Very, very thankfully, I have had only two stalkerish episodes in my life, outside of the usual bad-breakup scenarios in which one party has a more difficult time moving on; in that scheme of things, I have been guilty of my own share of unwanted phone calls or emails for the subsequent week after The Bad Talk.  Fortunately, I can take take a hint, and believe that the one or two boyfriends I’ve had who have ended things against my wishes still regard me fondly (I base that on friendly, occasional Facebook hellos that indicate we are in good stead and happy with our mutually infrequent communication).  I wish them well, they wish me well, and there is no drama or involvement.

Yeah, so.  While I have pursued a few guys beyond the point where they displayed disinterest, I can say with honesty that I’ve never harassed anyone or caused them fear (to my knowledge; I am sort of paranoid about that now, but given the “Ice Queen” accusations more commonly thrown my way and my general unwillingness to destroy someone’s car or call their mother to tell them what shits they are, I’m pretty sure I haven’t crossed that obvious, glaring line).  Which is a good thing, as I just spent about four hours of my afternoon reading the entire contents of Psychotic Letters From Men, as fixated on this blog as I was watching the final seasons of The Wire.

I was glued to this site to the point that my live-in Boy Person was annoyed that I would not go out into the rare London sunshine for a walk or a drink, so obsessed was I with reading about Terrible Men and The Women Who Despise Them.  Why is this site so good?  A few reasons. (more…)

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Now that I live in New York City (well, I live in NowImPissed’s basement in Brooklyn, but same difference), I knew the day would soon come when I would see my pretty, pretty girl in the flesh.  After only two weeks, it happened Monday night.

Lindsay held the launch of her leggings line (“6126” – Marilyn Monroe’s birthdate) at Henri Bendel (an iconic department store housed in three townhouses with Lalique windows on 5th Avenue – a place where S and B would totally shop).  I arrived around 6:30 p.m. and there was a mob on the sidewalk outside … crazy paps, screaming teenagers, and a large number of gay teenaged boys.  The person who seemed most excited was a small boy, and he was FIRED up.  The store was full of crazed fans and the doormen were keeping everyone out.  People were pushing and arguing.  Now, here’s where being a well-dressed, all-the-way grown up person with a nice bag served me well:  when the doorman blocked my entry to the store I adopted bitchface and asked him “what is going on” and stated “I need makeup” and he apologized and led me inside. 

As Lindsay walked by us, I thought “Hmmm, I should have worn a `BAngie’ hat…you know, just in case.”  The photo above is a shot I snapped of her as she walked past me.

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