Hi, my name is Stacy and I’m a stalker.

You always hear about these crazy stalker girls and say to yourself “what a loser.” Until that day when you look in the mirror and realize that YOU are the crazy stalker girl. I can’t really explain what happened to me. Call it demon possession, call it temporary insanity. But I had a time in my life when I became obsessed and stalked a boy at San Diego State.

I was living in the dorms at the time and was blessed with the campus food program that came with campus living. Twice a day I was allowed to run amuck in the San Diego State cafeteria. I paid the price by gaining an extra 20 lbs. The SDSU football team was also on the campus food program, and that’s when I met Jeremy.
***I am currently sighing to myself and shaking my head shamefully as I write this.***
I had dated guys who were much hotter, and I had dated guys who were much funnier, and I had dated guys who were much, much smarter. So I have no idea why my crazy button clicked on when I saw Jeremy. Maybe he had some crazy animal pheromones I was unable to resist. Maybe it was his piercing blue eyes, or his Texas accent. Or maybe it was his sandy blonde mullet that did me in.
***Banging my head against the keyboard as I read that last sentence.***

I remember walking into the cafeteria one evening with my roommate Satan and a couple of the other girls from the dorms when I saw him at a table with the other football players. I have had a long history with football players and I was naturally drawn to them. I took one look at him and immediately decided that I must have him! So I turned my attention on him and set my smolder to ‘seduce and conquer.’

When I want something (or in this case, someone) I can be VERY aggressive. I’m not the shy wallflower type at all. I had a plan. Phase One was to get his attention. That part wasn’t going to be too hard. I just poured myself into the tightest clothes possible. Slutty outfits? Check. Every time I walked into the cafeteria, I was dressed to impress. Or get picked up for prostitution. Judgment call. I sat close enough to draw his attention, but not close enough to spook him. When I thought he was interested enough I started making eye contact with him. The sexy, sultry, “hook-em” eyes, as in “hook ‘em and reel ‘em in.” After one or two days of mental undressing, we started the smiling and eventually the talking. And that was it. Jeremy asked me for my phone number.

When he finally called me, I was so excited that I forgave him the 2 days it took. Surely, he must have lost my number and been devastated. Poor thing.
“My roommates and I are having some friends over and I was wondering if you wanted to come?” Jeremy asked me over the phone.
Oh yes Jeremy I will come to your house and you will be my slave.
“Sure, I would love to come over. That sounds like fun,” I told him.

The party was Friday night and I wanted to look hot, hot, hot! So I put on a tight black top that slung off both shoulders and a pair of black pleather pants with black high heels. I rocked my poodle perm out to full volume, slapped on some red lipstick and was ready to rock Jeremy’s world. I decided to walk to Jeremy’s apartment because he didn’t live that far from the dorms. That way if I had too much to drink I could just walk home and not have to worry about a DUI.

I arrived at Jeremy’s and he was right. He and his roommates really were only having a “couple” of people over. There were like 6 of us. And apparently, I was representing the whores of America. The other two girls there looked like they had just jumped out of a J Crew catalogue. They were beautiful, fresh faced, and wholesome. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the urge to brush my teeth and brag about what toothpaste I was currently using.
“Hi! I’m Stacy! And I use Aqua Fresh. 9 out of 10 dentists recommend it for a winning smile.”
“Hi Stacy! I’m Cindy! This is my friend Mindy! And we use Colgate. 10 out of 10 dentists recommend it for fighting plaque.”
Damn it! They have one more dentist that I do.
You can’t win them all. So I hung out with Jeremy, Cindy and Mindy, and Jeremy’s roommates. We drank and shot the shit and as the night went on Jeremy suggested we play some drinking games. The only game I knew was “Presidents and Assholes,” so I found the cards and laid out the rules.

If you have never played Presidents and Assholes (AKA, “Asshole”) let me try and give you the cliff notes version of the rules.
1) The object of the game is to get rid of your cards first. The first person to get rid of his/her cards becomes President. The next person becomes Vice President, then Treasurer, then Secretary, and so on. Last person who gets rid of their cards is the Asshole.

2) The idea of the hierarchy (President, VP, . . .Asshole) is that as long as you have a higher ranking, you can force the minions below you to drink.
Before the hand starts, President gives the Asshole his worst card, and Asshole gives the President his best card.

4) The President leads off the *first* round. After the first card is played, play follows down the hierarchy. When play reaches you, you can either play (by playing an equal or greater card) or pass. If a single card is led, you must follow with a single card. If a pair is led, you must follow with a pair, and so on. If you cannot match or beat the card or cards played, you must pass play to the next player. Even if you can play, you may choose to pass anyway (to save your high cards).
5) A hand is over when someone plays a “2”, or when no players can match or beat the last cards played.
6) The player who won the last hand gets to lead off the next hand in the round.
Play continues until everyone has gotten rid of all of their cards and a new hierarchy is established for the next hand.

Needless to say, we all get pretty drunk and by the time we were done drinking it was a bit past 2 in the morning. There was no way in hell I’m walking home alone in the dark dressed like a drunken Olivia Newton John. I asked Jeremy if he would kindly walk me home when he suggested I spend the night. I agreed. Now I may dress like a whore but I don’t act like one and I think this may have thrown Jeremy for a loop. Once we got into his bedroom I asked him for a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in. We kissed a little and then I said goodnight and rolled over to my side of the bed. Hey, I liked him, but I didn’t know him enough to put out. I would have to wait till I was 30 before I reached my “summer of love.”

Jeremy started to fall asleep but I just couldn’t because I wasn’t in my own bed with my own things.
“Hey Jeremy,” I whispered. “Do you have a fan?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Do you think you could turn it on?” I asked him. He got the fan from the living room, brought it back into his bedroom, and turned it on for me.
“Thanks,” I said.
A few minutes later, I was getting thirsty.
“Jeremy, can I have a glass of water?” Again, Jeremy complied and got me a glass of water and put it on the nightstand on my side of the bed. He really was a nice guy.
“Hey Jeremy, do you think you could turn on the radio? I always listen to the radio when I sleep at home,” I asked him. Jeremy sighed and turned on the radio for me. But he had turned in on to the country station, and that just wouldn’t do. I was a hip-hop girl. I couldn’t sleep to Waylon Jennings.
“Jeremy, would you change the station?” I asked him. Jeremy must have finally gotten fed up with me, because he grumped that I should change it myself. Whatever.

The next morning Jeremy was kind enough to walk me to the front door but that was as far as he was going. So now I had to make the walk of shame all by myself. To paint the picture for you: it’s Saturday morning, I’m wearing pleather pants, my makeup is smeared all over my face, and my perm has reached critical mass. After many honks, some rude remarks, and one request for my phone number, I was finally home. I was a little surprised that there wasn’t a message from Jeremy yet. I waited around all day, but nothing. What? Sunday came and went and still no phone call. I wonder if he’s okay. Maybe he’s trapped under a rock and can’t reach the phone. Poor thing…

Monday arrived and now I was completely crazed. Nothing in the news about football players trapped under rocks, so what was going on? He must have lost my phone number. So I went to the cafeteria to see him in person. Maybe a mini-skirt will jog his memory and help him find my phone number. But no Jeremy. I came back home after class that afternoon and decided to be proactive. Screw this. I’ll call him. I picked up the phone. “Hello,” came a voice on the other end.
“Hi this is Stacy. Is Jeremy there?”
“No I’m sorry, he’s not here right now. But I’ll tell him you called.”
Okay Stacy. Just breathe, everything is going to be okay. I made it 10 minutes before my next attempt.
“Hi, yeah…It’s Stacy again. I was just wondering if Jeremy was home yet?”
“Oooookay, just let him know I called.” I threw in a giggle to show how casual and cool I am. What was happening to me?
5 minutes pass. Okay, maybe he’s home now. No answer.
4 minutes pass. Now? No answer.
2 minutes pass. Now! No answer.
35 seconds pass.
OH MY GOD! WHO AM I????????? MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I just couldn’t stop. I must have called at least 15 times.

I finally ended the madness and sat there by myself for a while. It slowly dawned on me what was going on here. I had heard legends about things like this happening, and seen it in the sappy teen movies, but this was only supposed to happen to unattractive girls. I never thought that it could happen to…me. I’d been (gasp!) rejected. It was like a cold bucket of water in the face. A really cold, really humiliating bucket of water. I had stalked somebody. No, be honest. I had stalked somebody with a mullet. I could never, ever, ever tell anyone about this. And until just now, I haven’t. I had no choice but to face Jeremy after that because a girl still has to eat. I would smile at him but it was no longer the seductive “come hither” Stacy smile like before. Now it was more like a “please shoot me and put me out of my misery” smile. He wouldn’t know, however, because he avoided eye contact with me at all costs.

I finally got past my insanity and moved on with my life. About a year later I was living off campus and hanging out with a guy that went by the nickname of “Pitt” because he was a huge Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Pitt also happened to play on the SDSU football team. One night Pitt and I were kissing a little and I was liking it until he said, “I don’t know what Jeremy was talking about.”
“Huh?” I replied.
“When I told him I was hanging around with you he told me to be careful because you were Cah-raaaaaazy! But I think you’re pretty cool…” He went back in for another kiss, but the mood was g-g-g-gone. I developed a sudden headache and said goodnight to Pitt. Unlike Jeremy, he called me the next day, but I was done with football players.

Hi, my name is Stacy and I’m a former stalker. After many years and some personal growth I am able to admit this now. If you, or someone you love suffer from Stupid Stalker disorder please get help. If you want you can even give me your number and I would be more than happy to help you heal during this rough time. Don’t worry, if you’re not home I’ll call you back again, and again, and again, and again……..

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com


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