Archive for the dating Category

Post #155 – Revenge is best served via Taye Diggs or something like that…

Posted in blogging, comedy, dating, life, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, uncategoried, work with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 24, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

“Is your phone all set?” I asked when Jackson waltzed in the breakroom all giddy and smiling at 5:15 as promised earlier that day after he’d unveiled Gordon’s despicable motive (see my last post).

“Yes, ma’am, armed and ready,” he replied as I slipped my arm through his.

“Take one,” Jackson said laughing, encircling my waist with his other arm.

“One’s all we’ve got,” I said giggling as we sauntered into the hallway, gazing at each other as if en route to the nearest boudoir. Quite a performance since he’s gay, and I’m happily married with no intention of cheating. But Griffin and Gordon didn’t know that.

“After this, the whole office will think we’re having a thing,” I said grinning.

“Except, pardon me, but I’m pretending you’re Taye Diggs right now,” Jackson mumbled.

“Whatever works for you, baby,” I said with a giggle. “And when you’re done with him, I’ll take a turn,” I said jokingly,

Jackson busted out laughing but managed to stifle himself by buttoning his lip so as not to over-dramatize our scene.

Out on the sales floor, I could feel a dozen eyes on us. But I couldn’t tell how close we were to Griffin’s desk.

“Are they looking?” I asked.

“Yep, 2 blond idiots at 6:00,” Jackson murmured.  “And about 1/3 the sales force is gawking our way as well,” Jackson said as his dark eyes swept back to mine.

“Can’t wait for the video.”

“Oscar-worthy I’m sure,” I replied.

Jackson nodded with a giggle.

To make this moment all the sweeter, I had instructed Jackson to turn on the video camera on his phone before we embarked upon our scandalous stroll down the hallway. While only part of it is on camera (momentarily), the dialogue that ensued is hysterical.

I stole a sidelong glance at the 2 Douche Bags (Griffin and Gordon). They were slumped over their desks, their eyes plucked wide open with shock and, perhaps, exasperation by mine and Jackson’s display of manufactured enrapture.

For the coup d’etat, I batted my eyes at Jackson seconds before passing Griffin’s desk and in a sultry voice, I said, “See you round 7:00, then.”

“You bet,” Jackson said softly as I sashayed toward the elevator, shaking my ass as if it were on fire… 🙂

Seconds later, I heard Griffin say, “Hold up, Jackson, what’s goin’ on?”

I snuck a glance over my shoulder just as Griffin stood up and wedged himself between his desk and Gordon’s, so Jackson couldn’t pass by to his own cubicle cage, not 3 feet away.

A broad, devilish smile broke out on Jackson’s face, which I’m sure the miscreants believed was from basking in the glow of our lust.

“So, what’s the story with you and Mrs. Smith?” Gordon snapped.

Jackson leaned down and quietly replied, “Well, she won’t be Mrs. Smith much longer.”

“Yeah?” Griffin asked.

“She left her husband a month ago.”

“Really?” Griffin asked. “Then, why was she such a bitch when I tried to talk to her?”

“Maybe, because you’re an asshole,” Jackson quipped, still grinning.

Gordon laughed. Griffin scowled.

At which point, I was standing at the elevator sending Jackson a text.

When Jackson’s phone made that obnoxious DING notifying him of my communique, he took his phone out and held it up so that while reading my text, he was also simultaneously recording Griffin and Gordon on video. And Jackson was so kind as to enlighten me later that evening on the phone – with the details that weren’t captured on film.

Griffin’s angry eyes cut to Gordon – when suddenly, Jackson erupted into laughter. I hadn’t mentioned the particular verbiage for my text.

“She is a naughty girl,” Jackson said.

“Who, Mrs. Smith, aka Kennedy?” Griffin demanded sarcastically. “What’d she say?”

“Not much, just how much…uh, she can’t wait to cover me in peanut butter and lap me up and down,” Jackson said, laughing.

“Seriously? The uptight woman with dark hair who just left?” Griffin sputtered. “Said THAT to you?”

“The one and only,” Jackson answered, wearing a bemused grin elicited by the two confused dimwits, whose eyes were all aglow with ideas of sexual weirdness between me and the gay man.

“Bullshit,” Gordon barked.

Jackson smiled. “Whatever. See you two dickheads later,” he said pushing past Griffin.

A couple cords of laughter rippled in the background, but Griffin and Gordon were auspiciously silent.

“Prove it,” Griffin said contemptuously.

“You didn’t hear her say she was looking forward to seeing me?”

“So what?  You could be going to Bible study for all I know.”

“Oh, it’ll be biblical all right,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

Gordon laughed, but Griffin just glared at my imaginary beau.

“Okay. Let me see your phone,” Griffin insisted.

“No, that’s private. Besides, I’ve got work to do.” Jackson said, barging toward his desk.

Griffin moved closer to Jackson, growling in a low voice, “Oh, right, because there’s nothing on your phone but photos of you whackin’ off.”

Jackson and Gordon both cracked up at such a ridiculous statement. “Why the fuck would I have photos of THAT on my phone when I’ve got photos of…” Jackson began. “Never mind,” Jackson said, sitting down at his desk, while clicking over to the photo gallery on his phone. Meanwhile, the video camera was still recording every morsel of conversation.

“I don’t think so. You’re not getting off that easy,” Griffin said, grabbing Jackson’s arm.

Jackson spun around, beaming, “Well, apparently, I do, according to you…”

Gordon collapsed into nearly convulsive laughter.

“Shut up, Gordy, And yet, I’m the asshole,” Griffin said sourly…his first intelligent comment… 🙂

“Fine,” Jackson said with a sigh as if exhausted by their taunts, “Check this out,” he continued, thrusting his  phone in Griffin’s face. Whereupon, they saw a photo of me from when I was still modeling 5 years ago. I’m lying on a pink satin bedspread in a black negligee, my double D’s tumbling forward, almost completely exposed. And, funny thing, Gordie and Griffie didn’t notice I’m 20 pounds heavier now. Their brains only registered my “boobage”.

“Oh, my God, she’s…”

“I think the word you’re looking for is beautiful, dumb ass,” Jackson said. Awwwww, Jackson, bet you say that to all the girls.

“Okay, dude,” Gordon said. “How the hell did you score a woman like that?”

“I was nice to her,” Jackson said.

At that point, Jackson said the look on Dumb and Dumber’s faces was priceless. Unfortunately, all we have on film is a shot of everyone’s shoes. However, t’was a joint epiphany for my 2 blond adversaries, revealing that, perhaps, chicanery and stupid attempts at humor are not the best way to win a woman. And apparently, Griffin’s asinine question about my blouse was his convoluted attempt at humor.

For fuck’s sake, really?

The next day Gordon or Griffin’s team went on a company retreat, and I never saw them again because my assignment at Mega ended (due to lack of work) while they were gone. So, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to those who brought me so many BELLY laughs at their expense.

But I dare say, I’ll survive.

Over and out from CASA DE CRAZY…

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies



Post #142 – Jim was just hanging out of what?

Posted in college, dating, Family, family drama, friends, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, true stories, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

The night I met Jim (Thompson – see my previous post –,

I was waiting tables at the Monarch Cafe in Huntington, West Virginia, when I was going to Marshall University in 1985. I was carrying a tray full of cocktails and a pitcher of beer when a man behind me called out, “Yo, babe with the legs, would you bring me a beer?”

I turned around to see Jim sitting along a row of benches in the pool room with a couple of his friends (who exactly, I don’t remember). He had this big, goofy grin widening across his face, and he was waving at me as if he knew me. Not the quote I would’ve volunteered to my grandchildren about my first encounter with my future husband…:), but I was only 19 years old! He kinda had me at YO BABE (ugh my feminist alter ego YELLS).

I went over and took their order. Later, I caught sight of a couple 8 x 10 black and white photographs on the table. As I walked over to see if he and his friends wanted another round of beer, I noticed one of the photos was of a quarry from a rather high altitude. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure why.

“You like the photo?” Jim asked, those bedroom blue eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, and it looks really familiar,” I replied. “Where is that?”

“It’s in Ashland by the refinery,” he answered. “Ever been there?”

“Many times,” I said, smiling. “My Dad works at Ashland Oil.”

“Really? So do I. What’s your Dad’s name?”

I told him, and then I asked, “Do you work in the plant?”

“No, I’m a photographer. My Dad was a photographer there too, and he got me the job.”

“Oh, cool. So, how’d you get that picture? Did you go up in one of the towers?” I asked, meaning one of the cooling towers in Ashland’s refinery (where they make gasoline and other petroleum products).

“No, I didn’t like the angle from the cooling towers, so I went up in the company helicopter.”

“That sounds like fun. And it must’ve been challenging to get the photo since the only window surrounds the pilot.”

“The propellers obstructed my view from the co-pilot’s seat, so I laid down on the floor and had Troy hold my ankles as I hung out of the helicopter for a minute or two while I snapped away.”

“Oh, my God!” I shrieked laughing. “Who’s Troy?”

“An intern in the PR department. Should’ve seen his face when I was done, white as a damned sheet,” Jim said laughing.

“No safety harness of any kind?” I asked.

“Now, that would’ve been a good idea, but I didn’t think to ask for one,” Jim said, laughing. “And they probably didn’t have one anyway. I doubt the executives at Ashland Oil would wanna hang out of the helicopter.”

“Probably not. Well, I need to get back to work. You guys need anything else?”

“Just your phone number,” Jim said smiling.

“I’m dating someone,” I said.

“I don’t care,” Jim replied boldly with his most auspicious fuck the world attitude.

I laughed and later I gave him my phone number, and we started going out. Frankie, my boyfriend at the time, was out of town at a music festival with a couple of his friends, and things weren’t going well between us before he left anyway.

On our third date, Jim told me loved me, and we were inseparable for the next 3 years…except for the night Frankie returned.

With tears in my eyes, I broke up with Frankie, who said. “I don’t blame you” because we had a lot of serious issues in our relationship (like the fact we’d been dating for 6 months and had never had sex, but that’s another post itself). Frankie’s lack of anger and such made me feel all the worse. And he moved out that night.

That said, for those who knew James David Thompson, Jr, I’m sure you’re not surprised to learn that I fell for a guy who seemed absolutely fearless, and the hanging out of the helicopter incident kinda put him in the realm of Indiana Jones or Tony Stark on a small town scale…

But we were very young, and things didn’t work out. We divorced in 1988, and I’ve been happily remarried to Charlie since 2000. While Charlie hasn’t hung out of any helicopters, he’s been known to impersonate a Tesla Coil on occasion (hence his nickname – SPARKY), and he’s an Olympic cutter, who could cut himself in a room full of cotton! 🙂  And he’s always there when I need him…:)

~Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies


Tenacious Bitch © 2014

Post #130 – The Sterling Stalker

Posted in dating, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, thrillers, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

A friend of mine calls me a psycho magnet because I often found myself in peculiar circumstances/relationships with men before I met my husband, Charlie, and this event with Sterling is no exception.

In fall of 1989, I decided to move from Brooklyn, New York, to Los Angeles with my then boyfriend, Ashe (now deceased ex-husband mentioned in ). Shortly after Ashe graduated from sound engineering school, he got a job on the Rolling Stones tour.

Unfortunately, four months later, Ashe brought home a new BFF, her majestycocaine. Our relationship imploded, and I was a single Mom again with a 3-year-old Tim in tow. Sigh…

I got a job working as an admin assistant at a computer sales company. While attending a trade show in Santa Monica, a handsome man swaggered over to my table at lunch. “I’ll trade you a bit for your byte?” He asked with a beguiling grin.

I stared at him, confused. Then, I noticed the trade show badge pinned to his shirtand it hit me — a joke about the PC biz…how charming. However, since he was a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed babe, I laughed…while admiring his thick-muscled arms…

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” Mr. Hottie said, extending his hand. “I’m at IBM.”

With a polite handshake and cool smile, I replied, “Kennedy, Kennedy Smith.”

After an awkward pause, the usual pleasantries evolved into a conversation cultivated via common ground. We both liked cooking ethnic meals from scratch, sci-fi books and movies, and both of us wanted to own motorcycles.  But neither of us had the cash to satisfy that yearning at the time.

A dozen dates later, I started to feel that flutter preceding those three little words that will kill or cement any liaison, but quick. However, since Sterling was likely a rebound beau, I refrained from verbalizing said “L” word. Thank God because…

Five minutes after our first blissful romp between the sheets, Sterling had a lengthy discourse with someone named Clair on the phone. I was half asleep, and even though his timing was odd, I assumed by his verbiage, he was chatting with his assistant…or maybe, his sister until…

“Love you, too.” And the cooing timbre of that phrase was definitely not the way one speaks to a sibling…

“Who was that?” I snapped.

“My wife,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry. Did you say wife?”

“Yes, Clair, my wife of six years.”

“You goddamned piece of shit!” I yelled, wanting to kick the short and curlies right off his fucking balls. “You’re  married, you filthy bag of dick?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Oh, right, so that makes it okay. How could you call your wife, five seconds after you fucked another woman?”

A wide grin slithered across his face, “Cuz, it turns me on,” he said, rolling over on me and planting a succulent kiss on my neck.

“Get off me!” I hollered, shoving him sideways. I leapt out of bed and slipped into my robe. “And get the fuck out of my house!”

“Come on, you knew.”

“How could I know? You never mentioned a wife, you lame-assed cock, and you’re not wearing a ring!!”

“A guy like me, single at 30? C’mon?? What’re the odds?” he scoffed.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, so relieved that Tim (my son) was asleep at the neighbor’s next door – because he’d taken a liking to Sterling, the wanking prick.

But Sterling didn’t move. “C’mon, this is 1989. Monogamy’s dead, especially in Hollywood.”

“We live in the Valley, and we’re not celebrities, you arrogant bastard-” I shouted while dialing the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Only 911,” I snickered.

Finally, that prompted his departure, but not without trying to kiss me goodbye. Instead, I gave him a sweet caress of very sharp, red nails…even drew a little blood.

The next day, Sterling called me at work. I immediately hung up on him, but that didn’t deter the cheating lout. Not two hours later, Kiki, the receptionist, strutted over with a dozen roses in a crystal vase.

“Wow, someone’s got a sweetie,” said the dull-eyed Kiki, setting the flowers on my desk.

FUCK! I glanced at the card:

 I miss you, beautiful. 
Please forgive me. 
Just say the word and I’ll file 
Love, Sterling

I dumped the roses in my trashcan, and I wanted to throw the vase at the wall, but I couldn’t exactly afford to lose my job.

And just when I started to relax a few days later, my hands turned cold, and my heart dashed about painfully in my chest…when a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared on my kitchen counter. A card bearing my name beside it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tim asked, tugging at my quivering hand.

“Nothing, honey,” I said with a weak smile, trying desperately to shield him from the terror evoked by this seemingly innocent bottle of bubbly. “You go on and watch cartoons while I, uh, make dinner. Okay?”


My beautiful blue-eyed boy toddled into the living room as I tried to collect myself. I glared at the card for a second. Then, like an idiot, I opened it:

I love you. I can’t 
stand being apart.
Please call me.
Love, Always

“Shit…” I mumbled, leaning on the counter to steady myself. I raced to the front door and dropped to my knees. I didn’t see any marks on the door or the doorknob, and that was the only entrance to my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I checked all the windows, which were still locked.

I called the police, and two patrolmen showed up an hour later. Tim, of course, was fascinated by their badges and their guns.

“Please, can I see it, Officer, your -?” Tim pleaded from the doorway, pointing to the shorter Officer’s pistol.

“No, Tim,” I scolded. “Go watch TV in the bedroom, please.”

Frowning, he slumped away.

“I’m sorry, but,” said Officer Denton, the older of the two lawmen, “There’s really nothing we can do.”

“But he broke in!”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and that card isn’t…it doesn’t constitute a threat-”

“I don’t understand! He doesn’t have a key!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I suggest you move.”

“But my lease isn’t up for seven months.”

With that, the nightmare with the STERLING STALKER was just beginning…

And what made me think of this creep after all these years? Yep…you got it? Another…do you know –

Sterling XXXXXXX

On Facebook. And Sterling, apparently, has 3 friends in common with me who still live in L.A.  Holy Shitballs, Batman…and these are not folks I knew when I lived in Cali…they’re folks I’ve met at seminars and such…

If you’d like to read the conclusion to this story, it will be one of the chapters in my upcoming book, Tales from the Lunatic Lounge, which I hope to finish in the next month or so! 🙂


Post #97 – A shocking poem about a bad time in my life…

Posted in dating, humor, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, poetry, relationships, sex, true crime, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Okay, so some of my favorite bloggers have begun posting poems. I haven’t written any poetry in awhile, but here’s one that is INTENSE…to say the least…:)


Came home and found your fat ass
surrounded by dirty diapers and trash
What did you say, you didn’t have time?
And you’re doing nothin’ on my dime?
the rage boiled black and hot like tree sap
on a blistering summer’s day…until…
I chucked a knife right at your head
pummeling into our thick paneling
With a viciously loud thud and dread
missed you, dear man, by less than a thread
And you laughed like some love-damaged calf
tossed you to the curb, and who is it that laughs …now?
back again 2 weeks later sniffing around
With your tired yet romantic verbiage
I should be beaten for slipping back into your GARBAGE?
But lonely and brainless, I let you in like some stray dog
burying my sensibilities in a quagmire of mental smog
Percolating my rancor again with your same bag of tricks
Why was I such a sucker for all of your mix?
While you yak long-distance, a brain-dead pumpkin
ready to toss you thrice like some disease-laden Lumpkin
when you came up with your best chicanery thus far
By spicing up our love life of sorts
with cocaine on your private parts
what a ride that was, a sexual demon drop
God help me I didn’t ever wanna stop
You were John Holmes, Dirk Digler and Brad Pitt
all spliced into some bizarro, unthinkable reverie
mucking up my solidarity of mind, body and soul
I was high on an impossible addiction
And totally high on your affliction
woke up itching with a brutal contact rash
Bestowing upon you a black case of disgrace
never happened again, of course
but I was very leery of intercourse
for nigh on 12 months or so
Without fourteen condoms wrapped in plastic
just thinking about it makes me spastic
so go to hell you and your cocaine dick
You’re the plot of a bad chick flick
Without Brad Pitt or John Holmes
nothing just a simple set of stones
luckily, that was many MOONS ago
I was merely reminded by a hapless photo of you
dropping out of book unexpectedly
While cleaning out a shelf near the loo
Another dimension framed in ink so deadly
Another time I’m glad to blink away
All that chaos gone astray
Shoving that photo into a drawer
All the while glad we are no more

NOTE: this is a poem about my dearly departed ex-hubby named Ashe, who was a GOOD man, just a little bit insane, shall we say :)? I wrote about him previously in this post:

Original copyright –

© 7/23/94 by my alter ego who shall remain nameless for now…

Renewed by:

© Tenacious Bitch 2013


Post #82 – Star Award/Blog of the Year!!

Posted in dating, Family, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

A few days ago, I found out that I was honored with a STAR AWARD and nominated for Blog of the Year!  Yes, I was TOTALLY thrilled 🙂 :), to say the least. I’d like to publicly thank Tinatimebomb for giving me a STAR. And Tina is among the writers that I follow, but I can’t find your URL on my LIST, and every time I click on your name, I land on Cherry Berry’s site…so I apologize your blog isn’t listed. Feel free to email me or comment with your blog address, so I can add it!

That said, I’d also like to thank Cherry Berry Lemon Lime at  …. for her part in nominating me for the Blog of the Year Award.

The ‘rules’ for this award are simple:

Select another blog or other blogs who deserve the ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award;

  1. Write a blog post and tell us about the blog(s) you have chosen – there’s no minimum or maximum number of blogs required – and ‘present’ them with their award;
  2. Include a link back to this page Blog of the Year 2012’ Award at the Thought Palette and provide these ‘rules’ in your post (please don’t alter the rules or the badges!)
  3. Let the blog(s) you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the ‘rules’ with them
  4. You can now also join our Facebook group – click ‘like’ on this page ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award Facebook group and then you can share your blog with an even wider audience
  5. As a winner of the award – please add a link back to the blog that presented you with the award – and then proudly display the award on your blog and sidebar … and start collecting stars…

There are stars to collect! Yes, there are stars to collect!

Unlike other awards which you can only add to your blog once – this award is different!

When you begin you will receive the 1 star award, and every time you are given the award by another blog, you can add another star! There are total of 6 stars to collect.

You can check out your favorite blogs, and even if they have already been given the award by someone else, you can still award them again and help them to reach the maximum 6 stars!

For more information check FAQ on The Thought Palette

Copy and paste the rules to your blog and pass them on, time is running out.

Therefore, I’d like to give a nod to the blogs below that I also think deserve the BLOG OF THE YEAR AWARD:

….who very bravely discusses her life with other women…

…whose musings about life as a stay-at-home-dad are always engaging!

…who always has such insightful posts.

…whose prose and ponderings are always thought-provoking.

…an interesting young lass discussing the joys and woes of living in the state of my birth (WV)…

…who always writes openly and honestly about her love life and often says things that we all think, on occasion, but aren’t always willing to admit!

…whose posts are thoughtful and breath life into one’s spiritual blahs, so to speak… 🙂

…who offers REALLY awesome recipes…

….whose adventures in Internet dating make me VERY glad to be an old married lady.

…whose discussion on life as a teenager living on a farm that does NOT have electricity are very frank, often amusing and always entertaining. And I commend her willingness to live such a 19th century life!       

whose photography is always breathtaking….

and last but not least –

…who nominated me and deserves a nomination herself – especially given her awesome content.  Her titles alone are worth stealing :)… (i.e. It’s not the size of your boobs or your jeans that matter)…

And those are my nominees! Congrats to all! 🙂

TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies…


A more than public ANNOUNCEMENT….

Posted in dating, Family, memoir, narrative memoir, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

These days my time is stretched so thin, I’m surprised I haven’t caused the SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM to snap and go offline!  And if you don’t know what that means, GO watch a couple dozen episodes of STAR TREK (or ALL the movies) – and do it quickly, for God’s sakes before the Romulans toss us into cyberspace forever…or the Ferenge (or is it Farengue?) steal all of our GOLD/money/furniture/Hondas/Fords/Lincolns/Bentley’s/Yugos/water fountains…etc.

That said, HEAR YE, HEAR YE…the taxes are crunched AND folded and have been delivered to my HEROIC accountant, and they will be FILED forthwith. THANK YOU, GOD…

And…I’m diligently burning the midnight synapses in order to finish the SEQUEL to The Reckoning in Southie…so stay tuned all…and hopefully, tomorrow…you will be regaled by yet another crazy-assed tale of my Stop and Smell the Crazy life…or something like that… 🙂

Have a good EVENING ALL…back to the darkness from whence my words doth slithered…

Over and out from f*cked up central…


Post #51 – ASHE, the obnoxious…

Posted in college, dating, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 21, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

I met Ashe during my senior year of college, in August of 1988. He came over on sweltering hot day when even one’s eyelids might be sweating. He was a friend of my brother, Ben, our friend, Rick, and a couple other guys who helped me move to a new apartment in a 72-foot school bus, shortly after my first husband and I split up.

And, yes, I said a school bus… 🙂 – which had been the motel on wheels for Maleki, a local metal band. Maleki had just returned from a tour of every rock n roll dive south of the Mason-Dixon line. Rick played guitar, and Ashe was a roadie.

Ashe was one of those people who consumed the atmosphere. He was 6′ 4″ tall, weighed over 260 pounds, and he was sporting 52″ shoulders. However, as soon as Ashe lumbered into my house, I took an immediate dislike to him.

After Ben introduced us, Ashe nodded and barged into the kitchen. Wondering what the hell he was doing, I glanced at Ben, who just shrugged. However, my brother’s expression betrayed a hint of trepidation.

I started to ask him what he was so afraid of when he turned to Rick and said, “Probably should start with the couch.”

Rick nodded, and everyone got busy moving furniture and boxes when I realized that Ashe was still in the kitchen, so I walked in to make sure he wasn’t stealing my silverware or anything, LOL…and…

I found Ashe staring into the fridge, his arm leaning on the refrigerator door, making it sag a bit.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

With a furrowed brow of disapproval and a hint of disdain, Ashe asked, “Are you a vegan or something?”

“No,” I said, laughing. “Why?”

“There’s no meat in here, nothing for a sandwich except this,” He replied, holding up a slice of American cheese, still in its wrapper. “What gives?” he asked, smiling.

“Ya know, Vegans don’t eat cheese.”

“Really? Are you serious?” Ashe asked, rather wide-eyed.

“It comes from cows, so-”

“Oh, my God, that’s fucking hysterical!” he said, with a loud guffaw. Then, he tossed the cheese into the fridge, shut the refrigerator door and shouted, “Hey, Rick, did you know that Vegans don’t eat cheese?”

“They’re outside loading my couch into the bus.”


“So, maybe, you could-”

But before I could finish that thought, Ashe sauntered into the living room, and heaved my antique and monstrously large wing chair – over his head as though it were a box of Styrofoam. After an explosive BELCH, he set the seat of the wing chair on his head. I watched him steady the weight of the chair by holding onto its arms and swagger out of the house.

I shook my head wondering what in God’s name this guy was going to do next. All went surprisingly well though despite the sizzling 95-degree heat that day as everyone lugged all my worldly possessions into the bus.

Two hours later, I was putting a box of my dishes into the trunk of my car while Ashe, Ben, and the other guys were carting boxes of books when we heard the scratchy, cartoonish song of a…

“The ice cream truck! Oh, my God!” Ashe shouted, rather excited. “We need ice cream!” He said, handing Rick the box of books he’d been toting, so he could literally run up the street toward the sound of the truck, waving his hands and screaming, “Over here, Mister Ice Cream Truck! We need ice cream!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ashe’s antics. A second later, the truck bearing the twirling ice cream cone – became visible while navigating an alley across the street…when Ashe, who was 20 at the time, turned around to me and fervently asked, “Buy us some ice cream, or milkshakes!? PLEASE!!”

I glared at Ashe because I was already springing for pizza and beer for everyone, and I was an atypically broke college student at the time and only waiting tables part-time to boot.

“Pretty please, it’s so damned hot,” he whined, noticing my slightly annoyed demeanor. “You know you want it,” Ashe said, and, everyone laughed, including me.

Reluctantly, I smiled and said, “I guess.”

“ALL RIGHT!” Ashe yelled, his eyes lighting up like Las Vegas Boulevard at midnight – as he galloped across the street toward the truck where the driver was serving several ten-year-olds.

With dairy treats in hand, we set off for my new apartment. When I hopped in my Nissan, Ashe appeared in my passenger seat. “There wasn’t enough room in the bus,” Ashe said smiling, “with all the books.”

I nodded, but I just knew that Ben had purposely arranged everything so Ashe would have nowhere to sit – just to piss me off, which was Ben’s favorite form of entertainment when I was around. As soon as I started the car, Ashe took a long, noisy slurp from his banana milkshake. Then, he reached over and switched my radio station from Rock 105 to God knows what.

“Hey! Don’t touch that! I love that song,” I snapped, punching the pre-set button back to Rock 105. A song I really liked Sweet Child of Mine by Guns ‘n Roses had been playing, and I couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.

Yet, ten seconds later, he grabbed the knob on the radio and began flipping stations again across the crackly FM band with his very large paw.

“Do that again, and you’ll lose a hand, asshole!” I blurted out, smacking his hand with a whack.

He laughed saying, “Okay, okay,” holding up his hands in surrender.

I cranked it back to Rock 105 just as Sweet Child of Mine was ending.

“Man, you’re really uptight, aren’t you?”

“No, my car, my radio. Didn’t your mother teach you not to bother other people’s stuff?”

He grinned and said, “Maybe.”

The rest of the three miles to my new digs, he talked about how great it was being on the road with Maleki. “They played at some really shitty places, but most everybody loved their music except for this one place near Nashville.”

“Country music fans?”

“Yeah, I hate that bullshit. It’s sounds like someone’s chewing on aluminum foil over a loud speaker.”

I laughed. “Yeah, not my favorite either.”


I didn’t reply at first…didn’t wanna reveal any common ground. Who knows how he might’ve overreacted to that…”Though I was forced to listen to Blackfoot once when they opened for Van Halen.”

“Weird combo.”

I nodded.

After we unloaded all my furniture, I pulled Ben aside and whispered, “Don’t ever bring that dickhead to my house again.”

Ben instinctively knew I was talking about Ashe. “He’s actually a really nice guy once you get to know him.”

“Yeah, uh, huh, just like a Doberman on steroids,” I grumbled.

Ben laughed. Then, surprise, surprise, less than a week later, guess who started working at the Rock ‘n Roll Cafe where I’d been working for several months? Yep, Ashe was now the full-time bouncer.

Ben knew the manager of the Cafe pretty well, so he recommended Ashe. I wasn’t thrilled about it. But I decided since Ben had vouched for him, that, perhaps, Ashe wasn’t a complete lunatic, but I wasn’t holding my breath. He certainly was entertaining.

A week later, Ashe sat down beside me while I was on break.

“This is all I have,” and he said dropping two quarters and a penny on the table. “Buy me a beer? ”

Frowning, I looked away. My tips were down. Business was always slow in the summer when most college students went back home.  Employees’ drinks were half price, but still. I needed every dime for my electric bill.

“Aw, c’mon. You’re getting a shitload of alimony, Ben said.”

I laughed. “No, I’m not. I’m getting child support for my two-year-old, and it isn’t nearly enough.”

“Please, I’ll buy you three beers when I get paid.”

I sighed and bought Ashe a beer on my tab anyway.

“Thank you,” Ashe said smiling. “So, I’m thinking we should get married, you know, just for the weekend, get a divorce on Monday.”

And, remember, this was way before Britney Spears made the weekend marriage/divorce trendy since she was in diapers at the time…

I nearly choked on my laughter and Bud Light, “I’m sorry, but did you just say married?”

“Yeah,” he said with a big cheesy grin.

“I’m already married.”

“I thought that was over. That’s why-”

“It is,” I said, “But the divorce won’t be final until October.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding.

Not that I had any interest in dating Ashe. At the time, I preferred a skinny musician, who preferred to cheat on me or treat me like shit…☺

“Yeah, well, either way, I’m the one you’re supposed to be with,” Ashe said with the most charming grin I’d ever seen…

Again, I laughed, thinking Ashe had some seriously big jewels. I was beginning to think I’d misjudged him, but he was still persona non grata on my dance card.

However, on June 1, 1990, Ashe and I got married. Seriously…below are a couple of our wedding photos, etc.

Ashe and Kennedy, wedding pic, Boyd Co., KY

Though our marriage tanked, and our divorce was final, oddly on June 1, 1995, we were always great friends. And I was devastated by his sudden death from a diabetes-related heart failure on December 26, 2005. He was 37. Therefore, ladies, NEVER say never. That maddeningly obnoxious co-worker/neighbor/pizza delivery guy could turn out to be your ex-husband #2 🙂 :)…

Ashe and our son, Max, when Max was 3 days old. May 23, 1992

Above is the house that I moved out of the day I met Ashe in August of ’88.

Over and out from fucked up central…