A person who engages in the stalking a celebrity, athlete, politician or any other person with high external exposure. "That Sheniqua girl sure be a star fucker the way she go after them Redskins running backs."
verb
1.
The action of stalking a celebrity, athlete, politician or any other person with high external exposure with the express desire of getting laid by said person. "Ooh, look at Michael there trying to hit on that porn star dude; he sure is star fucking."
OK, let's go back and I will give you a little history. On Friday, at the Lone Tree Terget, one of the managers (Team Leads, whatever) mentioned in the evening "huddle" that Eric Decker of the Tebow-ish Denver Broncos was coming to the store on Monday night.
This person, we will call her Michelle, because that is her name, was almost lactating when she told us that it was a deal where he brings in kids from the Boys and Girls Club to get presents. She was practically swooning, you could see the whole Doris Day fuzzy camera background around her head.
I didn't think much of it, since I wasn't scheduled to work on Monday, other than thinking to myself "this ought to be a media circus" and "I sure hope she don't think that Eric Decker is going to pick her out of a crowd to take home with him cause that ain't gonna happen."
Guess who got called into work on Monday night? Yes, it was moi. Good thing I went to Wal-Mart that day and got a new pair of tacky khakis. Totally separate from this story is the Wal-Mart cashier's name of Allegra...seriously...Allegra. So I go into the store and there it was - a media circus, sort of. One video camera, but a shitload of kids. And for a while, it was totally Bronco-free. Oh, that changed and it got weird. Weird for regular ol' customers (guests) who just wanted to get their Metamucil on sale. They had no clue what they walked in on.
And since all the managers, team leaders, whatever the fuck they want me to call them were all up front with the mass-steria, just grinning and being all friendly. This must have been a shock to their systems, since they are usually this pillar of obstanance, crossed arms and a general look of hate and despair on their faces.
There was security. Hilarious security. The Target security people, in uniform and also in windbreakers (red, of course), with SECURITY on their backs and the sleeves. Think of it as a kinda sorta NCIS crime scene. They brought in SECURITY from other Terget locations as well, since, well, we are talking children from outside the comfortable, Republican, white bread confines of the City of Lone Tree, everyone has to be careful.
And then HE showed up. Eric Decker, number whatever of the now all of the sudden why now popular Jesus loving Denver Broncos. Freak-tastic! I gotta tell you, Mr. Decker is one fine looking young man. No wonder Michelle was all ovulating and everything.
Speaking of Michelle, she was obviously missing from all the festivities. I saw her back stocking Dairy. Stocking Dairy, when all this was going on. And here is the funny(ier) part...her normally straight as a Mormon hair was all done up. She got her hair did and there she is back in Dairy. Precious. As I write this, I kind of feel bad for her, since she had her wedding invitations ready to go, but then I remember who it is, and then that feeling is gone.
So I have to explain to all the people going through my lane...did I mention that they severely understaffed and had no one to run register? I know! Every time I got in back to do what it is I do every time I work there, those damn walkie-talkies go off saying "additional cashiers needed". So I run (not really, you know me, I only run when there is Donato's pizza involved) to the registers and get stuck there for literally hours. A 4.5 hour shift and I bet I was on register 3.5 of that. It's cool, I dig the customer interaction, but DAH-UM, it is tough on my feetsies! Sore, sore, sore! And those fucking little UPC codes do not scan well. And Coffee-mate for some reason does not scan for shit. When I wasn't on register, the LOD (Leader on Duty...doesn't this Leader crap remind you of Kim Jong Il, North Korea's "Dear Leader"?) is barking at me on the walkie talkie asking me if I was pulling merchandise to the floor. Of course, I am. What the fuck else would I be doing? I am not one of your pre-pubescent kids walking around doing nothing except picking their zits on the mirrors in the fitting room, BITCH.
When I finally got my lane cleared at 9:15, I went in search of a manager to let them know that I did not get to tidying up my assigned area and putting away abandoned and returned items. Last time I do that...they look at you like you just flushed their goldfish down the toilet.
A little more about the left at the altar Michelle. At the Friday huddle, she told all of us that they were short on cashiers (DUH) and that when they called up people, whoever responded would get this little card. Kind of an atta-boy card that earns you points. Damn worthless points if you ask me. 90 points gets you a Blue Ray movie. 90 cards in a month. Jeez, you would have to get 10 of them a day with my shifts. Anyone can write up the little cards, and they do. For unbelievable shit. "Thanks to Jeff for helping me lift a heavy object." "Hey Nancy, thank you for showing me where towels are. I did not know."
Well, since she said this, and one believes that management never lies, I expected a whole shitload of cards up there with my name. You know where this is going. Not one. Tell ya what, next time I see the Praying Mantis (she is very tall and has no boobs), I am going to say "thanks for all those cards recognizing me." Of course, in her million miles away on a desert island with Eric Decker head, she is going to say "what cards? I didn't write any cards for you" and my response? "Of course you didn't." Then I should say something really hurtful like how Eric Decker hit on me and was such a good fuck.
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