The Time I Stalked Harry Potter

**Seriously embarrassing story disclaimer**

I used to have an unhealthy obsession with a boy. He was a scrawny kid from London, never really brushed his hair, and had a weird thing for owls. But I just adored him.

When I was 15, my friend Tash and I took a trip to Southampton, England to visit her family. You know what is close to Southampton? London. You know who lives in London? Harry Potter (or at least the actor who plays him).

Yes, that's right - we stalked Harry Potter.

I'll spare you the top-secret/borderline-creepy details on how we actually found his house, but all you need to know is when we finally found it, he was away on vacation! We got royally yelled at (because anything that happens in the UK is a royal experience) by his neighbor for "star gazing", but we were not deterred. 

We came back, wrote the 10-year-old star a letter about how we came all the way from Texas to see him, and stuck it in the mail slot. Two weeks later, I received an autographed photo in the mail, and life was pretty much downhill from there.

**End of seriously embarrassing story**   

I thought of that experience this week, because I went to a different Harry's house. But not in a stalkerish way at all this time (and you're thinking, 'yeah right, this is the creeper who flew all the way to England to stalk a kid!'). 

Cross my heart.

I spy a yesterday's-glory jazz star hiding behind the hydrangeas

I was visiting Cape Cod with a friend who was giving me a tour of the town, and she stopped by Harry Connick Jr.'s house. Maybe you don't know this, but I am a HUGE HCJ fan. And I wasn't even the slightest bit tempted to go knock on his door and tell him 20 and Harry for the Holidays are my favorite albums and beg for a jazz piano lesson and a take a picture with him to send to my sister. The thought never even crossed my mind. No no, I am so much more mature than that, now. 

My days of stalking Harry's are behind me.

Other Cape Cod delights:

First ones at the beach. This is nice

Getting ready to parasail

Turns out, parasailing is not hard core even with cross bones on your parachute.

 But the view was a beaut!

I could live here. Some day. Some day.