Luv Doc,
A few years ago I was in a relationship with a guy who insisted that I share my location with him 24-7. I went along with it at the time because I thought, “I have nothing to hide,” so I shared it and forgot about it. Months later after we broke up (from him being overly jealous and possessive) I realized he was basically stalking me from my phone. It really upset me. Fast forward to just a few weeks ago when the guy I only started dating in April asked me to share my location with him. I told him no and explained the whole scenario with the stalker boyfriend. He insists he isn’t like that and says it’s just for “convenience.” I told him no and he got irritated and said I shouldn’t blame him for my creepy ex-boyfriend. I suppose he’s right, but I still don’t want to share my location. Am I wrong?
– Happy to Be Nowhere
I don’t know where you are and it isn’t troubling me one bit. That said, I am assuming you’re in Austin and not some far-flung, exotic locale like Rosanky or Smithville, both of which, I am fairly certain, the Chronicle editorial overlords believe host the greatest concentration of Luv Doc readers. I can’t argue with that – nor do I prefer to. For me, trying to make sense of Google Analytics is the statistical equivalent of dry swallowing a bag of benzos. Besides, the Luv Doc has always been an epic quest for truth and beauty, and if the only people along for the ride are small-town trailer park tweakers, that’s perfectly fine by me. They’re also a pretty solid market for mail-order Cialis® and ads for The Golden Bachelorette. Get all high and mighty if you want, but what sensible person wouldn’t fall for a remodeled 72-year-old chassis with princess-length, Harley-back-seat golden tresses? And they say broadcast TV is dead.
I apologize for meandering into apocalyptic doomsday scenarios in an advice column, but I have to feed the tweakers or this free paper becomes a blog post.
On the one hand, I am sure there are those who would say, “What a wonderful world we live in where, from thousands of miles away, someone can simply open up their smartphone and know exactly where their loved one is at any given moment.” Unfortunately the dark side of that utopian dream is the horrifying reality that the same technology can also be used to assassinate someone with a relatively inexpensive drone. Further chilling is the thought that the boner of unrestricted capitalism will soon be fucking us with a dizzying selection of ever more sophisticted, intelligent, and undetectable devices capable of equally nefarious shit. If that doesn’t inspire you to vote for the presidential candidate who hasn’t frequently discussed despotic revenge fantasies, I don’t know what will.
Goddamn it, I apologize for meandering into apocalyptic doomsday scenarios in an advice column, but I have to feed the tweakers or this free paper becomes a blog post. At least that’s what Google Analytics is probably saying. Regarding your boyfriend’s Tracker fetish, it’s simple: No means no. It’s perfectly fine for him to ask, but it’s your call to make, regardless of your reason, and in my humble opinion you have a really good one. The idea that he is somehow being treated unfairly because of your past experience is just fucking stupid. That would be like John Bobbitt’s new wife complaining about his “no kitchen knives in the bedroom” rule. Honestly, it’s not a great sign that he is trying to personalize your trauma. In fact, that should be a really huge part of the conversation you’re going to have with him about why he should keep it in his pants – and by that I mean his smartphone … at least regarding location tracking … at least until Elon Musk comes up with a video-enabled, location tracking drone that will allow him to “make sure you’re OK” without your permission.
This article appears in October 18 • 2024.
