Last week"s post was about how single women can be vulnerable, even in death.? This week, I"m taking on a different kind of vulnerability... specifically, the plague of Internet stalking.*
I love Google. And I hate Google.? Part of the reason that I"m "anonymous" here (at least until someone inevitably blows my cover) is because I recently discovered that I?m ALL OVER the Internet.? Someone in jail could piece together my life from birth to the present moment without too much trouble and ring my doorbell tomorrow. Not that I have anything against anyone in jail. I love people in jail.? I mean... I just don"t like strangers showing up unannounced...
Friends who live on the other side of the ocean who I lost touch with ten years ago tracked me down by asking about my whereabouts on Yahoo! Answers. ?And in ten years, I"ve moved no less than eight times, encompassing at least four different cities.? In the past couple of weeks, I"ve been googled and found by two men who are separated by about 40 years in age. ?The first I?ll call ?Octogenarian Stroke Survivor? or OSS for short. The second, I"ll call ?Forr Dance Guy" or FDG. Some may think of this as "progress," but frankly, I mostly find it scary.? Allow me to explain.
I met OSS while out at dinner in Potrero Hill with a friend at one of my favorite dinner spots in the city, Chez Maman. Chez Maman, not to be confused with its fancier sister restaurant on the corner, Chez Papa Bistrot, is really quite perfect. It"s a small place, but warm and filled with good energy. And the food" the food is simply wonderful. With the exception of two tables that can accommodate parties of four, patrons sit at a long bar facing the "kitchen," i.e., the stove, occasional pillars of fire, and the backs of the heavily sweating cooks. It may not sound charming, but it is.
There"s always one French guy behind the bar who does everything else. He"s the water guy, the drinks guy, the police the waiting list at the door guy, and the food server guy. I?ve only seen two different guys in the years that I"ve been going there, and they somehow always exude "I"m French. Learn it. Live it." But in a nice way. Sort of. The one that is currently in residence has a string of seriously large tattoos running up the length of both of his arms, and is kind of hot. Hot and married. Story of my life.
Anyway, because everyone is sitting at the bar, and it"s such a small space, you get to know your neighbors quite well. My friend sat on my right, OSS was on my left. Not long after the drinks came, OSS started talking to me. He seemed kind, harmless and a little bit sad, and had an interesting life story: He attended Stanford University, he"d been married forever, he was recovering from a stroke that left much of the left side of his body paralyzed, and his wife just told him that day that she wanted a divorce. He designed a piece in the lobby of the building where I work, is seeing a Vietnamese acupuncturist as part of his therapy, and he has developed a major crush on this woman.? His wife wants a divorce because she thinks he has a bad attitude.? He admits that this is true. I felt a little bit sorry for him, and wondered who he was going to find to take care of him in his currently grumpy and cantankerous state.
For some reason, people like to tell me their stories. Maybe it"s because I often encourage them to do so. ?But I felt that I found out more about OSS than I really probably needed to know. Eventually, my friend and I left (and I"ll have to leave for another day the story of how Tattooed French Hottie (TFH) delighted us with free glasses of champagne and kisses before dessert).
A week later, I checked my voicemail at work only to find a message from OSS.? What the"" He said his name, but at first, I couldn"t for the life of me figure out who he was. Until he self-identified as the "stroke survivor who you met at Chez Maman on Friday last week.?? How the hell did he find me? Well, as I said, I?m ALL OVER the Internet. Apparently he googled my first name, together with the name of the building where I work (remember, we talked about it because he designed a structure in the lobby), and called my assistant. My assistant transferred him (yes, we?ve had words), and voil! Three weeks later, I have received five messages from OSS, asking me to return to Chez Maman for drinks, or just randomly reporting on his days? activities. There are even some messages with just heavy breathing and no actual words. I know it?s him; I don?t think he"s trying to scare me but it"s like he thinks I have an old school answering machine and is waiting for me to pick up.? One message even said:
"[SFSingleGirl], it"s me, [OSS]. I don"t want you to think I"m stalking you or anything, but""
Kill me now.
Since honesty is the name of the game here, I"ll confess that I did call him back. Once. Because in his first message, he sounded confused and lost (the requests to meet up didn?t come until later), I thought there was something wrong and that I could help in some way. Don"t ask me how. When I returned the call, he still seemed out of it, but said he was stunned that I had actually called him back. I was stunned too.? I sometimes do stunningly stupid things. Note to self. Knock it off.
At this point, I"m not sure what to do. I"m sure he?s harmless and doesn?t want anything crazy, like to run away with me or anything (his first love, after all, is his acupuncturist), and I feel mean by not calling back.? After all, I don?t want to further hurt a stroke survivor whose wife is leaving him. But the whole thing feels really intrusive.? On his second message, which I could only listen to half of before deleting, he said, ?I just found you really captivating"" ?Which left me wondering: why is it that I"m not captivating to men who are not octogenarian stroke survivors"
Well, there must be something in the air, because apparently, another person found me captivating enough to G-stalk (and yes, that"s short for google-stalk) me recently. ?Cue FDG, Forr Dance Guy, who I met while on a Saturday night frolic to another favorite haunt, The Red Poppy Art House.? (I?m going to have to stop giving away my favorite places or I"ll really have no place to go.)? They were having a dance party during the huge, weekend-long craziness known as Carnaval SF, but that night I went there alone on a mission to track down an elusive friend.? I missed the friend, but was unwillingly pulled into the embrace of FDG instead.? Forr, a northeastern Brazilian dance, is basically like being locked in a bear hug and marched around a dance floor. FDG asked me to dance and I consented before I knew what I was getting myself into.
He was holding me so close that I am quite certain that he could feel my dinner digesting and the outline of all of my undergarments. ?I tried to extract myself and increase the space between us, but he pointed out the other couples similarly locked in death grips. ?Maybe I"m exaggerating a tiny bit. ?He was a nice enough guy (Google engineer who loves that particular dance so much"and now I think I know why"that he"s willing to travel up to the city from his home in Mountain View for lessons and parties). ?I just felt smothered. So after the dance was over, and right after getting my second request to dance by someone else (for some reason, it seemed to be an unimaginable offense to politely decline), I beat a hasty retreat out of there for the relative safety of home and Netflix.
A week later, I received another unsolicited contact at work. This time in the form of an email:
Dear [SFSingleGirl],
?
I met you on Saturday at the Brazilian dance event. ?I found your
email address by searching for "[your first name and _____]".
?
I'm sure that this is coming across as being very forward. ?But it's
rare to come across someone like you. ?And though very short, I found
you to be captivating. ?I like to see you again. ??If this message
feels uncomfortable, I apologize in advance for being a little
intrusive and wish you the best.
I hope you are having a wonderful day!
with warm regards,
-[FDG]
Not so bad, right? Pretty sweet actually. And kind of flattering in a way, right? So why, instead of feeling flattered, do I feel a case of the creepy crawlies coming on? Unfortunately for FDG, and on the heels of the OSS debacle, he?s not getting a call back. Ever.
Maybe you can help me out. I don"t know if it"s the fact that both used the Internet to track me down, aka stalk me, or the fact that they called and emailed me at work, that bothers me. And I?ll freely admit that if FDG looked like Brad Pitt, which he didn?t, I"d probably consider writing him back. ?Maybe.? And I know, this is where men think that all women are head cases. ?I never said I wasn"t one.
But I do think there is something to the not wanting to have my work space intruded upon theory. I actually love my work and I take it seriously. Even when I haven"t always loved it (like when I was working 80 hour weeks and sleeping on the floor under my desk), I have always taken it seriously.? I"m also a pleaser and competitive. I want to do a good job, I don"t want to let people down, and I like a good challenge. ?So much so, that I"m really not so much into taking personal calls while at work.
Here?s my short list of people who can contact me at work:
- My best friends, for help, or breaking news (I"m getting married! I"m pregnant! I got the job!);
- My mother (this one I don?t exactly have a choice on);
- Other people at work;
- Brad Pitt (even with the six kids, that beard, and Lara Croft in tow); and
- Oprah.
That"s it.?Am I crazy??I think you and I both know the answer, but I"m giving you a chance to weigh in anyway.
PLEASE CLICK THE LINK BELOW and VOTE:
Click here to take survey (For survey results, click on the "Quizzes" tab above.)
Thank you for reading. See you next week!
(*Author?s Note: In no way does this tongue-in-cheek posting mean to distract from or condone the crime of stalking, or violence of?any kind.)
Chez Maman: www.chezmamansf.com
The Red Poppy Art House: www.redpoppyarthouse.org
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