Aside

So-o-o…

Spammers have reached a whole new low. One would have thought that lower than a snake’s balls in a wagon rut would be the lowest but no.
This AM, I received an email from a friend who died from brain cancer two years ago.
Fuck you Hackers and may the fleas of a 1000 gorillas infest your hairy bits.

While I’m on that…

Ladies, you aren’t going to get anywhere with me if your email subject line begins with “Desperate For..”, “Hungry For…” or “I’ll Keep U Up All Night”.
I really like a woman who can spell if we’re going to get up to some Pat-A-Cake and if you’re desperate… there are apps for that.

Just sayin’…

~ kei
5 September 2016

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.

St. Hallmark Day ~ Third Annual Massacre

Some Tongue In Very Cheeky Thoughts

Once again, St. Hallmark Day is almost upon us. Once again I’ll inflict that time-honoured  tradition that I started doing on Facebook several years ago.

Look out Cupid! The Valentine’s Evisceration is set to begin.

~~~~~

Basically, I’ve always felt that Valentine’s Day is an utter travesty and in my first St. Hallmark Day post on WordPress, I mention why. How St. Valentine’s Day came to be associated with chocolate, carats and tawdry Walmart lingerie is beyond me and my thought from then stands:

“Well, lets just say if you’re gonna give me gas station flowers and a Happy Birthday  Valentines day card. Please. Don’t bother. Now, if you want to bring home Thai and give me a foot rub on April 18th or October 12th, for no damn reason at all, THAT’s meaningful.”

~~~~~

And please none of those idiotic ‘Singles Awareness Day’ posts. For the love of whatever deity!! Don’t shit all over someone else’ thing just because you don’t have it (same goes for single mothers/ fathers who post snarky crap on Mothers Day/Fathers Day. You get your day, don’t shit on someone else’) It’s as juvenile as being mad that someone has a jag and you take the bus. Put on your grown up undies. Three hundred sixty-four days of the year, Singles are desperate to shed the title, then suddenly they want to ruin it for Couples…?

I weep for the future of Humanity.

~~~~~

So Cupid… What the freakin’ hell man?!

I know that you probably have some issues, coming from a broken home and all. As the son of the love goddess Venus and the war god Mars, I bet things got a little intense with Mum and Daddy but that’s no reason to take it out on humans for all eternity! That last one that you darted for me? That should have been a blow gun… Next time, leave it in the hands of the experts or I’ll be speaking to your Grandpappy and I’ll bet you don’t want to be grounded by Jupiter.

Crazed Cupid, Valentine, Funny

I stumbled on this video a long while back and I swear my last Vile-en-tine starred!! Always loved Carly Simon and even more so after watching this.

And to cap it off, one for the boys. I know you’re often left bewildered by the appearance of evil pod women who steal your normally sane partners on every 14 February. Take heart and start leaving the same kind of hints she does because 14 March is right round the corner!

Petites Pensées ~ Boys…

This dating thing would be so much more intriguing if all the men I see didn’t have more issues than hair… More belly than fire… More relaxed fit jeans than button-fly Levis… More Wife than let’s go to Belize…

~ kei

5 December 2015

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…

Aside

So…

When you say that you haven’t had sex in three years and you’re trying to get into a gal’s pants; it’s important to be specific. If you mean that you haven’t had sex with gnus in three years, or wildebeest or Peruvian wombats; please do make that distinction.
Whatever it is that you HAVEN’T had sex with.

Because…

Like your girlfriend – and the other one – your flings round the world, your wife and every other normal average woman; we assume that when you are making that statement to US, that you mean you haven’t had and aren’t continuing to have, sex with another woman!

Crazy right?!

I know MY response would have been significantly different. I would have you double bag that thing. Yup. Cut the fingers off a Playtex glove and get that covered wouldja?

Well I’m off to the clinic.

Turrah!

~ kei
7 December 2014

So, Here’s The Funny

When one of my best friends, Roz says that, we all lean in a little closer. It’s usually the cue for a hysterically funny end to a long and involved story that she’s been telling.

My long and involved story is of course, my life and times with The Poetic Predator. A “man” – and I use that term grudgingly and with no intended insult to functional, adult males of the human species – that targeted me with the express purpose of stealing from me every human emotion that he could to shore up his puny, dysfunctional, Narcissist ego.

There are so many anecdotes from the almost two-year long “relationship” that make for a good story. In the early days, one of the best is how he would often tell me about his dream for us. How he wanted to leave the “backward” town he lived in and move here to continue with his writing and to share that with me. We were going to open a bookstore / coffee shop / knitting store .

I guess some might say that me believing him is one of the funniest bits but then, a lot of people still believe he’s a writer and a great guy. They were never exposed to his rage and endless stream of abusive emails, texts and telephone calls. They never saw the fake profiles that he used on Tumblr, WordPress and Facebook – including those he created to pretend to be his own children –  to shore up his stories to me. They never saw / choose not to see, his blatant stealing of other writer’s work.

I did believe for a long time. I initially ignored the niggles of doubt and I ignored the concerns of my best friend and even when I finally began to ask questions; there was always an excuse that he made palatable, if not believable. If that didn’t work, he’d begin an endless stream of abuse, create a fake surgery, or some other drama to draw attention away from the question at hand.

Back to the coffee shop.

At the time, I had no reason to doubt most of what he said. There’d been the first introduction into my world of female stalkers on the internet and I’d been enlisted (Gaslighted) to help him with that. One in particular (we’ll call her “The Other Woman” or TOW because this is the role he cast her in), kept showing up but after several episodes of her stalking, defaming and slandering – his words – he’d initiated a lawsuit against her and two others. He’d had me block her from my social media and from his Facebook poetry page, he’d blocked her from his Facebook profile – the one I knew about. His “daughter”, and “the teachers”: “Natasha” and “Sharon” were all sufficiently chastised for keeping his Facebook Page alive behind his back. We had one of those four to six days of calm in between dramas that eventually showed up as a pattern and were in a brief “Honeymoon” stage again.

And so… the coffee shop.

I used to draw a lot and paint a little. I wanted to give The Poetic Predator (PP for the rest of this story) something to encourage him, a tangible of his dream to hang onto and mark a new beginning for us. He’d been so put upon with recent events and don’t lets forget, his horrible late wife who was unfaithful when he was overseas fighting for his country, moved another man into his home to do so. She was spoiled, wouldn’t work, spent to point of bankruptcy and didn’t want their second child and wouldn’t feed said child when he made his appearance. None of this is true incidentally, except for the part about me. There is no record of PP having ever served with the army and apparently, his spouse was still alive and kicking at this point, though where remains a mystery to this day.

As a gift to buoy his spirits I designed, sketched then commissioned, a painting for him. I pulled in the elements that he and I had often talked about, his pets, his clothing style, even his dog tags (you can get those on Ebay, by the by). I added a catchy little name for our some day coffee shop / book store venture and then sent the works off to a friend and wonderful artist for the painting bit. It’s not an accident that it’s painted in the same style as the banner for my other blog. That work is a caricature of me that Cynthia painted for me several years ago. She brought this new piece to life so well, even to the shop front. I’d sent pictures of downtown Muncie to her so she could capture that flavour.

Poetic Painting v one

I KNOW, right?!

When it was done, I was happy and excited, Cynthia too, as she’d heard the reasons for the commission and she posted it to him. The day it arrived, he was so thrilled. He called me on the collar (err, phone) that he’d given me as I was coming home from work. He wanted to open it with me – so cute – ahem, barf. He was so touched, he was crying (he could turn on tears at the drop of pants). “you,,,make me cry..Karin this means more than anything..I love you baby..Karin I’m so moved by this” (sic)
He went on with how no one had ever done anything like this for him and “Baby, it’s beautiful, our dream”. He sent a photo of himself with the painting, apologizing for the tears. He was so overcome with emotion. The painting went on his living room wall and can be seen in many of the photos that he sent to me (and god knows who else subsequently). I was so happy that he was happy. I’d poured so much effort into this gift, one that I believed to be so thoughtful and meaningful. Little did I know that the only thing that ever moved him are his bowels.

I can hear the bated breath! 😉

A short time later, I used the picture of PP with the painting in a post to mark the publication of his first non-digital book. It went up on my Facebook page with a poem and a slightly mushy blurb about dreams coming true, tra-la, tra-la, to my co-Admin, PP. (Why yes! Yes he did have access to post at will there once upon a time.) What a shit storm that caused! The post was reported – ostensibly by one of the crazy female stalkers and there were so many at this point, I could have thrown said book and hit two of them! Kidding. Only a little – reported not once but twice and precipitously removed by the FB drones. I could not understand how anyone could take an exception to the post and put it up one last time with reference to my rights to it and took a screenshot of the last (I’m tenacious!) one in the event that it was reported again. I note the date: the 2nd report was on my wedding anniversary. Narc liked to jack special events like Grandmother’s birthdays, holidays, pretty much anything that’d take the spotlight off of him (even though I’d been separated over a year at this point, he liked to rub it in when he was raging).


Fuckhead Reported Painting 2014-03-23 at 12.59.47 PM

Fast forward to January of 2014. TOW contacted me. Bless her for her bravery. For as it turns out, she’d been sold a similar bill-of-goods about me and my actions. She and I established a truce that eventually became a friendship. Both of us have found peace and some solace in being able to fill in the blanks of the worlds that the Narc created for us. One of those was about “The Painting”. Here’s what was happening on the other side of the wall.

Within days of having received my gift, he contact TOW and told her that he’d commissioned this lovely painting of himself to represent the dream that THEY had of someday living and working together!!! Imagine her shock and hurt to see the same photo appear on MY Facebook page along with my deeply personal, though professional message of encouragement!!

We two girls damn near fell out!

She conveyed to me how she had often been hurt by some of the more personal things that myself AND my co-Admin had shared there and this time, she had torn a large strip off his arse, wondering what chicanery I was up to now and why did he allow me to post these terrible lies?! He responded predictably with blowing smoke up her arse and blaming me, as TOW had threatened to leave him. It was at this time that the post was mysteriously reported and yanked by Facebook.

TOW and I put the missing bits together and concur that Narc most likely reported the post HIMSELF to shore up his flimsy story to her. This must have killed him, considering the huge volume of comments and compliments that were placed there. Conversely, when I was understandably very upset about the reports (and the loss of my poem, which didn’t exist anywhere else) he attributed the report to one of the crazy women who was stalking him and jealous of me. Neat trick right? Poetic Predator was a whiz at orchestrating “twofers”. Make one look crazy and placate / enlist the other..

Where the hell is the funny? Right?!

My painting. My copyrights. My wonderfully talented friend redoing the image to reflect the current state of affairs. Narc-hole and I wrote three books together. Wait for it – not one, not two but three! – I like that phrasing. One of many other things that I’ve discovered along the way is evidence of his lack of concern regarding posting work as his own that other people have written. Thankfully, I had control over the online versions and removed them from publication. As mentioned in a previous post, I’ve edited those to remove the Arse-issist’s work and am now happy to let you know that:

KB Book Cover

“Remains Of The Prey” by Karin Bole Tupper is available for purchase at Smashwords, Amazon and other fine ebook retailers. The hardcopy edition will follow shortly.

One of my favourite quotes is “The best revenge is living well”.
Personally, I never wanted revenge, I leave that to Karma.
Justice though would be epic.

Aside

So, I discovered that my email service at work has a “recall” feature.

Yup. That’s right. If you accidentally hit the “send” button on that scathing ream-out email that you’ve composed to your boss, you can recall it. This nifty feature even tells you if it’s been read or not. You can get a head start on packing your desk if it has!

I had a dark snicker at the thought that the Arse-issist probably would have loved to have this feature on HIS email service.

If I had a dollar for every time he sent an email that was a forward, an unchanged subject line or copy paste from one of his female Apaths… He was fond of sending photos of himself or us from Video hangouts. “Remember this Baby?” Like I’d forget… Unfortunately, sometimes he’d attach the wrong photo! Big time wrong… No that’s not my bits Baby.
You never know who’s gonna be sending out your stupid, naked arse to the world.

Ain’t no recall button fo dat!

~ kei
30 August 2014

Dear John

POETRY PROMPT #14 – LETTER

This week’s challenge from the WDBWP Blog:

This week, I would like you to write a letter – THAT letter you always meant to but you never did; it can be written for yourself or for someone else. In it, I want you to write down all the things that you always wanted to say to those people, or yourself, you wish someone told you when you were younger or in a specific situation. If you are writing to someone else, let them know whats going on, have you changed, what is new from the most mundane to the most deep.

I would like you to write this letter in verse, verse that rhymes.

~~~~~

Let’s have a go then, shall we? Follows is my letter. In rhyme and Elton John’s “Dear John” for good measure.

Dear Perley, Dear Perley
You old mangy dog
If you were able to read
This would leave you agog

You were gunnin’ fer to kill me
Your lyin’ left me with the blues
But I’m still alive and kickin’
And you’re yesterday’s news

Hey Perley, you should have learned
That it don’t pay to be a liar
Did you fart again, what’s with that smoke?
Oh! it’s just your pants on fire

So I’m sending you this letter
Hope it reaches you in Hell
Just to say to you Ole Perley
I’m alive and doing well

I took the nothing that you left behind
And turned it round to victory
I got myself a real man
And that boy sure does love me

The home you stole I can’t get back
But I’ve a new one built on dreams
A place that ain’t been tainted
With all your bullshit schemes

Say Perley, did I mention?
My guy’s ten years younger ‘n you
He can go all night, Canada’s red and white
Oorah Baby! Salutes her red, white and blue

Poor Perley, I heard ’bout your problem
Dead kinda bites, don’t it now
Better that than to keep on fakin’
With that nasty, old desperate cow

So just wanted you to know Ole Perley
I’m right as rain and happy too
So let’s call this for a Dear John letter
From happy me to shithead you

~ kei
16 June 2014