Irritating the famous...
A friend and I followed Richard E Grant around Mayfair at approximately the same time that he'd sold his soul to a large high-street store. We spent a merry 15 minutes yelling "Argoose!" at him, then hiding behind various objects when he turned round - surprisingly he didn't just ignore us. We lost him when he disappeared into a posh clothes store that two grubby students would not have been welcome in, you know the type - 2000sq foot of space and 3 clothes racks...
(irv made you eat your parents in a chilli on, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:16, Reply)

crazy number
recently I have started gettin late night texts saying non-sensical things these include;

"Sausage Fest! Blaenau Ffestiniog!"

"Piss Flaps Mortimer! That Bacon isn't Mine!"

"Jam has a stinky bum bum, thinks its bath time for his Bum Bum"

and last night, just the words;

"a dirty message"

texting back just ends up with "who's this?"

recently I found out it was a barmaid from the local who aint too great looking and apparently sends them to everyone.

less stalking but right weird
(Joe Guevara is well known for stealing your biscuits, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:05, 5 replies)

We all look the same, apparently
I was walking around a while ago, when I noticed I had a tail.

There was a Chinaman and 2 Chinamanwomen following me. I was extremely confused and kept walking. I kept seeing a flash going off and I was getting annoyed.

Eventually, with them still following me, I lead them out to park nearby and turned to face them, yelling "WHAT!?! WHAT DO YOU WANT??!"

They looked at me, smiling, and said "Richard Brand?"

"What?"
"Richard Brand? Off the Tv?"

Who the fu...oh, RUSSELL Brand.

Sure, I backcomb and have skinny jeans and a beard, but thats where the similarities end. My hair is a lot shorter than his.

I let them get a picture with me, for a laugh. I only wish I could've seen them showing their holiday snaps back home.
(Jizzbiscuits-Murphy wroted this on, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 12:04, 3 replies)

never been stalked, never stalked anyone
In fact this QOTW is making me feel somewhat inadequate.

HOWEVER,

I really fancy trying that assassination game they do in London. When you enter, you get given a name of another person in the game, just a name. You then have to find out who they are, where they work so that you can "hit" them, which actually involves informing them that you're you're in the game as well and that they're your target.

Once you successfully hit this person, you take over their target. There's a limited amount of contestants, so each person you knock out of the game narrows the competition.

It sounds pretty cool, I hope there's a prize.
( Kroney, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:57, 5 replies)

ya wee bugger
I got stalked once.

I was working in India at the time and was taking a wee stroll on the weekend through some long grass blissfully unaware I was being stalked.

Then a 250lb tiger leapt from the undergrowth and ripped one of my arms off.

That stung a bit I can tell you
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:56, 1 reply)

But I've got a girlfriend...
On my journeys home back in my school days, I occasionally walked past this ‘girl’ who’s face looked like a bucket of smashed crabs and was a tad on the obese side.

Anyhoo to cut a long story short, at a soiree in the local nightclub towards the end of sixth form, I bumped into her ugliness. Well I didn’t bump into her, she cornered me.

“Hello, do you know me, I know you.”

Really? (Getting more and more perturbed as she slathers like a wolf staring at a baby, crippled lamb)

“You remind me of someone”.

Who?

“Elvis” (I look nothing like the King, aside from dark hair).

I have a girlfriend! I spout out.

“She’s not here”, her mongness retorts

No, she’s at university

“I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk, can’t we just talk for a minute”.


She then starts to have a hysterical break down in the middle of the club and starts pawing at me through her tear-strewn face.

Cue my sharp exit and a major detour on the way back from school henceforth. I felt guilty for ages, but just couldn’t handle it. I hope she manged to sort herself out and get an exercise bike or something.

Length? Extremely flaccid thank god!
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:50, Reply)

There was this kid in school...
He was definately a "special" child in high school. We'll call him Bob. He was one of those jkids who was mentally about five minutes behind everyone else and even some of the meaner teachers would lay into him from time to time..
I always kind of felt sorry for him.. being a social outcast of sorts myself (I was - to my shame - a library nerd *cringe*) so I felt obliaged to be nice to him and talk to him every now and then.

Zoom forward to present day...
Through the marvels of Stalkbook he has found me and added me to his friends. He has also gotten my number off my page (goddamn privacy options re-setting themselves!) and is calling me... ALL THE TIME...!

I mentioned in passing that anyone who was passing through Bristol to look me up for a drink.. its just something you say.. you don't MEAN it!
but he thinks i do and is asking when I'm free next so he can come for a bevvie.. not cos he's passing through.. just to see me. I lie and say i'm busy with work stuff..

then its getting close to my birthday and someone's added an event to the book of the face and he's calling again to ask details..

I lie.. i say its a ticket only event and we've run out already.

I feel bad but it saves me from having to babysit him all night amongst a bunch of people he won't know or make an attempt to get to know. Anyway I don't want to be coherent let alone actually sociable to visitors!

he still invites me to every application under the sun on that goddamn book.,. i always refuse and sometimes he calls to ask me why.

why do i have to be so nice?

*pop goes my B3TA cherry* edit: its not a great story but I was sick of just reading.. wanted to join in!
(miss.spanky.pants .. is looking for a handsome prince..., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:49, 1 reply)

I was once stalked...
Everyday he followed me home from college, and sometimes wait outside my house.
If I was catching a bus, he would wait with me, even if his bus went past.

Eventually he started talking to me, memorized my phone number, ringing and just breathing heavily before saying anything. He would buy DVD's as a reason to come round so we could watch them together. Sometimes if i got late he just end up sleeping on my floor, and would watch me while slept. He even stole a pair of my knickers.

So of course we ended up getting married. And yes, he did give me my knickers back.
(2 Owls? I'm there. has unorthodox kung-fu., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:32, Reply)

i was stalking this girl on a train once
we used to get the same one every day, i would pretent to be all deep and writing in my diary, and then id look at her and 'accidentally' catch her eye, but she figured me out and stole my hat
( wjh31, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:21, 9 replies)

In the undergrowth....
It may seem obsessive to some, but there I was crouched in the dripping wet bushes, camouflage clad, with my whole attention, nay every fibre of my being concentrated on one purpose.

Would she appear in the early morning cold? I knew which way she generally went in the mornings, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend or relative, off to get breakfast, moving with a grace and poise that made every other creature on that frosty morning appear clumsy and sleep-addled.

I had pursued the object of my attentions on many occasions, sometimes getting a fleeting glimpse of her in the distance, more often returning wet, cold and with my frustration growing day by day.

However, today... I couldn't move a muscle or I'd be spotted. But somehow I knew today was the day that I would finally meet her.

And then she appeared, moving quickly and purposefully along the path. I waited for just the right moment, the fraction of a fraction of a second that would be right, when everything would crystallise and I could act...

My finger gently squeezed the trigger, the shot shattered the early morning calm, sending the rooks into the air like a crowd of hysterically squawking children.

I slowly got to my feet, and walked out of the bushes to where she lay as if sleeping.











I do like a bit of venison.







Oh, people. Sorry.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:21, 6 replies)

I have never had a stalker or done any stalking. But....
The novel I finished writing before Christmas (well, at least the complete first draft - it needs heavy rewrites before it'll be in a suitable state to be rejected by publishers) was actually a stalker story.

In outline it's about a woman who sees a man on the tube going to work each day. She falls in love with him. She steals his wallet on the train. She follows him to work, waits outside for him to finish so she can follow him home. Ultimately she works her way into his life and it all ends very badly.

In all honesty I can say that writing this nearly put me over the edge as I had to inhabit her 'world' for a while in order to write it. It was huge fun and terrifying in equal amounts. Various men have attempted to claim that the man was based upon them - it *was* based upon someone real and they are aware that I used them for the creation of the character, but I didn't stalk them. I do however have an extremely good imagination....
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 11:08, 9 replies)

Famous person off the telly
A female friend of mine who strikes me, these days, as being quite, quite normal, confessed to going through a most excellent secret stalking phase.

She was a student, in north London. Being a student, she had time on her hands. One day she spotted a certain stand-up comedian pass her in the street, which was close to where she lived. These days you'd know him off a certain comedy panel quiz show.

As it happened, she fancied him. So she followed him and worked out which was his house.

Then she began her project. She printed up a note offering her services as a cleaner, and at a competitive (but plausible) price at that. Every few days she popped one through his front door, hopefully giving the impression that it was going through every door in the street.

It worked, he rang her, and hired her. So she was in his life; free to roam his home, peek at his diary (actually I'm theorising that bit - she didn't mention it), and generally see inside the glamorous world of an up-and-coming celebrity.

And guess what? It turned out that he was an arrogant, coke-addled twat. He was rude, self-obsessed and generally obnoxious.

She decided she didn't like him after all, and jacked in the job, forever cured of her stalking inclinations.

He never even knew he had a stalker.
(Bowens, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 10:52, 15 replies)

I lack both the attention span and slack grasp on sanity to properly stalk anyone.
But I have been known to briefly tail unusual people I happen upon, more to sate my curiosity than anything.
Most recently I followed a guy who got off the train same stop as me. Why? I had to discover exactly what wondrous adventures someone who was wearing a chainmail tunic got up to on a Saturday morning in the city.
Disappointingly, it turns out that chainmail is not only the perfect outfit for dragon-slaying, but also for shopping with your girlfriend.
(teff, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 10:50, 1 reply)

Questions about Question of the Week
Stalking. I was discussing this with my flatmate last night. We were trying to reconcile the disparity between the legal definition and the etymology of stalking which we were assuming has a basis in hunting.

On the surface they appear extrememly similar, involving the pursuit of prey. However, the legal definition seems to be about harassment whereas the hunting term involves silent pursuit in order to not be discovered. So, if the legal term derives from the hunting one, why does one involve the agressor being visible and the other relies on his/her total discretion? Hmmm.

It would be interesting to switch the two around so that the ducks get harassed and the people don't. Actually, no, that's a bad idea - forewarned is forearmed.

/musing
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 10:38, 4 replies)

Early Internet Days
I had a girlfriend at College and, since I had attended an all-boys school, this was both novel and frightening for me. I knew pretty much nothing about how these otherworldly creatures thought or acted so, instead of asking, I decided to create an internet persona, who could legitimately be a nob, to find out.

Since I IM'd in pretty much standard English, my new persona wud abrv8 an jst sound all lulz n b crazy n that.

Whilst I was talking with her on IM, I logged in my alter-ego and "randomly" bumped into her and started trying to chat her up.

"r u single?"
"no, I have a boyfriend"
"he must b really cooool?"
"we're not serious"

OH REALLY?

I split up with her shortly afterwards, citing suspicions of infidelity. Sadly, she wasn't at all phased and starting seeing my mate.

Epic Fail.
(Her Ghost zomegle.com, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 10:36, Reply)

Not four, five.
Add another to my list: the floral stalker, though he was less of a stalker than a persistent flowery admirer. The flowers had stalks though. (Or stems. What's the difference?)

Now I'm not the sort of girl who is given flowers. Spanners, yes; oddly, a pool cue; and once, a meccano set. Flowers? Nay! Flowers are for high maintenance girls who own hair straighteners. For this reason it was lovely surprise when I slumped home from work one day to find a florist's card on the doormat stating they'd tried to deliver a bouquet but I was out and that they'd therefore left it at the offices next door.

Full of breathless anticipation I hotfooted it to the offices next door where a gum-chewing harpy of a recpetionist told me that yes, they had taken receipt of my bouquet, but that it was thrown out a few hours later on health and safety grounds or something. Seeing my disbelieving (bet the fecker kept it for herself!) and disappointed (my first bouquet and they trashed it!) face she added "lovely big bunch of purple freesias, it was". Yeah, compound my misery by telling me my thrown out bunch consisted of the most beautiful smelling flowers around. I mean, why agree to take in a delivery for someone and then destroy it?

Misery duly compunded I slouched home and on the insistence of my flatmate I phoned the florist who was a little embarrassed that I hadn't actually got the flowers and immediately sent round a new bunch. Beautiful! They contained a mystery card reading "Would you do the honour...?". Er, maybe I would, if I knew what the honour was or who had sent them. I took it as a lovely compliment, especially as they weren't yellow carnations from a garage forecourt (my only flowery tribute to date).

The next morning I arose, deelpy inhaling the scent of my beautiful purple freesias, and there was a knock on the door. On the doorstep stood the florist's delivery driver again, this time clutching a massive bunch of sunflowers.

"Er, I've already got my bunch, thanks", I said.

Lucky me, I got a second lot. Having now run out of vases I plonked them in a pint glass and read the card on which was scrawled "of dinner..."

I still had no notion of who sent my verdant gifts, but evidently it was someone who either didn't know me very well (mostly my courtships involved someone getting me drunk, or me getting someone drunk, and seeing what happened) and who had romantic notions about women of the flowers and dinner variety (and I wasn't going to disabuse him of these - it was a novelty to me). I stuck the pint glass of sunflowers on the mantlepiece and sat on the sofa watching them.

The next day at 8am I was awakened by a banging on the door. It was a bemused looking delivery bloke again, this time touting a massive bunch of red tulips. Gorgeous. The third card read "...or a dance?"

Aha! I had it sussed! My flowery stalker was none other than a bloke I'd met at a ceilidh I regularly attend. He was an amazing dancer but I didn't actually fancy him and I'd just started seeing my current ex (and was vaguely disappointed that current ex wasn't behind the Kew Gardens above my fireplace). I placed the tulips in another pint glass (I was now running out of those too) and awaited further blooming instructions. Turns out three was the magic number, though that was three more than I expected so I was rather pleased. Also, much as I like plants I was gettng to the point of looking at them suspiciously in case there was someone hiding behind them, watching me.

The next time I saw the sender I thanked him for his beautiful offerings and then felt guilty for refusing dinner, which goes to show that women may well have some kind of romantic gesture gland that I need to have surgically removed.

I met him again two months later and he was engaged to another dancer who he married very quickly. There but for the grace of god go I, and I am thankful for that from the bottom of my dark atheist heart.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:56, 9 replies)

We called her The Beaver
Because she looked like one. Not a young lad in shorts and a green shirt, I mean an actual beaver. She had buck teeth and crazy cat lady hair. She wore an anorak all year round. She tried to find out everything about me by asking my friends, my form tutor, anyone I shared classes with, my sister, etc. When she found out I was born in Glasgow she started talking in a mock Glaswegian accent to the point where words just slurred into each other.
Beaver would try to "bump" into me in the school corridor, "accidentally" touching my rude bits. My friends were quick to catch on, even saying every time they saw her "Awww, she loves you, Veo!" Eventually I left school and thought I had left Beaver behind me.

But no. Beaver had found out which way I walked home from college.

I remember one such day when I was walking down Archer's Road in Eastleigh, down to cross that stepbridge that's been on the news recently. She was walking the opposite way. Archer's Road is quite long, probably about a third of a mile. As soon as she spotted me I saw her hand shoot up to her mouth. Was she... yes. She was rubbing her hand on her lips. I walked further, wondering what the hell she was planning. As I got closer she started to rub her tongue and lips across her palms with such ferocity she must have cut her gums up.

I tried to look forward and pretend she wasn't there. As I approached nearer and nearer I could hear her going "nomnomnomnom". Major alarm bells and warning systems should have been ringing. If this were the Enterprise, the crew would be falling all over the place. As I finally passed her, I realised what she was doing. It was too late. Her hand shot into my right cheek, only just missing my mouth with her Slimy Beaver Spitslap.

It gets worse. I was walking around town and popped into the Game Exchange with my friend Alec**. There was Beaver. She comes right up to me, hopeful gleams in her eyes and says, "It's my sixteenth birthday." Quickly I responded: "Just cause it's legal doesn't make it right!"

Crazy person.
I seem to attract the crazy types. It wouldn't matter so much if they were at least good-looking.
( Grokthought wouldn't pay that for Chinese 5-Spice, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:44, 1 reply)

IDM
I have the dubious honour of persuading quite a few people from my home town to stalk one man, and post videos and pictures of their hard work on a Facebook site: www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2398354772
This man deserves it though, he is legend.
By the way, I'd love to see him on b3ta, someone with talent should really cook up a photoshop version, there'll be free beer for the winner.
Go on.
Please.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:35, 1 reply)

Stalked without even knowing it
When I was a wee lad (around 13) I lived in a small village in Devon. In a neighbouring village lived a girl names Misa. She was nice enough, if not a little wierd, but we kind of got on the few times we met. I think that we once my have had a snog but nothing more than that.

A few years later I learnt that she had become a little obsessed with me and had built a little shrine to me in her bedroom which included some photos of me and one of my socks. How the hell she got hold of one of my socks I have no idea as she certainly never came into my house (unless she secretly crept in one night of course).

She must have either been the most stealthy stalker in the world or just the laziest one as, until I heard about this shrine, I had no idea at all that she even liked me, let alone had some mentalist obsession.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:34, Reply)

Blind stalking
My friend Catwoman & I were sitting in a curry house in Sheffield one Saturday when who should we see standing just outside the window but a certain well-known blind labour MP. Next Saturday we were at the greyhound races when who should we espy standing next to us? The very same (rhymes with junket).
We do wonder why we only get stalked by men who can't actually see us.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:33, 1 reply)

It's my own fault for being lovely I guess...
Many moons ago (mid 90's), I was with this girl. Nice enough, bit goth though. Anyway, we were together about two years when we went off to uni. Different ones, but close enough for frequent visits. The usual thing happened - freshers week, alcohol etc, and decided that a relationship wasn't the way for me to go. So I ended it.

All was well for a while until I started to notice a very familar looking car around where I was living. Her car to be specific. She would basically drive over and watch me - I would even come home in the wee small hours with a new "friend" to see her parked at the end of the road. Even mates started to notice her doing it. They would sometimes wave and shout hello at her (at which point she would drive off). Climaxed with her turning up at football training one night and handing me a bin bag containing everything I had ever given her in it. Got home to find her parked outside my place, wanting some of the things back. I then started to get random letters (hand written as this was the days before emither properly kicked in) from various members of her family saying how it was such a shame and that they hoped we would get back together. Jesus.

She disappered after that, but turned up at my parents house about a year later (during the easter break) about 2 stone heavier and wearing ill advised leather strides (that really stuck in my mind - she looked like she had been poured into them, but the guy doing the pouring must have had parkinsons as there was a lot of spillage). Was in tears as she said that a) she missed me sooo much and b) had caught clamidia and was now infertile (thanks for that. Dad needed to hear that at tea time).
(animal252 last activated his kitten hammer on, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:32, Reply)

clingy
Im being stalked by a dog. No, thats not derogatory, a proper dog with 4 legs and fur.
I found her living rough and starving near my sisters house. I went back and gave her some dog food, so she followed me home.
I never let her in the house, but she refused to leave, just sitting in the garden staring at me through the glass door.
She didnt move for 2 whole days, sleeping in the garden at night and spending all day looking through the door.
I gave her more food and water while she was there, but didnt let her in the house untill it started raining. She just sat there in the pouring rain, looking even more miserable. Im a sucker for animals so had to let her in. She was overjoyed. The intention was to feed her up a bit and find a new home for her.

Four months later, she isnt officially "my dog", but I am definately "her master" whether I want to be or not. She refuses to let me out of her sight, and when I put her outside she sits against the door shivering with anxiety untill either I let her in or go outside too.
Being in the same house isnt enough for her though, she has to be in the same room as me. Even going for a crap means having to leave the door open. If I close it, she leans against it and makes it rattle with her shivering untill i open it again.

I am currently away on business, so left her at my sisters house, where she had a very anxious day when I left, and seemingly she just spends all day lying on her blanket in a deep miserable sulk.

I like dogs, so having one is fine, and I guess Im stuck with her now, I just like to be able to choose my dog though, not the other way round!



Need to work on the separation anxiety issues though.
(dave likes cheese, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 9:25, 14 replies)

Google stalking
I was thinking recently about a girl I met once in a pub for a couple of hours, a few years ago. I idly put her name into Google and found out:

The town in America where she now lives;
Where she graduated from university;
Her job, and her work address;
3 clubs she belongs to;
Where she was meeting her friends the following Wednesday.

Scary isn't it? (Apologies for length of sentence when I surprise her with some flowers).
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 8:32, Reply)

Charlie
Charlie is my GF's cat and he is a pure white pursian approx 9 years old. Although he has only known me for about a year he simply will not leave me alone.

He hides at the end of the street waiting for me to arrive in my car... Then comes running out and waits by the car door for me when I get out. He then follows me excitedly back to the house and will then jump up and sit directly in front of my laptop wanting attention. He will then inevitably shake his head and his missing tooth causes him to slosh cat spit all over my screen.

This process invariably repeats itself around every two hours when he starts to feel a bit insecure. If he's feeling particularly insecure he will come and sit on my chest (not my knee, my chest and he weighs two stone). I am the only person that he likes to be near. He is a rescue cat though so who knows whats happened to him with his previous owners.

My own cat who I have raised from a kitten (nearly one year old) doesnt want to know me and always goes to sit with my GF. I guess you can't choose cats, they choose/stalk you!

Length?

About 3 foot from head to tail and pure snow white.
(SillyMoo, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 8:15, 2 replies)

The most mentalist girl in the world.
I used to be a member of a drama club, and one summer, directed the youth production. I was out trawling through local charity shops for bits of costume, and noticed the hot girl at the till. (take my advice, NEVER date anyone who works at Banardos) We chatted for at least an hour, exchanged numbers, and said goodbye. The next day I was at work (at the time I was in a small DIY shop) and she came in and started the conversation again. Alarm bells should have been ringing coz I never told her where I worked, but she was pretty, so I didn't notice how creepy that was.
This was mid-december so we decided to go Xmas shopping together, grab lunch, make a day of it. All went well, kissed on the way home, very romantic.
Over the next couple of months, we had a great time. Then shortly after Valentines, she dumped me. I was upset, but tried to move on.

About 6 months later she appeared outside my school. Thing is, on that day I finished at 2pm, so to be there, she either found out my timetable, or showed up willing to wait all day.
Again this didn't strike me as weird, and she came back to mine for a cuppa. She announced she was engaged, showed me the ring, then pounced. I am not gonna say I didn't enjoy it, but if I hadn't, it would have been rape, coz I had no choice in the matter.
Fast-forward a few weeks, she calls me up saying she left her fiancee and is now lesbian.

She now has a 2yr old with a 40 yr old guy who thinks he is Neo from Matrix, and used to come into the video store where I worked to ask if I could babysit. I think Neo dumped her the day she got her tits out and yelled 'these could still be yours again!'
(bobman500 enjoys a grope as much as the next fella, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 6:58, 1 reply)

Weirdo on the Brighton Express...
Back in my junior year of high school (3 year of high school here in the States, meaning i was about 16/17) I had the uncomfortable dealing with some random older man who gave me the creeps. I didnt go to a city public school, I went to a private Jesuit prep school in manhattan. This was my choice, and it really is a great school.

Since I didnt live in Manhattan, I took the subway into school everyday (occassionally mom would have something in the city and she'd drop me off), this tale doesnt involve going to school, it involves coming home. Now typically i would done with class by about 2:45 everyday. Great. I would walk 2 blocks to Union Square and grab the Brighton Express from there home. Since it is early afternoon, the trains arent that crowded, and there is plenty of room for everyone to sit with plenty of space around them.

I get on and take a seat and this older guy, 40ish, shaved head, kinda looking like Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket, gets on with me. Well instead of him taking a seat like everyone else, he stands in front of me. Just looking at me. This causes me to think, perhaps he wants to see the map behind me. so I slide down the bench seat and let him have full view of the map. No. He moves in front of me several moments later. I become slightly alarmed.

Seeing that this guy looks like he is about 3 cards short of a full deck, i decide to switch cars (carriages for all you UK types) and grab my bookbag, and shuffle through the door into the next car forward. No prob. I grab a seat and relax. Until 2 minutes later, he follows into the car and sits across from me. Staring. Now as a 16 year old kid, I am starting to freak out. As we are getting closer to my stop, and i am panicking. Well I decide to move again. And again, the creepo with the paedo smile follows. Now I am getting scared. Really scared. We are approaching my stop, and I just cannot get off and have this loon follow me. So I walk into the next car as the train is pulling into my station. I make like i am going to sit down, I duck out the door as they close behind me, just as the nutjob enters the car he sees me outside and stares at me like I was a ham sandwhich and he hadnt eaten in a month.

Not very pleasant and for the next few weeks I was taking several lines home just so I wouldnt have to risk seeing him again.
(Subway Riding the rails underground, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 4:34, 4 replies)

I've been on both sides of the divide.
I minorly stalked one of my now best friends for the larger part of secondary school - anonymous texts, sent her love letters, badgered her to death, etc. Over time we built up a brilliant friendship - I realised what I was doing and told myself it had to stop, and apart from the occasional drunken text to tell her I loved her it did. She doesn't resent me for it at all, and never let it be said that stalking gets you nowhere... ;)

However, the more interesting story is that of my first girlfriend. We will call her Louise.

Probably late 2003-ish, I met a girl through a forum (her name escapes me now - Girl A will do) who lived the other side of town. I didn't really take to her, she gave my email out to all her friends and so they all got blocked.

Fast forward to April 2006. I notice someone on my contact list who I've not seen online before; they're blocked. I unblock them, turns out it's one of Girl A's friends, Louise. She seems like a pretty good laugh, we start talking and get on fairly well, into the same kind of music etc.

We talk some more, and the inevitable webcam funfest happens - I am by now most definitely getting my end away I meet up with this girl. The internet relationship begins in late May.

Early June, and it's my birthday. My dad's just got back up on his feet after my parents' divorce, and he decrees that a party is in order to celebrate my 15th year on the planet. I invite Louise to the party (bear in mind she doesn't know anyone and I've never met her before this point), not really expecting her to turn up.

Only she does. She's a bit on the chubby side (well hidden in photos and webcam), but very pretty nonetheless. So hypnoticme spends his 15th birthday in his room with Louise, who he has met 30 minutes before and exchanged only pleasantries with. Fun is had. All is well.

Fast forward two months; my virginity is now but a distant memory, and apart from some minor hitches it has been sex sex sex and everything's wonderful. Although I am rapidly tiring of Louise - turns out that once it comes down to it, we barely know each other and we're just shagging to make up for it. "Fcuk this," thinks me, "I'm getting out of here."

And so I gently break it to Louise that it's just not working - over MSN, as any true man should. Enter the heavily tearful call with psychotic, Napoleon-complex father (I was about 6'5" at this point) seizing her phone and telling me that I was going to get butchered by his army mates. I laugh - he was in the TA for 6 months, and claimed to have served in the RLI until 1987 (it disbanded 1/11/1980) - call is ended and phone goes off. Ho hum, I have exams to worry about when I go back to school, fuck the heavily Catholic criminal tribe that is her family, I don't need their crap.

The next day, phone is switched back on. Inbox is full of texts, that culminate in her going throwing herself off a railway bridge if I don't text back. This was at ridiculous o'clock in the morning and it's now mid-afternoon. Oooops. And so, I ring her. Obviously, she isn't now travelling courtesy of one of Arriva's windscreens, and we have a conversation. I tell her to get some help, she cries a bit, but agrees that it's for the best that we split up.

But now, it's mid-2007 and I can't escape her. Over the past year, she has systematically added my entire MySpace contact list. She has told them all sorts of lies about me that have led to full-blown screaming arguments in the street with people I've never seen before. Groups of metalheads in their 20s and 30s regularly harass me. She has stalked the friends that listened to her in the first place - every single one of them finds her creepy. She regularly falls in and out of love with these people, irrespective of gender. She has followed THREE of my female mates home and declares them her best friends. She messages me weekly asking me how things are going and rubbing in how great her life is with my friends, detailing trips out and days in, not knowing how much she scares them - they're just too nice to fuck her off.

Suddenly, all goes quiet. I hear nothing from her. Bliss, I now have peace for my exams. Ensuing months are Louise-free.

Yesterday, she messaged me on MySpace. The message ended in "i love you lots xxx".

I'm scared.

Before you ask, too lengthy for her, and my girth is the stuff of legend.
(hypnoticme is an anarcho-syndicalist commune, Fri 1 Feb 2008, 3:26, Reply)

I get stalked most days
by a very stoned-looking Siamese cat named Thai.

Honestly, I really don't understand it. He's not my cat- he belongs to my girlfriend. She's had him for eleven years now, and he spent all but the last year with her ex. When he didn't want to take the cat to the vet to treat the weeping sores on either side of his face, the Lunatic Artist and I brought him to the vet and kept him- so Thai has only known me for a year, and during the first part of that I was the one keeping him in a funnel collar and helping to scrub his wounds, which by rights should have made him dislike me intensely.



But noooo.

I wake up in the morning to him sitting on my chest, sniffing my lips and tickling me with his whiskers, the scent of cat breath in my nostrils. After I chuck him onto the floor I go to the bathroom- and he follows me in there. If I sit on the toilet he insists on being between my feet. And throughout the whole performance he meows at me- if you can call a Siamese cat's noise a meow. Personally I think it sounds more like Edith Bunker having an orgasm.

Once I get out of the shower and go to get dressed, he jumps on the bed and bats at me with his paw- no, not at that part of my anatomy, just at me in general. He especially likes to catch hold of my hand so he can gently bite my fingers.

When I come downstairs I generally find that he has food and water, so that's not his motive for it. When I sit down to check my email (I have a laptop that I generally put on my knees while I sit in the oversized chair) he insists on lying across my right arm and blocking my view of the lower third of the screen. Should I put the computer on the arm of the chair he climbs up there and lies on my arms there, breathing cat breath in my face as I try to see around him, and occasionally biting my nose.

And yet he doesn't want to snuggle in my lap or be held close- if I try, the tone of his noises approaches Yoko Ono. And he doesn't want anyone else's attention, only mine.

WTF does he want?!?

It's kinda like Teh Fear, only in real life.

And yes, as I've been writing this, it's been through a haze of Siamese fur. I think he knows that I'm talking about him...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 1 Feb 2008, 3:16, 8 replies)