Increasingly Annoyed By The Lewd, Rude, Vulgar Men In Biddeford, Maine 

Today's Date is: May 11, 2015

Today is: Monday

Today, this morning, while I'm walking from my car in the parking lot to my dad's house in Biddeford, a guy on the first floor walking with his dog and girlfriend, she stops for a second to talk to me then goes outside with the dog, soon as she is gone he hand me a candy then grabs me, tosses me back against the wall, hugs me, and starting kissing me, then says "I love ya Sweetheart, I'll leave her for you anytime you say so, never forget that!" I run away from him. 

Who gave him permission to touch me!

NO ONE!

I HATE BEING TOUCHED!

AND I ESPECIALLY HATE BEING TOUCHED BY STRANGERS!

There is only one man on this planet who allowed to touch me, and no one else, and I can't stand these jackass American men who get it through their heads, that I have absolutely no interest in ANY of them!

Why won't American men LEAVE ME ALONE!

It is so annoying and frustrating. 

Why don't any of these men know the meaning of word: NO!

American men think they are god's gift to women. Well, I got news for them, they sure as hell ain't god's gift to this woman! Maybe American women like trashy, lusty, bragging, boastful men like that, but we Gypsy women sure don't. We spit on every one of them.

Well, it got worse tonight, when I got to my dad's house again.

I park at St Andre's parking lot and get out of my car and he's out there with his dog. He yells "Hey Sweetheart". I wave to say hello, you know, good manners and all, and keep on walking. I get inside and the woman of the second floor is also getting back. we stop and talk as we often do. We are talking for maybe 20 minutes, and the guy comes in with his dog. The dog (a 60lb pit bull) is not on a leash and bounds up the stairs to start jumping on me. She's not a mean dog, but she's big and heavy and can do a lot of damage if she knocks me over, especially when I'm standing on the next to the top flight of three flights of stairs - that's a LONG way down: more then 30 feet, and the dog is jumping on me and he won't call it off, instead he's just laughing ad saying "She won't hurt you." The pit bull starts jumping at my dog (a 10lb chihuahua) I grab my and put her over my shoulder. The pit bull starts jumping at the other woman's dog (a pomeranian).

She gets her dog in her apartment and starts yelling at the man to call off his dog. He just laughs and says she's playing. 

I am crippled and walk with a cane. I have Chronic Tendonitis and even a small trip can cause serious damage. Last time I fell I was bedridden for 5 months. well, sure the dog is friendly and just playing, yeah, I can see that. I'm not worried about the dog attack me or biting me, I'm worried about the dog, knocking me over and pushing me down 3 flights of stairs to the bottom of a stairwell 30 feet below me! A fall like that would kill me and this guy doesn't give a fuck and he is refusing to call off his dog. 

The problem is made worse by the fact, that while I can't get pass the dog, he has com up the stars and and is blocking the way so I can move away from the dog, without running into his open arms, while he's standing there grinning at me and saying "give me some huggies Sweetheart, I loves ya, ya need some loving."

The woman on the second floor starts yelling at him, say "You smell like marijuana," and he yells back and says "I smoke my pot all day! I can smoke what I want, where I want and you can't stop me!"

His dog runs back down the stairs and I put my dog down and she runs up to the third floor terrified. I'm still cornered between the man and a shoe rack and the stair wall newel posts. I pull out chalk and draw a protection symbol on the ground and he starts saying "You has Autistic and need some huggies" and lunges at me to grab me.

I push past him, but still can't get around him to get away and he starts gibbering jumbled nonsense about Autism and Gypsies. (I have Autism and by race am a Gypsy).

The second floor woman starts yelling "You are drunk", and he throws a beer can at her and say: "I've been drinking all day and I'm gonna drink all night and you can't stop me none."

He grabs for me again and I pull away saying "I am the queen of my people the Gypsies and no one is allowed to touch me."

He gibbers more slurred words, and then says "This is my house and I can smoke and drink and fuck whenever I want."

He's stumbling around and I'm able to get past him as he grabs for me again. I yell "My culture does not allow smoking, drinking, swearing, or adultery." And Run to my dad's door, toss my dog inside, then swing back around and run back down stairs, jump back in my car and drive to the police station (2 blocks away) where I tell the officer on duty what happened and he fills out a report and follows me back to my dad's house to make sure I can get in this time, then issues a protection from harassment summons and charges the man with minor assault. 

This is the THIRD man this week to do something like this.

What the hell is wrong with the men in Biddeford this week? Have they all gone batty?

Three now this week.

I HATE MEN TOUCHING ME!!!!!!!!

Interestingly, they have informed me that this guy has raped 27 women in the past and is out of prison on a technically and they've been unable to find any victim willing to testify against him in court so their hands are tied and they were overjoyed that I agreed to testify against him. They inform me that I am lucky that he didn't do worse then he did.

This is not the first time this man has come after me. He's done it several times over the past year now. 

AND HE WON'T STOP TOUCHING ME!

Every day, I try to get up the stairs to my dad's apartment and there he his, comes out his door to grab me as I go upstairs. I am so sick of dirty old men!

You remember a couple of months ago, in February, I mentioned the guy who was yelling about my hair and touching me then? This is the same guy.

Don't remember it? Let me tell you about it then...

Americans are very rude. They stand way too close to you when they talk. They talk about nonsense. They gossip too much. They are nosey busy-bodies always getting in other people's business. Gypsies keep a distance of 3 to 5 feet between them and non-Gypsies at all times. A Gypsy will never get close enough to a non-Gypsy to to reach out and touch them. They stay always an arm length plus a foot or two.Americans get right up in your face. They rudely put only inches between you and them. White Americans like to touch you too. Always with their hands on your hands, you arm, your shoulder, you hair, your face. They have no sense of personal space at all. They never keep their distance and they won't stop touching.

American men are especially sick perverted bastards when it comes to absolutely no respect for personal space. For example. In middle of February, I was visiting my dad in Biddeford.  He lives on the third floor. I'm going up the stairs when the guy from the 1st floor suddenly gets between me and the stairs and stairs running his dirty hands through my hair and saying how he wants to comb my hair and put cream in it. The sick fuck ass piece of shit. And the stench of him! Good god! He smelt like a tobacco factory and and that horrid cat-piss smell of beer. 

I say: "Please don't touch my hair" 

And suddenly he flips out and starts screaming at the top of his lungs: "I'm not flirting with you, I just want to be a friend and comb your hair. I'm not looking for sex. Your hair ain't natural. I'm a prophet of god and I've been to the white room three times now even though I'm a warlock. I saw Jesus in the white room. He talks to me you know. I heal people just like Jesus. I wasn't flirting with you. Your hair ain't the way God made it, I know because I'm a prophet. God don't want your hair like that. He told me to comb your hair. I'm not flirting with you. I don't want sex."...then he starts rambling on about how God made me with smooth straight hair and god told him to fix my hair and make it smooth and straight, in between more rambling about how he's not flirting and doesn't want sex.

Good god! Who said anything about flirting and sex? I only asked him to not touch my hair. So why was he bringing up flirting and sex? Why? Because he's a sick minded fuck assed piece of shit. HE was thinking abouting flirting and sex otherwise he would not have said it. 

And what the hell is a white room? What the heck kind of freaked out American slang is that? And a Warlock? Seriously? Does he even know what a warlock is? Obviously he's one of those idiots who thinks it's another word for witch. No actually, it's a Scottish word and mean "evil oath break" or "the sinning teller of lies". And prophet? What? He really expects me to believe that? He was so drunk he could barely stand up. God had a hell of a lot to say about wine-bibbers in the Bible and none of it was good. 

And my hair? Dreadlocks. I've had them for about 3 months. Not intentionally - it was a side effect of being bedridden from ill health October, November, and December of 2014. My hair is really frizzy like a black person's hair is, so if I go a few days without brushing it, it dreads up on it's own. What is "unnatural" about dreadlocks? My hair naturally dreads, I don't have to do a damned thing to it to get it that way. I've had dreadlocks several times throughout my life, since childhood, because that's the way my hair naturally grows. Styling your hair into fake man made styles is unnatural. My hair is so freaking frizzy, that if I want to have straight hair I have to sit down and brush it for 3 straight out and then load it down with straighteners and use flat irons to burn it straight. My hair is NOT naturally smooth or straight on any level whatsoever. God did not give me straight hair. So where does this creep get off yammering at me like that?

What is it about me, that causes American men to chase after me? Or maybe I should ask, what is it about American women, that turns their men off so much, that they won't leave me alone instead going after their own women, like they belong?

I have had to deal with so many men who act like this around me, that it ain’t funny. And it’s not once in a while either. It’s EVERY DAY! Every time I leave the farm and go out in public I run into at least one man who goes all ga-ga and starts chasing after me and coming up with one reason after another why I’m perfect for him, because he’s never seen a woman like me before, I got a great body, I know how to dress nice, I act like a proper lady, blah, blah, blah. And oh, I’m “soooooo exotic looking”. and each one of them acts like they are the only man who ever thought to say that to me.

I'm sick of hearing it! Do you have any idea what it is like to have every man i meet falling all over himself and acting like I'm his personal sex toy?

The Aricle is a excerpt from the book "How We Gypsies See The Americans"

EVERY DAY!

EVERYWHERE I GO!

EVERY SINGLE MAN I MEET!

What is wrong with you sick, fuck head Americans? Why can't you leave me alone!

I ought to be able to go to the store without some strange man grabbing me and demanding a hug! 

I ought to be able to walk out of my yard without some damned filth faced lust head jumping on me!

I can't help what I look like. I'm always hearing girls, say they wish they were pretty. Women are always saying they wished they looked like me. Well I got news for you, Honey, you REALLY don't want to look like me. The men won't leave you alone. Men have been chasing after me since I was 12 years old.

Believe me, if are a girl who isn't pretty you are lucky, because men will make your life hell if you are pretty. I know! They make my life hell every damned day. I can't even walk into WalMart without some damn man, grabbing me and saying he wants to take me home.

Do you know how sick and tired I get of men telling me I look exotic? They act like they are the only one who thought of it, like no one has ever said it to me before. And yet EVERY American man says it to me. I hear it every day and I’m so tired of it. Do I really look THAT different from your American woman?

And like I said, he's the third damned man to grab me this week. I can't go outside without men coming after me. Do have any idea what that's like.

I have no freedom.

I can't go to the store.

I can't go any where.

What is wrong with American men? Why won't they leave me alone?

Do all men in the country act like this or is it just men in Maine that act like wild men who've never seen a woman before?

You want to hear about the other two men? Let's talk about them, because one of them is a dozy, he's almost as bad as Joel Bailey. You remember Joel Bailey don't you? The man who stalked me for a decade? Ran around telling everybody I was his "best friend" and saying how we were always going out on dates...and saying those things for 3 damned years, before I even knew he existed? Before I ever even meet him? Oh yeah, this guy Joel Bailey all over again.

But let's talk about the first man to come after me this week, first.

I was at the town hall, where I seem to practically live the past few weeks, given that the town hall is holding my cats hostage to blackmail me out of paying my taxes so they can take my land, and now that I've paid my taxes are demanding a ransom in exchange for my cats' lives.

I am at the town hall, I'm getting out of my car, and suddenly and old man in his 50s or 60s, drives up and blocks me in. 

The Old Orchard Beach Town Hall parking lot, is long and skinny and has a single row of parking spaces that are against a tall cement wall. The man parks his car crosswise (illegally) across the front of both my car and the car beside mine, so that I'm not trapped in a narrow 2 foot wide space, between my car, the other car, the cement wall, and his car. The only way I can get out of this spot, is if I open the door of my car, climb through the car, and get out on the other side.

Did you notice how every man who comes after me, ALWAYS blocks me into a corner in one way or another, before they start talking to me?

So, three days ago, I'm at the town hall and I'm getting out of my car, and a guy drives into the parking lot and drives up across me so I can't move, rolls the window down and starts talking to me, here's what he said:

"Damn, you must be rich."

Uhm, no.

"You look rich."

Uhm, okay. I guess.

"You sure you aren't rolling in it?"

No, actually, I'm homeless, I live under a tarp.

He bursts out laughing, obviously does not believe me and thinks I'm making a joke, not realizing that I have Autism and am incapable of making a joke or saying anything other then the straight up facts. 

He stops laughing: "So are you married?"

I have someone.

"Want to leave him? I'm looking for a cougar. I need the cash."

Nope. I already told you, I'm homeless, I live under a tarp, I don't have any money.

He laughs again and says: "Well, I saw you from the street, and had to come in and ask you. Don't often see wealthy folk like you around."

He then rambles on, about his life and his dog and basically is giving me a sales pitch about how great he is and all the reasons why I should want to marry him.

Can anyone say: desperate?

What is it with these men who just walk up to me at random and then start telling me I'm supposed to marry them? I wouldn't think it was so strange if it was just one man, I'd think he was just a nut...but it happens every time I go out in public. Dozens of men, every year, complete total strangers, whom I've never seen before, and never see again, just randomly walk up to me, grab, start hugging me, and telling me I'm supposed to marry them.

Why can't they keep their hands to themselves?

I HATE BEING TOUCHED!

WHY WON'T MEN STOP TOUCHING ME!

He drives back out of the parking lot.

I'm standing there watching him leave and wondering what in the heck just happened. Who is that guy and how in the hell did he think I was what he termed "wealthy folk"?

The Rhinestone Robe

I was wearing my rhinestone robes, with my gold embroidered kimono over it. It is a Muslim wedding dress, I bought from a woman in Eygpt, who designs dresses for Muslim woman. It is white silk and every inch of it is covered in pink rhinestones. This is my priestess robes, that I wear for official business and ritual work (I was putting a curse on the town, because they took my cats, thus why I was off the farm while wearing it, you normally wouldn't see me wearing this off of the property - if you see me wearing this in public you know I'm doing some sort of spell casting ritual thing, because it's the only time I wear it.) 

Here...here are pictures of the outfit in question: The rhinestoned robe and the embroidered kimono I wear open and belted over it

The outfit is VERY regal, and shimmers like a disco ball. It is unusual, and outlandish, and does make me look like the bride of some Middle Eastern Oil Mogul. (Several American men has said this what it makes me look like and have said that it is what they thought I was, when they saw me.) And i assume, that that is why this man assumed I was "wealthy folk".

The Embroidered Kimono

But it just baffles me, how so many American men are just driven by what they see. It's all lust and greed, every time an American man talks to me. They are always either lusting after what they call my "exotic looks" or yammering on about how wealthy they think I must be based off the clothes I wear. They simply can not look past my clothes or my body to see me for who I am, and it is so annoying and frustrating, especially when you start adding the fact that American men, seem to think they can have their way about everything and get really pissed off and bitchy if you say no to them. 

Is that all men care about? what a girl looks like?

One guy walked up to me, total stranger, never seen him before or since, and he says to me: "You sure would make a nice green bottle on my arm! Dam you're fine." I don't even know what that means. I've Googled the term "green bottle on arm" and Google doesn't know what it means either.

Do you have any idea how RUDE and RACIST it is for a total stranger to walk up to a woman and tell her she looks exotic and therefore must marry you?

Are there any men on this planet with any manners at all? What is it with these men? Why are they acting like they've been trapped on a deserted island for decades and act like I'm the only woman they've ever seen before? Animals don't even run around trying to fuck each other as much as these men keep coming after me. I am so sick and tired of sick men grabbing me all the time. I don't like it. Why can't they keep their hands to themselves?

Let's get back to the guy who reminds me of Joel Bailey. He's a dozy.

The second guy to grab me this week, you've heard me talk about him before. He's WalMart guy. You remember WalMart guy don't you? No? Let me refresh your memory.

You often hear me talk about an event which went something like this:

1AM. Black Friday, we are in line to buy a Kindle.

"You're EelKat right? I saw your car outside, I knew you was in here somewhere, so I came in to find you. First off let me just tell you how much I love your work, I read ____ and it was amazing. Truely amazing. Well, I knew I'd run into you someday, so I keep a copy of my book in my car..."

...pulls out great big, fat, manuscript and continues yapping...

"I follow you on FaceBook so I know you don't own an ereader and you'll only read print editions of books, so I had it printed up just for you..."

How thoughtful. And how ironic, considering the reason we was at walMart was to buy an ereader.

"...and I was wondering if you could read it and tell me what you think? Is it any good? Maybe you could edit it for me and give me some pointers, hey, we could get together and discuss it over dinner...blah, blah, blah"

4AM...he then opens his 'book' and begins to read it, outloud, in the DVD section of WalMart. We continue shopping. He follows us and continues reading.

We leave WalMart, and so does he.

7AM We go to McDonald's to have breakfast after a long night of stand in line, and so does he, and he's still reading his manuscript.

Noontime...we are still trying to leave McDonald's and he's still reading to us...

I've never seen anything like this guy.

That of course it a very simplified (and less bizarre) version of what happened. I'll tell you the whole story in just a minute.

I have a lot of fans and readers. Most of them are nice, but some o them...oh boy...some of them, have got serious mental issues, and are absolutely 100% convinced that because they read one of my books, I am therefore destined to marry them, and this guy, is one of those fans.

Now, WalMart Dude and what he did, is not unusual. I'm an author. I'm not popular in the global mainstream, but locally I'm very popular. For years my books were sold at local bookstores. My books were not available on a country wide mass market level until 2010, and then only a handful of my books went that direct. And out of more then 200 books, only 24 have been made into ebook editions. So, on the whole, I'm largely unheard of, but around locally, I have a lot of fans.

The thing is most of my books are very regional. The stories take place in local towns and are set in local stores and star real local people. There is not a lot of global interest in books about small town Maine, but there is a lot of local interest in books of this nature.

Well, the result is, I'm a local celebrity and pretty everyone in a 5 town radius of me has heard of me and read at least one of my books and thinks of me as being a lot more famous then I actually am, so they come to me hoping to get me to help them publish their book.

This happens, several times a month. Print editions of my books were heavily distributed in my home region, all the stores and libraries have copies, and I attend absolutely EVERY community event, charity drive, festival, car show, etc in York and Cumberland counties, I'm at an event pretty much every weekend all year long and I'm there with stacks of books, so literally everybody in a 5 town radius knows me, my car, and my books, and they all think if they shook hands with me once than they and I are best buds, and OMG! I love my fans, but sometimes a girl just needs a break you know?

One thing that ALWAYS bothers me, is, these people say they love my work and know it/me so well...yet they toss 20lbs of 500 page manuscript for "a great epic novel" at me to read. WHY? I do not write novels. I write predominantly flash fiction. My longest works are two stories that reach 35k. More than 90% of what I write is under 10k words, and 75% of that is under 5k words. And yes, I own a library that shelves 12,000 books, but everybody who knows that also knows I've never read those books. I collect books, I don't read them. 

I have Autism and ADHD, I can't sit still long enough to read a novel. I can barely sit still long enough to read a short story. I can stay focused on a story long enough to write a novel, it's hard for me to stay focused on a story long enough to write more than 10 pages of it. And this is the sort of thing you see me talking about on FaceBook. My FB Wall is all Autism stuff, and talk about what it's like to have Autism and...everybody who actually reads what I write on FaceBook knows that one of my big issues in life is the fact that I can't sit still long enough to read a novel and it upsets me because I want to read novels, but I jump up and run around the room every few minutes and than forget I was reading and start doing something else...it's a serious problem...

...and yet here these people are ALWAYS with the same story of "I follow you on FaceBook so I know you only read print, so I printed up all 500 pages of my great epic novel for you to read..."

DUH! If you follow me on FaceBook enough to know I only read print, than why don't you also know I never read a story longer than 10 pages long? 

The problem is that I am at everything and everybody around here sees me as being both a celebrity and someone who is always out to help the little guy, so everybody assumes that sooner or later they are going to run into me and I'm just going to be falling all over myself wanting to help them. 

A bigger problem, one that has baffled me for a while now, is when I get mobbed by 20 or 30 people all at once, telling me they love me, my books, can I sign this, read that, here's 30 manuscripts all at once...okay if it happened once, I won't be so puzzled, but it happens at least once a month...and I just couldn't understand this, until, one day...

One day, one fan rushed up to me in Wal-Mart, and said "You're the girl with the car outside right?"

I'm thinking - it's Wal-Mart there are about 3,000 cars outside in the parking lot right now, but yeah, I know what she means..."Yeah, I'm the girl with the car outside."

Than she tells me, the most unheard of thing...she says she's one of my fans, and she follows me on FaceBook, and her and all my other local fans, got together and created a "text tag game" for their iphones.

I ask her, what is a text tag game, I never heard of it. She says:

"Oh, well, when one of us sees your car, we send a mass text out to everyone else in the group to let them know where you are. See? We take pictures of your car in front of all these place, look I'll show you, I have tons of pictures of your car in my phone, see here you are at SMCC, and here you are at WalMart last week, and here you are at Hannaford, and here you are at the Dollar Store and..."

I'm like...OMG! You guys follow me around like DeadHeads.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, we are, we used to follow the Dead everywhere they went. Yeah, that was a big thing for us back than..."

There was one time, I came out of WalMart, and this guy runs up to me and says: "Where is it? I can't find it anywhere?"

I ask what he's talking about, and he says:

"The Razzberry. I saw you in the store, I knew it was you, no one else looks like you, I wanted to show my wife your car, she's never seen it. But I can't find it. We've been all over the parking lot and we can't find it anywhere...."

Ah, yes, no, it's here here, it broke down, it's being worked on, I got a ride with a friend today.

That is my daily driver, so you can see why my readers (at least my local ones) are able to tell where I am, and seeing how I have a lot of cats and go through 60lbs of cat food and 150lbs of cat litter every week, I'm at WalMart alot. And for the record, I'm a drag queen, not on stage, every day of my life, and while my car shimmers like a disco ball as I drive down the road, it can't hold a candle to my sequined ball gowns. Not many people are walking around WalMart in full-length minks and more sequins than Liberace` could count, so even people who don't know me as the author, of whatever book they just read, they always great with "Hey, you must be the girl with that car!" 

There was one guy, a few months ago...I didn't have my car, but he recognized me anyways, because of my cloths, and he followed me and my partner all through WalMart, every time we stopped at an aisle, he say: "What are buying here, I'll get it for you, you wait there." Than he'd rush to the shelf and get whatever and put it in my cart. In between doing so, he was reciting poetry. 

"Hey, I wrote another poem, you want to hear it?"

So we got to hear a few dozen poems, each poem followed by: "So what do you think? Any good? Do I have a chance at getting published?"

I don't know, I'm not a poet. I don't read poetry. I know nothing about poetry. I did write one book of poems, it was an assignment for my Literature class in college, I've never written poems before or since.

He stayed with us the entire day. No literaly, the entire day. We left WalMart, and he jumped in his car and drove behind us to the next store, did the same thing there. Me and my partner went to McDonald's to eat on the way home, the guy walks into McDs and sits down at our booth with us, and orders the same food we did. And I'm like, this is getting creepy. My partner finally told him to leave and he did, but that night he started call my dad on the phone, and my dad was asking me, who is this guy, he says he's known you for years and I never heard of him. He staied on the phone all night reading poetry to me. 

Yeah, I never heard of him either, until he followed us around WalMart all day reading poetry to us. 

He called my dad every hour of every day and every night, like clockwork, for a week, and also called my partner the same way. In between reading poetry to them he'd ask to talk to me...uhm...yeah...about that...what part of I have Autism does this guy not understand...you know Autism...lack of verbal speech...no vocal sounds...mute...I don't talk. I do not even own a phone because, oh, I don't know, I can't talk so there is no ficking way for me to use a phone! And he just met me in person, and spent 12 freaking hours following me and my partner all day long and he was so busy reading his poems to us, that he didn't notice it was my partner answering him, not me, I never said a word, when I wanted to say something I wrote it on a notepad and he read it off the paper...how does this guy expect me to talk to him on the phone if I couldn't talk to him in person?

That was certainly one of the more extreme attempts anyone has made to try to get me to read their manuscript.

It happens so often that I wrote up a disclaimer to give to people when they ask me to read their manuscript. Here it is: https://www.eelkat.com/ManuscriptReadingService.html 

It's mean and angry and 30,000 words of EXACTLY what I think of authors throwing manuscripts at me. It's harsh, yes, but, the people who toss manuscripts my way, seem to have a bad habit of showing up at my front door with "Did you read it yet?"

No, I tossed it in the woodstove unread.

"Ha! Ha! You're funny!"

I'm not joking. I burned it unread.

"Good one! Hey if you're not gonna read it, can I have it back, it was my only copy and I've got another author to give it to."

Nope. It's gone. I burned it.

"What do you mean you burned it?"

I mean, I have a wood stove and I used it for tinder to start a fire, just like it says I will do on my "I don't read manuscripts" policy and disclaimer on my website. If you really knew me as well as you said, you would have read that policy and known WHY I WON'T read your manuscript...because, there are actually laws against authors reading another author's manuscript and were you a professional career author, you would have known that.

"But it was my only copy!"

Than you shouldn't have given it to me.

"But it was my life's work, I spent 10 years writing that.."

I'm sorry, I have Autism, the part of your brain that tells you to care about other people's feeling...I don't have that, so guess what? I don't care that that was your only copy or that you were stupid enough to give it away or that you spent 10 years writing it. I have Autism. I am physically incapable of caring about you or your novel. You follow me on FB so you know me so well? Well than why didn't you know that? Maybe you should actually read the Autism Awareness info I put on my FaceBook Wall. I have Autism, Sugar Pie, I'm not your best friend and I have no interest in ever doing so. There are plenty of websites out there to tell you what Autism is. Google it. find out what Autism is before you start tossing your work at me.

And good god! I write 20,000 words a day, that's a full novel every 3 days. How the hell did it take you 10 years to write a single novel? If you want to be a writer, you better just sit your ass down and write, because you ain't getting no where if you are only putting out a single novel every 10 years. Damn!

What always gets me, is, how EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM...thinks they are the ONLY person to EVER have the brilliant idea of giving a manuscript to an author. When I tell them I get manuscripts tossed my way every week, they get all stunned and say:

"Really? They stole my idea! I'm the one who came up with the unquie/original idea to contact (my favorite author) to read my manuscript. How'd they think of that?" 

It amazes me, how many HUNDREDS of times in the past 36 years, I have heard people say how stunned they were that someone other than themselves had come up with the idea to send a manuscript to an author. It just flabbergasts me. 

So, like I said, when WalMart Dude first approached me with his manuscript, I wasn't overly concerned because this sort of thing, happens a few times a week. And usually I just, tell the I can't read their manuscript, I'm not an editor or a publisher, reading manuscripts is not my job, and they say okay and go back to whatever it was they were doing. WalMart Dude, was different...very, very, different...scary different, almost to the point that, I probably will go to the police if I encounter him a third time.

But you've never really heard the whole story. Well, this we I was once again hunted down by WalMart dude, for yet ANOTHER wild day of WalMart Dude style insanity. And for you to fully understand how strange and, bizarre this man is, we first have to tell you about the first time I meet him, at WalMart...

It was Black Friday 2013. My partner had decided I needed a a Kindle Paperwhite (which had just been released that week and at the time was Kindle's best thing ever...they have Fire now.) Well, he decides, to get me this for Christmas, only he doesn't really know what it is or if I can even use it, so, he decides he'd better ask me if i want something like this. Well, even though I am an author, I am a Gypsy and, technology, not on my to do list, so, while I sell books for Kindle on Amazon, I actually haven't the foggiest clue what a Kindle even is. I tell him, it'd probably be good if I had a Kindle so I could find out what it is I'm actually selling when I sell Kindle books.

Turns out to be a good investment, because once I had the Kindle I was able to download my own books and discover that several of them had some serious formatting issues, that I was unaware of. I am now able to fix formating issue before the books are even published, so the Kindle was a good thing to have.

Well, this was the day he bought me the Kindle, and never forget it, because, boy oh boy, will this day go down in history as one of the strangest damned days of my life...because this was the day I meet the man my fans and readers all now know as "WalMart Dude."

The day starts out as any typical Black Friday does: with me and my partner arriving at Best Buy at 10PM to get in line and wait for the store to open at 1AM. We were about number 300 in the line, that wrapped around the Maine Mall, and over to Sears. By the time 1AM came, the line wrapped around the mall the other way, all the way to the Food Court, and for those who don't know: the Maine Mall, from one end to the other, is 2 miles long and the building has "mile markers" painted o it, so you can determine how many more miles you have to go to get to the store you want to go to. It's one of the largest malls in the country, and was at one point the largest mall in New England (I'm not sure if it still is or not)

Anyways, this line is wrapped around the building, meaning the line is nearly 4 miles of people long.

We know that we are couple number 300 in line, because at 11PM Best Buy workers come out and start numbering people and saying, they are only allowing 100 people in the store at a time. At 1AM they will let 100 people in. At 1:30AM they will let another 100 people in. At 2PM we were the first people let in on the third round of 100 people let in.

Kindles were sold out, as was most everything else he had intended to buy. He did however get the last of the $3,000 cameras on sale for $800.

We get out of Best Buy at around 3AM, head to Hot Topics to buy stuff for my brothers. My partner is absolutely terrified of everybody in the store (he had never been in Hot Topics before, so it was his first time getting to see the Goths,  Punks, Emos, and Lolitas whom are my typical crowd of people to hang out with.)

4PM we are out of the Mall and at Staples. While there are no Kindles on the shelf, a worker sees us in that area and says they have more out back, but are only allowed to bring out so many each hour, and tells us, to wait a few minutes because the next batch is due out on the shelves in 10 minutes.

So we get the Kindle, but now he still has to find a GPS and after calling a few stores, he gets word that Biddeford WalMart still has several in stock, if we hurry, they might still be a few left when we get there. And here's where the fun begins. Now my partner, he's a still upper lip, Mormon High Priest, who is very serious and conservative, no nonsense, just straight edge all the way. He's already been freaked out of his mind by the Goth crowd at Hot Topics and he's glad to be in a place like WalMart where you don't often see the what he terms "strange people". He was completely unprepared for what was about to happen next...

ENTER WALMART DUDE:

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

What is it about me, that causes American men to chase after me? Or maybe I should ask, what is it about American women, that turns their men off so much, that they won't leave me alone instead going after their own women, like they belong?

There is one man in particular, the man you all know as WalMart Dude, I'd like to point out, because this guy can not take a hint, and boy is he ever stubborn. This guy, has followed me online for well over a decade. Online, he's fine. Does the whole innocent seeming. "Hey, it's me! How you doing today?" sort of thing, that most of my fans and readers do. He's one of the 7,000+ fans who follow me on faceBook and Twitter and every few days send me messages of "Here's how my day went, what was your day like?" as all of my fans know, I do not answer private messages or emails or phone calls, but that doesn't stop them from every day sending me messages, emails, or phone calls, and after a while saying "did you get my message? Why don't you answer me?" Why? Oh let me think? It probably has something to do with the fact that I get close to 10,000 emails EACH and EVERY day, and I'm backlogged by several hundreds or thousands of emails, that I will never have time to read, even if I live to be five hundred years old...and I have posted as much on my FaceBook status, and in big bold letters all over my website.

Well, most of my fans are not crazy enough to go any farther then contacting me offline, however, thee are a few who follow me when I do my shopping, follow my family to restaurants when we go out to eat and sit at the table with us, and show up in our yard, and not only call me, but call all my relatives too, and then shows up at my mother's house with a sob story of not being able to get in touch with me "Why won't she talk to me?"

Grammy Eva in Alaska

*sigh*

Well, there is one in particular, WalMart Dude, who is fast taking over for Joel Bailey (the man who stalked me for a decade and ended up going to prison.)

Now, I don't mind talking to my fans when I meet them in person, and should we meet at random in the store, I don't mind them helping me shop, and should we meet by accident in the restaurant I don't mind them joining us...but that is not the case here with this particular person. No.

This person is obsessive on many levels. Clearly there is a mental problem at work with this person, I'm not sure what, but, among other things, he claims to talk to god, be a prophet, and sadly has a wild story about is mother being an intelligence officer in the military and all these great and wild and wonderful things she did in her military travels all over the world. What he doesn't know, I that I knew his mother before she died. She was a friend of my Grammy Eva's. Here's what REALLY happened to his mother:

In the 1960s, this man's father murdered his 5 year old brother, and his mother, unable to deal with it went clinically insane, had to be institutionalized, and spent the rest of her life in a mental ward drooling and gibbering and not able to string together a complete sentence.

Grammy Eva in Hawaii

My Grammy Eva, worked at the institute where his mother was hospitalized. She took care of the invalide patients there. Grammy Eva, was globetrotter. In her lifetime she had visited all 50 states and 140 different countries. At every location she visited, she would buy a book about the area. He son, was an intelligence officer, a Major, in the Air Force, stationed in the Pentagon. 

It was Grammy Eva's habit to try to comfort the mental health patients she took care of, by bringing her travel books to their bedside, to show them the pictures and tell them about her trip to that place. Whenever her son in the Pentagon wrote her a letter, she would bring these letters to work and read them to the patients.

So, when this man showed up, and told me his name, my response was: "Oh, your mother was a friend on my grandmother's" except I didn't say thing out loud seeing how I have Autism with Selective Mutism and thus do not speak verbally. So, while I know who this man is, and know the truth about his mother, he doesn't know, that I know who his mother was.

Grammy Eva in Germany

He spends hours, talking (lying) about his mothers "great achievements". Literally - he has never showed up and talked for any period of time under 4 hours, often talking steady for as many as 8 hours...yes, he does follow me every where I go all day long, and even stands outside the bathroom door and continues to talk while I use the damned toilet.

Did I mention that walMart dude has a MAJOR obsession with me that is as bad as, if not worse then Joel Bailey's? Like Joel Bailey, this guy has followed me for YEARS and I did not know it, until just a few days ago. Joel Bailey followed me for 7 years before I found out it was happening. WalMart dude, CLAIMS to have known me before Joel Bailey, claims to remember way back when Joel Bailey started harassing me...if that claim is true, it means that WalMart dude has been following me for more than 15 years. And that I find disturbing.

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

For the next several weeks following the WalMart Incident, WalMart Dude took to calling my dad all night long.

9PM he called my dad.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"We knew each other way back. Give her the phone, I know she's there."

10PM call my dad again.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"Come on, we're buddies she and I. She's known me for years."

11PM called again.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"You know we know each other. We went to school together. Ask her."

Midnight: another call.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"Ask her about how she used to get picked on in school and I was the one who helped her out because I got picked on too."

1AM, he's still calling.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"It's okay, I'm not a stalker I've known her for years. We go way back. We're old friends."

Every night for weeks on end.

Sometimes I was there and heard the conversation. (I had told my dad I didn't want to talk to this guy. He was a stranger, I didn't know him, and he was creeping me out.)

Now here's the thing: I have Autism, I required 24 care by adults, I am NEVER out of the sight of one of my 7 caretakers, and therefore, they know EVERY SINGLE PERSON who ACTUALLY is my friend. My dad is one of said caretakers. He KNOWS this guy is lying about knowing me, being my friend...

and oh yeah... I never went to school. We are Gypsies. Gypsies don't send their children to public school.

And, out of the more then 70 times he called my day over the next few hours, he said "I'm not a stalker" more then 4 times per phone call. I have to seriously question a guy who calls and introduces himself as "I'm not a stalker."

*Keep in mind, that I have Autism, I do not speak verbally, and therefore I do not have a phone.

This guy knows I have Autism

This guy knows I can't speak.

And yet he is calling people he thinks I might know and asking for ME TO TALK TO HIM ON THE PHONE?

Uhm...

Yeah.

So what part of I have Autism and can't speak to you on a phone because I can't speak verbally, does this guy not understand?

In between calling my dad, he starts calling my partner. 

For the next several weeks following the WalMart Incident, WalMart Dude took to calling my dad all night long.

9:30 PM he called my dad.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"We knew each other way back. Give her the phone, I know she's there."

10:30 PM call my dad again.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"Come on, we're buddies she and I. She's known me for years."

11:30 PM called again.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"You know we know each other. We went to school together. Ask her."

Half Past Midnight: another call.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"Ask her about how she used to get picked on in school and I was the one who helped her out because I got picked on too."

1:30 AM, he's still calling.

"Is Wendy there?"

No

"You sure she's not there?"

No

"I don't believe you. Can you give me your home address so I can come and see for myself that she's not there?"

No

"It's okay, I'm not a stalker I've known her for years. We go way back. We're old friends."

Every night for weeks on end.

Repeating to my partner nearly word for word everything he said to me dad.

It was interesting. My dad's phone would ring. Half hour later, my partner's phone would ring, then my dad's again. All night long, for day after day, week after week...

And this is from I guy I had never meet before and who introduces himself with "I'm not a stalker."

Now keep in mind, that I have only had two (2) face to face confrontations with this guy. The first was the WalMart Incident (Black Friday 2013) mentioned earlier and the second was the McDonald's Incident (May 6, 2015), which I am telling you about right now. 

I had never seen WalMart Dude before Black Friday 2013 and I had not seen him again until this week. In both cases, he rudely barged his way into my daily activities and took over, not allowing me or my partner to do a damned thing. WalMart Dude is a control freak to the uber insane extreme.

However. WalMart dude has been following me around the area. How do I know? Because, a few times each month, I come out of whatever store I'm in, to find a note stuck under the windshield wiper of my car.

"Hey! It's Vincent, we meet at WalMart, remember me? haven't heard from you in a while, saw your car, thought I'd let you know I have a coat that needs to be sewed. How about we get together so you can pick it up and sew it for me?"

Okay, uhm...why does this guy want me to sew his coat? For what possible reason does he think I would just randomly sew a coat for a stranger?

"Hi, it's me from WalMart again. I got some socks that need darning. we need to get together so I can give them to you."

Uhm..okay...this is getting creepy. First a note telling me to sew his coat, now a note telling me to darn his socks. Who darns socks in this day and age? Sock are $1 for a 3 pack at most dollar stores these days.

"Me again the guy from WalMart last year. I got some garbage needs removing from my yard. Hear you been hauling stuff out of your yard. Think you can bring the UHaul over and get this stuff out for me?"

Yeah, that one was recent, we had the UHaul last week of March 2015.

Keep in mind, I have only ever meet this guy once, back on Black Friday at WalMart, and he's now every few weeks, leaving notes on my car, at pretty much every store I go to, and in every case, he's making very "1950s style" demands for "house wife work" to be done for him.

This guy, is acting as though, I'm his wife and, it's really creeping me out now. Especially the fact that, no matter where I go, when I come out of the store, ANY store, I come out to find, he's left another note on my car. Which means, this guy is following me around, during my daily activities. He knows, where I go and when I'm there, otherwise, how else could he keep leaving these notes on my car?

Are you starting to see NOW why I am comparing him to Joel Bailey? And WHY I am saying, this guy, may actually be WORSE then Joel Bailey?

And now I give you

THE RETURN OF WALMART DUDE:

The morning of May 6, 2015, I drive to Biddeford to pick up my mom and one of my brothers. They have some errands to do. As they are getting in my car, a familiar green truck, pulls up into the driveway behind me. 

Oh no, not WalMart Dude...what is he doing at my mother's house?

"Hey! EelKat! I found your car!"

I walk down to the end of the driveway to see what he wants. He yaps about how great it is to see old friends (Wait...We are friends? Really? That's news to me.) Says he keeps seeing my car around Sulivane Street and keeps putting notes on my car, but can't figure out where I live, otherwise he'd be talking to me in person instead of leaving notes.

I'm thinking (though not saying: "Great! So instead of leaving notes to ask me to do his cooking and cleaning and sewing and yard work and laundry, now he wants to come to my front door and ask me to do those things for him in person. Greaaaat! Like I really need that."

He asks how things are going. I tell him my cats are being held hostage by the town to blackmail me out of paying my taxes so the town can take the land and I'm in the middle of court battle trying to get my cats back.

He brushes that off and starts yapping about how "I'm a lonely guy and need someone to talk to...blah, blah, blah."

I know, from having meet this guy in WalMart before, that, once he starts talking, he won't stop AND he will follow you from store to store to store, and then follow you to eat and not stop talking for 12 hours straight, because that's what he did before, that's how he got known on FaceBook and KBoards as "WalMart Dude".

i let him yap for a few minutes, and when he gets to a point where he seems to be about to end one story to start another, I say I have to go, my family is waiting for me, we have stuff to do, and I get in my car, pull out around him and drive off.

We go about our day and I assume, that that's the end of it...

I take my mom and brother back home, I head back to Old Orchard, my partner, loads up his trailer full of wood (we had cut 3 trees down that day) and leaves to go take the wood to Wells, to be burned (which is an hour drive away).

So, I'm alone for an hour, until he comes back, and while he is gone, I'm doing random yard work. He is gone about 15 minutes, when I head back to my car to get some things I had left in there, and as I'm doing that, a familiar green truck pulls up into my driveway at 146 Portland avenue. Oh boy. WalMart Dude, now knows where I live and, he's here, in my yard...

And good god...this first thing he says is:

"Nice land you got here, wouldn't mind living here myself. Where's the property lines?"

I tell him, the tree lines are the lines (there are several areas of long straight rows of trees, which outline the entire farm.)

He starts wandering around like he owns the place, pointing out stuff like:

"Yeah, we could put a house right here. Yeah. That'd be nice. Yeah, this is good land. Yeah. I like this. yeah, this is a great place to live, yeah, I could get rid of my mortgage, yeah this is nice, yeah..."

And how does somebody say "yeah" so many times in one day? 

Okay, two things here:

#1: I don't like trespassers, I do not like people coming up into my land uninvited, I do not like strangers wandering around my yard

#2: his timing is bad as frigging fuck - we are in the middle of a battle with the town, because the town is trying to take my land to put a condominium up here, and I have HAD IT up to my eyeballs with people walking around my farm talking about what THEY are going to do to MY land!

...so here is WalMart Dude on my land, talking about HIS plans to put a house on MY land, and I'm wishing I had a gun so I could just blow his brains out for even making the suggestion that he wants my land.

I mean seriously? You walk into my land and start talking about your house building plans...NOW...of ALL times, you could pick, to do that, you do it NOW, while the town is holding my cats hostage, blackmailing me to try to take my land? I mean I've really HAD IT with the people of this town and the shit they have put me through, and right now, there's a lot of people, I'm not happy with, and you really don't want to get on my bad side...not right now, and not while I'm standing on my land holding a machete.

The law may not let me carry the machete off my property, but on my property, I'm well within my rights to have it and use it, and if you're on my land, trespassing and talking about taking my land away from me...let me tell you something: 

one swing of the machette will take your balls

three will take your dick

And don't think staying out of arm's reach is going to protect you because my granddaddy was a lumberjack and he taught me how to throw an axe.

so don't you dare set foot on my land and talk about taking it away from me, not now while the town is holding my cats hostage and threatening to kill them...you make any indication that you are helping the town to hurt my cats, and you've made a bad enemy out of me.

We are Gypsies and this is Maine, and you are on our land, and we don't like it and if you want to keep your scrotum between your legs, you really don't want to come up in my land and start talking about YOUR plans for what YOU are going to do to MY land.

WalMart Dude sees the pile of wood, freshly cut logs, from the the freshly cut trees, and asks about that. I tell him, my partner (using his name) had just left with a load of wood and was returning for the rest...

...ah...

Strange things happened at this point. As soon as I mentioned my partner's name, WalMart Dude's entire facial expression changes. And it's not a good change. I'm good at reading people's facial expressions, and his face was doing several at this point, and it was very obvious, that there was LOTS of hatred and vehement jealous rage boiling in his mind just then.

Now this change in WalMart Dude's facial expression took me by surprise, because at this point, I was unaware of WalMart Dude's motive for being here. It would not be for another ten (10) hours, until I would learn WalMart Dude's motive for being in my yard.

But it bothered me, the fact that WalMart Dude, was very clearly, about his blow his top, over my mentioning my partner's name. Keeping in mind, that my partner and I have been together for 28 years, fast closing in on 29 years in just two short months. But like I said, at this point, I was still thinking of WalMart Dude as just some fan who had read one of my books and wanted to meet the author, I was not yet aware of his ulterior motive...however, his mention of building a house on MY land, should have tipped me off as to what his motive was.

I believe, he may have been attempting to hint of his motive at this point, though I didn't pick up on the meaning of what he was saying until a few hours later, when he added some more information.

But, he's walking around MY yard, talking about building HIS house, and I mention my partner, and his face changes, and I continue to talk about my partner, saying that, he's only going to be gone for a few minutes, he just took a load of wood to the guy in Wells and he'll be right back.

Immediately, WalMart Dude pulls out a cigarette and starts smoking, in spite of the fact that there are No Smoking signs all over our land. He is also well aware of the fact that we are Mormons and Gypsies and by both our culture and our religion, smoking is a grave sin.

He next says (or rather shouts, very angrily and hysterically) to me: "THAT GUY YOU WERE WITH AT WALMART DOESN'T LIKE ME!"

Actually, on the contrary, my partner does like WalMart dude. It was my partner who encouraged WalMart Dude to stay and keep talking at WalMart back in 2013. You see, WalMart Dude is a religion crazed lunatic who can't stop spouting Bible and religion, and so is my partner, who happens to be a high priest, and my partner is always on the look out for people who are religion crazy to talk to so he can have someone to spend hours no stop talking to about religion.

Remember what I told you about the WalMart Encounter? I never said a word, not once in all those many, many, many, many, many hours of WalMart dude following us around that day. My partner was the one he was talking to. My partner was the one who did ALL the answering to WalMart dude's questions. I NEVER said a word to WalMart dude at all, all day long. So on this day in May 2015, this was the first time of me, myself speaking to WalMart Dude with my own mouth.

But WalMart Dude is now flipping out and, whining and pouting and stamping his foot and over all acting like a two year old having a temper tantrum, as he rails on and on about how mean my partner is to him. 

He says he called my partner and my partner told him off. 

Uhm...okay...my partner is a little itty bitty guy who is scared of his own shadow. He runs and hides at the drop of a pin. He faints all the time. He's so nervous that if he ever raised his own voice, he'd scare himself and pass out. I am NOT joking. 

So to hear WalMart Dude tell me that my tiny, scared, nervous wreck, very ancient, elderly, little itty, bitty partner who faints a dozen times a day every time he hears a loud noise, yelled at him and told him off is beyond ludicrous.

So, I'm not liking WalMart Dude more and more, because now, not only has he barged in and trespassed on my land, went around talking about his plans to put a house on my land, disrespected my cats, and now he's lying about my partner to try to make him out to be a mean bully, by accusing him of doing things, the guy is not even physically capable of doing. 

If there is anything I don't like it's a liar, and we had already established that WalMart Dude was a liar two years ago when he lied to me about his mother, and when he lied to me claiming he was a psychic, when the only thing he did was recite everything he had read on my FaceBook about me section.

Now it's possible he got them mixed up: my dad and my partner. My dad on the other hand, he can be a right bastard when he wants to be and he'll tell it like it is and tell you just exactly what he thinks of you, and as we already established, WalMart Dude was calling my father all hours of the day and night.

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

When I said this is the most persistent of the men who follow me around, I do mean, the MOST persistent, WAAAAY more persistent than even Joel Bailey. And like Joel Bailey, this man too, is completely convinced I am going to leave my husband and marry him instead. Why? Well, because as WalMart Dude puts it: I married him when I was 12, therefor I didn't know what I was doing, I wasn't given a choice, he's a pedophile who belongs in prison, and I belong with someone who'll take care of me.

I can't help but laugh at that. WalMart Dude, gave me a long story of how he's better suited to taken care of me.

Hmmm...and yet, my husband has a job and this guy? This guy, admits that he hasn't worked in 40 years and like to as he puts it "bum off the government". Okay, and he's suposed to take care of me, when doesn't have a job? Honey Pie, I'm high maintenance. If you didn't notice, my gold embroidered dresses, which weigh a ton, weigh a ton, because, oh, look at that, they do be embroidered with real gold. Oh yeah, and then there are all my fur coats, and my cars, and my comic books, and my cats...it costs $500 a month, just for catfood alone, and my cats require 80lbs of Tidy Cat every week. Oh, and did I mention I'm a transvestite and cost a lot of money to keep me looking like a billion dollar baby - make up, hormones, plastic surgery...oh yeah, I may look like a million buck, but, it costs a million bucks to look like this too. Honey, you can't afford to take care of me if all you do is bum off the government.

I can also be  royal bitch if you piss me off

In short, my partner can afford to take care of me and enjoys doing so, and he was born with at least ten silver spoons up his ass, along with the dozen or so in his mouth. So, let's see...if you want me to leave my partner and marry you, the first step would be, to have an income bigger then his...oh and like me, he also can trace his family history for centuries and like me, he too comes from aristocratic blood...in fact, when you go back far enough, (to the 1400s) we have some of the same relatives.

If you're not an aristocrat and can not claim any sort of aristocratic bloodline and, Sugar Plum Pie - I am an a aristocrate by blood, which doesn't mean much in this day and age, but in Medieval time my family was royalty and so was his, and that IS actually something that is really important to me. (In other words I don't mingle my blood line with serfs and peasants.) In order for you to petition to marry me, I'm gonna want to see documented evidence of you family's social status prior the 1500s. If you can't provide documented evidence of where your family was prior to the 1500s, it is because your family were not able to read or write to keep a record of their history, meaning they were not aristocrats.

Honey, you want to replace my partner: you better be able to actually replace him. You really can't do that if you are on welfare and living in an apartment.  Did I mention he was an Austrian? I think I did. Sugar Pie, you want to try to outspend my old Austrian Sugar Daddy - I dare you to try it. How many fur coats are you gonna buy me with your welfare check BuddyBoy? How many rhinestones are you going to put on my car with your government check? How many cats can you afford to feed this week? Did you know he spends $500 a month, just on cat food and cat litter alone? Does your welfare check even pay you $500 a month?

Think about it. Think long and hard. Do you really think you have enough money coming in to take care of me, my cars, my cats, and still be able to feed my book collecting obsession? I have more then 300,000 books, not counting comic books. Did you know that many of my kimono cost several hundred dollars each piece and that the grand total of the costs of my 40+ kimono was more then $7,000 or that the 2.5million marbles glued to my car cost $8,000. Really think about that. 

I don't have much of an income. My income is rarely more then $200 a month. But I don't need an income: I have a Sugar Daddy. And that's why I do have things which cost a lot of money. That is why I can be below poverty level income and still wear the clothes I wear and drive the cars I drive. These things are provided to me by a man who just plain likes spending money on me.

So, when you say you want me to leave him for you, I'm going to expect a certain standard of living, and if you can't provide that, you ain't got a chance with me. When you talk about my partner, do remember that you are talking about a guy who can afford to buy a woman who is half his age,  looks like a supermodel and doesn't mind letting him dress her up like a Barbie doll. If you want to replace him, that's what you have to be able to replace.

To all the American men out there who keep beating a path to my door: Ask yourselves this:

Remove the cars and the furs and the glitter and the glam, and all you have left is little old me...do you REALLY think, I'm what you are attracted to? No. You are attracted to the idea of being in love with a rich woman who'll take care of you.

I look like I do, because I have a Sugar Daddy who keeps me looking exactly the way he wants me to look. Take him out of the picture and there would be no glitter, no glam, no furs, no silks, no cars...he bought those things. take him out of the picture and those things go away too and you are only go to be left, with plain little me.

NEWSFLASH Sugar Pie: I have a wealthy old Sugar Daddy who provides me with all that glitter and glam you guys are falling head over heels for. And guess what: he actually loves me. You want to know how I know? Because he loved me, when I was poor and had no money. He loved me, BEFORE the glitter, before the rhinestoned cars, before the furs...he loved me when I had nothing. 

You men who keep chasing after me: It's not me you are chasing. Not really. It's the idea of me that you are after. Because of how I dress and the cars I drive, you have created this mental image of who you think I must be.

A year ago, I actually had a guy walk up to me with a flyer for a $3million yacht and ask me if I could buy it for him. He thought that based off my clothes and car alone, I was wealthy enough to be able to buy him a $3million dollar boat with my spare change.

It bothered me, quite a bit, that this guy dd this, because what he did, does say a lot about how the public sees me. It was the guy who asked for a boat, that opened my eyes to the fact: Hey, this is why men keep chasing after me: they think I'm a millionaire and they want an inheritance.

Honey, your monthly welfare check is bigger then my yearly income. But I also don't have an income because I don't need one, I have a Sugar Daddy who pays for everything. And I do mean everything. 

Honey Pies, if you guys want to be with me, the REAL me...you'll be doing that without the glitter and glam. Without the clothes and cars. I don't have any money to spend on you and I WILL be expecting you to spend a LOT of money on me, and when you tell me you live in an apartment in Biddeford, and your income is a government check...Honey, you don't have what it takes to take care of me.

And you know what else? I was with him few nearly a decade, before I found out who he was, or the kind of money he had. He wears rags, dresses like a homeless bum, drives a rusted 30 year old car...if you saw him on the streets, you'd peg him as a welfare bum.

That is HOW and WHY he started lavishing me with the beaded gowns, the rhinestoned cars, the fur coats, and all those shiny things you American men are chasing after me for. He did it, because I was with him, for so many years and never asked him for a penny. I didn't know he had money and I stayed with him anyways, and that's why he started spending all his money on me, because he realized I loved him, for him, no for his money.

 You forget, I've been with this man 28 years. We are fast coming up on our 30th anniversary. 

You American men who won't leave me alone are forgetting one very important thing: I was with him for a full decade, before the money: because I love him. And even if you can out buy him, not one of you will ever be able to replace him. I will always love HIM, I will never love you. 

The older he gets, the more I worry about the way American men come after me. Because as soon as he's gone, I know there's a lot of men out there, who've come right out and told me, they'll be expecting me to marry them. 

One man, walked up to me, at the Old Orchard Beach Town Hall, he says to me: "I'm waiting for you to be a rich young widow. I'll be back then. You'll marry me, you'll see." I'm in the middle of a court battle with the town, the men of this town know that, and all they can do is selfishly think about themselves and snagging me like I'm some sort of prize deer.

I don't like that there are so many, self-righteous, rude, arrogant men in this area, who say these sorts of things to me. I don't see men saying stuff like this to other women. Why? Because other women don't look like millionaires. These men have a false impression about who they think I am.

And here's one very important fact, you have yet to consider: my cats. My cats are my children and if you are going to love me, you have to love my cats as well.

As summer draws near and more and more people are in the area, more and more men approach me. Like I said, three this week already.

In this past month, several men have "made their petition" for my affections, and in each case, the first thing I did was tell them about the cats and how the Town of Old Orchard Beach took them away. And in each case I got responses of: "It's just cats" or "I don't like cats." or "I'm a dog person, myself." or "You can always get more cats." or as WalMart Dude put it: "I don't want to hear about cats, tell me about yourself instead."

I got news for everyone of you: any one who knew what the town did to my cats AND DID NOT HELP ME GET MY CATS BACK - hasn't got a chance in hell of getting anywhere's near me, because those cats are my family, and you want to REALLY impress me, then you're gonna have to over turn hell and high water to do EVERYTHING in your power, to get my cats back.

You know what: since my cats were taken hostage, 32 days ago, I've had 3 different men, come up to me and yap on about how I'm supposed to leave my partner to marry them, and to each of these 3 men, I told them about the cats and what happened, and in each case, they brushed it aside: 

One said "Well, it's just cats." Yeah, and you just shot yourself in the foot, because I don't ever want to see you again now. And I have put a curse on you, to make sure you die a long, slow, painful death, alone, tormented, with no one...because you didn't care, how much I am suffering right now, alone, without my cats. May all the fires of hell burn on you.

Like I said, all they want is the money they THINK I have. They don't care about me or my feelings and they don't give a damn about my cats.

This more persistent man, WalMart Dude, the one who follows me to the bathroom and lies about his mother...He wouldn't stop talking about himself, long enough to find out what happened to my cats. This is the single most self absorbed person I have ever meet. He doesn't care about others...he says he does, he brags about how much he cares, but really, all he cares about, is telling people he cares. When he asked how I was doing, I told him about the cats, and he told me he was a psychic and proceeded to list off various things about my life. Then he asked how accurate it was.

I smiled and (trying not to laugh) and told him it was EXTREMELY accurate. He then went on to spend 72 minutes (yes, I counted) telling me how great of a psychic he was and how very much other psychics lived in awe of his powers. 

Do you want to know why I was trying not to laugh?

Because he was only reciting WORD FOR WORD the "About Me" page of my website, changing the words "me" and "I" to "you". That's why it was extremely accurate: because I wrote it, and he read on my website, memorized it, and quoted it back to me.

Then he starts telling me: "I can see you are in awe of my powers, did you know I'm a prophet of god?'

I'm in awe of his powers? Really? Wow. When did that happen? I'm sitting here trying not to roll out of my seat laughing my ass off over the fact that he actually believes I think he's a real psychic and then he tells me he's a prophet? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit here with a straight face while I listen to this guy?

And you want to know something else? He drives up and starts talking at 1PM. I tell him I have to go, because I do...my mother and my brother are already in the car and I'm TRYING to get around him to get in my car, but he won't stop talking and he won't get out of the way.

3PM, he follows us from Biddeford to Old Orchard Beach...and he's still talking. He sit in the driveway, until 5PM, and never stops talking long enough to take a breath.

FINALLY he says: "Well, I'm not usually up during the day, I'm a night owl. I gotta go home and get my sleep."

9PM he starts calling. I finally answer the phone, hoping it'll make him stop calling. I get this whole long pitiful boo-hoo story about pity-me, pity-me, pity-me, I'm a marine with PTSD and can't get a job, I don't want to live, my mother died, I don't have anyone, blah, blah, blah, can I buy you some coffee, I need someone to talk to.

I tell him, I need to be in court in a few days, I have a lot of paperwork to get ready...and he blubbers on with 20 more minutes of sob-story boo-hoo. FINALLY to shut him up, because he's running up my damned phone bill, I say I'll meet with him for a few minutes at McDonalds, but I'm a Mormon. It is 9:45PM, I say, "I have to put away all my court papers and shut down my computer, it'll take me at least 15 minutes to do that, then I will have to get dressed, get my car started (it has to sit and run several minutes before it'll drive, it's 40 years old), it'll be a while."

oh, and let's remember too, that I get up with the sun (5AM) and go to bed with the sun (9PM), I am NOT a night owl, normally I would be in bed at 9PM when he started calling me, and I was only still up because I had court papers I had to write up, and that I needed to get this done, because getting my cats back was IMPORTANT TO ME and if he REALLY cared about me, as much as he keeps saying he did, he would not hinder my getting these paper written for court. And told him all of this too.

This guy is also telling me he cares about me and how well he knows me. And yet it's all over my website and social networks the fact that I get up at sunrise around 5AM and got to bed at sunset BEFORE 9PM and yet, this guy, who supposedly cares about me, spends every night this week, ringing my phone, on the hour, every hour, from 9PM to 1AM, thus rudely disrupting my sleep (and proving he doesn't care about my health) (and also proving that he is too self centered, inconsiderate, and arrogant to call me at a time, when I'm actually awake) making in therefor hard for me to get things done the following day, because I'm now tired after being woken up, on the hour, every hour, all damn night long. WalMart Dude claims to love me and care about me, but he can't stop rudely and inconsiderately disrupting my sleep all night long and that tells me he doesn't give a damned about anything but himself.

The first time he called, I happened to be up late working on court papers, like I said, so I answered the phone (which in itself is a difficult procedure for me, since I have Autism, and considerate people, text me instead of calling me.)

And he's boo-hooing this sob story of how lonely he is and how much he' going to kill himself if he has no one to talk to and I feel sorry for him so agree to meet him at McDonald's, because at the time I thought he genuinly was upset (I would soon come to learn it was all a roose to get me to "go on a date" with him. (I do not like being lied to. Nor do I like that he pulled me away from very important paperwork, just to pamper his selfish, petty whims.) He says "Why don't you take a break, I'll buy you dinner, my treat."

As I said, I tell him, I need to be in court in a few days, I have a lot of paperwork to get ready...and he blubbers on with 20 more minutes of sob-story boo-hoo. FINALLY to shut him up, because he's running up my damned phone bill, I say I'll meet with him for a few minutes at McDonalds, but I'm a Mormon. It is 9:45PM, I say, "I have to put away all my court papers and shut down my computer, it'll take me at least 15 minutes to do that, then I will have to get dressed, get my car started (it has to sit and run several minutes before it'll drive, it's 40 years old), it'll be a while."

10PM, he shows up at my mother's house to sob-story and boo-hoo at her about how I "stood him up". Really? I have an XP computer, at 10PM I was still waiting for it to shut down, EXACTLY as I told him, I would be doing. I can't just drop everything and poof magically appear, 15 miles away. I'm not exactly near by the McDonald's in Biddeford, where he said he had to meet, because it was less then a mile from his place, in spite of the fact that it was a 15 mile drive for me.

Are you starting to get a since of how incredibly selfish and inconsiderate this guy is? Yeah.

And if you are asking, so why did I go? Well, because he was threatening to kill himself if I didn't.

Okay, my rhinestone car, drives REALLY slow. For starters, it's a 4 cylinder and it's a, really, really, really old antique 4 cylinder. It never went about 60 miles an hour to begin with, and now it is weighted down with 2.5million GLASS marbled that weigh...several hundred pounds. It rides really low ans squat to the ground because all that heavy glass glued to it is really heavy, and not arrowdynamic.

My car, with the marbles on it is no longer physically able to drive at a speed in excess of 45 miles per hour, and 45 miles per hour is dangerous in that car, due to the extreme wind resistance caused by the wind hitting the ridges of the marbles' edges. At 45 miles per hour, the reaction of the wind hitting the marbles, causes the car to shimmy and shake, and makes steering near impossible. So I can not drive the car SAFELY at anything over 35 miles per hour.

And I'm 15 miles away from the location where he wants to meet. That means there is no way for me to drive there are at anything less then 30 minutes, and that is after the minimum of the 15 minutes it's going to take for my XP computer to save the court documents (the affidavit I was required to send to the judge) I was typing up when he so rudely interrupted me. 

It was going to take me at least 40 minutes to arrive at the Biddeford McDonald's, meaning there was no way for me to get there before 10:40PM It was 9:45PM when I told him this, and he shows up at my mom's house at 10PM to tell her I stood him up.

Yeah, great way to impress me, Dude.

I know this because my mother calls me at 10PM to find out who the hell this guy is at her door, waking her up in the middle of the night, and why he's claiming I stood him up.

So not only is he inconveniencing me on many levels, now he has gone to my mom's house, gotten her up out of bed to LIE about me to her, telling her that we are going out on a date and I stood him up, and boo-hoo, now he has to kill himself because he's a marine with PTSD, and I am so infuriated at him, that I would have turned around and driven back home, except by this point he now owes me a meal. And he did say he was buying me a meal.

Think he does what he says and buys me a meal? Think again. Did I mention this guy was selfish, rude, self-centered, and inconsiderate? Oh, yeah...big time.

When I get to the McDonald's, he gives me more boo-hoos and sobs about, oh how overjoyed he is that I didn't stand him up like the last women did...who at this point he starts listing off, starting with girls he knew in grade school.

Okay...desperation is not attractive, so, yeah, spending 87 minutes (yes, I counted) listing off several dozen old girlfriends and how, when, and where each one dumped him, is really sending off bad signals. Now, he already started off bad, by lying to my mother and claiming he and I were going out on a date.

We are Gypsies, Sugar Pie, you don't barge in on family uninvited and you don't lie to momma. We were not out on a date, I was only going there to get his mind off killing himself, and for no other reason. I was VERY  offended by the fact that he was running around telling people we were on a date. I did not like the slick, underhanded, sneaky snake, lying tactic he had used to get me to agree to meet him, and then turn around and run to my mother's house to lie about me and say we were out on a date...this is yet another indication that this guy is INCREDIBLY selfish, self centered, and inconsiderate of those around him.

I don't like being lied to or lied about. 

I had a hell of a lot more important things to do then sit there listening to him list of old girlfriends, and tell me he was psychic and a prophet of god, and sit there lying to me about his mother. But did he care that I had court dates to get ready for and only a few hours left to do it? NO!...this is yet another indication that this guy is INCREDIBLY selfish, self centered, and inconsiderate of those around him.

It was just one lie after and another with this man. He didn't know I knew his mother, and knew that she never did a one of those great and glorious things he was claiming she did. Then he starts pulling out family photos of his dad and talking about how his dad left when he was a kid. uhm, yeah...I know...he went to prison Dude because he murdered your 5 year old brother, that's how your mom went nuts and why my Grammy eva had to take care of her all those years. But I do not tell him, I know what his father did or the truth about his mother I just let him yap on.

He buy's coffee after coffee, for himself, buys me a .99c tea (keeping in mind here that I am a Mormon and we do have a very strict diet with includes not drinking coffee, tea, or soda, or eating meat). He asks if I want anything to eat, I tell him the only thing McDonald has that I am allowed to eat it the fish sandwich and the fries. He says "okay", Goes off, orders a big tray full of a huge stack of hamburgers and sits there eating one hamburger after another, then ask: "Aren't you going to get anything?"

Ah.

Well, let's see: What part of I am a Gypsy and Gypsy women are not allowed to carry money on them, do you not understand?

When he called me and first asked me to meet him, his exact words were "I'm buying; it's my treat." I didn't think to bring any money with me, based off the fact that he had said that to me. Again, I don't like being lied to and I don't like rude, ill mannered, people who lack etiquette or dignity. No well bred man would ever eat in front of a lady, until she food as well...this is yet another indication that this guy is INCREDIBLY selfish, self centered, and inconsiderate of those around him; he's racking up demerits pretty fast here.

I do not like people who do not have manners. Remember what I said about being an aristocrat and not liking to be around peasants and serfs? I'm not joking. I mean that. I don't like slobs and people without manners and etiquette.  

This man knows I am a Gypsy, he mentions it several times, at one point claiming his mother was a Gypsy (I know for a fact that she wasn't). I do not live anything close to an American lifestyle and man, claims to have read every page of my website and all of my books...interesting, because my web site says a lot about Gypsy lifestyle, in fact most of this book you are reading right now, originally appeared as a series of shorter articles on my website, before being complied to make this book.

The I found interesting is the claim that he's read my books. Why? Well, in between all the yapping about his mother and his PTSD, he was also yapping about his "gay buddy" and made several referances using the phrase "Well you know what those gays are like" Oh, yes. Yes. I do. Yes. Yes. I am well aquainted with what "those gays" are like. Wow. And this guy claims to have read every page on my web site and all of my books. 

He must have missed Quaraun series and the Twighlight Manor series. You know, the two series I write, which are pretty much the only thing I write and all the characters are, you know, gay...oh...oh...oh...he must have missed the section on my website about being a transgendered person and, all of it's many, many, many pages about, you know, being gay, living as a woman, and annoying it is for me to have to deal with American men who are looking for a vagina to fuck...but, hey, yeah, keep on telling me how you've read my books and my website and complaining about all those gay people you don't like and can't stand to be around, while simultaneously telling me that you are looking for a new girlfriend and I should leave my partner of 28 years to be with gay-hating little you.

Yeah...I take it that he doesn't know what a transgendered person is and is confused by the fact that I'm sitting here in all my pink sparkling dresses and looking like a runway model, with my hair done up and my make-up and jewely and furs, and my rhinestone car...Honey, I'm a fricking drag queen, do you even know what that is? 

Oh, sure, take a drag queen out to eat and then sit there telling her how much you hate gay men. Good one.

TIP: Don't take a drag queen out to eat and then spend the night talking about how much you can't stand gay men. GOOGLE: drag queen.

May I direct you to the wiki page which explains the meaning of the flag on my car: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transgender_flags#Transgender_Pride_flag

Let me introduce you to the flags on my car: in order: Voodoo Priestess;  Scottish, Gypsy, Transgendered 

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CEuW5HaW0AANQvq.jpg:large

I repeat: if you are going to take a drag queen out to eat, don't spend the night talking about "those gays" & how much you don't like them.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transgender_flags#Alternative_transgender_flag_designs

Notice the color? pink, pink. pink, lilac, purple, blue...now let's look at my website: https://www.eelkat.com  notice anything? Like maybe the colour?

Google transgender, tranny, dragqueen, and two-spirited persons and know what it means before taking me out to eat again.

And if you read my books, how did you miss Etiole of the Twighlight Manor Series and Quaraun of the Quaraun series? My two GAY drag queen main characters, who are ubber gay to the max, screaming drag queens the both of them, either one of them making Liberace look straighter then a board.

Oh yes, and you've read every page of my website? I think you missed the ENTIRE 40 page section on being transgendered.

And then, he tells me, I should leave my husban to marry him instead? After he gets done ratting on how much he don't like the gays, and he's a real man, a macho man, a ladies man...don't lie & say you read my books & my website, then brag how macho you are because you don't like gay men, & think I should marry you. Me! Sugar Pie - if you don't like gay men, why should I leave my man to marry you? Explain that one...really, try to explain that one to me! If you hate gay men, Sugar Pie, then what are you doing chasing after me? I'm a drag queen, Honey, I don't hide that fact. Don't you know what that means?

Don't try to impress a tranny, with how macho ladies man you are and how you ain't like those gayz...and damn, you shouldn't try to pick up a woman that way either...putting other people down to make yourself sound big? only makes you small. Men who try to be big macho guys by putting gay men down to try to impress a woman are so annoying, esp when they do it to someone like me.

He kept talking about his gay friend while adding every time "we hang out but I'm not gay" and "he did blah, blah, blah, but you know what those gays are like"...yep, I sure do. 

Oh yes, my readers know, what happens next - I'm so having someone do this to Quaraun in my next book. 

But the nerve of this man. He hates gay men, but has read ALL my books & LOVES them? What the fuck? And yet the only thing I write is gay fiction with lots gay fuking going on. The men in my books are always fucking each other. They is horny as heck and chasing after each other all the time. The books ain't about sex, but they got sex in them.

And this guy is trying to butter me up, telling me he's read my books and thinks they are just wonderful? Hey, here's a tip for you: don't tell an author you read their books unless you ACTUALLY read their books! I'm gonna know if you read them or not by what you say about them. I mean, I did write them after all, I do know what I wrote.

I asked him, if he'd ever read gay fiction "Nooooo, wouldn't touch the stuff"...REALLY? ...and yet he claims to have read my books...good one!

He is lucky that I am a well bred aristocrate with dignety and manners. Were I crude like an American woman, I would have tossed my hot tea in his face. 

NEWSFLASH: This drag queen, is not impressed. No, she isn't. And she's now going to write a book about how this sort of thing make her feel. 

Throughout the night, I was reminded again and again, how utterly selfish and self-centered this man was. He talked a good talk of careing for others, but he was very much thinking only of himself, and that is one trait I very much do not like in a man.

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

This man, knows me well enough to know I was only 12 years old...and, made a point of spending a full 40 minutes putting my husband down, and saying he will "help me" file charges against him and put him in prison as a pedophile, if I agree to marry him. Oh my. He never had a chance with me, to begin with, but if he had, that's the thing that would lost me right there. Gypsies put family first. You DO NOT ask a Gypsy to turn on family EVER. I love this man, I been with him for 28 years. I don't care, how much my age, irks your narrow American mind, I will NEVER turn on my husband EVER. but I won't think twice of turning anyone who asks me to turn on my family. This Dude crossed a bad line, when he said that about my husband.

So, this guy, who claims to know me SO WELL, because he's read everything I've written, is scarfing down one hambuger after another and yapping about his mother's world travel adventures, which were my grandmothers travel adventures (and I have all the travel books and photos of her at those locations to prove it), is now saying he has to smoke, and continues talking about talking to god and Jesus and being a prophet (boy does Biddeford have a lot of prophets talking to god in it because this is a completly different guy then the other two "prophets" I already mentioned). If he really had read anything I wrote about myself on my website, he would have not only known I was transgendered (and not what he was thinking I was) AND he would have known that Mormons don't drink coffee or tea or soda or eat meat or drink alcohal or smoke...and are of the belief that any person who does so is a sinner and going to hell no matter how much they claim otherwise and WE DON'T ASSOCIATE WITH PEOPLE WHO SEE NOTHING WRONG WITH CORRUPTING THEIR BODY!

The body is a holy temple of the lord, a sacred vessal and if you are stuffing it full of smoke, you are saying to god, you don't give a rat's ass about the glorious gift he gave you. And i say that, many, many,, many times on my website, on many page. I had several Squidoo lenses devoted just to that topic and he also claimed to have read my Squidoo lenses. There are no smoking signs on my car, my motorhome, and on the trees in my yard.

He says to me: "I know you don't smoke, but everyone's gotta have at least one vice."

Really? Is that what you are gonna say to god when he's telling you, you can't go to heaven because you didn't take care of the body he gave you?

This guy is quote Bible verses all night long, and yet, he's smoking?

Read the Bible jackass: The story of the man who gave the talents (a type of coin) to his servents. Do you know what that story means? No? Let me tell you:

A man had to go away on a trip, he had 14 coin. To his most trusted servent he gave 10 coins for safe keeping. To his second servent he gave 3 coins for safe keeping. To his other servent he gave only one coin. The man went on his trip and was gone for a very long time. After many months he returned. He went to his servents and asked: What did you do with the coins I entrusted in your care?

The first servent said: I took them and used them wisely and now instead of 10 coins I have 30 coins to return to you.

The second servent said: I took them and used them wisely and now instead of 3 coins I have 6 coins to return to you.

The third servent said: Master, I knew you were a hard man and greatly valued your coin, and so I took it and hid it in the dirt and but a barrle over it that no one would steal it from you. (He gives the dirty, carroded, ill cared for coin back to the Master.)

The Master says to the first servent:

Because you were good and faithful and took care of the things I gave you and made them better then they were when I gave them to you, I shall give you your own lands and your own house and your own servents and I shall return the 30 coins to you.

The Master says to the second servent:

Because you were good and faithful and took care of the things I gave you and made them better then they were when I gave them to you, though not as well as you could have done, I will make you the chief over my other servents and give the 6 coins back to you.

The Master says to the third servent:

Because you were a lazy and slothful servent, who hid the things I gave you, and corrupted them, returning them to me damaged, I shall make you a slave in the household of my first servent, and this dirty coin I will give to him, for he knows how to take care of the things I entrusted to him.

People today, often translate this story to mean, your gifts, things you are good at doing, your talents, and hobbies because the name of the coin in the story is a talent. HOWEVER, it is about ALL THINGS the Master (God) has given you, including your body. And if you do not take care of your body and return it to god in better condition then he gave it to you, he will take it away from you, and you will not be allowed in heaven, you will be a slave to the angels. And THAT is why I do not smoke, drink coffee, or eat meat, or have sexual relationships with anyone other then my husband.

Oh, and don't go waiting for him to die or for me to leave him, because I got news for you Honey, being with only one man, MEANS being with ONLU ONE MAN. If he dies, I'm not going to replace, with you or anyone else, because my body is a temple of the lord, and will not defile it, but ever being with a second man.

We are Gypsies: we don't believe in divorce, remarriage, sex outside of marriage, or ever having sex with second person - EVER.

You shit assed American lust bucket fuck heads, need to get that through your brains and leave us Gypsy women alone. Unlike you, we have morals, and we actually live them, we don't just talk about them in church on Sunday and then return to our sin on the weekdays, like a dog returns to it's vomit. We will NOT cast our pearls among your swine.

Think on that for a while: we see your perverted, lustful, sex crazed, women chaseing men as swine. And the Bibles warns us to stay away from the swine, come out from among them, do not live with them, do not walk among them, shake their dust from our feet, that it that it may not contaminate our purity.

I am not available and you American jackasses need to get that through your head. No ammount of sweet talking or giving me gifts or buying me meals or finding excuses to spend time with me, is ever going to convince me to cheat on my husband. And after he's gone, the answer is still the same. He is my mate, in the this life and the next. When he is gone, he will waiting in heaven for me, and I will not destroy our relationship in this life or the next life, just because you can't keep it in your pants whenever I'm around.

Or yeah and guess, what, telling me your horny or aching or any of those others thing: I carry a machette; you pull your cock out around me and I WILL cut it off and nail it to my front door. Don't you dare think I won't.

You men think you are being so cool, with all your stupid talk: I'm not impressed with your trashy lifestyle and immoral ways. You are we call evil.

Now granted, I only the American men who up here in the wilds of Maine. Perhaps men elsewhere in the country are not so bold as the men around here are. I wouldn't know. I've never lived anywhere else, but I can tell you this: the american men here in Maine, they do paint a pretty picture of American society. and if they are an example of what men are like in the rest of the country, they we want no part of their lifestyle. Your lewd, crude, vulgar men are too busy chasing after everyone else's wives to settle down and raise a family.

You want to prove to me you are a good family man (as several men have said to me)...guess what: when you try to convince a woman, to leave her husband, because you are "better", the only thing you prove, is that you are a home wrecker, and NOT good family man material.

Several times throughout the night I tell the guy I have to be in court this week, I need to get my papers written so I can get my cats back. He brushes it off every time with "Yeah, yeah, but..." and then starts talking about either his old girlfriends, his gay buddy that he can't stop making anti-gay jokes about, or his mother.

I point out a couple of times that McDonald's has a "No Loitering" sign which plainly states "Please leave after 30 minutes" and has a warning that they will call the police if you are staying too long. (Homeless people hunkering down in businesses is a big problem in Biddeford, so these sorts of signs are not unusual in this area.) Every time I point this out, he goes up and buys himself another tray full of hamburgers (this guy reminds me of The Cookie Monster only with hamburgers) and points out that the sign says he can stay as long as he keeps eating. That is NOT what the sign says.

A few times he asks me to tell him about myself and each time he does, I start to talk about the cats being held hostage by the town to blackmail me out of paying my taxes. Each time I say this, I get about 2 sentance in before he says, "yeah, yeah, I don't want to hear about that, tell me about yourself."

At this point I just want to punch him in the face. Because those cats are my life. They are my family, and you don't want to hear about my cats, then Buddy, you really ain't going to like me, because there is a reason people around here call me the crazy cat woman, and it's because I real like cats. Cats is all I ever talk about. I have hundreds of pictures of my cats. I paint paintings of my cats. There are cats painted on my freaking car. 

You want to know about me and my life and what I do? It can be summed up in one word.

Cats! Cats! Cats! Cats! Cats!

I buy 80lbs of cat litter a week.

I buy 50lbs of catfood a week.

I buy turkeys, chickens, steaks, fish, hams, cheese, and milk, and every bit of it is food for my cats.

If you don't like my cats, then you sure as hell ain't gonna like me. There was one point in my life whyen I had 84 cats.

That is me. That is who I am.

Cats! Cats! Cats! Cats! Cats!

If you don't like cats, you ain't gonna like me, because I like cats, and like cats way better then I like people. I can live just fine without people.  

But no, you don't want to hear about cats? You want to hear about me? Cats is what I do. 

Cats. Cars. Comic Books. The three Cs, remember? I talk about the three Cs all the time. I don't talk about anything else. 

Cats. Cars. Comics.

If you don't want to hear about cats, cars, and comics, you don't want to spend time with me, because I don't talk about anything else.

You asked me, what was going on in my life right now, and I said, my cats were stolen and I'm trying to get them back, and that's as far as I get before you shut me off ad say you don't want tohear about cats you want to hear about me? Those cats ARE MY LIFE! There is nothing else I talk about, so if you don't want to talk about cats, i ain't got nothing to say to you at all.

So he says: "Well, tell me about religion, you're a religious person."

No. I'm not. I come from a long line of religion crazed lunatics, including members of Heaven's Gate, some of whom are still alive and are now waiting for another comet, because they say HaleBop was the wrong one.

He asks: "Well didn't you go to a lot of churches?"

Not of my own free will I didn't. I got dragged to five different churched every Sunday of my childhood, more churches on Saturday, and still more on Wednesdays and Fridays. And that doesn't include prayer meetings, tent revivals, or song services. From 7AM to 11PM every Sunday we was in church. There are lots of church in Maine and I've been to just about every one of them at one point or another, because my relatives are religion crazy. And people want to know why me and more brothers WILL NOT set foot in a church today?

I want NOTHING to do with church any more. They are filling with hypacrite who sit around patting each other on the back and puffing each others pride up. That ain't church, it's just a clubhouse.

But oh, you should have heard this guy. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. Religion. For three freaking HOURS.

I got to hear how he went to Jewish Synagogs and converted to Judisim, after many years of Catholicism, then went to Seventh Day Adventisim, and then became a Buddist. And then reached enlightenment and visited god and now he's a prophet, but he likes to call himself a mystic. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. For three hours.

And then he's quoteing stuff wrong. 

And then he's started reading poetry.

And then he tries to tell me he's like Edgar Allan Poe. No. He wrote Horror, lyrical Dr Suess style Horror. This guy has written long odes to religion. It's not the same thing at all. Poe wrote stories in poem format. He did not write odes to religion.

Then he tells me he's like Vincent Van Gothe, personality wise. And I'm thinking: Yow! That's scary. Vincent Van Gothe is the guy who stalked a woman for years and when she got married he cut his ear off and sent it to her as a wedding gift. He's not the type of person you want to be comparing yourself to when you are trying to impress a girl on a date, which is what he was now saying this was...and it wasn't, so I was becoming very uncomfortable with his now calling this "our first date".

This guy was starting to creep me out, espically when he was saying he was a prophet who talked to god in the same breath he was comparing himself to Vincent Van Gothe when it comes to love.

Then he starts telling me his entire family medical history, and how old everyone was when they died. He spends a few minutes bragging on longivity, and healthy stock, and how he and I would make great babies together.

Uhm...yeah...ooookaaaay. 

And this guy KNOWS I'm a drag queen, so I'm kind of wondering at this point, WHAT exactly he thinks a drag queen is, because, yeah, him and I making babies together, that really ain't happening any time soon. But hey, let's let the guy talk himself into a corner and see what else he says.

My entire life revolves around those cats, and if you don't want to hear about my fight to try to get them back after they were stolen from me, then, you sure as hell don't want to be near me, because once you dis my cats, all I want to do is rip the table off the wall and beat you in the head with it. How DARE you say my cats don't matter! I realize at this point I really need to leave, because, I have a short temper when it comes to protecting my cats and I've had it with this guy asking me to tell me about me and then saying he doesn't want to hear about the ONLY thing that is important to me. I'm just really wanting to punch this guy out at this point, and though I am sitting quietly, smiling, and knodding to every thing he says, inside, I'm turning into the Hulk and bashing his brains in, and I know my limits and I'm about at them at this point, so it's really time for me to leave before I lose it and just punch this guy out in the middle of the resturant.

So, these are the thoughts going through my head as this guy is scarffing down hamburgers and coffee, in between running out to smoke. I don't know how long this McDonald's stays open, it must be a 24hr one, because it got to be 2AM and he's still ordering more burgers and coffee for himself, and I'm getting too tired to drive because it's now 5 hours past my bedtime. I finaly get up and just go out to my car, because it is obvious this guy is simply never going to let me leave unless I just walk out on my own.

This guy has been very rudly sitting he eating in front of me for the past 5 hours, so now I'm hungry, So I look to see if I have any change in my purse, I find $3 in quarters, buy a large fry for $2.79 and go out to get in my car...

Ohmigawd! The guy goes nuts!

He's been sitting there happily yapping and gulping down food, sort of "sweet and innocent" in his manner, kind of like a kid, friendly and harmless.

But OMG! The moment I go out the door and head to my car, the guy flips out and starts going major nutjob meltdown on me, screaming at the top of his lungs and making a big scene:

"You can't leave me, the last woman that left me, left me because she was gay! She dumped me for a lesbian! You can't dump me too!"

I'm really trying not to laugh as I'm thinking, and not saying out loud, Buddy, at least your last gay woman was a lesbian, not a tranny drag queen. Good god!

And, wow, I've known this guy, what, 5 hours now, and he knows I'm married, I've told him multiple times I was not leaving my husband, I will not cheat on my husband, etc, etc, etc. He's flipping out and going total nut bags on me, and he's acting like we have been a couple for decades and I'm ripping his heart out by breaking up with him...and yet, I don't even know who this guy is, he's a total stranger to me, whom I only just meet 5 hours ago!

Okay, NEWSFLASH: Just because YOU have been reading my books/blogs/sites for YEARS and you THINK you are my best friend and lover because you've read so much about me over the years, doesn't me I know a thing about you or have any clue who you are. OKAY?

You are a fan of mine. I get that. And I try to be nice to fans. I try to be friendly and talk and if they want to have dinner at MacDonland's okay, I do that. Honey - I've gone out to eat with DOZENS of my fans and readers, okay? It's just something I do, to be nice to them. It DOES NOT mean, I'm your girlfriend or that we are out on a date. 

I am married. Or as married as people like us can be, given the laws of the country. I have a wonderful, kind and loving partner, whom I have been with for 28 years. I have no intention of leaving him. And when he dies, I have no intention of replacing him. I WILL remain alone.

And I'm watching this guy and listening to the stuff he's saying (all his plans for me and him to get married and settle down and have lots of babies, and raise rotweilers, blah, blah, blah...) and now I'm wondering about ALL those dozens of "girlfriends" he had listed as having. How they all broke up with him after only a few dates.

Yeah.

If all those "dates" where anything like this "date", I can see why he's had so many "girlfriends" break up with him. Of course, I'm still trying to figure out how he came to the conclusion we were out on a date to begin with, or how we got from, a first date to plans of weddings, houses, babies, ad rotweilers. 

Okay, and why rotweilers? I don't even know where that came from. He just threw that in there. Him and I are supposed to live happily ever after, breeding rotwilers? What? o_0 

First off, I'm not a dog person. I always have a dog, but it's always a small dog. I DO NOT like big dogs. And by big dogs I mean anything over 20lbs. The bigger the dog the less I like it and a rotweiler is a 100lb dog.

Here's the thing: I have been injured by big dogs multiple times, both as a child and as an adult. I've had DOZENS of my pets killed by a nieghbor's pack of big dogs that they refused to keep leashed. 

As a child, my parents had a herd - a herd- of big dogs. I used to run in terror, as eight (8) big dogs would leap over the fence and all land on me at once. They were all friendly, but I was only a toddler. I couldn't have weighed more then 40lbs and here were 8 dogs, each over 75lbs all landing on me at once: it hurt. I was daily getting bloody noses, bloody lips, black eyes, etc. I lost multiple teeth. Several times I had a concusion from the dogs slamming my head on the ledge rocks in the yard. My parents cared more about the herd of big dogs then they did me. When the dogs jumped on me and smashed my head open and I ran inside with blood gushing down my head, face, and neck, they laughed and said "Ooooooh how cuuuute!" I've been pushed down stars by big dogs. I've had bones broken by big dogs.

I have a MASSIVE  phobia of big dogs. I can't even be in the same room as a big dog without freaking out and going into seizures, caused by a massive fear of big dogs. I have PTSD and big dogs are one of the triggers.

So, for this guy to be planning our marriage 5 hours after we meet, and talking about me being his wife and helping him raise rotweilers...this is yet another indication that this guy is INCREDIBLY selfish, self centered, and inconsiderate of those around him...as if I needed more proof of this fact.

This section of this article has been removed from this excerpt. This page is now an excerpt of a book, instead of an online article. The entire article is no longer available to be read for free online and is now a chapter of the book How We Gypsies See The Americans. To read all 10,000 words of the original full article you will have to GO HERE.

This guy is just going nuts, screaming that I'm ripping out his heart and breaking up with him...oh good god! I guess he was right when he said he was like Van Gothe.

So I sit down on the curb and watch the guy have a psychotic meltdown, as he starts lighting one cigarette after another and drinking coffee left and right while he's screaming: 

"I'm bi-polar! I have post traumatic stress disorder! I have manic depression!..."

I'm thinking...okay, bi-polar, well, I can certainly SEE that! The whole town can see it. All the customers have come out of Micky-Ds and are standing outside gawking. The workers are also standing outside. The manager is looking at his cell phone like he's trying to decide if he should call the police or not. A crowd gathers around my rhinestoned car and starts taking pictures of my car, angling the cameras so they can get the crazy guy with long unbrushed hair and dirty tobacco stained beard screaming and tossing cigarettes and coffee around.

And he's listing off one mental illness after another...

"My psychologist says..."

and

"I have 3 dozen psychiatrists!"

Oh, ONLY 3 dozen, eh? Sure you don't need any more.

And I'm thinking...oh no, not another one. This is another of of the paitents that got let lose in Biddeford after Pine Land Center shut down, isn't it? Good god! They are EVERYWHERE in this town.

But this guy is just going major nut job on me here, and he's acting like we are a couple, and this is only the second time in my entire life, that I have ever seen him. This guy is like Joel Bailey all over again. Omg! Do remember Joel Bailey? Yei! That man stalked me for years.

Damn, these men that follow me around. What is wrong with them? And why do they keep coming after me? I mean, why me? Of all the girls they could find to go after, why do so many of them run after me?

But damn, this guy was just nuts, and I'm just wow...why are guys like this always so atrracted to me?

Then, as suddenly as he flips out, he goes back to being the laid back, yappy dude that can't stop talking. 

And here's where it gets really weird, the next thing he does it sits down on the curb beside me and says: "So what do you think of me? Am I cute? Sexy? Funny? Think we can go out on another date? Where you impress?"

I'm still trying to figure out how he thought this was a first date to begin with and now he wants a second date? Wait a minute? What? This wasn't a date! This was some psycho crazed fan boy blubbering that he was going to kill himself if I didn't meet him for coffee. I mean, next love-sick blubbering fanboy that does this, I'm just gonna ignore him and let him kill himself, because I don't need the stress of having to deal with this.

And was I impressed? Seriously? You act like a juvaline delinquent from Lord ofthe Flies and think I'm gonna be impressed? The thing you have to remember is: my cats have a deadline on their lives. The town is demanding randsom money or they are going to kill my cats, and when I said this, the guy said "Well, I'd like to help, but..." and then he listed off a long list of absolutly everything he could think of.

Newsflash: those cats are my children, and if you haven't got any care to help me save their live, then I don't have any care about your sorry waste of an existance at all. It's as simple as that. You REALLY want to impress me? The town wants $5,000 in exchange for my cats' lives. You want to impress me, the only thing that'll work is moving hell and earth to do everything in your power to keep my cats alive, otherwise, I want nothing to do with.

And since you asked: Cute? Sexy? No. I got a thing for clean shaven blue-eyed blonds with German accents and if you had ever read a single one of my books you would have known that. 

And, you're too young for me. Part of his "sales pitch" was the fact that he was close to my own age (he is 53). Okay, let's go back to my books for a minute. Anyone who ACTUALLY knows me, knows I am insanly head over heals in love with Roderic Swanzen owner of The Twighlight Manor. A man whose age is unknown (in excess of 500 years) and is described as "looked to be about 90 years old, were he a human". He is an albino, with ghastly pale skin, and blue eyes so pale they almost look white, and silvery platnium hair, now turned pure white.

Okay, this guy, when he was in our yard taking to me, he also saw, meet, and talked to my partner. For those who don't know, my partner is not a Gypsy, nor is he an American. He is from Austria, and he's almost as white as an albino, has icey pale blue eyes, so pale they look white (even more so now that the pupils have clouded over silver with cateracts), and as an elderly man his hair has gone pure white, but in his younger days it was naturally nearly white silver blond. He's GORGEOUS! I can stare at him for hours. He is the most mesmerizingly, hypnotically beautiful man I have ever seen...and he's got a German accent. I love it! He is like, absolute perfection.

Look at the men in my books: Roderic, Etiole, Razz, Quaraun....I got a whole bevy of georgous, blue-eyed blonds with pearl coloured skin, and they are all old and ancent and speak with an accent, and there's a reason for it: I based everyone of them off of my partner.

Now that is not to say this man is not cute or sexy for someone elses's perspective. I simply have two basic types of men I am attracted to: super pale blue-eyed albinos, and Asian men, or black Asian men.  If you want me to think you are cute or sexy, you have to be either an albino or an Asain, because those are the only two types of guys that really do anything for me at all. So, well, you can see why I flipped head over heels for Lord Sesshomaru right? OMG! He's an albino Japanesse man! He's the two best looking types of men in one man, I love him! And yes, I know he's a cartoon, but I still love him. But that's what is boils down to: if you ain't albino or Asian, I'm not attracted to you. I'm just not attracted to any other type of men. Sorry.

I meet this man once who was half black and half Asian, and he was soooooo pretty! I've never been able to get him out of my head, and so he's the person I designed Unicorn to look like. Unicorn is described as a black Asian man with a Welsh accent and wild long dreadlocks, because I once saw a black Asian man with a Welsh accent and long wild dreadlocks and he was gorgeous, I've no idea who he was, but as soon as I saw him, I knew I had to design a character based off of him and so I created Unicorn. 

My partner once had this idea that he'd be a polygamist, but he asked for my permission. I said only if I could have an extra husband for every extra wife he got to have. He changed his mind after that. But it he had agreed to it, I would have had him, all nice and pearly albino white, and a whole harem full of Japanese and Cantonese men. I love the Bishies.

And then there is something to be said of the clothes making the man. Do notice that my partner often wears a suit and tie, and that hen not in suit and tie, he's wearing a clean, long sleeved, button front, cotton dress shirt. He wears navy blue suits and pink shirts, that beautifully match his eyes and complexion.

Clean, well pressed, color coordinated, matching his skin tone and eyes. Looks like an aristocrat. Carries himself proudly, without slouching, when he walks.

So, nope, wild eyed, long (tobacco stained) beard, long (unbrushed) haired, crazy mountain man, dressed in the miss matched rags of a homeless bum, doesn't turn me on at all.

Oh and then there is Joel Bailey. If you are one of my long time readers, you'll remember him, boy oh boy will you ever remember him. But for those of you who are only just discovering me, let me introduce you to the (married) man who was by far the most persistent and annoying of any man to ever set his sight on forcing me against my will to marry him...

(end of book excerpt...you can read more here)

Other cultures must do what the Americans requires or be punished and destroyed. THAT is the American way. We find your egotistical arrogance, you cruel insensitivity, your lack of kindness or compassion,  your back-biting back-stabbing thievery, and your heavy handed bullying to be distasteful. 

That is how we Scottish Gypsies see you.