Would it be seriously unprofessional if I started out this post with the F-bomb in it? No? Okay then.
I mean, at first it was quite entertaining. Amusing. A laugh-a-minute. A gut wrenching grab your ribcage laugh till noise isn't coming out and instead you're gasping for air kinda laugh. But after SIX YEARS of my life being spent hiding from STALKERS I am quite sick of it. And yes, I have pondered over the fact that since this newbie stalks me, he might possibly read my blog. And if he does?
TAKE A HINT, PAL.
And if he doesn't?
"Hey, Ross! Have you read my blog?"
I have been stressing over this for weeks now and today I have had it. Absolutely HAD it.
"I like your tights."
"Thank you, Ross."
"Can I touch them?"
"Can I touch your tights?"
"Not today, Ross, no."
Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day, NOT IF YOU WERE THE LAST 14-YEAR-OLD ON THE PLANET. Yeah, he's 14. Did I not mention that? That may be why I can't just be like, "FUCK OFF." because he's so young, and nice, and apparently autistic, so yeah, do I really want to be the 18-year-old bitch who told the autistic freshman to FUCK OFF?
"You're very exotic."
"Thank you, Ross."
Get me away get me away get me away get me away for the love of god GET ME AWAY.
"I mean that in a good way."
"Yes, I figured that."
"I meant it in like, a sexy way."
AS IF I DIDN'T KNOW THAT. AS IF I DON'T SEE YOU MOVING YOUR EYES UP AND DOWN MY BODY EVERY SINGLE SECOND YOU'RE TALKING TO ME.
"I mean it in like, a sexy panther way."
"Panther...yes, I see. Thank you again, Ross."
"Yeah, yeah definitely sexy panther. Definitely."
If you guys reading now are fans of my blog, you would have read the post about Hot Cheetos Stan, who stalks me to my car. He is the one who had walked up to join me and Ross in order to cross his arms over his chest, nod in a fast, repetitive manner, and agree that yes, I do indeed look like a sexy panther.
"I'm gonna write a song about you called, "Sexy Panther." "
I'M GONNA WRITE A SONG, TOO! IT'S CALLED, 'GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, BOTH OF YOU.'.
"Thank you, Stan."
"Just text me tonight and remind me. You got my number?"
Smooth. Very smooth.
"Yep, I got it!"
Yep! That's a lie!
"So where do you live?"
"Where do you live?"
Oh. Wow. Cool. Way to creep me the fuck out.
"So where in Springfield?"
I have come to the assumption that if Ross was 16 and had a car, he would follow me home. He absolutely would. He wouldn't do anything to me; I am definitely not in danger of Ross, but yes, he would be outside my window at night when I went to bed. This is why I thought it best not to answer the question. Which, by the way, i immediately regretted, because for some reason me not answering was a hint that we were now on cuddle-buddy terms.
"Are you tired, Ross?"
Ross had taken the liberty of resting his head on my shoulder as we sat in the bleachers. I truly believe this could officially be deemed The Most Awkward Moment of My Life.
"You should sit up then."
You should go get kidnapped, then.
I mean, what am I supposed to do? I have this kid who waits outside of my first and second periods, follows me everywhere I go in P.E. class (saying, "I will follow thee." every time I pivot my foot to get the hell away), waits outside of the girls' locker room until I come out, (he almost followed me in there one day but I told him he couldn't go in, in which he said, "Oh." and sat down right there in the middle of the floor.), and if he happens to be behind me on the way to 6th period, will RUN to catch up with me, (I can hear his feet pounding behind me and yes, it is the scariest thing ever) stopping when I stop, blatantly staring at me as I talk to other people and I just have one thing to say about this mess because really I know I'm gonna have to tell him to leave me alone and I don't know how and telling a stalker to stop stalking you right to his face is more stressful than you think. But back to the one thing I have to say.