I am an asshole stalker

This isn’t Part II of my apology to all MENkind, although it is linked to my thesis, so look at this as supporting evidence…instead I though that you would rather read about how I am the biggest asshole and stalker.

There are different feelings of inebriation, varying from the oh so common ‘my nervous system is so depressed that I am going to sit here in the corner and drool’ to ‘my inhibitions are lost and I have always wanted to hook up with a member of the same sex’ to my personal favorite ‘I keep on drinking, know I am getting drunk, but the booze is giving me energy so I don’t feel drunk. I am on top of the fucking world’. Nights like those come around once every few years, the leap year of your drinking bouts, my last one like that happened when I lived in New Orleans. Like all after school specials, there comes a pivotal point in the story where the protagonist has a choice, either do the right thing and live happily ever after or in my case, blow off every single responsibility and wallow in a drunken stupor.

As you know, I have been busting my ass at work, 10 hour days are routine, and the days I need to work 11 hours, I stopped batting an eye. So when we got back from our business trip early Wed afternoon, the account director gives us the afternoon off. I had 2 choices at this point: go back to the office, catch up on emails, catch up on reports, and use the extra time to study before class that night. Or, I could go home, call my friend who gets off work at 5pm and have her meet me at my apt so we could pre-game for this that I heard about on my blogging idol’s site. However, like all things, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I didn’t mean to start drinking at 4pm in the afternoon, I only wanted to prevent an anxiety attack, not give myself an even worse one the following morning.

Sitting on my couch, I pop open a Magic Hat #9 to quell my nuttiness, while watching a little Montel Williams. Excited that I am going to meet my blogging idol tonight at the Moustace parade. I am feeling good, less anxious, it gives me permission to pop open #2.

Buzzer sounds, I jump up and let Jess in, ready to begin the light pre-game for the 9pm ‘stache parade. But light pregaming is not to be. Instead Jess brings a bottle of Champagne which I drink about 90% of it.

“Hey Jess, I’m feeling bad about your champagne, let me go buy you a six pack”

Except, I love micro-brewed beers and Jess is more of a Coors light girl. Let’s think what kind of beer I buy though, with the judgment of light inebriation.

I get back to the apt and pop-open a few magic hats, with Jess slowly sipping hers. At the apt, I think I have about 3 or 4 more beers, waiting for her friend to arrive. Once her friend has arrived, I throw back like 2 more. And I should also mention, that I have not eaten all day…so there is nothing in my belly except for a 6 pack and a bottle of champagne.

We go to the ‘stache parade, all the while I am jumping, skipping, excited that I am going to meet the only thing besides IMing my friends that puts a smile on my face at work. I owe this man what’s left of my sanity…

We get to the parade and it is like 10 people standing on a corner holding signs saying ‘Moustache Pride’ and the like. I see my idol, hiding in a corner and being anti-social. “This can’t be” I think to myself. Why would he attach his name to something this lame?

However, in my inebriation, I am also experiencing illusions of grandeur and think that only I can turn this parade around. I take a sign from one of the girls and go on a 1 woman mission to vocialize the importance of the Moustache. A camera man who is filming all this sees a busty redhead running around Union Square and doesn’t lose sight of me, making an ass, chiming in with the group the slogans “Chicks dig the ‘stache” However, as time goes by, and I get even more drunk, I decide to be a little more vocal about my convictions, “Moustaches aren’t just for pedophiles anymore!” “Beards, not just to hide your sexuality” and the camera man is eating this up. Realizing that any self-respecting person in the vicinity is going to ignore a drunk nut, I begin to pick men with moustaches out one by one and grab them. Yes, I began to grab men with moustaches.

“You! I know you want to be on tv!! Come with me!” as I accost this big black man with a moustache.

[In front of the camera]

“So, tell me, why did you begin growing a moustache?”

Big black man answers

“Uh huh, and how has the moustache become part of your identity?”

Big black man answers…

This goes on for about 4 mins. The camera, rolling away. Fuck, if this movie does come out, I am going to be the asshole on camera that everyone just laughs at.

Jess, her friend, and I decide to leave after my interview stunt because, let’s face it, 10 people standing on a street corner is fucking lame. I do not say hello to my idol, too embarrassed and shy.

We grab food and I decide that it would be a good idea at this point to get a beer with my falafel sandwich. 7 beers and a bottle of champagne…as we are leaving the restaurant, I turn to my friends and say, “Could we pass by the bar where the rally is supposed to end? It’s just I really want to meet this guy. I mean, he is my blogging idol”

We go in front of the bar and right in front of me is him…my holy grail. And my god, everything he says about himself is absolutely true! There is no comedic hyperbole.

“Hi! I just want to say, that I am a huge fan of yours. You make my work day easier to get through. And I am fucking drunk right now.”

“Thank you.”

[wait, that’s it? Fuck this, he is going to have a conversation with me]

“Yea, so I was at the ‘stache parade, and I accosted some big black man and interviewed him on camera and [insert drunk babble] yea dude, it was fucking awesome! Yea, I am so fucked up right now.”

“Yea, sounds pretty great” as he makes a slight chuckle

“You want to grab a beer?! Dude, let me buy you a beer!”

“No, that’s ok, I am waiting for my friends”

“No seriously, a quick beer! (Like I need another one at this point)” However, I am getting the point and begin to not stalk him anymore, “Ok man, thanks, seriously, you are fucking funny!”

I am disappointed. My idol didn’t think I was funny. Granted, I was fucking bombed. I go inside the bar and have another beer with Jess and her friend, and then return to my apt. Depressed that my idol just didn’t like me…and he was so…disappointing. But, I do not take rejection lightly and decide to write him an email with my moustache parade picture, telling him that I hope I didn’t scare him because I was so drunk. After the email John came home and I had 2 more beers….before I went to bed I drank for 10 hours straight.

I woke up at 6am the next morning, searing chest pains, shaking, and scared out of my mind that I wrote my blog idol hate email. Because, when I get drunk, I have a nasty habit of taking my emotions and making them into extreme behaviors. 6am, shaking for the alcohol withdrawl, I am double checking, making sure I didn’t send him a “fuck you fatso!” email or anything else that I have done in the past when people pissed me off when I was drunk. I check and double check, making sure I didn’t send anything hateful…

So far its ok, however I am wondering whether he would write anything about the drunk girl who accosted him outside a bar in the village…

But by meeting my idol and getting disappointed, I realized that blogs for a lot of people are a type of outlet. A therapy of sorts, allowing them to construct this person who they have always wanted to be, allow themselves to showcase the good, the edited-bad, and the humorous ugly.

Being incredibly insecure, I ask my friends if my blog adequately represents who I am, and whether anyone would be disappointed with me…and the response?

“Shannon, you write the way you talk, you have done every stupid hair brained scheme that you said you have…you’re an asshole. Entertaining though.”

After this encounter, I have to say, it makes me question whether my behavior is appropriate. If people represent charactertures of themselves on these blogs, and I write exactly how I talk, how I act…am I just this character come to life? There is a disconnect that I experience with social acceptability.

And my wife comes to town. Old married men bar, parties, and the cadaver exhibit on the plate for the weekend….And she wanted to tell her professor that I had a drug OD so she could get out of her Chem test on Monday morning.