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Notes from the Psycho-Bitch Handbook for Crazy Women |
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NOTES FROM THE PYSCHO-BITCH HANDBOOK FOR CRAZY WOMEN
NOTES FROM THE PYSCHO-BITCH HANDBOOK FOR CRAZY WOMEN
CHAPTER ONE
Someone said it a long time ago about crazy people and me: “They buzz around you like flies Bridge.” I am the Lord of the Crazy People. Or as The Notorious BFG said to me when I told him this story, “Your aura is like a full moon for crazies.” I have the gift/curse of being able to unlock a lunatic’s true potential. There is something about me that literally drives people nuts. I am the skeleton key to the psyche of the insane. Which is why when shit like this happens to me, I don’t even blink anymore. Or in this case, I didn’t even get out of bed.
It’s usually a bizarre combination of random and seemingly harmless events that ends me up in these situations. Let me back up. It was Saturday night. I was out with some friends. After the bar closed, we decided to take the conversation to one of my friend’s houses, where we continued to laugh and be merry and listen to these two guys try to talk like Christopher Walken. (This is a phenomenon particular to L.A….where it seems like everyone is constantly doing their best Walken impression at every party you go to. I find it hilarious.)
Continuing on: I didn’t have my car. Even if I did, I didn’t want to drive. I didn’t have any cash for a cab. My cell phone died and it was pushing 4:30 am. A friend of my friend’s who I had been chatting with that night, we’ll call him X for now, offered the other side of his bed to me (I can hear you all laughing-I know what you're thinking) a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. We both passed out immediately upon our heads hitting the pillow.
7:30 am. Someone is standing at the foot of the bed screaming in a British accent. Am I dreaming? I was feeling groggy and had a pounding headache so it took me a minute to register things. It was a very angry woman. “I lived with this man for five years! Do you have any idea what this does to me?” she yelled. Is this really happening? It was. And it gets even better.
As I very slowly and retardedly came into consciousness and realized this was indeed being broadcast in real time, X had already flown out of the bed and grabbed Psychobitch by the arm dragging her downstairs. I heard her losing her mind. I closed my eyes and tried to think through the pounding of my head.
“You owe me an explanation…I hate you! GET UP GIRL!!!!” I heard her screech as she headed for the stairs, apparently to come drag me out of bed and kick my ass. I was in no condition for a fist fight. He must have stopped her in her tracks because she continued on her rampage downstairs.
I only wish I could have had myself on film for the following sequence of events. The timing from my perspective was like something straight out of a movie. I closed my eyes--grateful I didn’t have to defend myself for the moment--and the second thought hit me like a truck.
My stuff. Where is my stuff? I looked on the side table next to me. My earrings were there, my bracelet was there and what appeared to be a note. My eyes quickly scanned it…something about: “Thanks for letting me spend the night. I love you deep and long and WIDE….blah blah blah…you are the love of my life…blah blah blah….love J.” I assumed (correctly) that was J having a nervous breakdown.
My purse! I darted up in bed. No sooner did I have the thought then I heard the sound of my change and phone scatter across the wood floor downstairs. My camera! The thought must have raced through my head the exact second she was picking up my Nikon Coolpix 4800, the camera I have had for two years, traveled around the world and country with and taken over 8000 pictures on, and sent it flying into the nearest wall. I heard the plastic shatter against the drywall and listened to it crash to the ground.
Nooooooooooooooo!!!!
According to X, this is when he calmly told her he was going to call the cops if she didn’t leave. But we’re not done yet. Crazy J left. But not without a fight. "BYE SLUT!!!" She screamed on her way out the door.
I heard her get into her car. Start the engine. Rev the engine. And then smash into his car before she took off leaving skid marks down the street. Fucking L.A. I swear everyone always thinks they are in a movie, which is great for me because I always feel like I’m watching one. I’m gonna start bringing popcorn with me everywhere I go.
Now, I know that this is probably the most politically incorrect thing you can say, but I don’t fucking care. There are times in life when a bitch needs to get smacked, and when a woman is behaving hysterically like that, like a psycho-bitch, a man should have every right to smack some sense into her. There should be a psycho-bitch clause in the battering laws: if a woman is acting like a psycho-bitch and you backhand her, it’s self-defense. I have seen a lot of shit in my life. I have been smacked across the face by women, punched, pushed over lunch tables, there have been attempts at driving me off the road, but never in my life have I seen or heard a woman behave like this.
This was truly quite a spectacle. I give her a 9.4 on a scale of 10 of the crazy meltdowns I’ve seen (and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of them). She’s lacking some points for originality, but for pure intensity and general insanity at the age of 39, she scores big.
Needless to say, I found the whole thing absolutely riveting. When I was sure she was gone, I went downstairs to help X pick up my stuff and check on the damage my poor camera sustained. “Well, that’s an interesting way to start the day.” I said laughing hysterically. He is on his hands and knees gathering quarters. That’s when I noticed the cleaning lady, wide-eyed, in the kitchen. Holy shit. That’s how she got in.
“All the doors were open because poor Emilia (the cleaning lady) is here…” he was mumbling. He appeared dazed by the entire event. “She is my ex-girlfriend. We broke up over a year ago. She just came in. I’ll buy you a new camera.” (Which by the way, I’ll believe it when I see it—as of this moment, I’m still camera-less, but I have faith that X is a stand-up guy). [Click here to find out if I still have faith in humanity.]
“I’m going back to bed.” I said. And I did. I fell back asleep thinking of all the seemingly stupid, little insignificant decisions and facts that led to that momentous meltdown; facts like the cleaning lady being there, choices as simple as where I decided to leave my camera the night before. Life is so weird. And I was thinking of how much I loved my fucking camera and how angry people are everywhere and how glad I was she didn't come over with a gun and how much I was hoping that she wasn't going to return with one. Where is the love? As I drifted off I couldn't help but think. Typical. Just fucking typical. What can I say? My timing for run-ins with the certifiable is impeccable.
THINK YOU HAVE WITNESSED A 10 ON THE
PSYCHO-BITCH MELTDOWN SCALE?
ENTER THE PHETASY WRITING CONTEST. HERE'S HOW:Since all you people are too scared to write your own stories in, I’ve decided to tell one of mine to hopefully get this battle of the sexes going.
Let’s get this party started. I ain't afraid.
My question of the week: What’s up with the psycho-bitches? Men and women alike, if you have any great stories of a psycho-bitch in action, send them to me by September 30th: Pandora@phetasy.com.
Top five most well-written and engaging stories will
win a “Support Global Cooling” t-shirt.
And in this instance by “Global Cooling” I mean, support a
National Spray A Psycho-Bitch With A Hose day.
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