• Kirsten Dunst has a obtained a restraining order against her stalker, who keeps showing up at her house. In the order, Kirsten states: "Mr. Smith's sudden, aggressive, and harassing efforts to contact me are extremely frightening. I fear not only for my own personal safety, but also for the safety and well being of my housemate and assistant." [ET]
• William Balfour, the prime suspect in the slayings of actress/singer Jennifer Hudson's mother, brother, and nephew, has been formally charged with murder. [TMZ]
• Brad Pitt is high… On the delight that only comes from building homes in New Orleans. [People]
• After a night of partying at the Viper Room — newly owned by onetime Lindsay Lohan BF and Hard Rock Cafe scion Harry Morton — Brandon Davis backed his car into a BMW in the parking lot… and it belonged to Pink! The crash was caught on video. [Perez Hilton]
• Speaking of Lindsay, she and Sam are not breaking up, she sez on her Facebook. [Queerty]

• After finding a tracking device on his car last week, Simon Cowell's lawyers are warning the media that "enough is enough." They're asking that photographers and journalists not pursue Cowell, place him under surveillance or photograph him in private places. Good luck with that! [Guardian]
• Simon says when Britney came on X Factor, "Of all the artists I have ever had on any of these shows, there was more buzz, more excitement for this girl [than anyone else]." Oh, and: "To be fair, and this may be a bit egotistical, I think she was in awe of me. She was just staring at me. I said, 'Touch me, I'm human,' and I think that broke the ice." [People]
• Ivana Trump and her husband, Italian "entrepreneur" Rossano Rubicondi, are separated. Actually, they've been separated for three months (after marrying in April), but Ivana didn't want to ruin Rubicondi's chances as a contestant on Italian TV's Survivor. The couple, who dated for six years, will split geographically; Ivana says, "Rossano wants to live in Miami and work in Milan. But, I am a New Yorker and my family, friends and businesses are here. As the beautiful song says, 'Que sera sera!"" [Yahoo News]
• Also separating: CSI star Marg Helgenberger and her husband, Alan Rosenberg. Everyone wants to get it over with before the holidays! [People]
• Zach Braff is so totally done with Scrubs: "There's so much I want to do with my life," he says. "[It was] the most amazing experience of my life, but when you work on a television series, they own you. They wouldn't let me take flying lessons." Want some cheese to go with that whine? [The Sun]
• Wondering how the Boy George trial is going? The pop star admits that he handcuffed and threatened a male escort, but claims he was never going to kill the dude. [Reuters]
• Michael Phelps is dating pretty much whomever he wants. [TMZ]
• Criss Angel's Vegas show, Criss Angel Believe, is getting shitty reviews and cab drivers say quite a few people simply walk out. [LA Times]
• Mario Lopez and his dimples will be hosting the Miss America pageant on January 24. [Yahoo News]
• Dear Joaquin Phoenix, you can quit acting all you want, it doesn't change the fact that you're a lousy rapper. [TMZ]

Of course, I know a little bit, too, about using pseudonyms. Bob's not really my stalker's name, and the description of how we met lacks 2 major distinguishing details that would allow those not intimately familiar with the situation to nonetheless identify him — which was not what I wanted. And, obviously, I wrote it while I was still using a pseudonym. I didn't write it to exact revenge, or to get some measure of justice that the legal system can't give me, or even to try to scare him off (since I'm sure he didn't know that I was the "Anonymous Lobbyist" at the time). I wrote it because on that day I received another reminder of him that our brief friendship was not mine to choose to end and that he planned on reminding me of his "rightful" place in my continued existence. I couldn't think about anything else that day but the fear. If he had put my online identity together — or if he's since put my identity and that story together, or reads this now and puts it together — I don't expect that it will stop or start whatever his demented little mind is telling him to do because I realize that none of it was ever about me.

But what writing about it did for me — as I hope it's done for "Kate Brennan" — was give me a measure of peace. It was out there, it was off my chest, and it could be put out of my thoughts to a degree. He might leave me alone forever, though I'm not counting on it, or I might get a righteously indignant email ten minutes after this post goes up. His wife could read it and put the story together (though, for her sake, I sort of hope not because she's a really nice woman who doesn't deserve to get hurt) and I might get an email from her. Whatever happens, whatever he does, that's on him now. And so I hope that Kate found the emotional peace in putting her story to paper that she could never get from the cops and, apparently, will never get from her stalker. She might never get actual peace, and I might not, but we've both said to our stalkers: Fuck you, this control is mine. Every minute you're not stalking me no longer belongs to you and even those minutes you are, I'm not going to fear you any more.

Stalked: A Decade On The Run [NY Times]

"Bob" was an out-of-state, middle-aged client of mine 2 jobs ago. We were work-level "friends" (for the D.C.-uninitiated, here you have "friends" that you socialize with only through work that know little more about you than some very basic details of your non-work life and your cell phone number) that would see each other a couple times a year at work-related events that he flew into town for. At one of these events, he decided that he could no longer hide his deep and abiding love for me and asked me to be his mistress. I (rather politely) declined, tried to be gentle in my let-down and help him to understand that this was just a midlife crisis. This resulted in 5 straight days of flowers being sent to my office, followed by a multi-hour tortured phone call, a very lengthy letter detailing his feelings and several begging emails. When this failed to sway me, he went to my boss to try and have me sent on a business trip with him, which resulted in an extremely uncomfortable conversation with my boss about Bob and I was taken off his account.

I then received a letter at my home address, followed by a package at my parents' house (he shouldn't have known either address) over the holidays and a series of follow-up phone calls and emails. My dad took his turn explaining to Bob that he needed to stop his behavior. A month later, he showed up at an unrelated conference I was attending on the West Coast so that he could see me. I avoided him until the end of the conference, when he walked into my room from my patio, drunk, very late at night. He left before security arrived, and I learned that most hotels will allow even us peons to use fake names in their systems.

It was months until I heard from him again, and I was at a new job when I got a letter at that new office, proving to me that he could still find me, so yet another set of bosses, co-workers and security guards had to be notified. This time, I had a lawyer friend of mine call and talk to him, and, again, he went silent for a while. I switched jobs again, and an anonymous bouquet of flowers arrived at the new office in congratulations within a week. The florist confirmed they were from him.

The last time I saw him was a year ago at another work reception- he confronted me in front of my co-workers about how I had ignored his flowers and how rude I was, and I simply walked away without speaking to him. With a contactless year under my belt, I was getting ready to discard the years of evidence I have been collecting in case I ever disappeared... and, yesterday, a new card from him greeted me when I got home from work because it's almost my birthday (another detail with which I did not provide him).

So, now it's back to the local cops, who can't help, and the lawyer who only scared him enough to start sending his shit anonymously. But, I have learned one lesson: there's no need to be nice to a man who will spend more than 10 minutes trying to convince you to date him once you say no, even if he is an important client. And your "rights," such as they are, only really kick in if you're hurt, not just scared. Oh, and a good wooden bat costs less than a gun and doesn't require a permit.