10 years, who … you guessed it…was a musician…had broken it off with me and I was hoping and praying that he would be there to surprise me with a proposal. No such luck. But! Josh Kelley, another musician, was there and I practiced my stalking skills on him instead. He sang a lot of songs that my ex and I loved at the time. He was there for our company’s local radio station’s music fest and took part in some of our photo shoots that weekend. The big crisis of the weekend was that he had lost his iPod in a drunken stooper on the beach one night. It had all his lyrics on it for new songs. Now, I may or may not have been responsible for this. Just kidding, I really wasn’t at all….it just looks like someone else was on his tail too….I was not alone. My coworkers had never seen such a genuine display of star struck adoration before. They thought it was sweet.
So embarrassing. All of it. From beginning to end.
The end. I will never date another musician for as long as I live. Don’t sing to me. Don’t drum for me. Don’t strum the guitar or tickle the ivories. Break a leg but don’t write me lyrics, don’t send me your CDs and don’t invite me to your shows. I will fall. And fast. I am done. I call it the BLLMSPD. The benevolent lyric-licking, musician-stalking personality disorder. I had no choice but to come up with a pill for that one.
Check one, two, three…and that’s a wrap folks! Shut her down. 😉
(Me & Josh…awww…such sweet memories. Just kidding, he had no idea who I was)