The Trouble with Ginger Minger

What's the official definition of stalker? Is a stalker someone who constantly follows you, tries to break into your private life? Or can this word be used for someone who behaves abnormaly around you, without ever trying to make contact - in a way, a person who wants you to notice them at all costs (but in a very non-communicative way)? And more importantly, do I secretly enjoy (and want) a stalker so I can talk about him/her here?

Ginger Minger seems to be developing quite nicely in the category. In fact, he has no competition.

Quick recap:

- I join my work's gym and notice weird, muscly, thin, ugly ginger individual who likes to take long showers, and takes even longer to get dressed (this involves sticking his bum out while putting a sock on for 10 minutes).
- I go to gym regularly and said individual seems to be always there. We always end up naked in a very small space (our Hitchcock-like changing room.)
- I witness said individual's puckering asshole looking at me, like a pink rabbit's eye.
- I witness what seems to be a jerk off session by said individual, with moans and groans, inside a shower stall.
- I change my hours at gym to avoid said individual; i begin to wear flip-flops in the locker-room and I never ever use second shower-stall from the right.
- Ginger Minger seems to notice my strategic moves. When he sees me, he stops and tries to catch me watching him. I perfect the look of "not-looking-at-you-but-knowing-your-moves-through-the-corners-of-my-eyes".


Recently, I've also noticed that he takes the same Tube line as me (Bakerloo). Because I read in the Tube, I don't have time to look around and watch my fellow dozing passengers... so I don't know how many times he must have been in the same carriage as me - inspecting. I caught him twice. And today was the second, and most bizarre of them.

I was engrossed in the epilogue of Madness and Modernism when something made me look to my left. Lo and Behold, there sat Ginger Minger in his full self-conscious glory. I quickly returned to my book. He began to stretch! I wouldn't look. He began to cough, loudly. I still wouldn't look. *Cough* *Cough* Nope, I'm not taking my eyes off my book and giving this pleasure to a Ginger Exhibitionist (that's what he is, if you want to get Freudian.)

The train arrived at Waterloo. I went for the door furthest away from him. I stepped outside and watched Ginger Minger spring down the exit, fast as a gazelle, wearing only a black t-shirt, trousers and a black cap!!!!!!!! Before you can scream "1987 Culture Club", let me tell you that today is a freezing day, with cars covered in white frost, breaths travelling in the air like vapours. Now I know Ginger Minger is mad. He quickly climbs the escalator ahead of everyone and disappears.

I return to my book as I climb the escalator. I go through the turnstiles and, as I step outside, my ticket falls to the ground. I bend down to collect it and begin to walk towards my work. I suddenly stop to look back, wondering if something else fell out of my wallet. Who is there, following me?

Ginger Minger!

Seems like the end of California Dreaming

I am walking beside zaubin. I tell him how happy I am to be in California, hanging out with him and his friends. The sun is high in the sky, the heat is almost unbearable. Everywhere I look I see people lying on grass, wearing sunshades... but these Californians are as pale as me. The sun doesn't seem to affect them as much as it affects me.

I follow zaubin, wondering if we are going to find jellyfishfur. We see a big group of people sitting on the grass. They are singing:

"Co Co Co C.S.I. Co Co Co." Everyone laughs and begins to eat from a little grill that lies in the centre of the group. Hot dogs, hamburgers, etc. zaubin leads me to the centre of the group and we look for Nick (sinisterdevil) as well as his girlfriend Keleigh (jellyfishfur). The group of friends wear beige, polo shirts. They all seem to be jocks, as if they belonged to a fraternity.

Sometime later, I'm behind a building with zaubin. We are all alone. He smiles and begins to take his shirt off. His chest is flat, dark like crisp bacon. His nipples are tiny and pointy. His body is completely shaved. I think I might have licked one of the nipples (YUCK!)