to the Juanita and Bert saga. In the last week alone Bert has left at
least 1 sobbing voice mail, several emails, and a magnum opus style,
hand-scrawled, four page diatribe of crybabyosity. So, it would seem
that there is no sign of anything slowing down and I feel that even more
shenanigans are en route. I promise that as any juicy whinery comes in
I will update you with new installments. Maybe even one day, some
closure. Alas, not today.
What I can bring you today is the story of a stalker. The harmless kind
(for now), but nevertheless: a stalker.
I'm anxious to display some of his 'work', so let me bring you up to
speed, Caleb style.
Chapter one: Girl goes out with girlfriends, strange man joins group,
awkward conversation ensues, girls leave quickly, thinking "eww."
Chapter two: Girl, several days later, finds letter in her mailbox. Not
mailed. As in, physically dropped off. As in, he found out her address
and drove there. I know, right? In the envelope is one typed email and
one handwritten email. Mostly of the "I admire you" and "Keep your chin
up" variety. Lame, but not overtly threatening. Possibly autistic?
Chapter three: Research. Nope, not autistic... hit by a milk truck!
Yup, hit by a milk truck, not quite right in the head. Oh, and married.
With five kids.
Chapter four: Follow up emails.
Okay then, that brings us to the following:
This is the [crazy guy] that ran into you & [friend] in Rock Island a
couple months ago, the weekend before you started your new position.
I am curious to know how the new job is going, and more.
I am sincerely interested in how things are going for you, and am
willing to help in any way.
You are special.
Give a call - [phone number].
Ha!! "You are special"?! WTF? Does he mean she needs a helmet and
he'll pick her up in his new short bus? Special? It's like
unsuccessful motivational speaker turns unsuccessful stalker. Mix in some
scattered milk cartons and you have a recipe for success. Sheesh.
So, no response from "Mildred" and you think he'd go away, right? Um..
I said "stalker" not "giver-upper." Gotta give the guy some credit.
Here's the latest:
It's not Backstreet. It's not New Kids. But my version is appearing
tonight at the ------- in Bettendorf.
David Cassidy was the heart throb of the 70's. Now he is 60. I bet Joey
McIntyre looks as good in 30 years, and I bet if he comes to town,
you'll plunk down the equivalent of 40 current dollars in 2040 to see
I am going to have fun tonight. It is last minute. Would you like to
This could be our theme song?
[crazy guy from the place where I stalked you (not even the right place,
Theme song!! Theme song!! What the hell! And, if you were wondering,
the song is "come on get happy" by the Partridge Family. You just can't
make this shit up!! "Hey, I'm crazy guy, and you've ignored me, but do
you want to go see an old guy perform our new love song tonight?" Are
people fucking retarded!? It's guys like this that make me sympathize
with women, and also understand true lesbianism. If I had to worry about
dudes who've been hit by dairy trucks and had their brains put in
backwards hounding me after 5 minutes of meeting me, I might just be a
bitch for awhile too. I think I understand, ladies. Touche.