Towanda Knows My Secret – Chapter 1

ass-up

 

Preface:

 

Nothing really to point out but the obvious…we have become a stagnant nation.  Living life in quotes.  Enjoying our bling while poising for…none other than…ourselves.  Selfie nation with no idea of how bad the shit really is.

Towanda knew my secret, long before I had any idea of what had occurred.  I am not a philosopher, I am a bad poet and I have been told that…living with me was like being a participant in a Three Ring Circus.’

However, I am a lesbian, therefore, fully schooled on how life really is when you are an outsider.  This read is for the freak.  The uniquely agile person practiced in the art of ‘I choose to embrace difference…for indeed, it is all that allows to stand out from the pack.

Enjoy, participate, and above all, believe that there is a little Towanda…and a big, Stella, in all of us.

the tabby & the tiger

“I like being myself. Myself and nasty.”
Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

 

 

 

 

If there had been any other way to get my point across,  let’s assume that I had already tried it.  I attempted the ‘out of court’ mediation.  That proceeding lead to my being falsely accused of having looked at a two hundred fifty pound woman with a page boy haircut through a bathroom window.  Other options that had been looked into?   The silent treatment, a vow to myself, stating non-verbally, I will not let that Jehovah hick ruin my day, again.  And/or I will not let that wanna be religious Rosanne Barr rent space in my head, again.  That chant became my daily reflection.  Spoken hourly, sometimes every minute and often every second, those were,  long term kind of days.

Nothing, absolutely nothing fit the glove.  No tune amused the psychotic band.  And, if you haven’t guessed by now, I hate my neighbor!  My neighbor is the embryo to the sack that encompasses puss on a scab that has gone and got itself infected.  Linda Lou Sweetland is the handmaiden to Lucifer’s Higher Power. There is no nice way around it.  The woman is a bitch.  And, this last time, this last, Pow Wow for persons with ‘not’ diagnosed brain disorders, had sent me over the edge.

         

How in the world could that have been, someone else’s cat?  I had heard the faintest meow.  I had been encouraged, yet somewhat dismayed, by the scratching that located itself outside my interior support wall.  Encouraged because I had just recently misplaced my precious calico, Towanda.  A difficult thing to do since she had been an indoor cat.  I looked in the breadbox, the crisper and the ancient hat box that houses my used batteries.  T-wa, as I playfully called her, had gone and disappeared.  Though saddened, I did what any good mother would do.  I called 911 and left a description with an obvious animal hater.  I posted T-wa’s selfie on every leftover phone booth I could find.  I cried and played, Angel by Sarah McLaughlin over 1000 times.  Literally, no stone or cat box, had gone upturned!

Had the scratching at the interior wall been a bad flashback from too many times passing ‘Go’ during Bongopoly games in college?  Well, duh, that is always my first consideration.  The visual hallucinations are less intrusive now that I consider them real.  After all, everything is real as long as the internet tells you so.  Web MD is a wonderful little helper when it comes to those little delusional dilemmas.

However, this noise had not shown itself.  It was not the pink cloud that often hangs above my thoughts.  It hadn’t been the shadow of Bob Marley.   An illusion that only comes out when I am playing slot machines at the local Belmont-Not Really-Stakes.  This sound had been more consistent and somewhat annoying.  Not only that, the meowing began shortly after that peck, peck, peck, scratch and tear, at the wall.

Hence,  I had quietly resolutely asked Linda Lou,

“Hey, have you seen my cat?”

  No worded response had been gurgled from the two legged upright Neanderthal woman.  The friggin’ bitch did grunt something, though.  A distinct groan between the sounds of hmm, and Ha, Ha!  I did what the local Scanklin P.D. had politely,  but with little belief, asked me to do.

“When she gets in your face, call us.  It will take two days, but we will get to you.”

Two days had come and gone.  48 hours of knowing in the pit of my stomach that Linda Lou Who had kidnapped my cat.  49 hours went by.  55 hours, 7 minutes and 56 seconds went by.  No P.D., no squad car of clowns in drag.  No nothing.

On the 56 hour I made my own law.  I aptly called it, Stella’s Revenge!  The plan had been simple. Wait until Linda Lou goes to her weirdo Wednesday night meeting of even weirder religious beliefs.  When she puts that fat ass in her neon sea-foam green Sentra and tucks, All along the Watchtower,  above the visor, I will slip in via her broken basement window.  Recently broken due to a bizarre windstorm where large rocks flew about the lawn.  I only know this because I share a Condex with Linda Lou.  An old Carriage House divided into two.  Each section unto it’s own island.  A good deal during a short sale.  A bad deal during Linda Lou’s moments where she does not believe medications are for the taking.

Long story short, some J.W. took it upon himself to flush a rainbow flag down the commode.  The whole temple looked, from what I am told, like a family of ants in polyester running from God.  Needless to say, as soon as I managed to pry myself up off the basement floor, I Frankensteine’d my way up to the first floor.  Just as I spotted my little four legged bitchy diva,  the lights went on, the curtain goes up. I say, curtain because she kept my poor cat in her awful bathroom. The beady- eyed female Satan came at me with a whisk broom.

Somewhere I had learned that if you hit someone in the throat, there are no marks.  There is no bruising.  The pain is maximum for the minimal effort put in.  With a punch to the throat, lard ass fell like a bowling pin after a strike has been made.  It is kind of sad to see. She did bounce though. That made me feel a little better about the ‘leaving evidence behind’ concept.  With Towanda wrapped in a decorative dish towel, I took a quick Linda Lou ‘selfie’ and got the hell out!

My mother has always told me, ‘Stella, it will be your pride that gets you in the deep shit!’  My mother had her own box of psychological diagnosis.  My mother was always good at pointing out the obvious.

I had mistakenly put the “ Linda Lou Takes a Tumble photo on Instagram.  It became an overnight sensation.  Tagged and re-tagged. It was uploaded and sent to friends of friends of friends of the chief of police.

I have been in the ‘program’ for 19 years.  14 of which were and are continuous sobriety.  I had heard that same old Stepford Wife saying, ‘self will run riot!’  Chanting without thought and brainwashed via cliches, ‘do not think less of self.  Think selfless.’

Yeah, right!  Those weird little old school sayings were fine back when people called dollar bills folding money.  That shit does not work in today’s world.

Caught red handed, had been how one cop put it.  Another cop, we told her we were on our way.  Really?   Had they planned on taking a slow boat from China?

the Canine Home Companion

the Canine Home Companion

 

The Canine Home Companion has recently been made aware of a new/old online social predator.  This animal has been seen disgracing such sites as; Twitter, Facebook and the ASPCA!

...Misfit dogs don't look for trouble...trouble looks for them!
…Misfit dogs don’t look for trouble…trouble looks for them!

Your local dog catcher is offering a reward for the apprehension of these creatures.

the Bog’s, as seen above, is just one of many ‘cute dogs’!  He has been known to defecate on unsuspecting lawns while kicking dirt in his owner’s face.  Typically the dirt kicking, the breaking of expensive family heirlooms and the embarrassing scenes of misbehavior at the vet’s office, are all products of a narcissist with a dangerous need to live life one day at a time.

These ‘cute dog’ photos have been known to produce bad images of Chihuahua’s in baby bonnets.  They have aroused the urge to put our needs behind others.  Most alarmingly, cute pet pictures have induced the proprietor into believing there is someone out there who can make everything alright at the end of a shitty day.

The mission of Canine Home Companion is threefold:

First, decrease the vulnerability of pet owners who watch ASPCA commercials, with sad Sarah McLaughlin songs, by exposing them to such classics as; War and Peace, Pet Cemetery and America’s Serial Killers volumes 1 to 10.

Second, develop an online hotline- 1-800-END-CUTE.  This phone service will provide rapid, effective and ugly online prerecorded messages,

I.E.

‘You aren’t cute…And, your mother dresses you funny’

‘Licking my face only ruins the make-up and causes pimples!’

‘Stop looking at me with those big brown eyes!  The Grinch has big brown eyes!’

Third, the Canine Companion hopes to enhance and educate the online public via Dog Owner Rehabs, Kibble withdrawal detoxification centers and sites with nothing but 24 hours of political ads!

These predators may seem adorable online but once they have entered your home and your heart…You will realize that they are only there to love you.

Call the Canine Companion today and help keep cynicism alive.

 

It's time we all came out of the closet!
It’s time we all came out of the closet!

Next week, a one on one interview with cats who live in the closet!  Why they are there?  And, what do they hope to prove!

I Hate Myself for Lovin You

 I wanna see you begging, say forget it just for spite
I wanna see you begging, say forget it just for spite

Sarah McLaughlin is a wonderful person. I am certain of it. Voice like an angel, petite brunette, cute and sultry at the same time.
That being said, please, please, please, Sarah stop with those tear jerking, soul searching and heart wrenching ASPCA commercials.
The house that Ruth built is filled with animals that had been slated for the Green Mile. Working in shelters I know without a doubt in my mind…there is no such thing as a no kill shelter. Graced with intelligence and a heart jaded by living amongst humans the abode in the middle of the cul-de-sac smack dab between here and gone, is commonly known to my little family as the land of misfits boys and girls.
Sarah I have given to shelters. I worked slave driven hours at a penny a pooch to ensure that everyone lived a longer and prosperous life. Yet, as soon as, Angel soars through the air and I witness a Rover or a Spot behind bars…I feel I’ve not done enough. Who wouldn’t?
However, let me just explain the life of a human owned by a dog with contempt of court and tom foolery in their minds and souls.
My dog will stick his nose so far up your ass, if the opportunity presents itself, that I canceled my colon checkup for the year. He will eat and seek out cat vomit at any given moment and often times right out of a dead sleep. Still warm and steaming on the newly carpeted living room floor. Freshly propped up on an old shoe that is said dog’s favorite toy. The same old shoe that cost a paycheck to acquire, the exact piece of footwear that took forever to go on sale. And, in the end, the shoe that now looks like it went through a paper shredder.
If one is fortunate enough or possibly more to the point, dumbed down enough, to be owned by a pair of canines…you are forever aware of each one’s particular character flaws. For instance, when dog will eat light bulbs, a bottle of Newman’s Own Extreme Taco Sauce and a pound of fresh cut jalapenos. Perhaps, the dog is of Mexican descent. Or, perhaps the dog was born with Fetal Stupidity Syndrome. To which there is no cure.
The other dog? The good dog! The dog that is taken for granted and given charge of the house when the parents are away: This is the dog to watch out for. Still waters run deep and those deep brown eyes with wisdom instilled in them are all just smoke and mirror. This problem child is a binge eater. For months he or she will go about not having accidents on the bed, not attempting to do the dirty dishes that have piled up in the sink and ignoring the fresh bag of cat food you mistaken left within her muzzle’s grasp.
Than one day Cinderella dog will be helping you achieve your mornings serenity at a near by farm. Life is good. The sun is out and the dogs have not drawn blood on each other. Suddenly as though you have been placed smack dab in the middle of Texas Chainsaw Massacre; a scream that has never fallen on human ears will defecate the air with bad karma. As you run to save the life of the good dog. Just over the crest of the uphill battle called, pet ownership, you spot you sweetness de-throating or as the vet called it, going in for the kill, with a poor innocent gopher!
So top dog falls down the rung  and may lose executer access to your will if a killing spree happens again. But as quickly as you turn unto it’s better than ever street and call it quits for the day. Bad dog number one grabs your hand made woolen scarf that appears like a squeaky toy without the squeak…and with one false swoop prepares you for a hangin.
Bad Dog number One has received the highest of honors. He has been given a song that addresses what most animal lovers think but haven’t the heart to say in mixed company.

 I'm over being angry 'bout the hell you put me through
I’m over being angry ’bout the hell you put me through

Midnight, gettin’ uptight, where are you?
You said you’d meet me, now it’s quarter to two
I know I’m hangin’ but I’m still wantin’ you
Hey Jack, it’s a fact they’re talkin’ in town
I turn my back and you’re messin’ around
I’m not really jealous, don’t like lookin’ like a clown
I think of you ev’ry night and day
You took my heart then you took my pride away

I hate myself for loving you
Can’t break free from the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you
That’s why I hate myself for loving you
Ow! Uh

Daylight, spent the night without you
But I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout the lovin’ you do
I’m over being angry ’bout the hell you put me through
Hey, man, bet you can treat me right
You just don’t know what you was missin’ last night
I wanna see you begging, say forget it just for spite
I think of you ev’ry night and day
You took my heart and you took my pride away

I hate myself for loving you
Can’t break free from the the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you
That’s why I hate myself for loving you
Ow! Huh

I think of you ev’ry night and day
You took my heart and you took my pride away

I hate myself for loving you
Can’t break free from the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you
That’s why I hate myself for loving you

I hate myself for loving you
Can’t break free from the the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you
That’s why I hate myself for loving you

, don't like lookin' like a clown  I think of you ev'ry night and day  You took my heart then you took my pride away
, don’t like lookin’ like a clown
I think of you ev’ry night and day
You took my heart then you took my pride away