I Spy With My Little Eye.

Oh, by the way... I found that Guy We Met On Saturday's wedding photos on the internet.

What?!? How?!?

Easy. I knew his first name, age and where he played football in college.

I am a creep.
Nobutseriously, I am. I should have been a private investigator, CIA agent or Professional Google Stalker.

S&SR, P.I.

Actually, I think I am a Professional Google Stalker. I can find a LinkedIn profile using just a first name, location & rudimentary knowledge of someone's profession. I have successfully found out how much someone I was dating bought their house for in 2009. I can find basketball records from 10th grade, donation amounts to Obama, college newspaper articles written on public opinion. I have even found myself in a wikipedia article. The aforementioned guy on Saturday, we sat with him and his buddies at a restaurant for maybe an hour. He's married with a kid on the way. I was just Google Stalking for the sake of Google Stalking. Don't get me started if I know your first name and you work in the entertainment business... IMDB, anyone? I know your entire career history.
Give me Google maps... And most likely, I can figure out the last three places you've lived. With photos.
We're living in a weird world. A world where every step you've made, every electric bill you've paid & any public Facebook page you've commented on can be found by near total strangers. Or the girl you have a date with Friday night.
I am a total creep.
But, hell - I think a lot of us are. Right?!?

When I was dating the Aussie, and he was trying to figure out the address to where I work so he could send flowers, he later greeted me at my door with,

Well, well, well... I have spent the afternoon reading very nice things about you.

I can only imagine he found both my shop's Yelp page, a couple magazine articles I was quoted in & our shop Facebook. Just by using my first name & my shop's name. He actually admitted on our first date that he - in trying to figure out what I do for a living - spent an inordinate amount of time googling my first name, the county that I worked in and a number of professions to no avail. I'll admit, after finding out where he went to school & the company he worked for; I spent quite a bit of time researching both.
(God, he is brilliant.)
I am still convinced he might have been a spy.
I spent quite of bit of time on Google Translate when I was with the Dutchman; I found out his ex-girlfriend's first and last name, his company & several of his investment companies as well... and it was all in Dutch. For awhile, I was also convinced he might be a spy. He is not, forthemostpart.

I'd Google-Translate him,
thankyouverymuch.

The funny part is; after all is said and done - I can also let go of it all. When the Aussie broke up with me, I deleted his phone number & all of our texts and I never called him again. Yes, I occasionally look at his facebook page (we are not 'friends') & maybe, just maybe, yesterday I realized one of his albums was - I assume - accidentally public. And yes, I poured over it. And maybe it was from 2007, but whatever. (God he is handsome.)
And yes, I am 'friends' with my Dutchman on Facebook (as are many of my friends) and yes, maybe I hid him from my newsfeed, and yes, maybe occasionally I Google-translate posts on his page.
So what?! We're still friends after all.
Okay so maybe I don't let go of it all. But I try.
I don't know why, but I have been thinking a lot about that Other Boy from the Other Side of the World lately. The memories of me & my Australian have been crystal clear lately. I don't know why I am still so fixated on that damn Aussie eight months later; but maybe it is because he has become the Standard to which every other man is compared. A Standard that my Dutchman lived up to. But the difference between the two is: I (had to) let my Dutchman go.
Whereas, the Aussie let me go.
He never called me again either.
I can only assume he stopped Googling me a long time ago.


F you, you Misty, Watercolored Memories.

With the memories of him being as easily as accessible as someone's LinkedIn profile these days, when I put my dating the Australian next to the open dialogue & friendship with Apt F and the beautiful Love Story with my Dutchman; I can see why he let me go. As much as I fretted over my own insecurities and not being generally cultured enough, well-read enough or beautiful enough; the reality is, those fears made me not open enough. I don't think I ever actually called him, unless it was to return his call. I was afraid to ask anything of him, to make any sort of... 'demand' isn't the right word, but any sort of forward moving action. I was waiting on him to do it; as I was near-paralyzed by my insecurities. And I was so enamoured with him but I didn't let him in until - really - it was far too late. Now I am not saying that that these are the only reasons he let me go, I'm sure he had a myriad of other reasons - both expressed and not so - but in retrospect, my paralysis and my unavailability was... Kind of Creepy.*

*Ah, ya live ya learn.

I think another reason I have been so fixated on the Aussie is because I miss the courting process. I'm stuck in a rut of television marathons on my bed & comfortable cuddling with Apt F.
Without the excitement & Spark that there was with the Dutchman.
Without the wine & dine of my Men with Accents altogether.
I'm bored. I may not neccessarily want a boyfriend per se, but I miss the exciting potential of maybe meeting someone who'll change my mind.
ImeanforGodsake's, Apt F isn't even Google-able.

I need someone new to Creep on. Capital C.