It's Not Stalking, It's Google

I’ve had apparently an overabundance of free time as of late, and I’ve been thinking about significant exes of mine. This always seems to happen around Valentine’s Day (hope yours was lovely!), when I get the wild idea to write down my favorite memories of favorite exes. OK, to do honest, they’re not all favorite exes. But each man did something significant that I loved. I do love a gesture.

So, in the midst of trying to remember five separate incidents of gestures (couldn’t do it), I decided to Google the exes. Oh, c’mon, we all do it from time to time. To be honest, I generally am Googling myself, because the first time I did it, I found all sorts of information available to anyone that I didn’t want in the public domain. Goodbye, MySpace page, hello, freakishly high privacy settings on Facebook. My Twitter accounts don’t directly identify me either, and since this little ol’ blog doesn’t have my last name, you pretty much have to know the direct address to find it. (Or be my friend on Facebook, I know, hush! And most people on Facebook don’t bother reading this, which is just time with me. It leaves more bandwidth for you, dear reader.)*

Anyhoo…back to Googling exes…

I always check on the boy, just because you never know what’s out there. I still think it’s nifty that he’s on IMDB. Next I checked for this guy, who is trickier to narrowly Google because he’s got a slightly more common name. Not really common, but you’ll get more results if you Google him than me. Next I checked for this guy, who, while he was a crappy boyfriend, gave me the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had. That’s not something I can readily forget. Bonus! Looks like he’s living in New Jersey now, which means I can stop laughing every time bad weather happens to Baltimore. Next I checked for the ex-fiance, and he’s almost untraceable. I feel safe enough telling you his last name – Simpson. Yeah. Try Googling a Simpson. You’ll be searching through results for at least two weeks. Last, but not least, I Googled my first love. Because that’s a totally normal thing to do – wonder about a man I’ve not seen since I was nineteen. I did mention that it was an intense relationship, didn’t I? Of course it was; we were teenagers and everything’s dramatic at that age. He’s easier to find, mostly because he’s one of about, say, six people who still let Google publish their telephone number.

But no, I won’t be calling. Last time we talked, a few years ago, I offered to knit him a hair shirt. It’s not easy to come back from a comment like that.

(I don’t knit, but I totally would have learned. Sheesh! Listening to him gripe and moan made me feel for his wife.)

* This paragraph is not meant to constitute a challenge to you, if you don't already know who I am. K? Plz?