Kitty Knows How To Pick 'Em

Speaking of the treehouse post (there she goes, starting a sentence mid-thought again)... Shortly after I wrote that, a friend of mine asked if I was referring to the questionable place I often speak about in my current town. At first, I laughed as nothing on this planet will ever rival the awesomeness that WAS that treehouse. Then I quietly mused about all the.... well.... questionable places I've called "home" since getting kicked to the curb. I recall a place I had put an application in for - it was fabulous. Quite reminiscent of some creepy B-caliber horror movie hotel setting complete with bordello-red wallpaper and shoddy lighting. Man, it was extraordinary. As luck would have it, another young gal had beat me to it..... Roughly a week later, I came across an article in the paper about her murder. In that apartment. Huh.

The place he actually eluded to was another bit of bizarre perfection. A "four-square" home behind what would have been a lovely little lake in a borderline-ominous section of town. The lovely lake I mention was, sadly, drained due to a sinkhole that claimed the lives of two locals a month prior to my moving in. If you back that trolley up, further, this place was owned by the stalker-tendencies-husband of a nutcase coworker of mine. Who could pass up such a stellar arrangement, right? Another amusing little tidbit: The gal who was moving out to allow me to move in was yet another coworker who offered me her jewel-encrusted handgun as a housewarming present. She made a habit of laying it on the coffee table in plain view of the front window so "visitors" would know she wasn't to be fucked with. I would have gladly accepted the present if her sheriff of a boyfriend didn't advise heavily against it. After all, it was registered in her name and I clearly exuded an air of trigger happy.

It was actually a pretty neat little shack. The "four-square" portion refers to a style of home very popular in that area where there are four, equal size rooms in the shape of a box with a flat roof. A room, bathroom, kitchen, and miniature living room. Mine had actually been enlarged into a six-square so what was once a mud porch was converted to another bedroom and make-shift laundry room. The total lack of safety didn't bother me in the least as I was in yet another strange point in my life and had a massive case of insomnia. I figured if I was to have visitors, perhaps they would at least offer entertainment. And how, but I'll get to that in a moment.

The roof of the "house" - I'm still not sure it qualifies as much more than a shack with Tuff-Shed envy - was quite low so the ceiling was maybe 6.5ft off the ground. Not the slightest issue for a midget such as myself. And this further allowed the assorted skylights to be like neat-o look-out portholes. It felt a bit like the groundhog exhibit at the zoo..... The low-lying skylights also apparently allowed the creepster landlord to spy on me at his leisure as he could easily scale the walls up to the roof without the frivolous use of a ladder. Add this "perk" to my rodent roommates, termite infestation and heating system circa 1913 or so, and a young single bottle blonde truly couldn't ask for much more.

As I look back, I grasp at an answer as to why this suited me so completely. The answer is, in fact, the recurring theme of simplicity. I never needed much beyond a place to crash after a long day. Though, once again, the omnipresent insomnia rendered even that idea null. Even with all it's.... well... let's call it character... it was my sanctuary. The operative word being "WAS".

The poison in this particular cocktail could be easily credited to a gal I once thought to befriend. As plenty of alcoholic trust-fund pixies in this town can attest to, there is simply nothing as "fun" as ensuring an endless supply of flavors-of-the-week, so to speak, for themselves and their gal pals. A horrid notion, no doubt. And one I never had any interest in or use for. Nonetheless, this same dimwitted gal thought it a bit of brilliance to provide detailed directions to my home to upwards of 1/5th of the city's "eligible" criminals.

The proverbial icing on the cake came about at 3am on a random Wednesday morning - mind you, Kitty Kitty was due at work by 7am.... The aforementioned gal was *shock* tanked and bumbling about my miniature abode when she evidently saw something shiny out front. At first, I didn't think much of it as her exploits were reliably soul-draining and I was hardly in the mood. After 20 or so minutes, the realization washed over me that I may now have to avenge her death. *sigh*

Sure enough, she had gracefully stumbled, blithering drunk, into the backseat of a drug lord's old Chevy Malibu. Tinted windows, platinum spinners, conveniently absent license plate - ahhh yes - pimped to perfection, indeed. Upon so much as opening my front door, the gentleman in the driver seat motioned with his gun for me to promptly join my friend. I imagined it too late to explain I truly wasn't very fond of her and any plans they proceeded with would probably earn them the praise of a great many people, not the least of which was her own mother.

Instead, I casually obeyed and joined the dimwit (and 3 other upright citizens) in the backseat. I was instantly overwhelmed with the thick, dreary smoke of glass pipes and crystalline rocks. I quietly mused to myself visions of vomiting on the velvety shag carpet beneath my feet. On the other hand, if I even possessed one, my inner housewife was almost impressed at the cleanliness. Seems shag would be a magnet for lint..... Rottweiler hair, at least. There was one of those as well. Impressively well behaved as he eyed me from the bench seat ahead.

From out of nowhere, and as though I had long since arrived at the conclusion things weren't to get much worse anyway, I was suddenly able to put on a show of a charismatic nature. My personality inexplicably bubbled directly to the surface and I entertained. Not only did I entertain - I charmed, dazzled, momentarily puzzled, then appeased. Without a fresh bullet wound to speak of or even an "accidental" grazing from the passenger's knife, the hostages were released in satisfactory condition. Further, as we were walking in shock back across to my front door, the driver assured me he'd be back the next evening for a date. Outstanding. *groan*

Promptly the next morning, I made arrangements to go back into my own version of a witness protection program as I scanned the classifieds for cheap, nondescript treasures. For a number of years, I was sure to never procure more than I could move in one or two carloads tops. This go 'round, it was out of basic survival. Plus, I wasn't likely to miss that old, scratchy plaid sleeper sofa. I was rather confident my rodent friends would take grand care of the damn thing.

As I wasn't able to move quite with the speed I had anticipated, there were certainly additional visits from my new "friends". When I was naive enough to double-bolt the front door and hide in the shadows anytime they paid a visit, I was sure to find a crudely scrawled note warning me not to leave my front porch light on again with the accompanying consequences. By this point, I was so accustomed to this strange life I could hardly muster more than a chuckle at a Christmas card left in my back door one evening. It was late March. Seems my darling god-fearing old woman of a neighbor who lived in one of the carriage houses that backed up to my alley had noticed I had a regular visitor. The only surprise was in finding it wasn't the motley gang of fools I had met earlier - not even the landlord.... This one was yet another peeping tom. The Christmas card was riddled with "god bless", good tithings, and oh, by the way, I hope he doesn't stab you.

It is with a complete absence of sarcasm that I state my 'Ol Man saved my life. Adventures clearly were destined to be had as I undoubtedly would not appreciate the present with such fervor otherwise. Although I wouldn't wish such character-building experiences on another soul, they helped me prove to myself that, when it counted most, I was - in fact - far stronger than I had ever thought to give myself credit for. Also seems this aging broad can be full of piss & vinegar from time to time.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Kitty

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Kitty Knows How To Pick 'Em

Speaking of the treehouse post (there she goes, starting a sentence mid-thought again)... Shortly after I wrote that, a friend of mine asked if I was referring to the questionable place I often speak about in my current town. At first, I laughed as nothing on this planet will ever rival the awesomeness that WAS that treehouse. Then I quietly mused about all the.... well.... questionable places I've called "home" since getting kicked to the curb. I recall a place I had put an application in for - it was fabulous. Quite reminiscent of some creepy B-caliber horror movie hotel setting complete with bordello-red wallpaper and shoddy lighting. Man, it was extraordinary. As luck would have it, another young gal had beat me to it..... Roughly a week later, I came across an article in the paper about her murder. In that apartment. Huh.

The place he actually eluded to was another bit of bizarre perfection. A "four-square" home behind what would have been a lovely little lake in a borderline-ominous section of town. The lovely lake I mention was, sadly, drained due to a sinkhole that claimed the lives of two locals a month prior to my moving in. If you back that trolley up, further, this place was owned by the stalker-tendencies-husband of a nutcase coworker of mine. Who could pass up such a stellar arrangement, right? Another amusing little tidbit: The gal who was moving out to allow me to move in was yet another coworker who offered me her jewel-encrusted handgun as a housewarming present. She made a habit of laying it on the coffee table in plain view of the front window so "visitors" would know she wasn't to be fucked with. I would have gladly accepted the present if her sheriff of a boyfriend didn't advise heavily against it. After all, it was registered in her name and I clearly exuded an air of trigger happy.

It was actually a pretty neat little shack. The "four-square" portion refers to a style of home very popular in that area where there are four, equal size rooms in the shape of a box with a flat roof. A room, bathroom, kitchen, and miniature living room. Mine had actually been enlarged into a six-square so what was once a mud porch was converted to another bedroom and make-shift laundry room. The total lack of safety didn't bother me in the least as I was in yet another strange point in my life and had a massive case of insomnia. I figured if I was to have visitors, perhaps they would at least offer entertainment. And how, but I'll get to that in a moment.

The roof of the "house" - I'm still not sure it qualifies as much more than a shack with Tuff-Shed envy - was quite low so the ceiling was maybe 6.5ft off the ground. Not the slightest issue for a midget such as myself. And this further allowed the assorted skylights to be like neat-o look-out portholes. It felt a bit like the groundhog exhibit at the zoo..... The low-lying skylights also apparently allowed the creepster landlord to spy on me at his leisure as he could easily scale the walls up to the roof without the frivolous use of a ladder. Add this "perk" to my rodent roommates, termite infestation and heating system circa 1913 or so, and a young single bottle blonde truly couldn't ask for much more.

As I look back, I grasp at an answer as to why this suited me so completely. The answer is, in fact, the recurring theme of simplicity. I never needed much beyond a place to crash after a long day. Though, once again, the omnipresent insomnia rendered even that idea null. Even with all it's.... well... let's call it character... it was my sanctuary. The operative word being "WAS".

The poison in this particular cocktail could be easily credited to a gal I once thought to befriend. As plenty of alcoholic trust-fund pixies in this town can attest to, there is simply nothing as "fun" as ensuring an endless supply of flavors-of-the-week, so to speak, for themselves and their gal pals. A horrid notion, no doubt. And one I never had any interest in or use for. Nonetheless, this same dimwitted gal thought it a bit of brilliance to provide detailed directions to my home to upwards of 1/5th of the city's "eligible" criminals.

The proverbial icing on the cake came about at 3am on a random Wednesday morning - mind you, Kitty Kitty was due at work by 7am.... The aforementioned gal was *shock* tanked and bumbling about my miniature abode when she evidently saw something shiny out front. At first, I didn't think much of it as her exploits were reliably soul-draining and I was hardly in the mood. After 20 or so minutes, the realization washed over me that I may now have to avenge her death. *sigh*

Sure enough, she had gracefully stumbled, blithering drunk, into the backseat of a drug lord's old Chevy Malibu. Tinted windows, platinum spinners, conveniently absent license plate - ahhh yes - pimped to perfection, indeed. Upon so much as opening my front door, the gentleman in the driver seat motioned with his gun for me to promptly join my friend. I imagined it too late to explain I truly wasn't very fond of her and any plans they proceeded with would probably earn them the praise of a great many people, not the least of which was her own mother.

Instead, I casually obeyed and joined the dimwit (and 3 other upright citizens) in the backseat. I was instantly overwhelmed with the thick, dreary smoke of glass pipes and crystalline rocks. I quietly mused to myself visions of vomiting on the velvety shag carpet beneath my feet. On the other hand, if I even possessed one, my inner housewife was almost impressed at the cleanliness. Seems shag would be a magnet for lint..... Rottweiler hair, at least. There was one of those as well. Impressively well behaved as he eyed me from the bench seat ahead.

From out of nowhere, and as though I had long since arrived at the conclusion things weren't to get much worse anyway, I was suddenly able to put on a show of a charismatic nature. My personality inexplicably bubbled directly to the surface and I entertained. Not only did I entertain - I charmed, dazzled, momentarily puzzled, then appeased. Without a fresh bullet wound to speak of or even an "accidental" grazing from the passenger's knife, the hostages were released in satisfactory condition. Further, as we were walking in shock back across to my front door, the driver assured me he'd be back the next evening for a date. Outstanding. *groan*

Promptly the next morning, I made arrangements to go back into my own version of a witness protection program as I scanned the classifieds for cheap, nondescript treasures. For a number of years, I was sure to never procure more than I could move in one or two carloads tops. This go 'round, it was out of basic survival. Plus, I wasn't likely to miss that old, scratchy plaid sleeper sofa. I was rather confident my rodent friends would take grand care of the damn thing.

As I wasn't able to move quite with the speed I had anticipated, there were certainly additional visits from my new "friends". When I was naive enough to double-bolt the front door and hide in the shadows anytime they paid a visit, I was sure to find a crudely scrawled note warning me not to leave my front porch light on again with the accompanying consequences. By this point, I was so accustomed to this strange life I could hardly muster more than a chuckle at a Christmas card left in my back door one evening. It was late March. Seems my darling god-fearing old woman of a neighbor who lived in one of the carriage houses that backed up to my alley had noticed I had a regular visitor. The only surprise was in finding it wasn't the motley gang of fools I had met earlier - not even the landlord.... This one was yet another peeping tom. The Christmas card was riddled with "god bless", good tithings, and oh, by the way, I hope he doesn't stab you.

It is with a complete absence of sarcasm that I state my 'Ol Man saved my life. Adventures clearly were destined to be had as I undoubtedly would not appreciate the present with such fervor otherwise. Although I wouldn't wish such character-building experiences on another soul, they helped me prove to myself that, when it counted most, I was - in fact - far stronger than I had ever thought to give myself credit for. Also seems this aging broad can be full of piss & vinegar from time to time.

No comments:

Post a Comment