Is this a sign it’s over between us?

According to Google alerts, Johnny Depp and Amber Heard are “in love.”   It was one thing when he was cheating on Vanessa, but now he’s cheating on me!   There’s nothing more upsetting than the man you love  being unfaithful before he’s even met you.

Vanessa’s mansion

A really nice yurt

Understandably, I’m pissed.  I’m considering talking to a lawyer.   I figure after a year and a half of faithful stalking, I should be entitled to something.

I realize it would be irrational to expect  a 4.4 million dollar Beverly Hills mansion like the one Vanessa Paradis got.  Her 14 years with Johnny dwarfs my meager year and a half (on the other hand, she got to have sex with him so maybe I’m the one who deserves the mansion).

I want to be fair about this.   Here’s what I’m thinking:   maybe a really nice yurt?

Johnny, I’d like to show you my lingerie

For a change of pace, I decided to stalk Johnny in Venice for a couple of days.

Venice is not a great place for stalking.   It’s like a medieval maze and one wrong turn and you’re on some dead end and every potential escape route you find, inevitably leads to another dead end.   Now that I think about it, it sounds like a metaphor for my entire stalking endeavor thus far.

I didn’t find Johnny in Venice, but I did find myself in a La Perla store (fancy Italian lingerie), having become enamored with a bra in the window.  Damn, if it didn’t look and feel fabulous on.  It didn’t matter how much it cost, I had to have it.   And two pairs of matching panties.

I could get a shot of Botox for the price of this underwear, but unlike the Botox, at the rate my life is going, nobody will see the beautiful bra and panties.  Unless I schedule a doctor’s appointment.

Worse, I’ve been home for four days and I’m afraid to open the damn bag because I might sully the contents for the extremely special occasion I’m saving them for.   In other words, there’s a very real possibility that someone will find my unopened bag of ridiculously pricey lingerie among my remains many, many, many years from now.

Johnny, this is where you come in.   I would definitely consider you the sort of special occasion I would deem worthy of cracking the bag open and actually wearing the precious undergarments.

Since this extravagance is really all your fault, I feel it’s your personal responsibility to come see my new lingerie. In fact, I beg of you.  Not only would it be a crime if so much beauty, craftsmanship and expense remain untouched in a paper bag indefinitely, I’d really like to see it again myself.

Johnny, your clothes are making me uncomfortable. Please take them off.

This is a picture of Johnny at the Toronto Film Festival.   It looks like he’s wearing more than one shirt under a vest, under several scarves, under a jacket.   Frankly, the look just isn’t working for me.

What if one day, after a long day of stalking, I find him in a charming dead end alley in the old town of San Tropez?   Our eyes lock and he knows that he must have me now, quickly, before the prying eyes of the paparazzi catch us.

He kisses me deeply and rips my bodice off.   I want to feel his heaving chest against mine and start unbuttoning.   And unbuttoning.   And unbuttoning.   Damn, some of the button holes on this particular shirt seem smaller than the buttons!   And unbuttoning.  Crap, my hands are getting tangled in these scarves! And unbuttoning.   Just as I feel the hard outline of his massive belt buckle, flashbulbs start popping and the moment is lost.

So Johnny, darling, please rethink your wardrobe.   I’m not being shallow, just practical.  And if you insist on the layered look, I’m thinking zippers might be nice.

Crucial advice for anyone planning a trip to the South of France to find Johnny now that he’s single.

Now that the official announcement that Johnny and Vanessa have split has come out, I’ve noticed that suddenly lots of people are finding this blog by googling “Johnny Depp and Plan de la Tour.”

This leads me to believe  that a growing number of delusional women (and men, I’m sure) are interested in visiting the South of France in search of Johnny now that he’s supposedly available.

Since I’ve been here for over a year (and I’ve been delusional for even longer), I think I’m uniquely qualified to provide some vital guidance on the subject:

BACK OFF!   I was here first.

I can’t help thinking this is all my fault

This morning I awoke to pages and pages on my Google alert — headlines from around the world informing me that Johnny and Vanessa have in fact split.   This time, I believe it as the source seems to be Johnny’s own representatives, not radar online.   And hey, if it’s in the LA Times, it must be true, right?

I feel bad.   The troubles in Johnny and Vanessa’s relationship started right around the time I started stalking him.    You do the math.

But it just shows what a fine man Johnny is.   So many men only have the balls to leave when they’re already in the next relationship. At least Johnny had the decency to end it with Vanessa  before even meeting me.

It takes a village

As I was stalking Johnny at the daily market this morning, it occurred to me that perhaps I would increase my chances of finding Johnny if I were to enlist the help of others. Recruiting citizen stalkers to keep an eye out for me, so to speak.  So I put my marketing expertise to work and created the flyer you see above.

In English, it reads:  ”Lost!!!  If you see him, he belongs to me.   Please call 0616881424 immediately.”

Then I distributed it around town

I think I’ve got Antibes pretty well covered.    Tomorrow, I’ll start in other villages.

Foiled again

I followed this guy around Nice for three hours until he finally took off his jacket, which should have immediately tipped me off that it wasn’t Johnny.   It took me another hour of intense stalking before it finally hit me that no way is this Johnny Depp.   No tattoos.   Duh.