(photo courtesy CreativeCommons/Capture Queen)

So when do you officially call it stalking? Is it after the incessant calling? The drunk dials with threatening messages? The drive-bys? I once had a girlfriend who had all her boyfriend's email and Facebook passwords and created a fake Myspace account with which she befriended him to see if he would cheat on her.  I wish I could say that I was above this craziness but sometimes I am a little stalker-nuts. I've had guys that I was a little infatuated with for a couple weeks, and I admit to stalking them online and calling them more than I should, but then that third week-mark would come around and my fickleness would kick in and I'd drop the stalker act.  With some people though, the fickle bug never kicks in. They stalk, pester and beleaguer you until you block their number or call the police.

Rock Star was the opposite of fickle. He was a self-obsessed musician/singer in a band with dreams of being the next Creed. He was confident enough to walk up to me at the bar I used to work at and start a conversation.

"I knew you wanted me to buy you a drink so I got you a vodka martini," he said as he slid up next to me.

I was ready to dismiss him but just before I was about to respond with something snippy I looked at his face. I had to look twice.  He looked exactly like my favorite television actor, a not so well known Australian guy named Anthony Lapaglia from "Without a Trace." When I say he looked exactly like him I mean it.  I know it's terrible but I kept talking to him because he looked like someone else I'd always had a crush on. Is it so wrong to date someone just because they look like a celebrity?

He had dark wavy hair down to his chin, wore dark jeans with a large faded stripe going down each leg, a belt with a large silver buckle, snake skinned shoes that resembled cowboy boots and an Ed Hardy (edhardyshop.com) t-shirt. I normally make it a rule to absolutely never date anyone who is tacky enough to wear Ed Hardy but I ignored the attire and focused on his face.  He had the same nose, eyes and a broad chin with just enough scruff.  All he was missing was the Australian accent. I'm sure if he would have had one I would have married him right there on the spot.

He went on and on about his band and his singing and how he was having a CD release show in two weeks. He pulled out his iPhone to show me a couple You Tube videos of himself. I had to admit that his face mixed with the singing was a little sexy, but the rest of him was definitely not.  I kept talking to him anyway. I had another martini and kept pretending that he was Anthony, not some Rock Star that needed to be told that he would never make it.

When the conversation finally got around to me I told him that I was working at a magazine in Los Angeles. When I told him which one he freaked out.

"Do you think you could get my band in the magazine?" he asked excitedly.  His eyes lit up and he sat up straight on his bar stool. "Maybe you could put our release show in the calendar section or something." Was he serious? Talk about pushy.  

I politely told him that my editor had the final say on what and who goes in the magazine and lied and told him I'd ask her. I knew that if I actually showed my editor a video of this guy and his garage band, then asked her to put them in the magazine she'd laugh--then probably fire me.
I know it's wrong and I should have stopped talking to him over an hour ago but I just kept staring at him. I know he noticed but had the completely wrong idea.

"I think you really like me," he said after he ordered himself a drink. "I think you and I might honestly have a future together; but only if you like my music."

I smiled and pretended to be amused, all the while staring. I think I hit a new low that night but I didn't care. I now altered my earlier question. Was it wrong to sleep with someone just because they look like a celebrity you're obsessed with?

The night dragged on and he talked about his band to the point where I didn't see him take a breath. By now I knew all of his band members, where they were from, if their girlfriends liked him and where they all went to school. Fascinating.

Just when it was becoming clear that this guy might have to do more than look like my celebrity crush to get me to go out with him he did the one thing I knew I wouldn't be able to resist. He started talking in an Australian accent.  

As fate would have it, a guy wearing a shirt with Rock Star's favorite Australian rugby team name on it walked into the bar. When Rock Star saw him, he started talking to him about the team. They made a joke I didn't quite comprehend and Rock Star busted out the accent. Apparently Rock Star had spent 6 months in Australia during college.

Wow. I'm totally shallow but decided I was going to at least give him my real number if I didn't go home with him tonight.

It was getting close to closing time and Rock Star asked if I would walk with him to his car so that he could play me his CD. He also asked for my number and of course, I gave him my real one.

"You're lucky you know," he almost whispered, as if telling me a secret. "I haven't really let anyone else hear my new CD."

Gee, I thought. I can't wait.

We walked up to his car and he invited me in. He had a gray, very small, two-door wannabe sports car with blue lights he had installed on the bottom of the car. Extremely tacky. I got in and it was even tackier.  He had a huge sticker with his band's name on it stuck to the top of his dashboard and an awful strawberry candy smelling air freshener.

He started his CD and it sounded like a mix of Puddle of Mud and Creed with a little Alvin and the Chipmunks mixed in. So bad that I started laughing and had to play it off like I had sneezed, which I learned is actually very hard to do!

What was wrong with me? How could I be so shallow that I would honestly subject myself to this person because he looked like a celebrity? I needed to snap out of it and do it fast, because he locked eyes with me and started to lean in.

I gave him my default excuse and told him I had to finish a story in the morning. I walked back to my car feeling utterly disgusted with myself but happy that I didn't stoop so low as to actually sleep with him, let alone touch him. Sometimes I like to pretend like I don't have morals when it comes to relationships but I guess I do have some.

The following week I received multiple texts form Rock Star every day.  He texted me six times in a row that Tuesday and nine times Wednesday.

At first they were nice and said things like we really needed to hang out. Then when he realized I was ignoring him, they got nasty.

'Why won't you call me back?' 'We would have had fun together.' 'You really don't know what you're missing.' 'You're a spoiled bitch!' 'Are you alive?' 'I know where you work!'

This went on and on and on. I didn't once text him or call him back. It's not that I refused to respond to him; it's just that I didn't care enough to do so and frankly, his behavior was amusing.

I received his last phone call to me last week. He left me a message at 3:23 in the morning.  'Um, I just want to say that I am going to be really successful,' he slurred. 'You are a bitch and you have no idea what you are missing out on because I'm going to be the next big successful thing and you're going to be sorry.'

I finally decided enough was enough. I called my cell phone company and had them permanently block his number. Who knows how long this would have gone on for?

Note to self: next time someone looks just like my celebrity obsession, run the other way.