The Stalking Department

Animotion spoke my language. It starts as a double-take, turns into a daily double-take, then a "special interest," then BAM! Obsession. I call them "My Infatuates," not because 'infatuates' is even a word, but because I am infatuated with them. And NO, I don't call them by this name to anyone but the little person inside my head I like to call Stan. And NO, I do not call the little person inside my head by this name to anyone BUT Stan. (Okay, so I don't really call him Stan, if you were taking me seriously just then. If I was going to name the little person inside my head, it would be a much cooler name than Stan. (quick apology to all Stans reading this: Sorry, Stans.) (I will admit your name goes best at the end of the phrase, "You're the man!") And also, I don't have TIME to go around naming the parts of my mind. That is also why both of my breasts remain nameless. (people do that, you know) They are just Breasts. I could get fancy and call them The Breasts, but either way, they are what they are. Just like the little person inside my head is just The Little Person Inside My Head. And, as you may have noticed, I also have A Little Rambler Inside My Head, who I am now telling to take a hike.) So let me continue on with convincing you how creepy I can be, what with these Infatuates of mine who shall remain anonymous. (though with specific details)

1. Leather Pants Guy

The leather pants are NOT what I was obsessed with. It was what was inside the pants. (I mean the PERSON, ya perv.) Punk rocker. Great 'do. Had the "I don't give a shit what anyone thinks about me because I'm the only one with the balls to try and work these leather pants and guess the fuck what I'm WORKIN' 'EM" vibe about him. Did I mention the great 'do? It was great. (Details like this are what turn me into another Norman Bates.) So all was good in the Stalking Department. (with an additional "Nice boots" the day I wore red rain boots. I've never thought the word "boots" could be so seductive. Boots...boots...boots.) UNTIL...the 'do (the great one I may have mentioned before) was gone. That's it. GONE. Gone like the fucking wind and you know what? So was the the man inside the pants. He lived for the 'do. The 'do was what gave him that vibe. Goodbye 'do, goodbye vibe. It wasn't even the 'do that got my attention, it was how confident in himself he seemed to be. I guess he thought he'd look good no matter what. Twas NOT the case. And he knew it. (I wore my red rainboots everyday The Day The 'Do Died in hopes it would cheer him up. But boots can only go so far.)

2. Clark Kent Guy

Sorry but NO, he didn't look a thing like Clark Kent. But he DID have the Clark Kent glasses and those are some sexy spectacles. I made the mistake of maaaybeeee mentioning my obsession with "Clark" to someone I DIDN'T KNOW WAS ALL BUDDY-BUDDY WITH THE GUY and so, of course, as douche bags will sometimes do, he told him. Next thing I knew, "Clark" was coming up to me asking me for hugs. I don't want to hug my Infatuates! I want to creepily stalk my Infatuates! Once I have physical contact it's all realistic and WRONG. I don't stand outside their windows at night so I can GET TO KNOW THEM FOR WHO THEY REALLY ARE. Please. They need to stay completely out of my reach at all times. That's what they're there for. When nice "Clark" asked for my digits I knew the obsession had come to an end. I was all too friendly and normal for my taste. Good thing I got back-ups.

3. The Back-Up Guy

After "Clark" tragically turned into a friend I had to find a replacement and FAST. If I didn't find one in time I'd have to go back to flirting and dating and "having a relationship" and some people don't know this but relationships? ARE FOR LOSERS. Stalking is the new snogging. Spread the word. Spread the word and get back to me with the feedback. ("No it is not, who made up THAT stupid---oh...Natasha said that? Oh well if Natasha said it then...you know, now that I think about it, it is MUCH more exhilarating to put on some Jackie O's and follow someone home than having to embrace their sweaty palm with my own sweaty palm and call it love. Natasha knows all.") Back to what I was so brilliantly enlightening you with. The Back-Up Guy. I wasn't infatuated with him at first because he was just The Hottest Guy At My School, but then I realized...he was the hottest guy at my school. This may be more of a fatal attraction type dealio, but like I said, he was The Back-Up Guy. (It ended when I actually met him and was flabbergasted to discover he was a carbon copy of an ex of mine, personality/lingo/everything- wise. I know stalking is creepy. But cloning is beyond the creep zone.)

So now you know, I am not only Natasha the Blogger, I am Natasha the Anti-Snogger! I am not going to say BEWARE! YOU COULD BE NEXT! because obviously a boy my age reading my blog everyday would have beat me to the punch there since he is the one already stalking me and my writing...but stalk on, my friend! For there are not enough of us and Great Scott! There needs to be! What a better form of flattery than to be someone's stalkee? EXACTLY! (As you can see I do not only admire stalking, I admire CAPITAL LETTERS! But that's beside the point!) For all of you out there thinking, "I'm much too above all of this stalking nonsense. It's utterly ridiculous and they should be ashamed." all I have to say to YOU is: You may be able to talk the talk, but can you stalk the stalk?