My ex-boything's stalker is stalking me.
OK, I don't *know* this, but when The Boy and I were still an us, I left a note on his door one day and it had my home and cell numbers on the bottom. He never got it.
That's when I learned about Stalker McNutjob (how long do you think it's going to be before the Description McDescription name construct ceases to be funny AT ALL. It's my first attempt at the McFunnyname thing, but I'm generally sooooo out of touch... I imagine any eight-year-old, coke-bottle-glassed, computer nerdy playground fodder named "Percy" knows it's already passe. Hey, is there a way to do accent marks on this thing?), who is his freakin' POSTAL CARRIER (Kelly calls her the Mail Lady, which I hear as "Male Lady" and I giggle like someone said "penis" in gym class, 'specially since the Male Lady most closely resembles, in form, Ben Roethlisberger) and how Kelly and The Boy started out trying to be friendly but she started knocking on his door and calling him all hours of the day and night (even after he told her to fuck off, and remember, The Boy doesn't cuss AT ALL EVER, except in the extreme case of extremely persistent stalker Male Ladies) she stole Kelly's mail, threatened to tell people The Boy abused her if he reported her to the US Postal Service, texted him 40 times a day (what 42-year-old TEXTS, for fuck's sake?), probably stole my note... and I was sorely worried that she had my phone numbers. Y'all can imagine. For the record, nothing happened at the time. Least not so's I noticed.
Fast forward, Friday night:
Kelly and I went to Re-Favourite Bar Friday night at about 7:30 and Stalker was there. And she glared. The Boy showed up later (based on what you're about to read, I'm going to guess around 10:15) and sat with us and Stalker glared. And left. And came back. And Kelly and The Boy left at about midnight (I pitched a small, quiet, *ahem* ladylike fit about how The Boy wouldn't want to be stuck in the car with me -- martyr much? -- so they should go on without me and save themselves and I would just walk home, uphill, in the cold... I'm four). And Stalker watched Kelly's car, craning her neck to see the taillights disappear down 32nd Ave. And she moved a couple chairs closer to me at the bar and glared. And she brushed by me on the way to the bathroom (do evil demon-spawn stalkers have bladders? I would think being a minion of Satan, one of the perqs would be no need for bodily function) and said, "He doesn't want you around anymore?"
And I looked at her with what I hope was arch amusement (I've always wanted to be arch) and said, "Dunno. [*shrug*] But at least I don't go where I'm not wanted."
THINGS I WISH I'D THOUGHT TO SAY WHEN THE MALE LADY SAID, "HE DOESN'T WANT YOU AROUND ANYMORE?":
"Um... are you hoping? I'm flattered, but I don't swing that way."
"Mom, you have to quit following me around like this."
"Ben? Ben Roethlisberger?"
"NO! DON'T TOUCH ME THERE!"
I'm four. I'm four and I'm a pervert.
Seriously, thought I was going to barf. The adrenaline rush about killed me. I didn't see her after that, and I figure she left shortly thereafter.
SO... I got home Friday night (technically Saturday morning) at about 1:00. The next morning on my way to a friend's, I saw a missed call on my cell from "Private Name/Private Number" at 10:24 pm Friday night**. No message.
When I got home later that afternoon, I flipped through my caller ID on the home line.
I know y'all can see this from a mile away. As oblivious as I am, that's how totally clear y'all are on where this is going. Believe you me, I had no thought at the time that this might be a stalking situation. I was just curious who might have called because I'm a weirdo who sees the message light blinking and, instead of checking messages like a normal human being, I flip through the CID for a PREVIEW of messages to come (I also look at mail and say, "Scranton? Do I know anyone in Scranton? It's clearly a fancy invite thingy, like a wedding invitation. Who would be inviting me to a wedding in Scranton? Did I know anyone in college from Scranton?..." instead of opening it to find out. I'm four AND I'm a dork. And possibly a pervert.)
Checked the home CID, PN/PN (I think I'll call her PNhead) called at 10:26 Friday night**. I felt a luscious little frisson at the drama of it all.
Last night, I took Kelly to bond with Laurie-without-a-link and the Suburban Sedation Crew (Robin, Amy and Angela), after which we decided to stop at Re-Favourite Bar and... yep. Stalker was there. Glaring. We left at 12:15, she left a little before us. This morning, it occurred to me to check the phone. *Honestly,* I *never* thought there would be a repeat. Quite frankly, I was pre-disappointed, figuring it would all be a fluke and what kind of blogfodder would that be? (I'm pretty sure I shouldn't use a weird word like "fodder" twice in one post. Maybe not twice in several months. But it's a good word. And it sounds funny. Go ahead, say it again... fodder**) PNhead showed up on the CID at 12:14 am. I grabbed my cellie -- no PNhead, but an unknown phone number at 2:01 pm yesterday. I reverse-directoried it to find it's an unlisted cell phone. Hmmmm.
Y'ALL... sitting here, not two minutes ago, PNhead called! (At 11:11! Ay-em! On Sunday, March 4, 2007! Make note so you can tell the police when they find my poor body in a shallow grave, the victim of a massive football-style tackling death). And when I answered ('cause, what... I wasn't going to answer?) *click*
I'm taking notes. All the call times, where Stalker was, where I was, where Kelly was, if there were appletinis involved. If I end up dead in a ditch, y'all can point the police to this site as evidence of Stalker activity.
Is it wrong that it's a little thrilling to be so much under the skin of someone you've never really met that they want to stalk you? I feel like Jodi Foster.
Am I obsessing?
*Shouldn't* one obsess about a stalker Male Lady?
[SUMMARY: I'm being stalked by my anti-stalker's stalker. Maybe. I'd even go so far as "probably." I'd definitely go so far as to use the word "fodder" twice in one story. I may also be four and a pervert.]
Now, about the knitting: Kelly asked last night what it would take to con me out of a handknit scarf. Now, do I leap on it like a duck on a junebug (an action I've never personally seen, but it's picturesque enough that I like to use the phrase. Besides, I like ducks) or do I play hard-to-get and make her feel I'M doing a favour for HER?
That's a moot point, and a question posed to make me sound cool enough, just for only a moment, that you might think I didn't fall all over her going, "Yes! Please! Scarf! How many?"
I'm actually already thinking of a nice, bulky-yarned cable scarf and Aunt Purl's Brangelina Hat to match. (remember here that I'm not over-sophisticated with this blogstuff, so that Brangelina Hat link is SUPPOSED to take you right to the hat itself, but if you just end up on Aunt Purl's home page and you have a desperate need to SEE the Brangelina Hat, it's on the 4/6/06 post)
[SUMMARY: The knitting? Serious dork addiction. But Kelly will probably benefit with the scarf she requested and a bonus, matching hat named after a People Magazine-style name combination (Brangelina).]
Did y'all see the OUTSTANDING comment Marcia made on my virgin voyage post? And I love her blog so, it's like a little celebrity endorsement all my own. I sent it to my brother with a long, highly exclamation pointed message about how someone READ MY BLOG! SOMEONE I LIKE AND ADMIRE! Oh, dear gods, I'm a dork. But apparently a cute dork and a dork Marcia reads. And if it's just Marcia and me from here on out, that's better than I may have hoped. Hi, Marcia! I'm your new best friend! (I'm pretty sure Marcia goes by Marcy, and I think I already referred to her once as such, but then I realised I'm might not be spelling Marcy right. Or Marcie right, as the case may be)
[SUMMARY: Marcia/Marcy/Marcie said really nice stuff and now she gets me as her new best friend!]
It's sunny outside (if you've seen the Denver weather over the last two or three months, you know what a rarity that is). I'm going to go play. Y'all have a nice Sunday, and if the police come knocking at your door, tell 'em the Male Lady did it.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked and everything): Sorry... I know all these dates and times are boring in a way that is highly reminiscent of learning all the Civil War battles, but I think it builds my case. And leaves a good evidence trail. Hey, just because I'm paranoid...
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked the second!): "Hello mudder, hello fodder, here I am where stalkers bodder..."