Archive for November, 2011

Blog #39 – The Psychotic Soldier…and then some…

Posted in beer, college, friends, relationships, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 30, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

So, there I was, squatting down behind my car, watching for signs of Mark, the letch/wanna be rapist* …when I felt the WORST cramp in my calf! And no ordinary TWINGE! This pain cut sideways into the bone!

DAMMIT to dog bane…

Finally, the level NINE assault on my right gam was UNBEARABLE, and I involuntarily shot upward into the night air. I limped away from my Volkswagen toward the refuge of several pine trees a few feet away – when I heard:

“What the fuck’re you doing? Playing hide and seek, stupid bitch?” Mark SCREAMED in an onslaught of Kentucky twang, a new shade of tones in his voice. He stood, hands on his hips, on my front porch.

Stymied by his hostility, I struggled to think of a reply as Mark sailed down the two dozen steps at top speed from my porch to the street.

“Sorry, Mark, I…it was just uh, joke-” I sputtered.

“Well, it wasn’t fucking funny to stand me up in your own goddamned living room, you goddamned cunt!”

I lurched toward him. My bone-headed temper always flares a the C-WORD. And forgetting he could splinter my bones with his thumb, much less what he could do with his bionic biceps, I stammered, “Look, you brainless piece of shit, keep talking about me like that, and you’ll be wearing your dick as BOW TIE!”

My face flushing RED HOT, watching his hulking frame hurling toward me as I quickly reversed directions, slinking awkwardly backward. And remember, this was in the late 80s…no cell phones to ring up the men in BLUE!

“Is that so?” he barked, his gait slowing to a stroll, braking beside his truck. Without a word, he unlocked the driver’s side door.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I stammered, feeling rather unnerved by his sudden calmness. Seeing his flattened glare in the glow of the streetlight created spasms along my spine, and I shivered, wondering what he was fumbling for inside his truck. “Why don’t we just call it a night, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s,” he said, popping back up with a GUN! A large pistol, a mini canon of sorts.

“Mark! What the hell’re you doing?” I shrieked, my feet stolidly still.

“Teaching you a lesson, little bitch!” he said, cocking the gun.

I turned around and charged toward the cluster of pines just as he FIRED, my right foot tripping over the left, stiffened by my lower leg now knitting itself into a ball of sharp pangs again. I landed sideways in a haze of green needles and sap with a WHOOSH and a grunt.

He laughed at my lack of grace, treading HEAVILY in my direction. “Where ya goin’, sweetheart? We ain’t done yet.”

My breath a hard lump in my chest, I rolled up onto my knees, watching him leering toward me. Then, when he was an inch from the throng of trees, I took off in a crouching run along a row of bushes as the second bullet went ZINGING over my head. “Jesus, H, Mark! What the fuck is wrong with you? You really wanna go to jail?”

Again, he chuckled. I turned left beside a small brick house, willing my marbled leg to unfurl and propel me FORWARD to the backyard where Mark couldn’t see me for a few seconds where maybe, just maybe I could find some kind of shelter. I peered into the gloom and saw a shed in the corner. I pressed on, my meaty limb still taut but slightly more supple.

I slid behind the shed and stood there BREATHING, trying to sway my lungs and heart to slow down. Rustling leaves preceded Mark’s loud sing-songy whisper, “Come on out, sorority Sue. I gotta kiss goodnight for you…” …followed by a hound dog-ish giggle.

WTF? I was NOT a sorority girl!

Beyond rattled, I peeked around the corner of the shed. Mark stood in the side yard of a brick house next door, gun to his side, stalking toward the street.

“Come here, you little pussy! If I can find rag-heads in the sewers of Lebanon, I can find your ugly ass, let me tell ya!” he croaked, a little louder.

I looked left. Miraculously, I saw a LIGHT. I haphazardly hobbled toward the warm glow in a small window in the back of the house at the end of the road where Mrs. Simon, a daffy old crone, lived.

I crept away from the shed, heading for the light. Staggering sideways, praying Mark had given up the chase, he spotted me in front of blue house next to Mrs. Simon’s, a mere 10 feet from Mrs. Simon’s porch.

“There you are, pumpkin,” Mark said sweetly from the street where he stood by an old Buick, “I was beginning to worry,” he laughed.

I dropped down to my knees to avoid the flock of bullets I expected to jet my way when I spied several mid-sized stones that looked to weigh around two pounds encircling a line of azaleas, not a foot away. I half-crawled to the azaleas and grabbed one of the rocks.

Meanwhile, Mark was swaggering up the sloping wide lawn in front of the blue house, gun trained ON ME.

I rushed to the side of the blue house. Standing upright, hugging the wall, I leaned back, then stepped out far enough to see Mark, and LOBBED that rock at my predator as hard as I could. It hit Mark in the gut. He buckled to his knees moaning. His arms cuddled his waist for a moment, then he flopped gently onto his back, with a groaning, “Fuck n, A!”

I took OFF for Mrs. Simon’s little white house. When I FINALLY plopped down on her porch with rubbery legs, my breath still punched in and out of my lungs in a hard rhythm.

I banged on the screen door, my eyes cutting to Mark, sitting up, holding his middle with both arms. His gun appeared to be lying on the ground next to him.

I gasped seeing the porch light blaze across me when the screen door opened. Mrs. Simon appeared. She looked no less than 400 years old. She had pink spongy curlers in her stark white hair and grooves so deep under her eyes, her face had the appearance of a fleshy skeleton

“Kennedy, is that you? What are-?”

“That guy! He’s got a gun!” I said breathlessly, pointing toward the barren area where Mark had been.

“What?” she asked, obviously confused.

“Mark, my date,” I sputtered, “He had a gun! I swear!”

She looked past me. “What are you doing, there in my yard at this hour?!” Mrs. Simon squawked.

There was Mark slumped against a tree. I couldn’t locate the gun in the darkness until…he raised the barrel, and…

“Is that a gun? Oh, my God!” Mrs. Simon shrieked ushering me inside, tugging at my arm with her bony hand.

“Get down!” We both rushed into the house swooping down behind an armchair when a bullet came CRASHING through her front window

“Oh, my God, will he pay for that?” she whispered.

“Shhh…” I said… I slowly inched up close enough to peer over the window sill at Mark when I saw him trudging toward his truck. He opened the passenger door, squatted down, then…

“Dammit to hell!” Mark blustered, tossing his pistol onto the seat and stomping over to the driver’s side.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered.

I shook my head and said, “Shh…” YES! He slipped into the front seat and drove away, tires squealing. “He ran out of ammo,” I said laughing.


“No more bullets, I’ll bet, so he left. Thank you, God!” I sputtered smiling. Feeling rather jelly-kneed and hollow, I collapsed into the armchair, displacing a rather agitated black cat…

“Oh, I see. That’s good. Will he be back?”

“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, catching my first whiff of the excruciatingly foul stench of…

(to be continued… :))

OVER and OUT from a tad more mellow crazytown…


*See Blog Post #38 – THE GREAT ESCAPE for the 411 on Mark.

** Again, see Blog Post #38 RE: my friend, Anna…


Blog #38 – The GREAT Escape…

Posted in beer, college, friends, relationships, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 3, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

A couple months after Morgan relocated to Delilah’s bed*, my friend Anna, fixed me up on a blind date with a guy named, Mark, who was home on leave from the Army.

I wasn’t thrilled about some beefcake who probably hadn’t read a book since discovering Cliff Notes in sixth grade. Plus, I was still mooning over Morgan (like a dumb-ass)…but Anna wouldn’t let up.  She taunted me for a week about “The nicest guy next to Jesus himself.” In order to abolish her nonstop yammering about Jesus’s long lost twin cousin’s brother, I finally caved.

“Hi, I’m Mark,” said this BABE with lusciously bronzed skin, cerulean blue eyes, and biceps the size of Redwood logs. AND he arrived with three red roses. To date, I’d never gotten flowers from a guy, much less ROSES on a first date.

“Hi,” I said, genuinely PLEASED to see him and not an acne-studded troll. “Thank you. They’re beautiful!” I said, smiling when he handed me the roses. Of course, I thought, okay so, maybe, he IS a nice guy, or heaven forbid, could he be the ONE? Oh, but I was so SO wrong.

First mistake: His Jeep was wall-to-wall trash. With a mumbled apology, he tossed several Mcdonald’s bags in the back, so I could sit down. He couldn’t have taken five minutes to chuck the rubbish BEFOREHAND?

Then, as he started the car, he asked, “Is Long John Silvers okay for dinner?”

Fast food fish, really? Please NOTE: When cash is tight, guys,  suggest LOCAL eateries like Midway Drive-Inn** that will probably have MUCH better food or even somewhere like Denny’s or Fuddruckers. Their milkshakes totally ROCK, but fast food fish? Not so much…

“Unless you don’t like fish?” he asked sheepishly.

“No, I like fish,” I said, wondering if what Long John Silvers slops onto your Styrofoam plate is actually FISH and not dirty, deep fried mop strings, maybe?

By the concerned glint in his eye, I assume he realized something was amiss, but he didn’t get WHAT exactly, “Or there’s a McDonald’s down-”

“I don’t like McDonald’s. Long John Silver’s is fine.”

He nodded, and I was now too glad to force the greasy fish down my gullet because McDonald’s fare sends me hurling for the loo while I pray to God that my intestines won’t be eliminated as well…and after too much fast food, my ass could be mistaken for flesh-colored cottage cheese…but I digress…

I talked little during dinner because he was less interested in ME and more interested in touting how COOL he is. Thus, I was ready to bail after his fourth, I was so drunk in boot camp story that ended with “And then, I threw up in my own boots!” he said, howling with laughter.

I gave a weak smile.

“In my boots, GET IT?” he said, nodding, wide-eyed as if I were completely retarded. “At BOOT camp?”

“Yeah, I get it… just hysterical,” I muttered with a hefty HINT of sarcasm.

His face plumed red, and he looked away.

Despite stabbing guilt pangs, I asked, “Could you just take me home? I don’t…feel very well.”

He nodded, seemingly peeved that he’d spent $5.72 on me, and now, I’m faking sick, which meant he wasn’t getting any…

As soon as he parked his Jeep, I said, “Thanks. It was nice meeting you,” and I SPRINTED up the sidewalk, hoping to slip inside before he could get anywhere near my front door.

No. Such. Luck.

“I screwed up, didn’t I?” He asked just as my foot landed on the front step, a mere 22 INCHES from the safety of my abode.

Turning around, I said, “No, look, Mark, you’re a nice guy, but I just went through a really bad break-up-”

“Could we maybe just go inside and talk?”

OMG! He’s going to play the lonely card

“I um, well, talking to someone without bullets and shit flying over my head is rare for me.”

“Bullets? In Oklahoma?” I said, with a slight chuckle. “You been pissing off the COWs?”

“We don’t have any cows,” he said laughing as if my I.Q. were lower than your average dung beetle, “I work at a testing site, testing weapons?”

“I was joking about the cows….and you didn’t mention what you do.”

He nodded. Awkward stares flicker between us. It was a beautiful spring evening. The sun a brilliant orange shimmer on the horizon, and the crickets chirped, cooing at us to try anew. So, again, I caved.

We settled in on my scratchy, green plaid couch, and after about seven minutes of small talk, he suddenly kissed me about as passionately as a vacuum cleaner sucking on a bathmat.

“Stop,” I balked, “What happened to TALKING?”

“Oh, come on, you know you want it. I could tell the minute you saw me.”

After a convulsive peal of laughter, I said”Really?” And HELLO, if you weren’t already aware, ANY man who sputters that loathsome phrase of Testosterone-enhanced bullshit about women: “Wanting IT” has just killed any chance of EVER seeing said woman SANS knickers now and forever, praise the LORD and please pass the collection plate! 🙂

“Seriously, the I’m sick routine was an obvious ploy to get me here.”

“Yeah, right,” I replied, noticing that my eye darts berating him had NO affect.

Whereupon, I decided that FIRE must be-get FIRE…”Oh, God, you’re right. I’m sorry,” I said, batting my dark lashes at him as seductively as I could muster.

As he lunged for me again, I smiled, and in a voice so syrupy sweet it evoked JENNA*** vibes, I said, “Oh, no, you gotta wait, Mister bad boy,” I said, winking. “I’ll go change into something black and naughty.”

“Okay,” he said with the horniest grin I’ve EVER seen…

I slipped into my bedroom, shut the door and kicked off my 4″  heels. I grabbed my Reeboks, quickly fumbling to put them on. I tumbled onto my water bed when I heard the floorboards CREEK. My heartbeat nearly lacerated my rib cage until I heard the wind BASH against the eaves. I exhaled with major relief, opened the window above my bed and climbed out onto the roof over my porch. The shingles scraped against my knees, nearly shredding my best black jeans. I winced, feeling a dribble of blood descending down my shin toward my ankle.

I crept toward the edge of the roof, tentatively looking down at my sloping yard, contemplating the depth of the drop to the ground. No more than six feet, I guessed.

Heartbeat THRASHING again, I reminded myself that Mark couldn’t see me even if he did look out the front window. Taking a deep breath, I leapt off the roof. I landed on my feet with a THUMP, tottering sideways for a moment. I listened. Nothing but crickets until…

Mark called out, “Hey, Kennedy, what’s taking so long?” And, then after a long pause, “Kennedy?” followed by the unmistakable sound of BOOTS clamoring up the stairs.

At which point, I BEE-LINED across the street and hid behind my Volkswagen, peering over the hood at my house while pondering where to go without money or CAR KEYS since my purse was in my living room.

And there you have it, my SECOND, not the least bit methodical ESCAPE, from a worthless man-ho.

Stay tuned, EVERYONE, to see what happened NEXT…

OVER and out from the center of CRAZYLAND…

KS/Tenaciousbitch and company~

*See Blogs #36-37 – NYC or BUST for the 411 on MORGAN if you’re new to my Stop and Smell the Crazy Life.

** An awesome burger joint in Huntington, WV, my hometown.

*** Jenna JAMISON, the ga-zillionaire porn star.