It’s not everyday you get to meet someone completely insane. By completely insane, I mean the guy that stops you while you are walking to your car to inform you that Stephen King is profiling his life. I am talking psychotic. Most people, if they’re lucky have dinner with their fiancée’s Post Traumatic Stress suffering step-father, once a month, maybe. Societies contact with the inherently insane is limited to say the least. Pretty much, we go out of our way to avoid altercations with people that hear voices no one else hears. With the exception of psychics, because the same people that avoid the crazies pay money to crazies/scam artists, in order to get information from sources no one else sees or hears. It’s situations like that where you have to wonder who’s actually insane. Although, in most circumstances involving the mentally unstable, it’s a waste of time to wonder, “Is this person crazy?” They’re talking to President Kennedy and shitting on themselves. Their mental clarity is as apparent as Michael Jackson’s resemblance to Skeletor™.

Hello, my name is Sabrina and I have been CrazyFree for over a month. My last altercation with the mentally unstable was with Rosa, the local kook at my favorite coffee shop in LA. Hello Sabrina. The first night Rosa came by I wasn’t even around. I got to hearing about her through the local gossip line. “There’s a new psychotic. Completely new,” Gossip whore #1 tells me. “She showed up here Tuesday night, sits down and tells us she is the daughter of Satan. Like really? Do you think it could be drugs?” Like really for sure! And totally! Can’t she just be psychotic? Does it have to be drugs? At any rate, after hearing that I become afraid to show up for a cup of coffee because I know my history with that type of person. They like me a lot and I can never shake them. I always end up having to go into hiding or call the police. I entertain their insanity and they are happy to have an audience. They also like to follow me to my car, babble in tongues about me and smear shit all over themselves in my honor. My name is Sabrina and I am a crazy magnet. Hello Sabrina.

Eventually I get over my fear of the criminally insane and I show up at the coffee shop. Of course, I am too busy catching up on the local gossip and looking incredible to be wary of the fact that I am fly paper to freaks. Jeff, the worlds greatest barista he tells me more about Rosa. “Well Rosa is from the special short bus,” he laughs. “She told me she promised not to murder anyone last night.” Great, I thought, a psychotic that is mildly lucid. This is going to work out perfect. As I am thinking this A little Hispanic lady in her mid forties walks in. She is dressed in a long matrixesque coat, hot pants, with an American Flag bandana on her head. It is fashion suicide and I am elated. I lean over to Jeff and say, “Who invited Trinity.” As I begin to laugh maniacally Jeff says, “Well hello Rosa.” She bows to him and then turns around and bows to the gold statue of Botticelli’s Venus. Then out of the pocket of her jacket she takes out a bottle of cheap perfume and begins spraying it onto “The Goddess”. I hold my breath as not to choke. Yes, I am that person. After that she takes out a lighter and tries putting The Goddess’s crotch on fire. I am guessing this is some sort of cleaning ritual, but I am too scared to ask her. Rosa takes off her bandana and ties it around The Goddess. The Goddess is now wearing a skirt. Jeff laughs and I throw a scowl in his direction. It reads, “Let’s not fuck with the crazy person.” Then I start laughing because being a hypocrite is awesome.

Rosa finishes her ritual with The Goddess and I stare. Jeff asks her how her dad is and I am stunned into complete silence. She tells him that there is strife in the underworld and I start wondering if I have done an exuberant amount of mescaline recently. I force a smile as I turn my back to the complete insanity going on in front of me. As I am doing this I hear Jeff say, “Oh Rosa, have you met Sabrina. She too is a goddess.” It is exactly at this point that I wish I had a giant fucking revolver to use on Jeff. “Oh no,” I tell her in complete humility. “I am not a goddess. I am nobody. I am not important.” Trust in me, on the fact that will be the only time I ever plan to say that phrase to a living human being. She eyes me carefully, staring me up and down. I avoid making eye contact with her in case it will turn me to stone.

Rosa leans in and walks closer to me like she is Quasimodo. “Have you been to the under world?” I look right into her face and say, “No, I haven’t, I got thrown out for not being good enough.” I say this, she turns sharply, and points at Jeff. “Who has been taking down the offerings to the goddess?” The manager and the morning crew have been taking down her bizarre offerings, but this new charade doesn’t concern me. I stay silent because she hasn’t whipped out the knife she carries on her key chain, so I have no reason to speak. Jeff tells her that he doesn’t know who is doing such, “Rude things to the goddess!” He pauses, drying out a glass, and asks her, “Do you think your father could be doing it?” She pauses and lights up a cigarette. Now, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if it wasn’t for the fact that we are indoors and in Los Angeles where it is illegal. No one wants to bring it up so we all stand around and watch her smoke. Finally, someone looks to Jeff and says, “Can I smoke in here too?” Jeff looks at Rosa and tells her she can’t smoke inside because everyone will want to. Rosa gets upset and takes out the knife on her keychain. I moan, “Holy shit,” louder than needed be and anyone that wasn’t watching the spectacle starts to stare.

“I am going to fucking smoke,” Rosa yells to no one particular. Everyone nods in agreement. Rosa should fucking smoke because no one needs to get stabbed right now. She paces back and forth. The ashes from her cigarette sprinkle down onto the floor like the snow does on Christmas in hell. “Fuck the Scientologists! Fuck them!” She screams this as she waves around her knife. No one argues with her. Jeff is smiling. Everyone else is trying to ignore her as they gawk at this Felliniesque charade. Rosa screams things that are inaudible as she approaches the exit. Then she turns around and asks Jeff, “Mitch,” she has been calling Jeff, Mitch the whole time and no one bothers to tell her anything else. “When will you be working again?” Jeff looks at me and makes the retarded face. I pray he tells her that tonight is his last night. I look at him earnestly and he knows what I want him to do. He looks at the ground and says, “I am working Monday and Wednesday.” She waves her arm in the air as if to support the nonexistent revolution and says, “See you then. Tell your goddess friend to be there also.”