Let's call her Cathy Brown. I met her while teaching an acting class. She was assigned to me as my assistant. We seemed to get along well, and one day she said she had a new house and needed tenants ASAP in order to pay for it. Well, lookie here, me living on my brother's couch. I was about to say yes when my gut suddenly lurched and intuition screeched "Noooooo DO NOT DO IT."Naturally I overrode it.
I moved in. At first Cathy was really cool, but over
course of days she starts to tell me her story. Turns out she's a Paxil addict who just got off her meds; she's bipolar; she may have schizophrenia; and her poor brother committed suicide by shoving a shotgun in his own mouth and pulling trigger. I'm too nice, and I figure we all have problems, so I figure this is no big deal. Well, time passes...
Cathy knew when our acting workshop coordinator told her that I was a filmmaker and had a small film company. Well, before too much longer, she decides my company is HER company, we are going to shoot only her projects now - which means instead of shooting pictures I want to shoot, I am now only making Japanese anime about boys bonking boys; I am going to star her super number one idol pop star Jonathan Davis from Korn in a television series I'm working on, and let him even score soundtrack because she wants to marry him, despite fact that he is already married - to a porn star; she decides to name my company and tells me it will be named Androphonos Media or Eriboea Media because my company must be consecrated to her favorite Greek goddess, Aphrodite... I ask why... she says, "because we're both Libras and Libra is ruled by Aphrodite! Tee hee!"; she comes upstairs bringing me this really amateur short story of hers I am to re-write into a screenplay so WE can sell it and then WE can both start OUR company in Britain (she learned I am moving my studio to UK this winter); and when I told her I was doing none of above things...
She turned psycho.
Suddenly she skulks around house like a scared, wounded person, staring at me with peering, weird eyes, avoiding me (which was good until it stopped), and acting like I have a mental problem she's afraid of. She starts calling me "bitch" as my first name, as in "so and so and so and so, bitch" and "so and so and so, bitch, YO"; she talks abstractly about people doing what she tells them to or they will get kicked out of "my house", as she put it; she then reveals to me she sleeps in her bed at night with a Japanese katana sword, she has katana swords all over house, even on kitchen counter in way of where cooking could be done; she moves in a weird, always-agitated Filipino hacker dude who's known to steal stuff, and he moves in his cat, which he locks in a closet, which causes it to wail all hours of day and night (meanwhile I was not permitted to have a cat; nutball is "allergic" to them, I was told - hmmm); and coup de grace, one day I come home from work, to find her SPOOKED. I ask her what's up, and she says, "I see little dolls that are alive. There's one on stairs right now. She's evil, she looks like a miniature girl, and she sits there staring at me, while swinging her legs. Lookit her! She's there right now!"
Naturally there's nothing there. It doesn't EXIST~
Cathy proceeds to tell me she sees evil dolls around her like this all time; that dolls in her bedroom on her shelf occasionally turn and look at her; that her radio comes on all by itself and won't I look at it please? And that Japanese anime characters are real people.
Hmm.
The final straw came Saturday a week ago when I saw she had a package on doorstep, and brought it in. The night before, she had telephoned hysterical because her car had a flat in middle of nowhere and wanted me to come help her, which I did. Keep this in mind because of what happens next. I took her package to her closed bedroom door and knocked lightly to tell her she had a package. This cave bitch abruptly shoots back, "I'm busy. What do you WANT."
