Krysztof Cuzmeerski (names changed to protect my blog)

I think I might have trained him, and I definitely worked with him.  One day I noticed he was hanging around a lot.  The next day he walked up to me and stood with his face a foot and a half away from me and kept me in eyelock until I told him to go away that he was bothering me.  I reported him.  He was reprimanded.  He cornered me in an elevator.  I reported him.  He was reprimanded.  He continued to follow me around outside of and inside of work.  I reported him.  He was reprimanded.  I quite literally saw him every time I turned around at work... he was always sliding off just out of eyesight like a cockroach.  This went on for two months.  He was fired.  I quit.  He returned every day in a three piece suit looking for me.  He harassed my work friends for four months until one mentioned that he had been in bothering my ex for my phone number using "because we were going to get married, he just had to find me" as his reason.  Then I ask around and he'd been bothering a bunch of my friends there but they hadn't said anything.  I went to Middle Park Precinct and filed a stalking order.  They said that it would take a little bit for the temporary one to go into effect because he had to be served with the papers.  I told them that he'd be at the Cosmopolitan Museum of Art at 5:30 when the staff leaves.  They went out of curiosity the next day and served him the papers.  Of course he was there, with the three piece suit.

I do not lie.  He thought he was going to marry me.  If you google his (real) name and my (real) name you'll find that he has filed a Federal civil rights case against me, the management of the Cosmopolitan Museum, and the City of New Amsterdam.  I hope he gets deported.

Diagnosis: Decidedly THREE FLAVORS BATSHIT.

Profile: A Noni Miss

Still infuriated that her 21^st birthday, like all holidays, was uneventful; friends say she left the basement dance club in a swinging hysteria, insisting that they had changed its architecture at last call (adding new walls and eliminating the back entrance) AND that “they” had stolen her identity. Feels trapped when wearing socks to bed. Quite certain she is exceptionally easy to get along with, yet she has frequently been on the receiving end of flying objects…once after deflowering a nice young man. Apologies accepted. Sat on a hot electric stove (still safer than gas) to impress said young man. Bought a ringtone and assigned it to a person who hasn’t (and probably never will) call her. Thinks money was well-spent, regardless.

Bored. Anxious. Crushes like a tween. Texts like a teen (more addictive than her favorite drugs, as good as some sex). Gets lost in mind-numbing activities, like cleaning. Has a creepy passion for food, especially things that are gummy, gooey, or hard. Hates to cook. Loves to cook; hates to clean. Judges others for what they eat. Swears that frozen pot pies are the best whole meal value in any supermarket. Finds this consistent with watching reality tv. She’s “above it [all],” but allows herself the base pleasures of watching “Keeping up with the Kardashians” by justifying it as an academic pursuit.

Geography teacher. Gets lost easily. Doesn't believe in weather. Adamant that all plants should grow without fertilizer (or consistent watering). Has killed many. Convinced that medication will make her “go postal.” Father: letter carrier.

Now a mom, she can be found gaping in awe and crying at the miracle of child development, especially language-learning. Potentially channels a higher power. Hates the term righteous, but secretly knows it’s an apt self-descriptor. Evidence suggests she is very charismatic; is often invited to social events but convinces herself that people think she is either dull, ugly, or embarrassing to them. Backs out on nearly all plans made too far in advance. The same night, may be seen headed to a bar alone. Wants a simple life: a garden and a nice, clean companion. Feverishly attracted to everything but, as her level of interest roughly approximates her company’s degree of psychotic or revolutionary thought. Develops elaborate potential dialogues and endpoints for relationships; sometimes intentionally mis-remembers which of these actually occurred. Surprisingly, knows her limits: no tequila and no role play. Everything else is fair game.  

Diagnosis: Libra. OCD. Egomania. Undiagnosed cyclothymia. Mild academia.

Profile: This Moses Guy

Openly defies Egyptian authority. Just walks right into large bodies of water. Pretends to read things on rocks. Crotchety. Gets all murderous when people dance around false idols. Leads us around the desert for forty years. Tells us to get our food from the sky. Talks to burning plants and whirlwinds. Gives coveted high-priest job to his brother. Yells a lot. Founds monotheism.

Diagnosis: Ancient, Batshit