{October 11, 2015}   Is This Hell?


I ate my anger last night,
as if the instigators of my fury would disappear
swallow by swallow, bite by bite,
me furiously chewing without pleasure,
like an alcoholic slamming down drink after drink
until they don’t consider themselves drunk,
but they consider you the cause of every wrong thing in the world,

Carmelo bars, caramel wrapped lovingly in chocolate followed by another bar,
piece after piece popped in a mouthful of sand where everything tastes like the desert,
eating without thought, without taste or pleasure, mindless zombie chomping on chocolate flesh,
Kisses, the chocolate ones, I grab that tag and yank, exposed chocolate in the palm of my handy waiting to melt in my mouth, not in my hands, call my name seductive,
no melt danger there when you eat so fast you don’t taste a thing,
stress eating they call it, but I just call it stupid, a lack of control on my part,
because I hurt no one but me and my favorite skinny jeans

I smoked too many cigarettes again,
after promising myself and my doctor I would quit,
I did quit once, for maybe a year but then my life fell apart so I grabbed onto the nearest mentholated excuse
and drew that acrid smoke into my lungs like it was clean healthy air,
knowing in my mind that just because I roll my own cigarettes doesn’t make it less hazardous to my health
the cost may be less for a carton of machine-rolled than a carton of store bought cigarettes
yet the cost to my health is beyond my means,
all the psychological games I play in my mind to stop me from smoking disappear along with the menthol smoke
and I feel disgust as I look at the wreckage I’ve left in my wake,
empty candy wrappers and an overflowing ashtray adds to my self-loathing
and I wonder when I lost control of my self

infighting and passive aggressive words thrown at me,
and how do you defend yourself against imagined sins when your accuser throws back another shot
as the mental flogging goes on and on and on,
only to be forgotten in the light of day as my self esteem shrinks till my heart is shriveled and Grinch-like
and I flinch at the slightest side-look, waiting for another shoe to drop
knowing all the while I am shoeless, guilty of nothing other than
someone else’s paranoia,
imagined sins and baseless accusations, all courtesy of Mr. Daniels, but you can call him Jack,
he comes with a title you see, but I only know him as the Court Jester
because it’s all a joke you know, those words weren’t meant I’m told, where is my sense of humor and
why don’t I have a drink and calm down

why don’t I have a drink and calm down for
nothing matters you see,
the rollercoaster ride continues and I’m not buckled in,
I twist and turn and morph into a dumpster,
come one, come all, give me your tired, your weary, your problems
bigger than mine, for I am Jan Brady and the middle child gets all the garbage
while trying to keep the boat afloat,
all those years of taking care reduced to ashes
as the trophy boys hold their hands open, waiting for their due
and me?
I just want my Mother.
I want that unconditional love but it is gone for all time and
I must carry on, carry them, carry the guilt for nothing until I wonder,
is this Hell?

What have I done with my life and where did I leave myself?
Because I am gone, I look in a mirror and wonder who is in there, peering back at me,
eyes so sad I could cry from the mere sight of me,
stability ripped away like a rug yanked from beneath me
metaphorically battered and interior bruising,
my previous protectors an illusion shattered,
my desire to sleep forever whispers in my ear like a song stuck in your head
an effort to shake it away, and so much easier to continue wearing my mask…

Don’t let them in, don’t let them too close,
the knife you feel in your back is real, but ignore the blood as you slowly bleed out
play the game and you lose, don’t play along and still, you lose it all,
alone, lost, afraid, a path of darkness ahead and darker still in my rearview mirror
Is anything real? Did I imagine all the good that has left me standing alone,
fighting for nothing
fearing everything
I am swept into a corner and still I wonder,
is this Hell?


Because everything.
Can’t watch the news because it’s full of shit and non-news, editorial views now pass as headline news, journalism is dead and Politically Correct runs the world only it’s running the whole damn thing into the ground instead of letting the happy shine through.
Or as Giles put it in both the first and last episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, “The Earth is Definitely Doomed.”.
I’ve been writing and writing and not posting, saving everything to draft and hating everything I write between running up and down the stairs twenty times a day to mess with the router/modem/anything internet related since obviously Mars is still in my retrograde. It’s exasperating to stop my flow of thoughts because those stupid white bars keep showing me the yellow triangle with the exclamation point and just as I finally get back online my phone rings again because my Dad wants to tell me what’s on Turner Classic Movies for the seventh time that day so I grit my teeth and pretend I’m really glad he told me and yes of course I’ll be watching it thank you very much and yes I’ll talk to you later.
Of course my train of thought is gone and I forget what the hell I was about to write which, of course, was the most brilliant thing ever written except now it’s gone forever. So I save to draft and pray for a miracle.
I want to write about the fun, the good stuff, my vacation to the shore (including tornado warnings and much rain), the awesomeness of finally meeting in person (even though I arrived fifteen minutes late because the library was so big I couldn’t find the right room – plus I had to pee. Shut up, it’s a long ride from Carteret!)then leaving (too early for my liking) to go to my niece’s baby shower (where I stood for the most part because that’s what I do) while my feet were throbbing from the inevitable sunburn I got down the shore regardless of the number 90 sunblock I used – the fair Irish skin might have something to do with that but it sure didn’t make any of my shoes less painful.
Dental appointments to fix the root canal a previous dentist had botched leaving 3 root tips and a foreign object in my gums weren’t very much fun but at least I finally found the root of that problem and that was totally an unintentional pun.
And did I mention I’m a routine kind of girl who hates when my apple cart gets upset and my usual go-to’s are gone? I mean even the television shows that make me happy are on hiatus and if that freaks me out imagine how freaked out I get when my usual crutch gets pulled out from under me and I’m nothing but a ball of confusion?
See? I’m a lunatic when I don’t write and I stupidly let myself not write.
Bad, bad, me.
I need to get back to my routine of writing every day and stop putting everything in draft and stop putting every damn person in the world ahead of me. I’m going to have to start getting a little more selfish and stop letting every thing else pull me apart like taffy.
That, my friends, is the easy part. The hard part is actually doing it.
The sand is running through the hourglass faster each day. It’s past time to kick it into gear and get on Team Me.
I also want a unicorn.

In the spirit of truth, justice, and the Girl Scout Code of Honor, I’m loopy right now due to another dental visit and the subsequent pain-pills needed to keep me from putting a stick of dynamite in my mouth to stop the pain of, well, everything I guess but lets stick to the subject at hand. Err, mouth.
So I didn’t sleep very well last night, in fact I woke up every hour inbetween little bursts of weird sleep leaving my mind to wander weirdly.
Like, is there television in Heaven?
Because all the shows I used to watch with my Mom, I now watch through her eyes and wonder, did she get to see Nene’s wedding and does she get to watch Almost Royal? Is she keeping up with all the fake reality shows we used to love to snark about together and does she have any pull to make sure that Orphan Black eventually gets some recognition since the Emmy snub happened again?
Is she hanging out with all my relatives and does she know that everyone in the entire family except me can’t stand my Dad and I’m the only one helping him out?
Is she happy that I spread her ashes in Cape May and did she send the snow when I did so to remind me of our last trip together when it snowed so I wouldn’t feel so sad?
Does she know I found the Birthday Card she bought me before she died and how much I treasure it?
Is there something I could have done to keep her here with me longer and it is it my fault she died? Does she know I blame myself even though my head knows there was nothing I could do?
Does she know I keep dreaming about her dying in my arms as we both sob?
Does she know I have so many questions that will remain unanswered?
Does she know how much I miss her?
Does she know how much I love her?
I’ve decided that yes, there is TV in Heaven. And yes my Mom knows all the things I wonder about. And yes, someday I will see her again and all my questions will be answered.
And yes, someday, Mom and I will once again watch TV in Heaven and snark away.
In the mean time, I think it’s time for another pain pill.
And please excuse my ramblings, I’m getting back to me slower than I thought.
But I shall leave you with this: betcha’ by golly wow my Mom is up there right now trying to fast forward through the commercials.

me and mom“Mothers hold their children’s hands for just a little while, and their hearts forever”~ Irish proverb ~
Someone much wiser than me recently told me my Mother flows through my veins, that every pump of my heart pushes part of her through my body and my mind, so she will always be with me. Always. It wasn’t until I was a few miles away from Cape May that I began to feel anxious the other day, uneasy almost, as if I’d left something behind when I packed my bags to head north. Which, of course, I had, when I stood alone on the slippery jetties and scattered my Mother’s ashes where she wanted them, in the Atlantic Ocean off Cape May beach.
In the last ten years or so, Mom and I started a new tradition, 2 to 3 visits a year to Cape May, just the two of us. The only rule we had was we had to stay at The Victorian and we had to stay no less than 5 days. We began to think of The Victorian as our home away from home, always warmly welcomed as Mom checked in because I couldn’t stop petting the cat all cozied up on a comfy chair purring away in tandem with the thumping of the dog’s tail. We didn’t even care if we left the room, although we did spend many hours wandering through the most beautiful town in the world. What mattered was the talking. Two best friends talking who just happened to be Mother and Daughter. Those are the times I cherish most.
Everything happens for a reason some say, and I’m still trying to figure out the reason Mother Nature decided Saint Patrick’s Day, the day I planned to bring Mom to her final resting place, was a good day to dump 7 inches of snow in Cape May while leaving the rest of NJ alone.
But I was on a mission.
After a longer than usual drive into howling wind, freezing temperatures, and snow nearly up to my knees in some drifts, I trudged my way, Mom in hand, down to the surf.
I don’t remember ever being so cold and I talked to Mom as we got closer to the waves crashing over the jetties.
My closest friend Shawn came with me so I wouldn’t have to be alone, but since she knows me so well, she understood my need to scatter Mom’s ashes by myself, but in true Best Friend Form, she walked with me to the beach, staying back just a bit so I could say my final goodbyes, just me and Mom, alone together for the last time.
Is there ever enough time to say everything you want to say to someone? Usually we put it off or hope they just know how we feel.
mom and me scottish festival
I am so Blessed to have a Mother who taught me to always say ‘I Love You’, so thankful that we never even ended a phone call without saying it to each other, and beyond grateful that the last words we said to each other were “I Love You”.
Is it possible to feel relief and dread at the same time? Relieved that my sweet beautiful Mother is in that good place now, yet dreading each day without her in my life. I will never say goodbye to Mom, I will say until we meet again, I will feel your presence with each breath I take, feel you watching over me as you did all my life.
And most of all, I will love you for the rest of my days, until I see you again.
unexpected mom
Rest In Peace, my beautiful Mother.
From Buffy The Vampire Slayer ~ The Body
Anya (crying): But I don’t understand! I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she just can’t get back in it and not be dead anymore! It’s stupid! It’s mortal and stupid! And, and Xander’s crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever, and she’ll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why. (She puts her hand over her face, crying.)

anya from the body
My own version of the yellow brick road, where life is magical and anything is possible.
road to cape may

I am woman hear me roar.
Not that it does me any good to roar, I am still always cast in the role of Cinderella.
You remember her: “Cinderella, Cinderella, all I hear is Cinderella, from the moment that I get up, there isn’t any let up”*
Yeah, that’s me.
From the moment that my feet hit the floor I know what I’m in for: a big fat mess waiting for somebody to clean it up.
Would you like to play a game and guess who that somebody is? You get three guesses and the first two don’t count so that leaves me.
See, I don’t have a job. You know, a real job that requires me to leave this house and do something that results in a paycheck.
Nope, no paycheck for me because housework doesn’t count when you have two children and five animals to clean up after. Oh wait, they’re not children, they are adults, the hubs and his older sister.
And guess what? They are worse than an overcrowded kindergarten class.
“I’ll clean this up later” is a favorite, it turns into a Mexican standoff (hey, that’s a real phrase, if you’re looking for politically correct you’re in the wrong place) as to who can hold out longer, the slobs or me. And as usual, I fold first because I can’t abide living in filth and disarray.
Just take a look around, see what I mean?
For those of you without x-ray vision allow me to describe my immediate surroundings:
Chinese takeout for dinner last night (which by the way, I didn’t eat one bite because I was upstairs writing) is still sitting on the counter, smack dab in front of my tea kettle. Half empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays are mixed amongst the left-out-all-night Chinese leftovers and we are now on bowl number five full of those little packets of duck sauce and all that stuff they fill the bags with. Allow me to add that they are never, and I mean never used.
There are empty cans of dog food sitting on the counter and may I add that the sink is full of dirty dishes? I guess it’s too much work to take that one step to the dishwasher and put them in, I mean after all, less than 12 inches away from the sink is much too strenuous for the average lazy person.
I’m going to Hell, aren’t I?
Ok so in the midst of writing my little tantrum, I had to stop and go to ShopRite to buy food because as usual, there’s another blizzard on the way and I had to make sure I had enough tea.
I lied, I did get tea but I also got an order for the week so it was a decent amount of time that I was gone.
Thinking I’d come back to at the very least, a cleaned off countertop, I was sadly disappointed and had to clean the counters so I could empty the bags so I could put the food away then pull out the makings for homemade lasagna (I’m a sucker and a chump)which also required me to run and unload the dishwasher in order to have room to- oh forget it, you get the idea.
I am Cinderella and Rapunzel with a dash of Snow White thrown in.
There’s also some Buffy The Vampire Slayer mixed in there but she only comes out when I’m sticking up for anyone who isn’t me. I’m beginning to realize that is about to change.
So yeah, I can roar with the best of them, and believe me, not only am I woman, but I am a hell of a woman; I just need to remind myself of that fact a little more often.
And maybe throw either A. a tantrum or B. everything that isn’t cleaned up either in the garbage, or in the person responsible for the mess’s bed.
Or possibly both.
Or I can go with my usual, What Would Buffy Do?
*Cinderella song from the Disney version.

AUTHORS NOTE: Lizzie is kinda pissed James didn’t mention he had a twin brother…ooops
“Huh? What are you talking about? What do you mean you haven’t heard from James?”
“Sweetheart I’d be glad to answer all your questions but do you think you can ease up a bit with the knife?”
He looked so much like his brother I was finding it hard to tear my eyes away from his face.
“I’ve already been circumcised luv but I’d be happy to show you if you don’t believe me.” His James-blue eyes were filled with laughter which did nothing but piss me off more than I already was.
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed as I punched him in the face one more time, only not as hard as I did before. His stupid James-face was making the punching part less fun than it should have been.
Then I remembered the way he imitated James before and I wanted to stake him. But I punched him again instead.
“What the fuck was that all about before? Why the asshole act?”
My ego was still stinging from his insulting behavior before. I was also more than a little pissed off at James for neglecting to mention his brother was not only a vampire but his identical twin. My life was a bad soap opera.
“We can stay like this as long as you want luv, happy to be on the bottom but if you keep wiggling around like that don’t blame me if I flip you over and- owww!”
I was so infuriated I forgot I was straddling him and it was becoming apparent that he and James were identical, at least physically.
“Stop being a pig and what do you mean you don’t know where James is? And,” I waved my knife in the general direction of his James-face enjoying his barely discernible discomfort. “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with that little scene before either.”
“I-” he began.
“Shut up. Where is your brother?”
“Don’t “you” me!”
I could hear myself making no sense and screeching like a harpy.
Still sitting on top of what looked like James, who always made me melt.
I punched him again.
There’s nothing I hate more than stereotypical bullshit and there I was, a walking talking cliché.
Make that a straddling cat-got-my-tongue cliché.
He wasn’t helping by finding this funny.
“What are you laughing at?” I try to sneer but can’t quite pull it off. He is as exasperating as James can be, and I was beginning to see the resemblance might be more than physical.
I gave myself a mental mind shake and pushed off of him, it was becoming evident that he was enjoying me pinning him down a little more than he should have been.
“You’re an asshole,” I said matter of factly.
He was chuckling as he stood up. Brushing off his jeans he stood next to me, James-height and all.
“Sweetheart, the look on your face was priceless.”
The more he laughed the more I fumed.
“Oh shut up,” I shoved him and he tried to hide his smirk.
“What the fuck is going on and where’s your brother? I mean your twin brother! He is so dead!” I hate when I yell. “You’re dead too!” I poke him in the chest for emphasis. It’s just as toned as James- argh what was I thinking?
“We already are luv, you know, undead and all that,” he taps his head as if to infer I’m an idiot.
“You sure are a feisty little thing Elizabeth, James neglected to mention that,” he frowned.
When did James mention me? They were barely on speaking terms far as I knew.
“What’s your name anyway? James ‘neglected to mention that’ to me,” I snapped.
I was embarrassed, pissed off and I had to pee.
“You know what? I don’t even care what your name is right now. I’m sick of the lot of you… James is always disappearing and being all mysterious and you! You’re a dick and don’t fucking laugh at me and fuck you I’m going home.”
“Liam,” he called after my retreating form. “My name is Liam, and I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I started laughing, hard. I couldn’t stop. You know that laugh you get at inappropriate times and you can’t stop no matter what? It was that.
I was doubled over holding my stomach, laughing at the ridiculously stupid that is my unlife.
“What? It’s short for William,” his voice was part confusion, part soothing as if he was dealing with a crazy person.
That made me laugh harder and Liam looked like he was about to bolt and I snapped out of it.
I cleared my throat as if I was having a coughing fit and wondered when my life turned into an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer.
lizziepto be continued…

AUTHORS NOTE: Catt and her Muse discuss some of the finer points of fashion…sorta…
“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed!” I mean to sound indignant but my voice just sounds kinda squeaky.
“Oh please chica, red desert boots and cargo pants?” She actually shudders.
“Hey you’re the one who put me in these stupid red clodhoppers in the first place, which, ok, I was barefoot in hot sand so thanks for that but come on, you could’ve gone with Doc Martins at least.”
She mumbles under her breath again, she does that a lot around me, something weird usually follows.
“Red Doc Martins I can deal with but these things,” I look down at my feet, “Holy shit, check out these kick ass boots!
Black biker boots covered my feet and my cargos were now comfortably tight leathers.
From the mirror she’s magic-ed in front of me I looked fashionably dressed for an Apocalypse, also, I was pleased to note, kinda hot.
“How’d you do that?” I really need to learn how to do that!
“Moi? Not me missy, you did it all by your lonesome… aren’t you just full of surprises…”
She’s really bad at hiding condescension. Probably because she doesn’t try. But she was dripping with it now and it had nothing to do with boots.
“C’mon, knock off the bitchery and stop being all mad at me,” I try my wide-eyed innocent look. It doesn’t work so I try again.
“You know this is just temporary-”
“Everything is temporary chica.” She sounds pissed but it doesn’t stop her from interrupting me.
“-and it was the only thing I could do at the time-”
“Time,” she sneers, “you know nothing about time. Nothing.” Her arms are folded and she gives me her back, won’t even look at me.
“Ahem,” I remain silent until she gives up and turns to face me. I attempt to give her the coldest stare I can muster but it bounces off her like a pink rubber ball thrown against a concrete wall.
“As I was saying-”
“You say nothing but words without meaning.”
“-if there was any other way I- hey! My words have meaning!”
Damn she’s getting under my skin and enjoying every minute of it, if the definition of “enjoying” is being a bitch. I have to remind myself not to engage the crazy supernatural being capable of rendering me dead. And I better start thinking happy thoughts before she pulls another disappearing act on me.
“You are thinking thoughts about me right now chica, I know that look on your face,” her voice is a mixture of anger, annoyance, and a tinge of affection. “Just because I can’t read your thoughts for now doesn’t mean I can’t read your intent.”
Wow. She is really pissed at me for bottling her, apparently Muses don’t like to be owned.
Shit. I didn’t think of it that way, being owned and not in a good way.
“Look,” I say with complete sincerity, “I promise you, as soon as this whole Apocalypse thing is over, which by the way, you really need to fill me in on what’s going on with that and what the fuck it has to do with me… but for real, I swear I’ll release you as soon as this is over. Pinky swear.”
And I really do mean it, I don’t want a Genie in a bottle, I want my Muse back.
She does that eyebrow raising thing she does so perfectly, her red stained lips parted in exasperation.
Pinky swear?” I can’t tell if she’s gonna laugh or scream. Possibly both.
“Pinky swear,” I answer as I reach my hand out to her, pinky first.
After staring at my hand for what seemed like hours she shrugs her shoulder and reaches her own hand to me.
“You,” she says as she hooks her pinky with mine, ” are a very strange human.”
She looks me over from head to toe and shakes her head.
“If you are indeed all human, I’m beginning to have my doubts about that.”
I decided it would be a lot easier if I just pretended I didn’t hear that.
to be continued…

{September 6, 2013}   Act Two Scene One~ Muse Series

AUTHORS NOTE: Our Catt has gone from the frying pan into the fire in the form of a hot endless desert, where she begins to contemplate what the hell is going on, and why she finds herself facedown in a desert.
“Shit, and also, oww!”
I land facedown with a hard thump knocking nearly all of the breath out of me. I still have enough air left to spit out a curse along with the sand I almost swallowed, but just one, for now.
I’m trying to curse less.
Not having too much luck with that one lately.
Me and my stupid ideas. I had to go looking for a muse, any muse. Writers block had me in it’s grips for so long I had to go looking for a goddamn muse.
I didn’t expect to find a delusional Muse with a penchant for mind-fucking.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Team Muse and I’m thrilled to be out of that bottle. Genie Guy babbling about me saving the world was freaking me out because he was so serious, so convinced I’m supposed to fight some guy over a magic ring to save the world.
I mean come on, if this was my Muse’s way of giving me inspiration she could at least come up with something a little more original than some average girl saving the world, there’re a million awesome books about that out there already.
And why am I just laying in the desert?
This is worse than Alice in Wonderland or Dorothy, who at least had her little gang of friends.
I get, as usual, abandoned. Not even a Cowardly Lion.
I’m so tired that I don’t even notice the tiny specks of grit digging into my flesh.
I don’t remember the last time I had anything to eat either.
Still, I swear I could just stay here facedown in this sand forever if it meant I’d stop all this flip-flopping around from impossible place to impossible place.
I hate having zero control plus I’m getting nauseous.
Plus my clumsy is showing a little too much for my liking.
I thought Muses were supposed to help and stuff, you know, inspiration and all. Why do I get the one who seems to exist just to torture me?
I’m flummoxed. Seriously flummoxed.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an idiot. I know whatever is going on is real, in it’s unreal way, and I also know I’m being used for something and my brain is starting to hurt from trying to figuring it all out.
So I’m not even gonna try anymore.
What the fuck’s the point?
It’s either real, this is one long weird-ass dream, or I’m locked up in a mental hospital like that one Buffy episode. Only there are no vampires and I don’t think I’ll ever be normal again even if I do drink a magic potion make it through this…thing.
And I just totally jinxed myself with the vampires.
Fuck. And fuck again because there goes my curse-control.
What the hell? Why not vampires?
I have Muses and Djinns and who the hell knows what else and if I don’t slam on the brakes with this line of thinking I’m gonna have a meltdown.
I have to get my bearings, which would be a little easier if I opened my eyes but after all the fantastical things I’ve seen in the last few… damn it, I have no concept of time. I have no idea how much time has passed since my more than a little bit insane Muse kidnapped me and zapped me into a fucking bottle of Djinn with an unstable Genie who had a thing for the late ’70’s Disco era judging by his mirror-balls, not to mention that uber bitch Muse who was out for my blood, without explanation I might add. I mean really, if you’re gonna decimate someone shouldn’t you at least tell them why? Nobody has manners anymore, not even the supernatural I guess.
It starts to sink in.
I mean I’m starting to sink into hot desert sand and a sliver of a memory flashes through my brain, almost a deja vu but, more.
It’s gone just as fast but I know one thing, it’s really hot and I’m already thirsty.
Last thing I remember is being stuck in an ever changing bottle with a green Genie telling me something I can’t completely recall. Maybe somebody whacked me on the head, because everything went black and I was gone.
Finally, I open up my eyes to sand and after a quick look around, I jump to my feet trying to get my bearings.
Everywhere I look I see nothing but sand.
Flat brown endless sand as far as the eye can see.
“And hot as hell dammit! What the fuck?”
Great, now I’m screaming my frustration to no one and-
“I,” a familiar disembodied voice says, “am not no-one chica.”
Oh no. Or possibly, yay.
Only one person calls me ‘chica’ and she’s not really a person, she-
“Am too!” the voice says indignantly.
“‘Not really a person’? Oh chica, you hurt me with words,” she’s pouting like she means it. “And not even a simple ‘thank you’. You really are an ungrateful little bitch aren’t you?”
Oh great, was this gonna be the punishment part of the performance?
Her arms are crossed in front of her, her lower lip full and pouty, her eyes wet, like she was going to cry.
I notice she hovers above the sand just enough that her own perfectly formed bare feet don’t have to deal with the heat.
I’m trying my best not to let her see how much I wanted to at least jump from foot to foot because this sand is wicked hot. Never let them see you sweat and all that. Least she can do is-
“All you have to do is ask chica, and this one will even be a freebie.”
She clapped her perfect hands together like a kid on Christmas morning, proud of the gift they’d given someone.
If I didn’t know better I might think she was beginning to, well, at least tolerate me.
A perfectly fitted pair of red desert boots appear on my feet.
“Red?” I ask, although I wasn’t complaining, my feet weren’t burning anymore.
“Silly child,” she says,  She throws her head back and releases the loveliest laugh I’ve ever heard. “To match the blood of course.”
I don’t know how she managed it, but as she disappeared her laugh echoed throughout the endless desert, bouncing back at me from billions of directions at the same time.
Once again I was alone.
That didn’t stop me from answering her, “uh, what blood?”
to be continued…

AUTHORS NOTE:Puppet shows can be scary on a good day. Catt’s not having a good day.
The red curtain rises to reveal a torturous scene in the form of an old fashioned puppet show.
“Genie! What’s going on? What did you do?”
My voice trembles along with my body at the scene playing out in front of my confused eyes.
Puppet shows scare the hell out of me on a good day, I am not having a good day.
And this is no ordinary puppet show.
This was more like a cross between an entire season of the goriest episodes of The Walking Dead mashed together with every Big Bad that tried to take down Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Add some Epic Battles of Biblical Proportion along with the unfortunate fact that I’m no Slayer and I’m in a world of trouble.
Or possibly insane.
I unconsciously reach my hand out as if I can stop the bloody slaughter and maniacal mayhem playing out in front of my petrified eyes from the inside of this insane asylum I’m stuck in.
Genie, who might be a member of the Multiple Personality Club I seem to find myself surrounded by lately apparently has other plans for me.
One of his beefy hands grabs my arm, yanking me away from the multitude of scenes playing out in front of my eyes in holograph form.
My skin begins to sizzle and burn wherever his rough skin touches mine.
Microscopic blisters form on my arm, first letters, then words, a message maybe but unfortunately I don’t understand Sanskrit. I also don’t know how I know it’s Sanskrit, I just do. Maybe I’m picking it up through osmosis from Genie.
“Bad Kitty,” he growls at me, “you know better than to call me ‘Genie”!”
He tugs an invisible leash around my neck yanking me hard against him. His flesh is icy heat against mine, my skin bubbles at each point of contact.
“What the fuck else can I call you? You won’t tell me your fucking name!”
I look up at him refusing to flinch at the pinwheels of color spinning in his eyes. Tiny flames flare, threatening to spill out of his eyes and burn me alive.
Salty beads of sweat drip down my forehead, clinging to my hair before dripping into my eyes, stinging.
I blink them away, refusing to tear my eyes away from his.
I can feel him inside me, probing my mind.
“Not much in there,” he sniffs my hair then pushes me away, finding me lacking.
“Yet.” I hear him murmur.
“You have balls Catt, I gotta give you that.” His voice is less menacing, with a hint of admiration in in. I can’t get a handle on him.
He’s moodier than I am during a Full Moon.
I notice the temperature has been rising, it’s so damn hot in here I’m finding it hard to breathe.
“Look toots, suck it up. Watch and learn.”
He places his huge hand on my head, claws slipping out of his fingers drawing blood as he forces my face toward the horror before me.
Hard as I try I can’t tear my eyes away from the insanity I’m watching. I think the thick sharp claws puncturing my flesh to hold my head in place might have something to do with that.
Spinning holograms of torture and blood and gore and battles and scary nightmarish creatures.
“Ge- umping Jesus! Do something!”
I catch myself in the nick of time, note to self, no Genie calling allowed.
Mr. Don’t Call Me Genie catches my slip but lets me slide.
“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“I don’t know, because people are being slaughtered? What do you mean ‘why’? I thought you were on my side!”
“Your side?” His laugh rumbles long and loud enough to send the holograms of horror spin like, uh, spinning things.
“Oh Pussycat, you are a piece of work,” except each word came out between bouts of hysterical giggles.
At least his amusement got him to remove his claws from my face. Though the salty beads of sweat pouring down my face are stinging the hell out of the bloody gashes he left behind.
“Dollface, the only side I’m on is my own,” he chuckles.
“Now sit your cute little ass back down and have a Snickers already. You know you want to.”
His wild eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.
“No Snickers!”
My outburst is met with silence.
Followed by pouting.
You have got to be kidding me, he actually folds his arms across his chest and pouts like a spoiled child.
“You aren’t being very much fun Kitty Catt,” his voice is a petulant growl.
“I am too fun!”
Oh no, I feel a babble coming on.
“I’m all kinds of fun! I’m a fun-a-thon! A fundae with a side of fun sauce! I’m funatically fun! Funtastically fun!
But I see the merest hint of a grin so I try to steer the conversation back to the twirling holograms.
And the rest of it.
I wipe away a trail of blood from my cheek hoping to elicit some sympathy and let out an intentionally loud sigh.
“Please,” I figure it can’t hurt to start out begging.
“Asmodeus, the ring, the bottles, all of it. What’s the connection and what’s with the hologram puppet show? You were about to tell me when she popped in, remember?”
I wave my hand in the direction of my frozen in place Muse.
Why am I sweating profusely while she’s ice cold solid?
“Toots you have more immediate problems than Asmodeus and the ring right now. She’s about to unthaw and Kitt Catt, she’s gonna be uber pissed.”
I turn to look at her and her furious eyes are focused on me.
What started as a few drops of melting ice begins to turn into tiny cracks in her form fitting ice prison.
And they are growing rapidly.

to be continued…

{July 15, 2013}   Happy Birthday To Me

I figured I might as well put it out there and get it over with.
Today is my birthday.
Uh, whoo-hoo?
I’m not your basic center-of-attention-it’s-my-birthday girl. If it was up to me I’d prefer the day to just pass by like every other day does. Perhaps because my birthdays usually turn out pretty much like Buffy’s birthdays turn out, only without the vampires.
Just a few birthday’s ago I wound up with a broken rib from an overly zealous birthday hugger.
As a child, my birthday inevitably turned out to be either the last day of our yearly two-week vacation at the Jersey Shore or the day we had to pack up and drive home so there was usually a scramble to try to make the day ‘mine’.
I’ve had birthday’s come and go where the only person who remembered it was my birthday was my Mom.
Which leads me to this, another one of those ‘Firsts’, my first birthday without my Mom.
I can’t concentrate on that though, no wallowing allowed because my Mom would be pissed if I wallowed, and the one thing that’s most important to me is to continue to live my life as if my Mom was still here, watching over me.

So here’s the thing; well, here’s two things; firstly, for the first time in all my years of being alive, my Father bought me a birthday present.
No, you don’t understand, my Father bought me a birthday present!!!
On his own.
Without anyone telling him to.
And not only did he buy me a birthday present, he bought me a book!!!
An autographed copy no less!
He knows how much I love my hometown and he bought me a copy of this book filled with goodies and tidbits about the founding of Sayreville, pages full of old pictures of my town before they paved Paradise and put up a million condos/houses/strip malls.
I am in shock and awe.

Ok, here’s the bittersweet secondly; just the other day, while going through some of my Mom’s things (it’s not easy going through her stuff at all) I found it, the birthday card she bought me ahead of time, on our last trip to Cape May.
Of course I burst into tears when I first saw it, a beautiful daughter-card, filled with angels and beautiful words. She didn’t get to sign it, but still, on this first birthday without my Mom, she managed to wish me a Happy Birthday.
sayreville book

et cetera