Bier de Stone ( wrote,
Bier de Stone

googlemaps, a curse

I feel that I owe an explanation. You know, although I may sometimes appear to be an asshole, there are people who know and love me regardless. It is selfish of me to say that these are not the peeps I owe an explanation to, although I'm sure I'm wrong about that. Lately, what I've been doing on-line for the past hour is checking the LHC as though I really care if the world is going to end. Somehow I got back on googlemaps to look up my ex-girlfriends address (again). Actually, she's probably reading this. The last time I spoke to her, we sent each other a text message and silly me had my texts include a signature pointing to this very blog. Oh my!

The explanation would be directed to her in letter format if I had the balls. You know, has a neat little feature called bird's eye view, but you just don't know how happy I was when I discovered several months ago that the googlemapsmobile had paid a visit to the very street corner where my ex-gf lives. I've known a little over a year where she lives because a friend convinced me to put these mixed feelings to rest by getting in touch with her… and I did (though not personally, which is what I had intended all along).

So, as I sit here waiting for the earth to be swallowed up in a black hole, I'm looking at the birds eye view of her very house, because, before today, I had thought she had lived in a neighboring house on that same street. The thing about googlemaps is, even if you type in the address, the little arrow will point to the house's rough location. Thanks to the googlemapsmobile that allows for street views, I managed to decipher the numerical addresses printed on the curb side of most upper class residencies.

I'm pitiful, I know. I still don't call this stalking. My stalking days are over. It's the only thing I think about as I'm in a stage of my screenplay where I meet this woman and follow her home. Although I'm sure a letter would be received positively, describing how I felt, how I still think of her, how I convinced myself that I was over her, etc. they don't make paper long enough to contain all that I want to say. Editing is for the birds too.

Now-a-days I tell myself that somebody so deprived of love like myself must deserve some fortune in his lifetime; hence, the plan to write the great American screenplay. At the same time, I tell myself "whatever you do, don't become famous." My problem is that I fear her response. So I can't really compose a letter if I'm scared of how she'll react. One day, I was with a girl about the same age difference my ex and I were. When we were alone, we really had a good time, but when I had brought this girl ecstasy, she moaned in pleasure in such a way I couldn't really be sure if it was pain. So I stopped whatever I was doing. And when she said "more" she added "Use your tongue" which I mistook for "use your thumb".

I we'll be alright for work tomorrow. She has a nice house with a pool she said. From a bird's perspective, I would say converting that pool to a koi pond might not be so difficult. I dunno. Zzzzzz

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