My Internet Love Affair

Since I met M I've been diligently making countless searches for him on the Internet. I've Googled him. I've searched for him in Friendster, MySpace, and just about any website I can think of in an effort to catch a glimpse his life. I know its a bit stalker-ish but really, who hasn't done this at one time or another? Besides, I've stopped doing it after my searches proved futile, and he told me himself that he deleted his Friendster account.

Anyway, when I was still doing those searches, I found several people with the same name that he has, and I viewed these people's profiles. I haven't turned off my Friendster's Who's Viewed Me feature so, naturally, I see these people viewing me in turn (probably wondering who the crazy lady viewing their profiles was). Most of them viewed my profile almost right after I've viewed theirs so it doesn't surprise me to see them on my list. But since I've stopped this tedious exercise, the viewings have stopped considerably. So imagine my surprise when today, I saw a viewer with the exact same name, age, and location. My heart literally jumped to my throat. Damnit, even his stupid, common name has this crazy effect on me. Gaaaaaahhh!

From another one of my frequent jaunts to cyberspace, I found out his email address. Three of them, in fact. I even know his wife's. I am toying with the idea of sending him (or his wife) emails. I fantasize sending emails of my undying love, or nasty ones telling him (or his wife) what an asshole he is, or anonymous ones pretending I'm someone else. You get the picture. Yes, I am indeed a scary person. So far, I haven't done any of that, and I hope not to. I'm damaged enough as it is, and though there are so many things I want to say to him, I know I should just leave him alone. I intend to keep it that way.

From yet another one of my internet stalking activities, I found the blog site of one of the trainers he hung out with when he was here. She has hundreds of pictures posted of their night outs together with their team, and it was all nice and friendly so it was no biggie. That is, until I came across the picture from hell. It showed him singing in an acoustic bar (He told me he doesn't sing unless he's drunk.), with an arm around her while she blushes shyly. I totally gagged. The picture (I would post it here but I don't want my site tainted by her in any way.) was taken on his last night here, and I find myself wondering, did he sleep with her too? Seriously, anyone will say that she's not even pretty. She has this annoying voice that just gets on your nerves, and she's a bitch and a half. What could he possibly see in her? Does she, or anybody, even know about me? Obviously not, I'm supposed to be his big secret, and I'm starting to think that I will stay that way.

The Internet is a goldmine, its power overwhelming. I can't imagine living without it. Who would've thought it would break my heart?

The Mickey Mouse Love Stories Club

I horrify myself on a regular basis. Today was no exception.

We Are Party People…NOT!

I partied last weekend. If you know me, then you'll know that's about as strange as a vegetarian dog. I don't party. I go to the beach. I watch movies, and have senseless, "intellectual" conversations with friends over coffee. I stay home and read, or have DVD marathons. I hardly ever drink. I'm quite boring. And weirdly enough, most of my friends are the same.

But party we did last Saturday. My friends D, T, N, and A all play in a band called Cold Transfer (Why am I not surprised?). They played their big debut gig on the local music scene in Handuraw's Banded event. Of course, the whole gang turned up to support the band and to hobnob with the new "celebrities". Not a bad turn out, with only a couple of absentees. We were the biggest and rowdiest bunch, and Cold Transfer was easily the most applauded band of the night. While the performance was nothing new to the rest of the band, it was my best friend, D's first performance, and even if he was all timid and shy, he showed off his voice remarkably well. I beamed like a proud momma.

Because most of us fancy ourselves as singers, regardless if we can carry a tune or not, we felt that we should all have our turn on the microphone too. So we headed to Pod5 and sang ourselves hoarse. I seriously need a new repertoire because people are starting to roll their eyes at my version of "You're So Vain". We each had a shot of tequila. Nobody really felt like drinking much that night. We got kicked out of Pod5 around 2AM. Nobody felt like going home (except D and J), and we needed to keep R company until 5AM for him to catch the first trip home (He lives in Carmen, imagine!), so we decided to check out Paseo. The place was alright, reminiscent of the old Courtyard, only so much bigger with more bars to choose from. There were even shops that sold clothes (Now I know where to go if the need arises for a new top at 3 in the morning, whoop-dee-doo!). E pointed out that the average age in that place had got to be 19-21. We all felt terribly old so we just sort of shuffled about, not really knowing where we were going. We eventually ended up in the middle of the dancefloor and have actually started dancing for about 2 minutes before all hell broke lose. An epic rambol was unfolding before our very eyes (screaming, pointing, and broken bottles, the whole nine yards). I, for some reason, had this nasty image in my head of stray bullets so I grabbed the first person I could (R) and headed for the exit. Finally out of harm's way, we re-grouped in the parking lot. T decided that he wanted coffee, but nobody wanted to go to IT Park (and for good reason!). We walked to the nearest coffee shop, which turned out to be closed so we backtracked and walked to a convenience store 5 blocks away, where T promptly fell asleep. At that point, we decided we had enough so we called it a night.

When I was on stalker mode looking for pictures of M, I looked into Friendster and Multiply pages of acquaintances who seemed to do nothing but party. I'd look in their photo albums and see the endless cam-whoring of party people in varying stages of drunkeness, grinding (Umm, do people still do that?) in the dancefloor, and eating sisig. I wonder about their lives, about why they put themselves out there night after night after night. To these people, we're probably old and boring, my friends and I. We can't even party right. But on a rare night like that when we're all together, in the beach, or a karaoke room, or a coffee shop, or even by the pond in front of our building, we can't be bothered to care. I mean, really, who wants to dance with strangers when you can laugh with friends?