Katastrophe incarnate

Darlings! I have a tale to tell and you may want to grab a drink, a snack and something warm to hold on to, I’m taking you all on a trip! 
  
    To begin I wish to preface this insanity is brought to us by my sister’s sketchy ex. 

  Last year my little sister dated a guy who seemed decent enough. A local cop, mildly intelligent, only five years older, decent relationship with his mother and sister. Went to high school with me, not unknown to me in school but not close enough to effect a conflict of interest shall we say. 
    Things were going well, until a bump in the road and they decide to take a break. My sister was upset but got through it alright, until July 4. When he brought a teenager to his mother’s cookout. The freshly turned 18 year old was less than a popular addition to the party and questions were put forth by one and all. 

   Let’s fast forward a little, my sister is doing well, progressing at work, enjoying time with friends and family and casually dating when we hear more of the creep and his teenager. A murder investigation was underway and guess who’s names came up? 
    That’s right, the off duty cop and his teen girlfriend were involved in a crime the likes of which you have to see to believe. 
   Apparently, the parents of this girl had split up recently, the mother leaving for another man. Well the father then bring the girl and her off duty cop boyfriend to confront said man, and the three proceed to abduct and end the man. Using the cop’s weapon! 
  I wish I was making this up but it gets worse. They confiscated the weapons, vehicles, and phones of the three involved and what do you suppose they find on the now ex cop’s phone? 
  Those who said “inappropriate pictures of the teen before he reaching LEGAL age” pat yourselves on the back. This bastard was cheating on my sister with a child-ass child and his just desserts are coming to him in droves. 

    These three brilliant individuals were arrested Wednesday under the formal charges and my sister is sitting back, enjoying the feeling of vindication that only comes from watching Karma in real time. If I believe in reincarnation, which I just might, he’ll come back as one of those cats they catch just to neuter. 

Yesterday was a lot, but today is a new day! 

I thought it might be nice to express a few little notions I’ve been mulling over. At first I thought not to post about it in the blog, but then another instance, and here we are. 

Perhaps we should add a touch of context here, I don’t hate receiving messages. I don’t mind talking to anyone. 

  I mind being disrespected, condescended to, and insulted. 
    Yes, I do count being spoken to as if I don’t know my own mind as an insult. 
  
  Now, the phenomenon of people I could have babysat in high school messaging me for anything beyond friendly advice and possibly something of a mentoring situation, I have found two methods of dealing with it. If the sender is respectful, a polite redirection and wishing them well. If they try the less savory approach, a less kind approach from me. 
  Is a lady really a lady if she can’t effectively tell someone to politely fuck off? 

The normally intelligent people in my family all simultaneously took leave of their senses, and determined that today was the day to go to the fair. 
   This would not have upset me, except they dragged me along. Me! I am not a fan of deep fried foods, overpriced junk, and rides assembled and disassembled hundreds of times. 
   I don’t mind seeing the animals, but honestly I live on a farm, it’s not a novelty to me. 

When I get my nerves back together I’ll post for real. Till the, good night, I need to decompress. 

I don’t usually do challenges, not being a premium member can make it tough lol! 

But given I have 13/14 tattoos (the debate over my half sleeve counting as multiple rages) I thought I’d bring up the three you can see on my pics in the profile, and maybe add a few of the others sometime when I change those out. 

The three visible are my Raven, butterfly and Kraken tattoos. The raven is a tribute to my favorite author, three guesses who he was? 
The butterfly was my first ever tattoo, and the blue still holds up 14 years later. 
   Finally my beloved half sleeve! The Kraken taking out the ship, breaking it in half and throwing unfortunate sailors in the sea to the hungry beast below the waves! It’s about four birthday and anniversaries worth of presents in one go, I got it in one sitting, an all nighter which the artist live streamed and gave me a hell of a discount for. 

  The others include an Irish pinup on my ankle, a fairly on my thigh, two Chinese characters on my hip, the word serenity on my lower back, a rose in the center of my back, a triple moon on the base of my neck, a cute rat on my left wrist, a tiger cub on my right wrist and the deathly hallows symbol on my inner forearm same side.

  And no I’m not done getting inked lol

I made it through, all went well, I even managed to make eye contact with the Judge. 
   
   She gave me a hell of a break, not even a fine, and she’s been kind enough to give me several months to fix the issues with the blasted car. 

  By the time I left that courthouse, I felt like my skin was a size too tight and the clothes I’d worn to cover my tattoos and curves (let’s face it either would have set off some people) felt like they were strangling me. 

   It was too quiet and too loud at the same time. 

  Getting home even with the relief of not having to cough up money I don’t have in the budget for court things, I still needed some comfort. Even when our fears are assuaged, worried built around them linger. 

My servant was waiting when I got home, taking my bag and wrap as always, he pressed a kiss to my hair and sent me upstairs to change. He’d laid out the ugliest garment I own, but from a sensory issue perspective they’re amazing. Yoga pants maybe the biggest eyesore on earth but they’re the softest pants I own. The t-shirt looks like it’s been washed about 750 times, and given it likely has been at least that many washes since I’ve owned it, it’s a miracle it’s still holding together.

  When I’d changed he put a mug of hot chocolate in my hands, sat me at my desk and let me decompress before bothering me lol. 

We watched Beetlejuice together cuddling on the couch. This day sucks  10000000% less now. 

 I’m about to have a high stress Monday, and my brain is already in over drive. I have to go in to the courthouse tomorrow and the anxiety is unpleasant to say the least. 

  A little stress relief in the way of a cuddly partner, hot tea, hotter erotic dark romance of the “why choose” variety, and a massage to follow shortly, is just what the doctor ordered. 
  I have my plan, know what I’m supposed to say, do, behave, etc. My partner is staying home for the chores, and my mother or gran is coming with me, just in case my brain decides to make trouble. I’m not my diagnoses. I know this but that doesn’t mean they don’t give me difficulties in situations like this. 

   I know what I’m wearing, the clothes about 60% more modest than I like but it’s a small town. My hair will be styled back, as subdued as I can make it. My makeup natural rather than my usual dramatic goth. I know it’s not a lot but it makes a difference. I’ll be wearing a mask, strep throat just tore through our house this past week, and if my lip ring is covered? Bonus! 
    
   I loathe the need to compromise on my appearance, that people will look at me and see my tattooed skin, dyed hair and piercing, and automatically think I’m less than them. I’m worth ten of most of these people, looking down their nose at me even as I’m standing a foot taller than them in some cases. Yeah I have a specific person in mind there.   
   No, that’s not a story I’m telling today. 

   The fact remains that I’m going in at a disadvantage on two fronts, and the things that make me comfortable in my own skin? That’s what will be the hardest to put aside for the day. 
   My partner promises after we will watch Beetlejuice together, cuddling on the couch, when I can dress as I please, let my hair do as it wishes. He knows these are things that will make the day better, things that I’ll need after the horrible day pretending to be what I’m not in front of a judge for the traffic tickets. 
     That’s the stress, traffic court for outdated inspection and registration for the car is just bought from my aunt. Fun stuff right? 

The very idea of taking me, the tall, curvy, tattooed, goth lady, to a religious book store is ridiculous, isn’t it? The notion seems foolish, impossible really, how would they even manage to trick me into such a place. 

   There is an unholy power, understood only by the elders and then only just, possessed by grandmothers to get their adult grandchildren to do things they’d never choose to do themselves. 

   A power my grandmother exercised today.

She and my mother had planned to go visit the dispensary today, but my mother was unable to go. Her back pain had returned with the tropical storm dancing her way up the coast and she was barely able to sit upright in her living room, let alone drive 45 minutes out and back. 
   
   I rearranged my day to accommodate their needs, set mam up with her coffee and snacks, and off to the city I went with Gran. We get all the way into the car when she declares she needs to go to the religious bookstore in the same city. 
   I was not dressed for this. 
 I wore my new cardigan, white comfy and reminds me of a snug version of the one JLC wears in the first Halloween. Underneath was my favorite black and red lace crop, and a pair of my partners jeans.
       I’d not expected stopping in any book shop today, and while my attire is indicative of what I’d generally wear out, I may have preferred something else. 
   But I went, and the owner spotted me on entry, my hair and makeup in my usual wild and dramatic style likely clueing the sour faced woman in that I am not her usual clientele. 

    She never spoke a word to me, but she didn’t like the looks my chest was getting. The cardigan is snug, the top button is not enthusiastic about staying closed. So I wore it open.  I have lovely breasts, the chest above have beautifully designed tattoos which I paid quite a lot for. Covering them seems a waste. 

    The shop owner apparently disagreed. 

As my gran looked for a replacement mug for my grandfather, her reason for the trip, the woman glowered at me, and the three male students watching my bored perusals of her shelves. The “youth” section was utterly depressing, and nothing on the section seemingly devoted to books written by mega church pastors. 
   I noticed after a few minutes she was signaling me. I was confused. The only person who knew me there was Gran, she wouldn’t have told the woman about my hearing issues, so why was she miming at me in a vaguely insulting manner. Then I realized, she didn’t want to say anything, but wanted me to cover up. 
  The woman was miming closing a jacket, and buttoning up to the neck. 
   I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or curse. But then she glared again, and the petty bitch deep in my being slipped on her boots. 
      Showtime! 

  When next she motioned me to button up, I shook my head, not happening. She motioned more insistently.   
    I undid a button.

  She did a fabulous impression of a fish opening and closing her less than expertly painted lips. Then she points at the young men in the shop. For those who don’t speak purity culture imbecility, she wanted me to cover up so as not to provoke lustful thoughts in the college students in her shop. Because college boys are known universally for the purity of their thoughts. 
  Had I rolled my eyes any harder I may have seen brainstem. 
 She motioned again. I undid another button. Gran commented on the lovely lace of my crop top, and how over heated the woman kept her shop this early in autumn, perhaps she was struggling with money unable to afford air conditioning? 

   As Gran paid, I grinned at the owner, the dare in my eyes. “Your move” may well have been spoken audibly. The three young men followed us to the line, no books to be seen. One had a bookmark with some Bible passage on it, but nothing really required. Gran and I smiled politely, the lads blushed madly and to their credit attempted to meet my eyes. It was a long way above what they wanted to see, but they did try. 
   As the bell above the door rang while I opened it for Gran, she looked back at the shop and shook her head. Speaking in that way only older ladies can, she expressed her sadness the shop was struggling so, maybe if the owner tried not glowering at paying customers she’d be more successful.

   I blew a kiss at the owner and left the shop laughing with Gran. We were sitting down to a late lunch before either of us had our giggles under control. 

Mischief, my darlings, is what gives a Lady that secret smile. You know the one, don’t pretend.  

    She quirks her lips just so, a brow arches just a bit, and all the deviant dreams you can think up flit to the forefront of your mind. 
  
   What is she thinking of? What puts that smile on her lovely face? 

   Is she reminiscing about tying her servant to the bed, naked save for the silk scarf she’s blindfolded him with? 
    
       Or maybe she’s thinking of the new boots she purchased, specifically for the height of the heel and the potential intimidation such height lends. 

    Or possibly she’s thinking about the naughty little toy, vibrating so nicely against her clit, a secret she only shared with a few trusted pets as she goes about her day. Her arousal dripping down her thighs beneath the perfectly respectable outfit, adequate for any librarian really. 
    
     It’s the glint of mischief in her eye as she smiles that smile at you, the one that begs you to ask, hints at her secret. But you don’t ask, and she’ll never tell. 

Buckle in darlings, Lady Kat has a wild one for you today. 

Last time I brought you a snippet of my family concerning me with their ideas on what a spouse to be should be told prior to marriage. The healthy answer is EVERYTHING, but that’s not this story. 

  No this story is from the foolish people who have lost what little sense they were born with, or at least that’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting. 

   Now I am not a cruel person normally, so I’ll not name the ridiculous individuals on the off chance they ever find this blog and miraculously learn to read. 

  I left the house today, wearing my normal attire, my usual makeup, and with my customary “leave me alone” aura reserved for when the university students have returned. In other words, nothing about my appearance said “come bother me!” 
  I’ll be thrice damned if that isn’t what two young people of questionable mental faculties decide to do. Two of the finest fools recruited to a religious cult I’ve ever come across.

  I’d like to add the disclaimer that I do not disparage all people attempting to spread their faith. Just the ones who choose to harass me about my business. 

  I finished my errands and this pair of prized idiots were waiting outside, pamphlets in hand and bothering everyone leaving the shopping center. When they attempted to stop me I looked down on them like something I’d stepped in and for the first time, they continued talking at me. 

   Had I lost my touch? Am I deathly ill? Perhaps the idiot was visually impaired? No, it was far worse! 

  This walking blight on the gene pool targeted me specifically because of my clothing and makeup.  Goth lady must be a sinner! She wants me to save her soul so she can be a normal pretty girl I can prey on. 
    I could see the warring disgust and attraction behind the idiot’s eyes. Revulsion built so quickly behind mine no one could have hidden it. The fool's partner in imbecility certainly picked up on it. 

   Did he warn his friend away from me, perhaps clueing him in I looked ready fo squash him like a particularly large garden pest? 
   No he declared I had “demons in my heart”. 

Ok you wanna play? Let’s have a little fun. I widened my eyes and split my black painted lips into a massive grin. Standing to my full height they had to look up and bit by tiny bit, they began to see their mistakes. 
   “Oh what fun!” I said in my best talking-to-small-children voice, “you’ve caught on already! Though I much prefer demons in my bed!” 
   Watching these two “men” of God realize what I said at the same time and scramble away like I’d burned the very air around me? 

I’m definitely using this one again.  

Ok darlings, you’ll want to settle in for this one, the topic arose during coffee talk with my female relatives. Being born without a filter seems to be a genetic quirk of my family and it only gets worse as I get older. 

    So obviously, coffee talk can be traumatic or hilarious, depending what the mood of the day is. Today, objectively speaking, was both. 

   My mom, her mom, and my aunt all converged on the kitchen of my mother’s home to discuss various things, coffee and homemade pumpkin pound cake passed around. My sister and I sitting with these three cackling women as, for whatever reasoning they came up with, they discussed my aunt’s upcoming marriage. Or rather, how to make this marriage healthier than the first. 
  
     Aside from not marrying an abusive alcoholic narcissist, which her fiancé is not, they were giving her tips to try and “keep him.” 

  Here we have the issue. 

Of the group present, I am the only one who hasn’t been through a divorce. I feel that this is mostly because I am almost fanatic about proper communication, discussing everything when they come up, and not pretending he’s ever been in charge. 

     Why waste the energy? 
So they then bring up her “kinky side” and how she should leave that alone for this new opportunity at marriage. At this point I want to point out their definition of kinky is very different from mine and likely the majority of the people likely to read this. 
   While they’re talking, and my tongue is beginning to bleed from the amount of biting it I am doing, they turn to me. This bodes ill. 
     They asked me my thoughts on revealing her kinks, and they seemed confused when I asked why he didn’t know already? They’ve known each other for years, been engaged since they reconnected, shouldn’t that be a thing they’d discuss? 
   So they asked when I told my preferences to my partner. 
   Like the second day I knew him, maybe not expressly the gory details, and not the full terminology, but he got the gist in “vanilla terms” when we got together. This shocked them, and I became very sad for them, 

   Communication means more for those of us here in this community than the so called “normal relationship” people. 

WE ARE NOT THE SAME.