Stealthy Stalkers

Stalker
1: to pursue quarry or prey stealthily
2: to pursue obsessively and to the point of harassment

The first time I was stalked, a construction-boot wearing lad liked my shoe selling abilities a tad too much, and after buying several pairs of boots from Sears—where I worked part time during high school—told me I looked like his dead girlfriend before lunging across the counter in an attempt to attack me. This jump started my career as a professional ‘stalkee’. But back then stalkers really had to toil! Not only did this poor fellow have to make multiple trips to the mall, spend gas getting there, dress and leave his house, but he also had shell out a few hundred bucks on waterproof Wolverines!

Man, these stalkers today—they have it way too easy. All they need to do is log on to Facebook or “Google” you. This allows for stalkage from afar, ergo nobody needs to know they're a victim. Unlike calling someone and leaving a message, or worse, hanging up when you know they have caller ID, nobody knows if you pore over their profile or lame gift registry.

And it’s not just creepy weirdos clad in boxers, searching for you from their home computer—it’s ex boyfriends/girlfriends, crushes, coworkers and the poor nerd in high school who never got up the nerve to say hello. And let’s face it—it’s you. Growing metaphorical “Facebook balls” has led to many a shocking friend request, uninvited e-mail and inappropriate chat session in these privacy-lacking times. The barriers have been broken, the playing field has been levelled, and anyone is fair game when there is a screen separating you.

I recently “broke up” with Facebook (I have long since erased all embarassing traces of having been on MySpace and Friendster) in a desperate attempt to recover my anonymity. But before doing so, I experienced the following phenomena:

*An old friend from college revealed that he was now a sadomasochist and asked if I wouldn’t mind walking on him in high heels, slapping him around, or spitting on him (or in his food).

*A guy who asked me to the high school prom (who I turned down because he was too short. Sorry!!) wrote to inform me, and I quote: ‘I’m married now. You snooze…you lose.’

*I mistakenly struck up a convo with a guy from my home town because I thought his MySpace site was cool, which culminated in him sending me a nude photo of himself complete with an amateur photoshopped gift box covering his privates, a la Saturday Night Live’s famous "Dick in a Box" skit (only not as a joke and before that sketch had ever even surfaced). The label on the gift box read: “Your Property”. Help!

*Several exes long since relegated to the closet o' skeletons, have resurfaced, as if spilling their woes, money issues and “I’m so bored with my wife” dramas would ever induce me to have another go.

And those are just a few (scarily enough, true) examples.

Remember when you used to be able to lose touch with people? Or break up with someone and revel in the fact that you never had to see them or their (bad clothes, unibrow, alcohol problem) again? Or pretend you were so much better looking than your ex’s new partner and that his or her life was a shambles since they left you? And cutting someone loose did not involve severing the seven degrees (or more) of Kevin Bacon as they are now Facebook friends with all of your friends or family members? Well, no more, my friends, no more. Personally I think I’d rather go back to the ‘stone age’ where my friends and I were not victims of this unrequited attention (and, hell, that we weren’t three steps away from having a restraining order slapped on us ourselves for obsessively tracking every move made by the ghosts of our pasts [and/or future]).