This tom goes ah-peepin' | Salvation Is A Pop Song

This tom goes ah-peepin'
13th
December

Posted by Tom Senkus on Dec 13, 2008 in

In the algebraic equation best described as the following:

Where are they now - Where am I now = Self-worth!

sums up my 5am feelings. Who hasn't done it? The coffee sets in, the granola slips down into your pajamas and into nether regions from your hand, you sneeze and wipe the residue on the chair--we've all Internet Stalked.

That's right, you stalker, you. Me and you and everyone else is this close to that restraining order that would only pose a minor hurdle to our LOVE!

It begins with a search engine and a question, "I wonder how Susie is doing..." First name and last name yields nil. Try again, this time citing an interest. "Well, if I know Susie like I used to, why not add 'Counting Crows' to that. Yes, 'Susie Doe Counting Crows'." A click of the Enter key, and Bam, a clue! Turns out you've got an email address from years prior--THE YEARS YOU WERE DATING HER! And what's that? She was talking about how "cute" the "dreamy" singer's hair was? That was MY hairstyle! THAT SLUT! "I'll just have to find out where she is now!"

Enter Private Detective Me chasing after the smallest crumbs of details. The message boards of the Counting Crows are perused (even the side/solo projects). Google's image search yields party photos of her! How could she be having fun!? I thought I destroyed her by dumping her! And smiles? Those were reserved only for me! Myspace's search with her email address displays a fairly elaborate page full of "Bitch Score: 75% You're a bitch with a black heart!", "What Counting Crows member are you?" and more clues... that she lives in Rhode Island now? We both agreed we'd...she'd never go back there! Not only is she a slut, she's a liar! A rotten bitch slut liar who is MOST CERTAINLY not the lead singer of Counting Crows! Not with that hair, honey!

Thinking back on the pornographic minute-long mpeg's of pure art, your mind's synapses fire off those "it could've been her with the giant co--nah..." You search the mountainous range of criteria for sexual things she might have enjoyed with her personal appearance.

Amateur Redhead Puffy Nipples shows off for the camera... (because she always was an attention-whore, emphasis on WHORE! Do you hear that SU-SIE?? Whore!)

But like the pre-Neadrethal monkey's in 2001: A Space Odyssey, not-quite touching the giant, threatening black obelisk of Truth, the free relay service (www.ip-relay.com) beckons you to talk to her... umm, anonymously minus the bone-club. All you have to do is type, and a jaded operator reads your words in monotone to her/him/them.

While you're web browser screams for you to close certain windows, you ignore its pleas for mercy and soldier on--a Flickr page offers 200 pictures of her family vacation, maybe one or two of yourself! Hope! That slu-no, goddess, still loves me! A goofy Youtube video of her staring into the screen, looking wistful (with a Counting Crows poster in the background). Then you see more video: of her at her new job, with her "wacky" friends, with her new career, and... her new husband...

Husband? You... don't... say... Oh, and he's ridiculously more handsome/financially-stable/not-covered-in-granola? Oh. Screw this internet stalking. I think I need some more granola that's hasn't fallen into my groin.

My Real Wedding from The Knot and The Nest.