The Senile Stalker Gets Scared Straight?

Could this be the end of the Senile Stalker Saga?  Today things came to a head- sort of.   I mean, I’m starting to think the only thing that will really end it is if one of us dies (preferably not me, as I’m kind of attached to myself.)

I went next door to visit my neighbor, as I often do.  Some of her family, also friends of mine, were over and I wanted to hang out a bit before they went back home.  I’d already been over there once for my morning coffee (no coffeemaker at the mo’,) but this time the Old Man was sitting on the love seat.

…and maybe it was too late for me to turn around;  I had momentum…or a brief leave of my common sense… and went into my neighbor’s apartment anyway.

And damned if the first thing he said to me wasn’t, “What did you tell your old man about me?”

He must have hit a nerve with me today…either that or my bullshit meter is red-lining, cuz I snapped back something like, “R****, I am not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

But the few things I said to him today in response to his passive-aggressive routine, he acted like he didn’t hear.  I told him Hubs was mad and asked him what he expected.  He said he didn’t expect anything.  Deliberate obtuseness.  Great.

About that time Marie’s sister-in-law called to me from the bedroom.  Saved by the bell.  She knows how I feel about the Old Geezer.  About that time, her little girl, who had been taking an extra long time in the bathroom, slipped into the room, also trying to evade the Old Man.  I offered them safe haven in my apartment until the Old Man left and I went back to my apartment, and the little girl came over shortly after.  She said that R**** had told them all he didn’t like that I told my husband everything he says to me.

Hubby heard that and then he went outside to smoke…and apparently to go next door.

“Put ’em up!”

I guess he’d hit his bullshit quota for the year too.  He told the Old Man not to ever talk to him, me, or the baby again, that he didn’t want to see his face again.   And all the Old Man said was “Okay.”  I wonder if he pissed himself a little.

That still didn’t stop him from asking my friend and her little girl if we were over here talking about him at my place, and what all we said.  But I doubt he’ll be speaking to me anytime soon.  He gets all indignant and pissy when you’ve had enough of his shit and you tell him off.  Then he gets over it.  But hopefully he’s smart enough to know better.  If he starts coming around us again, I have a feeling the cops will be called…hopefully before Hubs stomps him into Old Man compost.

 

The Senile Stalker Strikes Again!

So, just recently I regaled you all with tales of my senile stalker.  Strangely enough, a small (eensy, weensy, teeny) part of me feels a little bad for talking smack about him on my blog and with my neighbor and whatnot.

And then he goes and pulls some shit like he did tonight and I practically can’t help myself from venting  writing about it.

As I may have mentioned before in my other article, he got basically told off by the maintenance man for bothering the ladies around the apartment complex and just generally being a creeper.  Following that incident, there was a small period of reprieve where he was pissed at me I guess because he assumed I had set the Maintenance man on him (which would indicate that despite his dementia, he is at least marginally aware that I’m getting tired of his bullshit.)

Who knows?  Whatever.  Anyway, in that time period, the only person he felt at ease bothering was my middle aged neighbor (we’ll call her Marie, for anonymity’s sake.)  He’s been “setting up camp” there more and more, asking telling her when he needs her to drive him places (he’s a menace behind the wheel,) and “hanging out” in her living room, waiting for me to show up to visit her or bum a cigarette.  I avoid visiting her when I know he’s there, or else I’m in and out as quickly as possible, usually sachaying sideways out the door so he can’t stare at my ass.

Earlier today Marie gave me a small bag of flat breads she had gotten at the store, as she had gotten two and would not be able to use both before they were outdated.  So this evening, I tried out an idea I had for basically turning them into giant cinnamon toast rounds.  As I often do when I cook a new dish, I took some over to her.

The old man was sitting in his usual spot in the love sofa.  I went in with the plate of food and asked her for a smoke.   She was out of her store-bought cigs but offered to roll us some.  I didn’t feel like waiting and being under the Old Fart’s scrutiny the whole time, while he lamely attempted to engage me in conversation.  So I handed Marie the plate and said, “I just wanted to bring you this,” and I left.  She knows I avoid being around him, so I know she isn’t insulted and usually understands when I need to cut short a visit or make a quick getaway.

As I walked back in my apartment, hubs was getting ready to go out to smoke.  It was still nice out so I put the baby’s shoes on and took her outside too.

Not five minutes later, Marie came out the door with her smokes in hand.  At first I just assumed she had heard us outside and came out to talk and give me a smoke because I had left her apartment without one.

She proceeded to tell me that when she went into the kitchen to get her tobacco to roll the smokes, the Old Man picks up the half a cinnamon flat bread on the plate that I had given her and proceeds to help himself to two bites.

She said after that she just walked out the front door, and she tells me all of this, I realize she’s really pissed off, so pissed off in fact, that tears are standing in her eyes…which of course pisses me off even more.  She just didn’t even know what to say to him.  She was pissed, but also feels badly for him because he is old and sick, so she’s probably more tolerant of him than she should be, considering that in his twisted mind, tolerance is almost like tacit permission.  This is a man who seems to think that me returning a wave to him to be polite is indicative of the fact that we might have a romantic future.

I mentioned (more to make her feel better than anything) that she should just cut off the part he ate and the rest would be fine, and she said “He picked it up with both hands.”  Now depending on how germ phobic you are, this may or may not seem like a huge deal… unless you’ve seen him carrying around his ratty, crumpled tissue and repeatedly dabbing at his nose, or worse, seen him sitting in Marie’s apartment mining for nose gold and flicking his findings out into the air.

I even offered to go into her apartment and “take care” of the situation for her and get rid of his rude, imposing ass.  Believe me, I would have let him have it.  But I think maybe he actually had his hearing aid in tonight and heard the three of us outside talking shit, because he came outside a few minutes later…  but not before helping himself to some of the cornbread that was in her kitchen.

~Sigh~  I told her that she can’t keep letting him get away with that behavior.  In fact, I think sometimes he does certain things to see just how much he can get away with.  I understand he’s ill, and maybe not playing with a full deck, but there comes a time to draw the line.   How long do we allow his behavior to make us uncomfortable because “he’s sick?”

One thing is for certain; my tolerance for his passive-aggressive tendencies, his manipulations, his advances, and his bad manners are about down to zilch now.