How I Became A Creeper

I'm not proud of what I'm about to share with you, but I'm being honest about my sad, non-dating life.  Also, I know that I'm not the only one that has done some variation of what I did, so that makes it easier.  Anyhow, the point is that I have transitioned into a mild version of a creepy, stalker-y type person.  I'm not sure when it happened, but it did and here I am, telling you about it. 

Ed note: I'm using the term "stalker" lightly.  It's not like I'm breaking into anyone's house and stealing their pillows or pictures, so calm down. 

One day, a few weeks ago I stopped into a drugstore to get a drink (yes, Diet Pepsi, duh) and there was this cute guy in line a few people in front of me.  My brain acknowledged his attractiveness, then was promptly distracted by the row of trashy magazines featuring every member of the Kardashian clan.  (Or should it be "klan"? I'm not sure.) 

A few days later at the gas station, I saw him filling up his car while I was doing the same.  "What a coincidence!," I thought, as I got into my car and drove off.

The next day I saw him running while I was out running/walking/huffing/puffing/slightly dying.  "Hmmm. That's funny," I contemplated. "He must live around here." 

That weekend, I saw him at the grocery store.  I checked his finger - ringless!  My internal dialogue started. "This is a sign!  I've seen him 3 times in 1 week, totally accidentally.  I should speak to him!  Oh crap, he's heading toward the door! Hustle girl!"   

And that's when it happened.  We checked out at the same time and headed to our respective cars.  We drove down the same street and turned into the same entrance to the neighborhood.  He went straight and I was about to turn down my street...then I lost control of my mental faculties and followed him.  He lived just down the street, in a house I run by all the time.  Fancy that.  I made the loop, came back to my house and sat, thinking about how close Scotty (he looked like a Scott) McHottie was to me.

Naturally, I jogged by his house everyday for the rest of the week.  I thought about what time it was the last time I saw him out and tried to make sure I went around that time.  I jogged up the street and back a few times in case I missed him somehow.  At this point, I'm fairly certain that the neighbors were all staring out their windows with their fingers poised over their phones to call 911 because they thought I was casing their houses.  I had, albeit inadvertently, become a stalker. 

What was I doing?  I had literally lost my mind.  I was purposefully putting myself in a position where I could run into him and pretend it was causal and intentional.  I was 2 seconds away from becoming that girl.  Blerg.  I ran my normal loop and went home, passing his house once more on the way back for good measure.

I haven't seen Scotty McHottie since that week, but that's cool.  I know where he lives.

~j