What a week, huh? First you get attacked by High-School-Musical-loving Twihards, then you get hit by a cab (OR, as my friend Calliope remarked “10 bucks says Rob actually tripped over his own feet and that’s why he got love tapped by a cab”) and now the Internets are abuzz with phrases like “Protect Robert Pattinson” And “Respect Rob” (although I argue we should be yelling “Respect NYC Cabbies” because I bet that little love tap did a number on the cab, what with your strong, muscular legs…)
What ever happened to the good ol’ days of girls solo-stalking celebrities by following them a few paces back, wearing disguises- wigs from the Raquel Welch wig line, sunglasses & trench coats- and sending obsessive love letters spritzed with their favorite perfume? Is the lonely-female stalker a dying art form? BlackBook magazine ran an article this week that gives me hope that such a woman still exists. It was entitled Confessions of a Robert Pattinson Stalker and was an interview with one of their interns who describes herself as “not psychotic but I am a little bit obsessed, but who in their right mind isn’t?” That’s true. Who in their right mind hasn’t wanted to answer an interviewer’s questions like this:
And what do you think about [the rumors of a Rob & Kristen Stewart hook-up]?
I don’t want to talk about it.
Did you like [the New Moon trailer]?
I don’t know, I fucking hate Kristen Stewart…..She’s the same character in every single movie. She’s like a female Michael Cera.
What’s the goal in all of [your Rob stalking]?
To find him and ravage him.
This “BlackBook” intern e-mailed us a few days ago and wanted us to share a letter she wrote to you (Check it out after the jump):
The minutes seem to drag on until I see your face again…my Internet won’t work in the office and I’ve been here for a whole half an hour. My friends may support my passionate love for you, but they have real work to do and won’t lend their connection for my daily dose of Robert. So I wait patiently for my lunch break where I intend on doing anything but lunching. I plan to trek 15 blocks to catch a glimpse of your mysterious smile…and perhaps snap a picture to capture your ultimate sexiness forever on my memory card. The truth is, a picture is no make-out session, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
I arrive on the scene to find that not only are barricades holding me back from my main man, but also you are filming inside all day and the windows are obstructing the view. I prevail. Sweaty tweens, that would no doubt attach themselves to your right leg, push and shove me along with their equally obsessive mothers. Watching the unworthy choices for movie extras peddle their bikes and tote their backpacks to be in your “background shot”, I find myself fighting the urge to run onto set. However, I remind myself that I am 22 years old and not crazy. Plus, I’d rather see you from afar than be banned from the set for one little touch. Or so I tell myself over and over and over again.
So among your other (much crazier) fans, I wait for my first real human glimpse of the Hottest Man on Earth- you. Some eager Robert-lover overhears a comment I make and begins asking rapid questions trying to divulge my general knowledge about yours truly…I decide not to answer her because she is an over-obsessive fan. I go back to shaking nervously and forcefully pushing ten-year-olds out of my way to get closer to you.
“He’s coming out,” I hear my trusty co-intern say to me. OMG there you are in all your 6’1-disheveled hair-stylish clothes glory! I fight back the natural instinct to bawl my eyes out and begin to jog down the street to get a clear look. I question this action but can’t seem to stop myself. Set crew yell “no mob rushing, girls” as I swiftly, nonchalantly run my ass as fast as I can past them. I get to the other side of the street just as you slip sexily into your trailer and catch a glimpse of your left shoe. I never thought a left shoe could look so good. The disappointment overwhelms me but I remind myself, “There’s always tomorrow,” and despite what other psychotic-esque conclusions may have been gathered from my BlackBook interview, I am just a normal girl desperately in love with a movie star I’ve never even met.
Until we meet,
Now this is the kind of girl you want running after you. Forget the high-school-musical loving Twi-hards with their Twilight bags, stickers and buttons. Get yourself a real stalker! Although, just in case the crazies don’t stop chasing you down the street and pushing you into cabs, might I suggest getting yourself a Pope-mobile?
We’ve emailed back n’ forth with this so-called “Robert Pattinson stalker” this week. She’s really normal, promise. She’d fit in really well at LTR, so we hope she sticks around and shares more of her adventures stalking Rob in NYC this summer! Read her entire hilarious interview with BlackBook Magazine here
Thank Calliope for her brilliant photo-shopping job of the Rob-Mobile. Cuz I’m STILL laughing.
But seriously. We need to start respecting the celebs we love so much. We have a really serious post about it over on LTT