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!"

“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.

 

Advertisements

I’m Meals on Wheels for the Stalker Now

I suppose I’m asking for trouble here.  But doing something nice for someone is never bad, is it?  Even if that person is my creepy senile stalker?  Actually, I’m doing it as much for my neighbor, Marie*, as anything else.  I was outside smoking a cigarette.  I had just laid DD down and was planning on following her example and taking a nice restorative nap.  But then Marie she came outside.  I could tell almost immediately by the way she was walking towards me, by her body language, even though her face was initially obscured by the fence between us, that something was not quite right.  When I asked what was wrong, she tearfully explained that she was worried Old Man didn’t have any food…  which considering his monthly income is ridiculous, yet completely plausible.

While he brings in easily 3k a month from Social Security or whatever, his incessant skirt chasing leads him to give it away to women.  Now he’s in debt because he can’t afford his own bills.  He has a car, which is somehow, inexplicably insured even though I’m pretty sure he has no license.  These women, a family of rejects, one of which is in jail/rehab for meth, come and use his car and then drop it back off when it’s out of gas.

But, okay… Marie is clearly upset, even though the Old Man annoys the piss out of both of us, and we know doing things for him is like tacitly encouraging him to rely on/ take advantage of our kindness.

She tearfully asked me, “Why do I feel like this?”

And I said, simply, “Because you’re a good person.”  She’s better than me.   But as much as it pains me to admit it, my heart is not made of stone (at least not completely,) so I told her I’d help her make him a huge tub of pasta that would feed him at least a few times.  I also told her that we were probably going to have to take more drastic measures with him, like trying to snag one of his relatives when they came by, or like calling social services, because neither of us can afford to feed ourselves, our families, and his dumb ass.  

But I told her not to tell him I helped, or rather, to tell him I made the extra pasta for her and she was just gonna give it to him.  I don’t want him thinking I’ll do shit for him, because he would totally take advantage of it, and, as I mentioned before in my other posts about him, he’d probably think it meant I was madly in love with him after all.  Who knows, maybe tonight would find him masturbating over a plate of pasta with a vacant expression on his irritating face.

Got a good mental picture of that? … You’re welcome.

A random old man eating spaghetti

So much for my nap.

The pot of pasta was huge, the most pasta I’ve ever made at one time.  I had Marie go over to Old Man’s place and ask to borrow a can of sauce, as she said she’d seen that he had a lot of sauce in his cupboards when her daughter helped move him to the next apartment over.  (Yeah, you read that right…Marie’s daughter and her husband helped move the Old Man.)  

Anyway, I was just gonna cook the noodles and toss the sauce in.  Normally I’d add veggies and other stuff for a better tasting, more nutritious meal.  But this whole thing was still sitting a little wrong with me, so I wasn’t about to use my family’s food to feed him, when it’s his own stupid fault if he can’t afford groceries.

But Marie suggested I just keep some for myself once I was done, so I added zucchini and onions and some extra sauce, and Marie and I each had a plate when the food was done.  I took a small container for my husband’s dinner later and packed the rest up for Old Man.

Voila.  There’s my good deed for the day.  Where he’s concerned, for the year.

But I guess it still does feel good to do something nice for someone…even if I sometimes want to smack that someone.