There’s something about this rural area. Like the undead, lunatic fringes pop up all over the place. Unwarranted. Late this past summer, I met Anya. We met several times before over the last several years, but I guess I wasn’t memorable enough for her to remember me. Or needed. Until some guy spoke about me to her. Then, she dragged him to my house for an introduction.
That was the first DING.
Anya is known as the “Town Kook.” We’ve quite a few older women with that appellation. I’m more known as “crazy” in that I retaliate when someone tries to fuck me over.
Anya is an oddball. It’s not the fact that she looks weird, dresses weird and acts even weirder. It may have something to do with having lots of money, but fangs that compete with meth addicts, strange attire, multi-colored wigs and clown make-up. And public farting. A real charmer.
She scared the bejesus out of my friend who owns a cafe.
“What the fuck was that?” she said. “She wore fucking CLOWN clothes and make-up! She scared the life outta my customers.”
That was the second DING.
DING. DING. DING.
In a perverted way, I admire that. I find it admirable that people who can barely walk and fart at the same time believe themselves to be the next Srinivasa Ramanujan. It never ceases to amaze me the delusions that some people have. Anya was no different than other lunatic fringes in that way.
Still, I was curious. I get too curious about people like Anya. I wonder how people like Anya survive, hell, how they manage to make tons of money. I wonder what they see reflected back from the mirror. And why they think they deserve so much. I figure I can learn a lot from people like Anya.
That’s my delusion.
She wanted to introduce me to a guy who, like her, wants to conduct spiritual/motivational workshops. Why? I haven’t a fucking clue. As I said to her numerous times, “I’ve the spirituality of cardboard. I’m not interested.”
Undeterred, unswayed and insistent, Anya agreed to meet me at an out of the way cafe where I worked on a project with Monkey Boy. For some reason, I left Monkey Boy alone with them. After their departure, he came up to me.
“OMG! What weirdos,” he said. He may be a little dim, but even he could see they’re bizarre. Let’s say you gotta be whacked out not to see they’re maniacs. “They said they do motivational and spiritual workshops.” He peered at me. “Would you pay these people money for their advice? Just look at them!”
Appearance is a reflection of the mind and those two couldn’t have been any skankier. I like that they’re true to themselves, but fuck it man - GET TEETH! What is it with the people who live up here and their poor relationship with teeth?
Never in my life have I seen such gross things: Dog-boy has two eroded front teeth and that’s it, Boy-man has six on the left side of his mouth, Anya has eroded yellowed fangs which remind me of an old dog and her friend has one huge tooth in front and that’s about it.
Monkey Boy (who has great teeth) and I roared in laughter.
“What are you doing with her?” he asked, puzzled why I socialize with a lunatic fringe. Perhaps that’s why he insists I’m crazy.
“Trying to figure out what she has in store for me.”
I believe those two maniacs thought I was a mark. The two of them came over my house where the guy performed Reiki which is a form of laying on hands. He kept repeating, “Free of charge.” I don’t believe in that stuff, but many people love to do it to me. That was the poorest demonstration of Reiki ever exhibited. I thought the guy had palsy.
Politely, I thanked him. I couldn’t wait for them to leave.
Then, Anya invited me to her mansion. She owns a gorgeous home which is part house, part B&B. She rents out rooms to those seeking her wisdom. Which explains why those rooms are empty 99% of the time. We went for a long walk in her fields where I discussed my health issues which undermined my ability to earn a living outside of being a professional author.
Anya grimaced and looked at the skies with her weather-beaten face seeking a sign. After a few minutes of silence, she offered the perfect solution. “Why don’t you rent out your house in the summer as a retreat? You can teach people to write.”
Oh boy. Another rocket scientist. Before I could say a word, she added, “I told So-and-So to do the same thing.”
I guess that brilliant concept, the same one she’s doing herself incidentally, is her generic form of life coach advice. Throughout this walk, she intoned, “I’m doing this free of charge.”
At this point, I jumped out of my skin in anticipation. What was she setting me up for?
The following day, the guy phoned me. “As an author, you’re the best person to write up my online dating profile. I’ve had no success at all with mine. I want to pay you.” He offered $10.
“Fine,” I said. This was one loser life coach - he couldn’t even lure women out on a date. I thought that was the set-up.
His online name was “Hotpocketrocket.” I wanted to change his name to “Fang.” Instead, I wrote, “Andrewinny.” He had 500 photos of himself and his profile was the typical, “I I I I I I I I.” I changed everything in record time. Never in my life did I type so fast because he scared me. I sensed something so wrong about him I couldn’t wait for him to leave.
For the following three days, he emailed me to let me know the effectiveness of my writing. I take no responsibility for the outcome.
A few days later, Anya wanted to come over. I kept leaving her voice mails to let her know I didn’t feel well. I didn’t. The thought of her at my house got me sick. Besides, I had already invited my friend’s teen-aged nephew to come over for a boat ride. He may be a typical teen, yet, his only agenda is to enjoy a boat ride.
While waiting for him to come over, I saw her at my door.
“Didn’t you get my voice mails?” I asked.
She grinned, exposing those rotten stubs. “I don’t listen to voice mails.”
I was livid. “Listen, I don’t feel well and my friend’s nephew is coming over for a boat ride.”
She stood there. I should’ve thrown the bitch out of my house. Instead, I allowed her to join us on the boat ride. Sometimes I’m way too nice. However, when you deal with lunatic fringes, you gotta be careful how you cut them out of your life. They might remove your Wikipedia page and replace it with one word: Bugboy.
Thereafter, I purposely broke every subsequent appointment I set up with her. I delayed until her departure as she spent winters down south. Things were quiet for a month until she phoned me from down south.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Despite all the crap going on in my life, I’m doing remarkably well,” I responded. “I’m still helping out my friend and the community on that project-”
She interrupted me. “Are you getting paid?”
“I don’t understand you. You deserve to be paid for your hard work.” She yammered on about how my friend and people in general take advantage of me.
For a motivational life coach she sure doesn’t understand people; she depressed the shit outta me. I’ve too much to be depressed about and didn’t need this weirdo to depress me further. More importantly, she doesn't understand friendship. My friend has helped me out and continues to help me out. What she does for me has value and how I reciprocate has equal value.
Anya has done nothing for me outside of meting poor advice and ignoring my wishes. I hung in there long enough to await the purpose of her interest in me. I was finally rewarded by the following email received yesterday:
My life is a dream I create. My attitude is the script I write for me . You are an accomplish[sic] writer and brilliant as an author. I will do a trade with you if you are ready to spend your valuable time in giving me your time to write for me . I am looking for help to get a grant to fund the free weekend at my retreat for wounded worriers and their family this fall. I will work with my group but they have no clue how to get the grant writing started . I need your help for all this . In return I will spend time with you to coach you on how to create wealth. The sickness will come slowly out of your head when you get the wealth you deserve. Love, Anya
After I finished laughing, this is what I wrote back:
Thank you so much, Anya, for the kind offer. I know what grant writing entails and it’s a time-consuming commitment with constant back and forth. In fact, you taught me a lesson the last phone conversation, one I really treasure: I no longer do bartering, exchanges or favors. I’m starting the wealth I deserve now.
> My love, Maura
This is what that arrogant fugly bitch had the audacity to send:
Do you think you would like to repay for the information I gave you for Free?
And my piece de resistance:
You taught me ANOTHER lesson right now.
I’m thankful for having met Anya. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had a blog piece for today.
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