Plot Outline ~ Episode 4 ~ The Shit Hits The Fan

Based entirely on the machinations of Desperate Douchebags of the Valley:

Watch in horror as the character we all love to hate Catty McNasty befriends the naive and unsuspecting – well, she did suspect in season three but that was covered in the season’s finale – Kari TrustYourGutbberg. Deftly worming her way into Kari’s world, borrowing household items, staying at Kari’s home, Catty hides her true colours for a time.

After several years of friendship in a wider circle of other blissfully unaware friends and acquaintances, Kari’s world explodes leaving her bereft, terrified of leaving her home and suicidal. Reaching for her friends in these hours of greatest need, Kari is puzzled and later profoundly hurt by the resounding silence from her circle of support. Efforts to connect are rebuffed, including a spectacularly rude rejection from Catty when Kari offers help via an email.

Pieces fall in to place over time as it’s revealed that her “friend” has been entertaining Kari’s  former spouse, all the while never offering a word of support or concern – let alone offering a meal or movie to her! Suspicion grows in Kari’s normally empathetic and trusting heart as taunting photos appear on Catty’s social media of activities that Kari knows her spouse is doing. Meanwhile, what the world doesn’t know is that Kari and Rocque still speak on respectful terms and Kari is not afraid to ask him the tough questions. The last straw is seeing Catty trying to insinuate herself into the lives of Kari’s children – the line has been crossed but more evidence of Catty’s lack of any shred of human decency is yet to come…

In the explosive finale, Kari learns that not only did Catty try to move into Kari’s home, family and bed – before it even had a chance to cool – her most disgusting and desperate move has been to initiate a smear campaign against Kari. It is with complete shock, dismay and nausea that Kari learns the depth of Catty’s depravity… little wonder so many of Kari’s friends turned their backs! Kari has been “shacked up with another guy”. Oddly, not a single person knows this, including Kari or said (silent, invisible, fictitious) guy. Poor Kari already wounded, gun shy and lonely, checks with her true friends and family and they verify that no, she isn’t living with anyone, not in a fugue state and not with TV amnesia to boost ratings. In fact, Kari would have to Google “guy”, “man”, “fella” to be sure what one is!!

It all becomes clear after a chance meeting and Kari, heart broken by the betrayal but finally vindicated, feels she can now begin to reclaim her life.

Tune in next week to watch the fallout from these revelations. Will Catty finally be hit by the Karma bus? Does anyone know how a chance remark about her selfish nature, bizarre jealousies and desperate clinginess has given Kari hope? Will the other women in The Valley wake up to the shark in their goldfish bowl?

Stay tuned for the following messages from our sponsor Tide has Turned.

10 May 2015
~ kei

“Don’t try to screw up someone else’ life with a lie when yours can be screwed with the truth” ~ unknown

And really, really… don’t screw with a writer.

Meanwhile, Back At The Internet Café

I wrote this at the height of the “Gaslighting” phase of my two-year relationship with a Narcissist Predator. It’s really strange to go back and read my poetry and short stories from the period. Such highs! Such lows… So much love and romance but also black despair and suicidal tendencies. Scrolling through my journals, I found this draft and smiled a little. It is a sarcastic satirical and black-humoured piece. I was trying to cope with the assemblage of hoydens he’d gathered by writing about them the way he talked about them – never could figure why they just kept on lurking despite his insistence that “they were stalkers, knew he was engaged, were jealous of me”… Anyywaayy…
What I see now is the inkling of my comprehension of the pattern, how Apaths of varying degrees fit in to my story, lending credence, alibis or window-dressing as he required. Truly amazing, the effort he expended to keep me fooled or manipulate me to do certain things (my favourite was “Baby, would you comment more on my blog? People love to see us as a real couple, not just our books”) The funniest part is that “The Ladies” written about here are indeed real people, unlike some of the ones he created. Bruce Jenner had nothing on my poet! And I can actually smile, if ruefully at that today.

~~~~~

When I look back on how it all went down, I see it as if I was in a horror movie, a very bad, B-grade horror movie.

You know the ones, where you’re in a normal place, doing regular things and you look up to see that everything has gone to black and white. What you thought were people have all morphed into scary doll creatures or zombies and they’ve all turned to stare at you. Meanwhile, bit players drop in and out, talking to the zombie vampire people, buying their coffees, talking and laughing and totally oblivious to the fact that we are now all in a Hammer Film production. You look at this and wonder, like I still do; how can they not see the evil intent? How can they not know that those smiling mouths are full of lies and those pious old gals, gardening grannies and wholesome looking farmers’ daughter types are all bent on messing with lives out of unbridled jealousy and hatred and for their own twisted amusement? You want to yell, “Don’t open the door!” to the protagonist but… it’s you.

All of that came later though. When I first stumbled across it, the cafe was a fun place to be, good eats, good coffee and the owner had a smile and a poem for everyone. It was easy to see that the regulars at the banquette table at the back were indulging in some pretty serious geriatric flirting with the Café owner. He took it good naturedly, and it was nice to see that even those who could barely spell; always received a kind word of encouragement. There were no signs of the undercurrents of crazy when everyone connected to this story first met. Actually, in a Stepford Wives way, the regulars welcomed newcomers in.
That’s how I first became acquainted with them. The Ladies. Or as I later came to think of them: The Post Menopausal & Poseur Poetaster Club, of the Internet Poetry Café.
I like alliteration. Deal with it.

You remember how it was, right? Lots of laughs, inspiration and folks coming and going at all hours, The Ladies gathered at their table; Hist’mina Munchhausen Fibthorne – “Wheezy” to her friends, Maia Witless Artesian, Guerensy Rime Mooerson and Cheri Del’Usional Aprils. All chatting it up with the cafe owner, smiles, moues, coy glances and “What do you think of my stories?” “Can you help me with this sonnet?”

Who ever would have guessed that such ordinary looking grannies, could harbour thoughts worthy of “Arsenic and Old Lace”, not to mention a healthy dose of “Fatal Attraction?” Fitting analogy that. A tale of sinister plots, deceptive old dolls and a plot twist: married and attached gals who would lie, cheat and write their own men out of the script for a chance to get into the handsome Café owner’s pants.

I never would have guessed, naive I suppose. I saw a nice place to stop in to, my battered journals in hand and to share some thoughts with the regulars, The Ladies of the Banquette. Mentors, right? That’s what I was thinking at first.

Monsters, more like.

More like indeed! Like attracts like doesn’t it? As the Café grew in popularity, newcomers joined the original self-appointed harem.  Des DoubledipmyBunn and Anglésa BlueWindyChapeau decided to write themselves in. Fortunately, the Café owner was more a fan of Albert Camus than Archie comics.

Then there was me. Quietly observing, scribbling away as I always had . How could I know that the Café owner would take an interest in my stories? Who ever would have thought that this would so stir the ire of The Ladies and later, their minions? Not me. That’s for damn sure. I walked in there like a lamb to slaughter, they had their poisoned pens aimed and the hot flashes got hotter.

But that’s another story for another day…

~ kei
2013 sometime…

From The Diary Of A Lady ~ Two

~ Excerpt 5 May xxxx

This is the private journal of Lady Karin Elizabeth Tupper Bole-ington the Third by Proxy.

At last Dear Diary, I have recovered from the festivities. One finds it hard to believe that not so long ago, soirées lasting into the small hours were the norm at least each fortnight. My daughter, the most beautiful and talented Lady Caitlyn Elizabeth Bole-ington Ghadbanishness of Doom comported herself with customary aplomb, much to the delight of her companion mummers and those in attendance. The Amazing Mummers of M’Alice Cooperson regaled the house with new material in the form of old songs sung by the first troubadour of Cooper, “Alice” himself. It was plain to see that even those long past their lessons, were happy to agree in tuneful form that indeed, the institution of learning is out for summer. I myself Diary, cannot condone the hooliganism of blowing the school to pieces however, I hope this was just the enthusiasm of the moment. The visual extravaganza came off without a hitch and the tavern keep must be well-pleased with this take from the evening. Frivolity and the imbibing of spirits abounded!

I must have been a fright when our carriage dropped me off at my door right at the Witching Hour – how very appropriate! I was bursting with pride at my offspring’s success and mightily pleased that the full body armour extra lycra corsetery of Spanx held through the evening and through my preening like a proud mother peahen.

It is somewhat vexing that the two strong acolytes that should have come with my purchase of particularly lovely high-heeled slippers, did not arrive with said purchase. I shall know to inspect the parcel before wearing them to another venue of no seating, much dancing – though fortunately none of the new-fangled “body surfing”! Henceforth, I will wear my suitable and sensible shoes from the wonderful cobbler Dr. Marten.

It could be said Dear Diary, that performances go smoothly in all aspects and there is a minimum of tomfoolery. In truth, I attend these events to ensure Lady Caitlyn’s virtue. There are many randy lordlings and no lack of lords that I would find rather stale-dated who vie for her affections. I know she finds my presence reassuring and I think I’m most subtle in my approach though I admit, my dexterity with a hockey stick and the posterior of some… less erudite suitors is not always appreciated.  Fortunately, these are infrequent occurrences. Sigh… some people’s offspring. It does provide for much merriment in the “Book Of Faces” that is shared among boroughs and districts far and wide.

The evening’s entertainments included party favours and apparel. I was particularly pleased that Lady Caitlyn’s image is emblazoned upon the chemise heralding the name of the mummers’ troupe along with her stalwart mAlice Cooper compatriots.

©Karin Bole Tupper

Alice Cooper Tribute mALICE & Monsters
They’re on Facebook 🙂

Pleased too, that my “Bridesmaid’s Bound” remains as quick as ever. I was able to obtain, with minimal damage to myself or any masonry, a strange, though cheerfully bright eye patch. I’m sure it will be useful should the next event be a costume ball. How very festive I shall look!

©Karin Bole Tupper

What all the pirates wear!
What? It IS and eye patch right?

And now Dear Diary, I think I have relayed all the evening’s cheer, tomfoolery and good companionship. I must now close and apply a little more salve to the chafe marks left by the corset of Spanx and mayhap place an order with the Apothecary for more Spackle and headache powders…

~ kei (the erstwhile Lady Karin, etc. etc. and I swear I won’t do this to your poor eyes again!)
5 May 2015

From The Diary Of A Lady

~ Excerpt 2 May xxxx

This is the private journal of Lady Karin Elizabeth Tupper Bole-ington the Third by Proxy.

A lovely soirée is planned for this evening. My daughter, the most beautiful and talented Lady Caitlyn Elizabeth Bole-ington Ghadbanishness of Doom will be performing at a lovely venue with her musical retinue, The Amazing Mummers of M’Alice Cooperson.

I am most singularly perturbed and wishing greatly for a fainting couch, unfortunately stolen for the purpose of repaying debts, by the cad Sir – though he doesn’t merit his father’s title – Limpnoodleston Swindless of Perfidoria, my erstwhile beau and failed spaghetti merchant. It’s been a fortnight times thirty-six weeks since my last foray to the Opera District and I am in something of a dither!

A pox upon great-grand-aunty-cousin-twice-removed-theodosia-karmelina-snickelfritz-bottomsupendish for passing down this purple hair!!
It is so-o-o-o vexing having to match the shade of violet damson plum without my maidservants about to help me.
God knows how I’ll lace myself into the cantilever underpinnings of Spanx for this evening’s festivities…

In truth, the assigned duties of parent and the requisite societal requirement to be not only presentable but… fun… are enough to give me the vapours! I do look forward, dearest diary to having delightful tales and tidbits to share of the evening when I return to you tomorrow.

~ kei (the erstwhile Lady Karin, etc. etc.)
2 May 2015

fainting_couch1

The Preface

I paused for a moment, watching the haze of condensation on the outside of my wine glass.

“Yes. It’s true that I made some bad decisions and telling myself that they were made with best of intentions… well, we can talk about that crap later. Bottom line is, I never pretended to be someone’s friend and then moved in on their husband the second that the wife was out of the picture.”

The interviewer leaned forward, setting down his glass of wine. This part of the story was off the record. He looked at me from under lowered brows, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped. His phone was off, he’d kept his word.

All I wanted was for my side of the story to be heard. Too many people had formed opinions based on their own narrow little worlds, their own wants and needs. Not a fucking one of them ever stopped to consider that I loved my husband. Always had, always would.

Sometimes, there just has to be a bad guy and for whatever reason… some of my  so-called friends had decided to cast me in that role.

As if they’d been able to convince themselves that somehow, I deserved to be lied to. Deserved to be cheated on. Deserved the betrayal that they thought I’d committed.
I guess it’s how they justified their betrayal of me…

… to be continued

~ kei
6 February 2015

~~~~~

Shelter me in love that’s shaped like the bay
Keep my heart safe from the storm and the waves

A Lifetime Ago Lake

A Lifetime Ago Lake ©Karin Bole Tupper

 

Le Retourné ~ Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers prompt for 31 October 2014.

What is Friday Fictioneers? Rochelle presents a challenge to write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end, based upon a picture that she provides on her blog.

Here is today’s picture prompt (below):

©Melanie Greenwood

©Melanie Greenwood

Le Retourné

Word Count: 101

We’d been meeting here for almost six weeks. Five since I arrived in Montreal. I didn’t know a soul, she wouldn’t ordinarily speak with a stranger but we’d struck up a friendship. I’d spent two nights sketching her portrait and hoped she’d like it.

I was sorry to see the modern renovations, sorrier that she never came after that. I inquired for her of the Manager, who paled a little to see my sketch.

“Mam’selle”, said the Manager, “That is Lucette, she waited tables here in the 1960’s. They just recovered her bones from the banks at Rapides du Cheval Blanc.”

Genre: Fiction

©kei
29 October 2014

Sunday Photo Fiction ~ Remember Me

Sunday Photo Fiction: October 26 2014

Here is a description of the challenge from the blog, Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Alastair Forbes:

“Every week on a Sunday, a new photo is used as a prompt for Flash Fiction challenge using around 200 words based on that image. Your story does not have to be exactly what the item in the photo is, you can make it anything you want, and enjoy what you write, and we will as well.”

Here is today’s photo challenge:

©A Mixed Bag

©A Mixed Bag

Remember Me

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 203

~~~~~

I watch him, as he lies sleeping. Hidden in a shadow so I don’t disturb him.

The woman sleeping beside him yawns as I draw closer. She’s an older version of the woman who stands beside him in the framed photo at his bedside.

He stirs as I draw close, yawning and sitting up at the side of his bed. I’m surprised that his dark hair is silvered. He casts a glance at the woman then looks right at me smiling as he quietly opens a nightstand drawer and picks up another photograph.

I smile to see it. There is the dark hair and brilliant cerulean eyes I know. His arm is round my shoulders and he’s looking straight at the photographer, who’s captured us in a kiss. I smile and give his shoulder a little squeeze. That was a beautiful autumn day just like this one. I do wish that he didn’t seem sad; it’s our engagement photo. The date on it is today’s, the year though… Silly boy, he has my ring on a chain round his neck. Perhaps we’ll go out to the lake again, though I can’t remember the way there anymore.

My memories stop on the #309 highway.

~ kei
26 October 2014

~~~~~

Samhain is one of the major Wiccan Sabbats and is celebrated at the same time as Hallowe’en. At Samhain, the veil between the world of the living and of the dead is at its most thin. It is traditionally a time to honour and say goodbye to loved ones.

Aside

Der Erzahler of Der Erzahler Musings is hosting a Hallowe’en writing challenge. You can read about it here.

The entries were requested to be in by 17 October 2014 and the posting has begun!

Please take a look at the pieces submitted for this prompt, they promise to be a wide range of styles, all with the theme of Hallowe’en.

If you’d like to read my submission, it can be found here. Please note before you click, this piece is explicit and not suitable for readers under 18.

Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend!

~ kei
25 October 2014

More From Grade Seven

I confess to having a wee crush on my grade seven English teacher (who is still very much alive and now a principal at an Elementary school in my neighbourhood and consequently, shall remain nameless).

Initially had a “girl crush”.

Unfortunately, it would seem that her interest in one of our gym teachers (who shall also remain nameless but by way of describing his comb over ‘fro, shall be known to some) was of greater import than nurturing fledgling writers. In fairness, I was still planning a career as a ballerina and so Mrs. … err… “X”, could be forgiven her oversight, though not her taste in paramours.

Writing has gone through many changes in what is and what is not correct. I have experience in Business, Medical and Technical writing and all embrace different sets of “rules”.

I hate rules. This is a lifelong affliction with me (ask my parents or kids) and if you are a lover of rules, please do feel free to bugger off now.

No rules are tolerated here. Writing for personal enjoyment and in particular writing fiction, is an intensely personal thing and quite frankly, as an adult-type person (or so I’m told) I henceforth and forthwith, declare a moratorium on all rules of spellering and grammatification on any of my blogs.  Ever. Ad Infinitum. Until I’m discovered. By Stephen King. We shall commiserate about rules and collaborate on horrificly, harrowing, horror stories.

With a lot of alliteration. Because… fuck the rules.

Back to grade seven. Mrs. R, gave me a B- on a project that in my opinion, contained some of my better stories. I’ve been writing stories since I was… umm… around five years old I think. I have some illustrated books I made (thanks Mum!) from about that time. I threw my pre-teen heart and soul into the stories that were to reflect the project theme: Oceans and Seas (in the last half hour before I had to hand it in) and expected that Mrs. “X” would be pleased, if not impressed.

Quite frankly, I’ve never recovered from that B-. (Only a little facetious)

I hated school by that time; was bullied by boys and girls alike and having made the effort to impress someone who I saw as a kindred spirit, was crushed utterly by that “B”. The “B” incidentally, had nothing to do with grammar but with my half-arsed effort at creating maps. All I can say to that is “Hell yeah, GPS!! My imagination far outweighed my writing skills at the time but I still rather like this particular piece about meeting the Loch Ness Monster. Said meeting has not yet occurred but Scotland is still on  my bucket list.

Without further ado, obfuscation, innuendo, oblique, sarcastic rhetoric, extraneous verbosity, et al: Here is (in its entirety and unedited edition), “The Creature Of Loch Ness”

~~~~~

I was standing on the edge of Lochness in Scotland. All at once to my surprise a monster rose up out of the water and looked at me with his big, green eyes.
“Sir”, I said, quite unaware he was the Lochness monster, “Do you know of any large sea animals that go around Lochness eating fair maidens”?
The ugly creature answered quite plainly and clearly and he said the only animal he new (sic) of was his cousin Herman in Philadelphia. “He has a habit of eating fair maidens when he comes here. After I’m mistaken for him and blamed for his atrocious table manners.”
By now a large crowd had gathered and they to began to question my friend. Little children plunged into the water to play with him. He used his tail as a slide and he could ride twelve children on his back. People stared in amazement, and then they swam into the water to play.
In a few months tourists started pouring in to see the “super, collosal, giant Lochness Monster”. It was quite a show.
The Lochness turned into a beach, all because I had discovered television’s favourite talk show celebrity, Mr. Monster!
I was – pardon me – we were, just packing our bags to go to Paris, when I woke up… and to my surprise, looked up at a monster with big, green eyes.

© K. Tupper, Grade 7, English project composition from “The Wondrous Sea”

Little-Mermaid-and-Sea-Dragon

Sunday Photo Fiction ~ Elizabeth Again

Sunday Photo Fiction: October 19 2014

Here is a description of the challenge from the blog, Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Alastair Forbes:

“Every week on a Sunday, a new photo is used as a prompt for Flash Fiction challenge using around 200 words based on that image. Your story does not have to be exactly what the item in the photo is, you can make it anything you want, and enjoy what you write, and we will as well.”

Here is today’s photo challenge:

©A Mixed Bag 2014

©A Mixed Bag 2014

Elizabeth Again

Genre: Fictionalized History

Word Count: 199

~~~~~

I couldn’t contain my excitement, gazing for at least the tenth time through the lens trying to catch sight of the steamer.

After several years of hopes, prayers and endless disappointments; a ray of hope had come my way at a quilting bee last spring. The first of the “Home Children” would be looking for families here in Ontario. I couldn’t contain a little rush of tears when John and I received the letter confirming, a girl would be coming to us from Maerdy. My dearest John, how we’d looked forward to children in the early years! Alas, we were still childless and a home without the laughter and dreams of little ones seemed a bleak future.

Here at the docks of the St. Lawrence, we waited patiently for the steamer to come in. At least John was patient! One last peek through the glass…

I knew her immediately. Tall for her eight years, wavy auburn hair, cut short in the Institution’s fashion, white dress and pinafore over dark stockings that all the Home girls wore. It was her eyes that I knew. Deepest blue and finding mine through the lens, straight to a mother’s no longer lonely heart.

~ kei
19 October 2014

Note: My Great Gran is Elizabeth and one of Dr. Barnardo’s Children (British Home Child). She came to Canada with her older sister. There are many sad tales of this program but my Gran’s is one of the success stories. She obtained a degree from the Toronto Ladies University, returned to Wales to marry and begin her family, my Grandmother being one of those. The Thomas family later made their home in Ottawa, Canada, embracing their chosen country fully. Great Grandpa Thomas is honoured in the Book of Remebrance on Parliament Hill for his military service at Passchendaele in World War I. Gran was an involved pillar of the community and a huge part of my life in ways immeasurable.
Rwyf wrth fy modd i chi Gran.