Keen to Cross the Pond

Lacey’s real personality when she’s angry is that of a proper, supremely dignified British aristocrat. And yet that rage has been mocked by people she was supposed to be able to trust her whole life. Her sweet, tender gentleness was recognized by her mother who raised her but most people don’t care. And now…as she she’s she realizes that her mother never necessarily did either like she pretended to. And all those years of childhood when her worst fear was that she wasn’t loved were based on fact not fiction in her case.

“I’ve never been loved enough to be able to be myself by even a good counselor.” says Lacey.

“I love you that much.” says Michael.

And at that Lacey cries momentarily before calming herself down to carry on with her day.

—-

“I don’t think I can handle this blog anymore.” says a woman reading it.

“My life has been like that too.” says another reader.

“You know what…” someone says as they roll their eyes and walks off.

“Fuck you!!” yells the Loudest Perfume Hater seriously. “Did they flip her soul around?! Like her ugly, poor piece of shit is just hiding from us and if we saw it we’d feel confident and superior again?”

That’s a sampling of the reactions she gets. As per usual. Mockery, violence, demands of control and supremacy given to everyone but her. And in case you don’t understand, that’s wrong.

“I’m not smarter than her?!” says a perfume hater. “The what the fuck is she going on about?! It’s serious?! I thought she was just a sad joke I was supposed to feel sorry for in my splendor?!”

—

And at that…Lacey reminds the herd of sheep just heard from that the children are suffering. And their reaction is blank despair.

—

“Didn’t you misunderstand who Mr. Blue was?” asks Mrs. Blue.

“Oh, right! Yes! I did.” Lacey says thinking. “So, he’s more like Don Draper. But I thought he was Lem, Michael and Louis, etc.” says Lacey.

—-

“Huh. So…those dead men are demons? Right? Or fallen angels. Right?!?” asks a herd of cheerfully hateful Charismatics who are excited by her loneliness as it gives them an excuse to feel socially superior and not care about her humanity.

“Don’t you all sometimes wonder?” asks Lacey.

“Oh my gosh! You’re just a part of the LBGTQ+ community!!!” says a gay man demandingly to Lacey.

“And that means the child sex slaves are not victims but members of ours because we!43 included in the great + sign too. Deal with it! I can brutally molest babies thanks to gay men everywhere!!” says a pedophile.

“I thought the argument was always that homosexuality was different than pedophilia?” asks Lacey.

“Well there goes legal homosexual marriages!” demands Lem of God. “You people ruined my life and you’ve destroyed so much hope she had. And happiness. And she’s right. Pedophiles use your seeming innocence to cover for their excuse that it’s human to do what they do.” says Lem. “They’re not human in their brains or hearts or both. They’re worse than rabid dogs. Are all of you the same?”

“That was the argument.” says the gay man to Lacey.

“Then what happened? It became a slippery slope and now the world is far worse off. Brainless zombies are pretending to be human all over social media and in private. And lesbians pigs are trying to use human empathy to get control for pedophiles.” Lacey says. “You lied!!? You lied to humanity??” She thinks. “You gained our trust in the past and now what? You demand pedophilia is an orientation? Are you all just narcissistic freaks who psychotically believe you love other men?”

“No! Men and women don’t exist!” says a Fox News journalist sarcastically.

“Why? Because some ugly psychopathic so-called lesbian didn’t want to be seen as just an ugly woman anymore for egotistical reasons?” asks Lacey. “Also, I know you don’t really care. Right? You’re soulless ghouls too?!”

“Well, the Liberals do have souls.” says Mr. Blue.

“Fair. But…who are you pretending to be?” asks Lacey. “You really maybe are more Don Draper than what? Michael? Lem? Louis?”

A hater laughs at her.

“What’s funny?” asks Lacey.

“Nothing! It’s just that your whole schtick is a joke!” says a model in the lower rungs of Hell. She was a pedophilic drug user who resembled Lacey in the 1980’s. Except Lacey is actually prettier.

“Is that my birth mother?” asks Lacey calmly.

“Yes!!!” say her haters, joyfully.

“No! That’s a model.” says a ghost. “Do you people read?”

“Wasn’t her mother pretty like a model though?!” asks a hateful gay man.

“Couldn’t she mean her mother looks like a model?!” asks a granola lesbian.

“No. I meant a literal model.” says Lacey.

“Okay?” says a bourgeois black woman, rolling her eyes.

“So who is this supposed entity?” asks a woman.

“I think she was a horrible person. And I think my abusers channeled her and made her me in their minds to get away with abusing me in their minds? It’s not necessarily true, but it would possibly make sense?” suggests Lacey.

“And she haunts you or what?” asks a Meagan.

“More like I’m cursed by her evil now.” says Lacey.

“So people interact with her when they’re narcissistically triggered by you?” wonders a black witch.

“Possibly. But she isn’t me, obviously.” says Lacey.

“Joe, Joe does this all sit with you?” a Liberal asks him.

“Oh well.” says Lacey when he refuses to answer.

“So…I conjured you when I channeled Michael Rockefeller.” says Mr. Blue.

“If that’s even a thing. They could be demons? Either way it’s Christianity.” says Lacey. “But my theology in regard to Heaven and Hell is confused right now. Although still traditional.”

“I’m not going to Hell!” says a hateful man who is so-called gay.

“Why not?!” asks the woman who Lacey’s been haunted and cursed by. She does resemble Lacey but they’re very different. She has thick curly dark blond hair in a shag haircut. She has a vibe, as a compliment to the actress, like Brooke Shields. Lacey is far more delicate and petite.

“Well, where are you?” he asks.

“Yes, you possibly conjured Michael.” says Lacey to Mr. Blue.

“Do you like that woman?” Mr. Blue asks Lacey.

“She’s cheerful. If evil.” says Lacey. “She’s evil though. I’d bet she overdosed in the 1980’s?”

The model is likely in the lower levels of Purgatory?

“I’m not her.” says a living 1980’s model.

Lacey rolls her eyes.

“So you had your own sexuality as a child and it was grand like a Queen and…the parents who raised you were narcissistically threatened by that.” says the gay man with a certain violent smugness.

“You know! Conversion therapy works!” says a drug addicted so-called former gay to the woman but via Lacey.

“I was a child. Not an adult. The word Queen suggests an adult.” says Lacey to the violently gay man. “Clear that up in your head, now!”

“The sexuality of Michael Rockefeller is grand. So was Lem’s. And you stole Lem’s dick to get power in the 1960’s and either the sea or the Asmats stole Michael’s brain.” says Lacey.

“You’re possibly right.” he says rolling his eyes condescendingly, in fear.

A female Millennial hater laughs at Lacey. She conjures a demon or the woman in the lower sections of Purgatory.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! Idiot!!” says the possible dead model to Lacey through the Millennial.

“Do any of the dead men like her?” asks a shoe addict from Instagram.

“Of course not, that’s disgustingly stupid!” says Lacey.

“No! Why would we? Just because she was model doesn’t mean much. Get a clue!” says Lem to the woman.

“See…Kem still sounds gay to me!” says a high pop star in the Illuminati.

Come On Closer by Jem plays. Pedophiles use shitty, whorish, mannish female beauty of the 1990’s and 2000’s to delude themselves into thinking they’re being loved in return at all by their brutalized victims. And of course brutalizing a human is wrong now and always was, despite the-gay-flag.

Lacey wonders if most living adults had holes drilled into their brains by J. P. Kennedy in their sleep to make them better follower-robots.

“Umm…I think…I may have had an affair with that dead woman?” wonders Mr. Blue.

“What was that like, if so?” asks Lacey.

“She’s…wild.” he says.

“So am I in a way.” says Lacey.

He wants to explain that Lacey is wild but in an English sort of way. This woman is…possibly evil. And…cruel. And vile. But…because Lacey threatens his narcissism he says nothing.

“You must be that woman!” says a 60 something actor.

“No. I’m not.” says Lacey.

“Do we all relate to her when we talk to you?” asks the gay man with continuous violent smugness and condescension.

“We’ll torture and kill you and your family and frame you as a pedophile!” say a coalition of a gay cool-kid and a pedophile to Lacey.

“Okay fine!! So that thick curly haired model isn’t you. …Who are you?!?” the hateful gay man spits viciously with seething self-righteousness at Lacey.

“Who are you?” asks Lacey.

He laughs. Then he sees a patronizing smile on Lacey’s face.

“Here’s a question for the Catholic Church: How did you all become mired in the shit her father who raised her creates?” asks the Charismatic of the Illuminati.

“They live in it and use it to function and process vast swaths of reality.” says Lacey.

“Why were you friends with us!?” self-righteously asks a childhood friend of hers.

“Why were you friends with us?!” she mockingly says in response in a rage.

“I hate you!!!” says a lesbian coming on to Lacey even though Lacey has continuously expressed that she’s not at all not heterosexual. As in, Lacey is heterosexual.

“Noo… We can’t be lower than you!” the Illuminati whines with certain victims-victory at Lacey. “And you’ve deserved the way we’ve treated you!!!”

“Shit!!” says Mr. Blue.

“Why did your demons guide you to the possibly dead woman who was evil who her child molesters used to torture her?” asks a Charismatic of Mr. Blue. “When you tried to psychically contact Lacey.”

“Because they’re possibly plebs compared to the father who raised me.” says Lacey with seething, haughty disdain. She’s not all that different in her vibe from Bette Davis in a genuinely righteous rage but they hear that model instead.

“That’s not you reincarnated?!” asks a pedophile of Lacey about the model.

“Oh dear God, help us! No!!! But I’ll go check.” says Lacey. She returns. “No. No, I’m not that woman.”

Louis laughs at evil.

“Okay, so when I die…if that woman exists or anything if the sort I get first dibs on burning her alive.” says the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Do you think you interacted with her?” asks Lacey.

“Like without your knowledge?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“You really are very much like Bette Davis.” says the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Yes! I’m a lot more sweet, feminine and calm than Bette but yes. If God has allowed it, she’s helped me find my voice.” says Lacey.

“Okay…so that force behind your words is real. And I’m supposed to feel intimidated.” she says.

“Good Lord!” says a 60 something actor. “Of course! And I refuse to be intimidated!”

“Why?” asks Lacey. “Now the psychological torture of my real personality by the deranged freaks of the Illuminati and their demons begins.” says Lacey as she begins to feel the idiots try to control her to rape Lem and molest kids.

“You’re not Bette Davis.” someone says to that actor.

“But who cares! I could be her son! She’s shit compared to me as an artist.” he says.

“Are you trying to attack me to get me to kill homosexuals?” asks Lacey.

The actor looks at her with what’s possibly glaring conceit.

She shakes her head no and closes her eyes.

“You know Bette Davis might have Old Money blood.” says a hater thoughtfully.

“So…would this woman have worn Chanel No. 22?” asks a perfume hater.

“No! Never.” says Lacey.

“What would she have worn?” asks a perfume hater.

“Are you Bette Davis reincarnated?” asks the 60 something actor of Lacey.

Sphagnum Esplanade by The Shins plays.

“No.” says the entity conjured by her abusers.

“No!” says Lacey to the actor. “She’d have worn Love’s Baby Soft. …And…Good Girl Gone Bad…and Miss Dior Blooming Bouquet to be pretentious.”

“No, I liked her.” says Mr. Blue.

Lacey laughs.

“Don’t worry. I’m not an abusive person in any way like Bette Davis supposedly was to her kids.” says Lacey.

“Was she fun?” Lacey asks Mr. Blue.

“I thought so!” says Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

Mrs. Blue rolls her eyes in contempt of it all.

“What? She’s fun!” says Mr. Blue to his wife.

“Then why didn’t you answer me when I asked you?!” asks Lacey offended.

“Fine! She’s cool. Cooler than you.” he says.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just a generational thing.” says Lacey.

“Okay…soo…?” asks Batgirl III of Mr. Blue.

Stalin laughs. “Oh wow. You guys have problems.” he says.

“They sure do dude!” says Lacey.

“So she was…heartless?” a witch asks Lacey.

“Possibly.” says Lacey sweetly.

“Shit!!! I just hate you.” The Loudest Perfume Hater says.

“Why?” Lacey asks.

Don’t Panic by Coldplay plays. Stalin rides in the back of a convertible like in a music video. He’s smiling. He’s happy. He’s vibing to the music.

“Elliott that’s dope!” says Lacey to Elliott Roosevelt. “Got any more fly shit for us to vibe with?”

“No, bitch!” he says.

“That’s a vile thing to call me.” says Lacey to Elliott. He smiles kindly.

“Is she a demonic entity or a woman?” a witch asks Lacey.

“Forget it! We turned homosexuals into gross freak-children protected by and dependent on the toxic patriarchy.” says a Charismatic. “They never have to be accountable.”

“Are we dependent on oil?” asks a gay man.

Lacey prays God will help them sort that out.

“I love her!” says Thirsten about a possibmewoman we’ll call Amanda1960. Or Amanda1962?

Thirsten laughs.

“Well…she’s what? ‘Gorgeous’?” says Lacey.

“She’s mine!” screams The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Who? Lacey that ugly gay whore?” asks a gay man seriously.

“No.” The Loudest Perfume Hater laughs. “If she’s not a demon…Amanda.”

“But she’s too old for you!” says Thirsten.

The Loudest Perfume Hater stares at him.

“I really think she’s who I was in love with. Not Lacey at all.” he says.

To clarify, “Not me at all?” asks Lacey.

“Not other than your beauty, grace and genuine glory. …But see…Amanda isn’t that glorious. She’s…a commoner I suspect. And…I think she’s wild. And I find that fascinating.” says Thirsten.

“Is that some sick insult?” Lacey asks Thirsten.

“I might not like women anymore.” The Loudest Perfume Hater says with cool reserve.

“Should you like women or is that a form of psychotic mental illness?” asks Lacey.

“You know…I’m a man. And for all you know…she’s in love with me!” says Thirsten.

“Does she look like The Loudest Perfume Hater in her face?” they ask Lacey.

“Yes! Very much so!” says Lacey.

“But she was a model?” asks a witch.

“Yes. Lots of slightly homely tall whores with shit issues become models and you know that you vile thing!” says Lacey humorously.

“See…I’m still Old Money from Maryland.” says Mr. Blue seriously to everyone to explain why Lacey’s a loser.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“I’m an aristocrat. That’s why I’m fat. I eat too much. Probably because my mother didn’t love me. The foods compensate, somewhat. Gosh…I’m so poor. I could be a king. Like…a billionaire I guess. See…I have depression. And my allergies flare up in the spring. Why doesn’t Karrie buy a yacht? I won’t get seasick. That’s not kind to insinuate that. Batgirl III is…gone. Did the yacht take her? I’m Michael. Mmm…I’m loved.” he says.

“I knew you weren’t Amanda1960 but I can’t stand you.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater to Lacey.

“Does Amanda1960 look like Pam?” asks Mrs. Blue.

“Yes!! Very much so.” says Lacey. “More like a model though. The actress Jenna is mildly ugly.”

“That’s not very nice!” says Thirsten.

“It’s just objectively true though, I think.” says Lacey.

“Why do you hate me?” Lacey asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“You’re not going to like this. But Lord Thirsten Snotgrass and I have it all figured out.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“You’re a pleb?” scoffs Wobbly to answer their questions.

“No…you’re not going to like it!” says another perfume hater.

“Go on!” says Lacey.

“Okay! You’ll hate it but…we don’t like you.” says a perfume collector.

“What is it you hate?” asks Lacey.

“You’re too quiet. And…we never know what you’re talking about. And you scare us with your goodness. And you seem so creepily English. Like…this is America! And…in America we’re in charge.” say Lord Thirsten Snotgrass and The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Who helped you both say that?” asks Lacey.

“I’m not Lord Thirsten Snotgrass!” says Thirsten.

“But in America you are!” says Lacey sarcastically.

“You’re just so reserved.” says a perfume hater to Lacey. Even when you’re being friendly to get along with us.

“That’s coldness!” says a frenemy from her childhood who still stalks and hates her.

Silence.

“Then I’m just a pleb compared to her.” says the frenemy. “I made the reserve coldness.”

“Do you have a lake cabin too?!” scoffs The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“We do not discuss such things.” says The Frenemy.

“Oh! I might know these people!” says Thirsten sarcastically.

“From where?” asks Lacey.

“My yacht on Lake Minnetonka.” he says.

“Nope. I doubt that would work.” says Lacey.

“Why not?! Don’t they all commune on Lake Minnetonka?” he asks.

“That’s a pretty thought.” says Lacey. “But no. Where’s your cabin?”

“I don’t have one.” he says.

“How does a supposed American serf have a degree from Oxford and an English aristocratic accent?” asks Benjamin Franklin.

“We attacked their minds.” says Lacey.

“We did not! We helped them!” says a dead President Ron R. to Louis.

“I went to school abroad. I didn’t cheat.” says Louis.

—

Lacey’s family may have been involved in honorable positions of management in the actual Dutch East India Company. And…that may be be why she knows that Faye Emerson despite her hit television show was really just a floozie who married Elliott Roosevelt.

A lot of “classy women” are or were just floozies. Slim Keith was a floozie.

And…her father’s family or her birth mother’s family were seemingly British people with high social status. That’s just fact, seemingly.

Frankly most of her perfume community female so-called “friends” were floozies.

II. – – by Adele Anthony plays.

Frankly…Pat Wilson was very much a cheap floozie of the British Aristocracy in Lacey’s opinion. The Loudest Perfume Hater was loud about her obvious floozie status…and it was actually insulting to Lacey that Casi assumed they were anything alike or such close friends for that reason perhaps. Lacey isn’t street trash floozie status looking for a light for her cigarette after working in the strip club. The Loudest Perfume Hater’s over familiarity was almost sociopathic, certainly harassing and it still floors Lacey that The Loudest Perfume Hater was seen as a victim. To Lacey the Loudest Perfume Hater seemed more like a petty, psychologically deranged petty thief looking for a fight.

“Then why were you so nice to The Loudest Perfume Hater?” asks a Malaysian perfume collector accusingly with a perverse sense of authority in the conversation at large that she doesn’t possess at all.

“Why isn’t it obvious?” asks Lacey. “I was trying to be compassionate.” She thinks. “I don’t know what bourgeois bullshit you’ve been fed about the British but they weren’t pure evil just because they were tougher than nails, so to speak.”

“Compassionate how?” asks the Malaysian woman who collects perfume.

“I felt sorry for her.” says Lacey. “And I was trying to deal with her.”

She nods. “Like when you walk by a homeless person and you smile and nod at them maybe instead of shooting them?” she asks seriously.

“Possibly exactly.” says Lacey.

“And we weren’t supposed to know that.” says the Malaysian.

Inception by Hans Zimmer plays.

“And I suppose it wasn’t supposed to hurt when I wrote my blog post about social class in 2017.” says Lacey to Malaysian perfume collector.

“Man! This chick has issues!” says a mannish, slutty Millennial woman who feels very narcissistically threatened by Lacey when she’s usually not threatened by other women. She is terrified. And Lacey’s whole life she’s been expected violently by American society to be best friends with this woman.

“Do you have a functional conscience?” Lacey asks the Malaysian and the mannish Millennial cool-girl woman.

“Okay!” says a bourgeois black woman hatefully to Lacey to the white and Asian cool-girls.

And suddenly the statue in Boston is a cruel joke. A punch in the gut from Al Qaeda?

DFM laughs?

“Yes, if Purgatory exists…Al Qaeda is mocking American evil?” asks Lacey. “American conceit? From the grave?”

“I’d love for that shit statue to be where the Twin Towers stood. Then you’d worship the God of the Bible!” cries a dead 9/11 terrorist. “Why don’t you worship the God you-“

“I couldn’t help but be insulted.” says the Malaysian.

“You don’t see yourself as liberated from the constraints of social class based on your transcendent love for olfactory art?” asks Lacey.

“Well that’s very high minded of you?” says an Australian perfume collector to Lacey.

“That’s God. God is the ultimate artist. And our Father if we don’t reject Him.” says Lacey.

“Reject Him?” asks a humanist.

“Oh yes.” Lacey laughs at evil. “No, God is not trying to molest you. God isn’t a child molester.” She thinks. “We don’t reject God like that. He’s not some molester who demands we recognize him and his orientation to take advantage of us and try to destroy us and use us and defile us.” She thinks. “He’s our Father if we say, ‘Thanks for your salvation through Jesus. I accept that I was born into a Fallen, evil world and may possibly be evil myself at times. And I ask for forgiveness and for Jesus to be Lord and Savior of my heart.’” says Lacey. “And then we mourn the wretched state of this Fallen world in hope that God will someday bring us Home to Heaven to be safe and sound.”

Fishin’ by Takenobu plays.

“You know, what’s so ridiculous about God being our Father?” asks the Malaysian woman.

Lacey smiles. “That is Christianity!” says Lacey.

The Malaysian woman who collects perfume cries.

“But it is Christianity.” says Lacey.

“It’s a pure hearted, beautiful-“ an Asian man cries.

“It isn’t pedophilic.” says Lacey.

The Asian man shakes his head no.

—

The Hours, Film Score by Philip Glass plays.

“And in Australian Purgatory…Pat Wilson sits with Joe Jr.. at the picnic table before the cake flew?” asks the Australian perfume community of Lacey.

“No. Unfortunately that’s over.” says Lacey. “They might be in Australia in Purgatory but…they aren’t at the LED Light Party for me, for now. Maybe not for you either?” says Lacey.

Song For Jesse by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis plays.

“I do have a conscience!” says the mannish, slutty Millennial woman to Lacey.

“Do you?” Lacey asks.

“I was a floozie!” says Faye Emerson.

“I know.” says Lacey. “But today you’re a Boomer-Saint.”

“They liberated me!!!” says Zelda sarcastically about the Boomers.

“Isn’t it creepy they’d be so focused on their parent’s sexuality?!” asks a dead child sex slave.

“It is!” says Lacey to the dead child sex slave.

“I think it’s creepy you’re calling him a dead child sex slave.” says a pedophile in the Illuminati, possibly mocking the bullshit Boomers react with narcissistically.

“Say!!! I thought that was a brilliant argument?” says Lord Thirsten Snotbanks III.

“Do tell us more!” says Michael.

“You see…the thing is…Lacey must be convinced.” says Thirsten. “She’s very prideful.” He thinks. “My house is worth around a million Dollars.”

“Go on!” say the Australians.

“Well, I suppose if Pat is included in that and not just floozies.” he says without irony.

Gnossiennes (6) by Erik Satie plays.

“But Pat is or was a floozy.” says Lacey.

“What’s that?! Who’s that controlled, aristocratic sounding dear soul?!” asks Thirsten.

“It’s me?!” says Lacey, terrified.

“No!! Now I know Lacey has eaten her brains!” he says, as if he believes he’s the spiritual CIA. “Shut-up!!” he yells at Lacey violently.

Silence.

“Where are you, Lacey? A brothel? A commune? Where? I am quite certain you’re my girlfriend who paints sea shells for Etsy. You just need to know your place… I am always correct. I am your social superior. I am the last hope you’ve ever had of being rich. I’m your Henry Francis.” he says smiling.

Cornfield Chase by Hans Zimmer plays.

“No, I don’t think you’d be Henry Francis in relation to me.” says Lacey.

“But my house is worth a million Dollars.” he says. “Your house is worth $400,000.00 he says.”

“How did you know that?!” asks the Loudest Perfume Hater of Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“I looked it up on Zoom!” he says in irritation to the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Anyway, what other accoutrements of nobility does a Snotgrass have these days?” asks an Australian of Lord Snotgrass.

“I can’t price the old houses as worth more just because they’re old.” says a realtor out of the blue.

…”I have art.” says Thirsten Snotgrass.

“What sort of art?” asks Pat possibly eating leftover cake at the picnic table.

Thirsten Snotgrass looks at her. “In the future or in my spirit I watched your entire love story.”

She cries in embarrassment.

He shakes his head in disdain.

“You were intimidated by me a minute ago?” she says.

“Yes, and then you asked me what art I collected.” he corrects her.

“I’m Australian!” she yells.

“Fine! I don’t collect any great art.” he says.

“Isn’t a $400,000.00 house intimidating anymore?” asks his seashell artiste.

The Loudest Perfume Hater looks at Lacey apologetically. It’s unclear if she’s being serious or sarcastic.

“Umm…isn’t it concerning actually that Lacey refuses to play the seashell racket?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Why do you care?!” yells Thirsten at her in response.

“I’d like more control of this conversation, please!” says Pat.

Silence.

“She’s just mocking you!” Pat says sociopathically to Lacey about the seashell artiste.

“I know. And Pat…I don’t care. I…don’t…care.” says Lacey.

“Why do you think a million in new money real estate is a safe investment?” The Loudest Perfume Hater to Thirsten.

He thinks.I

“What was it about Thirsten that you didn’t like?” asks his ex of Lacey.

Silence.

“I don’t know! Say, you want to come run my company?!” he asks the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Oh no, Dear! Don’t offer her our golden goose. Our team effort.” says the seashell artiste.

Pat laughs. “You really are lost.” she says to Lacey.

“I am.” says Lacey in the hands of God.

—

Later.

“So Lord Thirsten Snotgrass is a fraud who really just wants to live on the beach with his seashell girlfriend in Hawaii?” asks Lacey matter-of-factly.

Silence.

“And we don’t understand!” says Lou. “See, in their minds we’re children.”

“Have you two ever had to make Hamburger Helper?!” asks Mrs. Blue.

Lacey decided that Mrs. Blue is a real Betty Draper in a way. And Batgirl III is actually Joan Holloway. And Mr. Blue is Don Draper. …Of course they could still be The Three Headed Beast. …But could Joan, Don and Betty as real people be that dark? No? …Then what’s wrong with the Bat Crew’s souls?

Obviously, Joan and Don could have had an affair. Why didn’t Mad Men explore that possibility more? How many fans waited for that story arch? …And of course that Bryn Mawr education looks a bit pretentious as does her “riding.” Very stuck in that era.

“Do you ride?” someone asks Lacey.

“I’ve ridden a horse Western Style. Never Side Saddle. Maybe a few times. My Great Uncle had horses on his farm and I rode them a couple of times. And then I rode twice far more properly at a horse ranch twice in school.” says Lacey. “I suppose my uncle had more proper horse riding gear on his farm because they had horses too. Remember how they were going to have a stable for six horses on their estate?”

“But you don’t ride like…consistently?” asks Lord Thirsten Snotgrass.

“No. My former sister-in-law does. She’s a great equestrian, I think. Her mother’s family has a famous horse trainer in it who helped with a Kentucky Derby winner in the 2010’s, I believe.” says Lacey in irritation.

“So you don’t ride?” asks Thirsten Snotgrass of Lacey.

“I don’t. It scares me.” says Lacey.

“But you get along with horses?” asks the seashell artiste.

“They’re gracious creatures. Very independent. But no, it’s just that horses can kill you very easily.” says Lacey.

“So…true.” says Mrs. Blue. “So Hamburger Helper?”

“No.” says Lacey.

“It’s tasty.” she says.

“A lot of those cheap, preservative-laden boxed foods are.” says Lacey.

“Why don’t you eat them?” asks seashell girlfriend.

“They’re bad for you.” says Lacey.

“You know what? I think your estate in North Fakota is with two cents!” says seashell girlfriend.

“No. It’s not. It’s worth around $6 million.” says Lacey.

“That’s not that much!” says a man in the Illuminati who’s house on Long Island is worth $5 million.

“Oh! You be think they’d rather live on the beach so much more that to them a landlocked estate is worth two cents?” asks Lacey.

“No!!!” seashell girlfriend shrieks.

Lacey looks horrified.

“You think I hate you?! I don’t hate you. I’m just miffed you’re soo jealous of me. And so ugly compared to me. And so stupid. My seashell art rivals anything in the Met.” says seashell girlfriend.

“Do you really think all that? Or are you just embarrassed you’re working class to some degree? And have had a lot of Hamburger Helper over the years?” asks Lacey.

She seethes. She breathes. “I could kill you!!” she screams at Lacey.

“Why? Because you’re not mentally well? If you and Thirsten Snotgrass are reading this blog you’re stalking me. Waiting for what? My money? You’re low-life, trashy criminals.” says Lacey. “Or what? You can’t fathom how shitty you actually are societally compared to the vain imagination you had of me?” She thinks. “Are you two going to keep pretending to be bourgeois or are you truly bourgeois and we’re all just waiting for the late 20th Century upper-middle class to dissolve into nothing in the next ten years?”

“What will happen to my house?” asks the man on Long Island with the house worth $5 million.

“It’ll probably be worth a lot more, a lot less or about the same with not much income?” says Lacey. “I could be totally wrong though. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of Millennials are iffy on investing in real estate.” says a Millennial.

“I’m sorry I can’t relate to the Hamburger Helper experience.” says Lacey.

“How did you eat?” asks a witch.

“As a child?” Lacey asks.

“Yes?” says the Charismatic realizing Lacey was talking about horses and nothing else. Or he wants to pretend he wasn’t intimidated be her verbal intelligence.

Lacey feels bad. “I ate…Hagen Daaz on Eggo Waffles for breakfast every morning with orange juice from Minute Maid frozen concentrate. …Organic or almost organic four food group, whole grain, carefully monitored lunches made by my mom. …They were…depressing but very healthy. …And then for dinner roasted whole chicken, baked potatoes with accompaniments and some fresh cooked or steamed vegetables. And then possibly more Hagen Daaz ice cream with Hershey’s chocolate sauce from a can and roasted peanuts for dessert.” She says. “Sometimes for dinner it was hot dish. Other times it was steak, baked potatoes and a vegetable. Etc.”

“Why not duck?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater. “My grandfather shot ducks and they ate them yet my mother at least pretended we were too lowly for duck.” says Lacey.

The Loudest Perfume Hater laughs.

“We had lobster sometimes though. And shrimp. White sauce with scallops and linguini.” says Lacey. “Homemade mashed potatoes and gravy with meatballs, spaghetti, side salads with various dressings. …Homemade New England Clam Chowder.” She thinks. “Occasionally it was meatloaf with a potato and vegetable.” She thinks. “Roast beef, potatoes, carrots and a side salad.”

“Did your mother ever make filet mignon?” asks a Perfume Hater’s Mother.

“No. Just the other various kinds of steak.” says Lacey. “And if it was filet mignon she just called it steak.”

“Other dishes too, I bet.” says a perfume hater.

“Yes.” says Lacey.

“Did you ever eat raw oysters?!” asks a perfume hater.

“No.” says Lacey. “We had lots of fish.” She thinks. “When I was little Minnesota had great Walleye and it was likely far safer.”

“What is the point of this conversation?!” asks a man.

Indignantly, “Did your mother ever try to make soufflés or sauces?” asks a perfume hater. “She never made soufflés. She made many sauces.”

“What about lemon meringue pie?” asks the Charismatic.

“No. Many other pies.” says Lacey. “Wasn’t that disgusting and cruel?”

“What kind of Hagen Daaz?” asks an Englishman.

“Honey Vanilla.” says Lacey. “No added sugar and no fun.”

“So…you had a lot of good food. And you drank what?” asks a perfume hater.

“The best milk, orange juice from concentrate, various other organic (or near organic) pure fruit juices, sometimes sparkling beverages…and rarely soda with the exception of my father who drank copious amounts of Pepsi.” says Lacey.

The perfume hater rolls his eyes.

“What about buttermilk?” asks his wife.

“Yes! My mother loved or pretended to love buttermilk and goat cheese.” says Lacey. “And they used homemade French Toast, pancakes, corn, maple syrup, apples, other fresh fruit and other things of that sort to make me feel like vomiting.”

The Loudest Perfume Hater laughs.

“The refuge I had were bitter herbs, lemon, black coffee, black tea, and good water.“ She thinks, “And…from that safety I could gradually enjoy the other food in small quantities.”

“Oh! You just must be a psychopath! You know…isn’t it true that people with psychopathy like bitter things?” asks a hater.

“Actually, I highly suspect that that’s psychopathic bullshit. And it’s the opposite as much if not more so.” says Lacey.

“That’s all got to be a lie!” says Mr. Blue.

“Why?!” asks Lacey.

“You ate gluten though?” asks a Christian.

“Yes. No additives. No preservatives. No dyes. No added sugar. No…flavor or fun. But very healthy.” says Lacey.

“Why?!” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“She was evil possibly…but also very smart and very aware of health food. She was a Hippie in that way. She was a Hippie in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s.” says Lacey.

“Why wasn’t your mother a vegetarian?” asks a reader.

“Even back then she was aware that arguably only meat had certain amino acids necessary for good health.” says Lacey.

“And they donated so much they forced you to live beneath the poverty level?” asks a perfume hater.

“We ate very well, relatively speaking? We never had much debt. And no…we weren’t on food stamps ever. Or any public assistance. What’s your problem?” Lacey asks.

“You lived below the poverty line you piece of shit!!” says a perfume hater to Lacey.

“How so?” asks Lacey.

“You did right?!” she asks suddenly sounding confused.

“What metrics are you using? asks Lacey.

“You had a shithole you lived in!” she says grinning.

“Are you trying to be Asian in some way I don’t understand?” Lacey asks her. “Because of course the answer is no. But…it wasn’t the coolest apartment. And people did wonder if I was poor because of that. But it was cheap, clean and cozy. And my mother did decorate well for her.”

“You ate well!” she says. “How much did you spend every time?”

“We spent about $100 to $200 every week.” says Lacey. So that’s double that today.”

“That’s a lot!” she says.

“Mmm…no. Really?” asks Lacey.

“So I spend about $90.00 a week.” says a perfume hater. “And that’s a lot!”

“For a family of what?” asks Lacey.

“Two.” he says.

“Okay?” Lacey says. She thinks. “No, my parents made the rough equivalent of about $80,000.00 today for our family of three.” Lacey says. “And we could have had a pleasant little house but they spent it on other things.”

“That’s not that much. Why didn’t they have more kids?“ asks The Loudest Perfume Hater of Lacey.

“They didn’t think they could afford it.” says Lacey.

“How much did they actually make?” asks The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“Over a 20 year period it ranged from $27,000.00 to $50,000.00.” says Lacey.

“$50,000.00 when?” asks the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“It was closer to $53,000.00 I think, actually. If I recall correctly. In 1995?” says Lacey.

“You guys…you get so confused.” says seashell artiste. “That’s a bizarre childhood.” She thinks. “I think you also can’t handle how much she remembers. Or how poor you all were compared to her. Or how rich her family actually is regardless.”

Then Lacey is interrupted.

Later.

“I grew-up around wealthy people.” says Lacey. “The lifestyle my parents chose wasn’t a wealthy one in every way. Even if it was upper-class. And as such we were looked down on. …People either understand that very simple premise…or they don’t.” says Lacey.

“Your parents didn’t love you!” says a hater.

“Neither do any of you??” says Lacey. “And that’s sick. People aren’t normal nowadays. And kids are suffering and this world is at the end of its rope, so to speak.”

“And that’s why I love house churches and seashell artistes!” says Thirsten Snotgrass right on cue with a huge grin. He realizes how psychopathic he sounds. “She hurt me!” he says in reference to Lacey.

“Thirsten…did you do something crappy like…what? Like…call her drunk and beg for money?” asks an anarchist.

He thinks. “I was drunk. And-“ His mouth drops open in shock. “You know, that’s easily how she could have interpreted that conversation.” He thinks. “It was like dating Zelda’s father.” Then he feels bad. “She’s a woman and feminine. But you know, she might be more suspicious of that than most women her age.”

“I don’t have that kind of money.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater.

“And I’m not Zelda’s Father.” says Lacey. “But that’s a fine way to describe it maybe.”

“Do you think you’d be that suspicious?!” Thirsten Snotgrass asks the Loudest Perfume Hater.

“I bet your parents would insist that they loved you.” says The Loudest Perfume Hater. “But…I don’t buy it.” She thinks. “I wish them well. But I don’t hate you.” she says.

“And I think you do. But that’s…”. *Lacey shrugs* “Would you be suspicious of Thirsten Snotgrass?”

“How much money do you think he has?” she asks.

“$500,000.00.” says Lacey.

“Does that impress you?” The Loudest Perfume Hater asks.

“He’s into his golden years. By that age $500,000.00 is a small sum net. Retirement is very expensive.” says Lacey.

“My wife never worries about that!” says an Illuminati man.

“Well, do you love your wife?” Lacey asks.

“Yes.” he says.

“Good!” says Lacey. …”No, I’ve never been loved that way either. Thanks for pointing that out?” *she laughs*

“Hey, at least you’re not a sex slave right?” another Illuminati member says to Lacey.

“I have no idea how to answer that to dignify the children. Have your demons eaten out your brains?” she asks. “Are you even human?” she asks before laughing again.

“Michael loves you.” says that man’s wife, almost crying.

“Well, I’ll let him express that. But…I have faith that God will work it out.” says Lacey. “And there are possibly others, of course like Lem.”

“I’d be suspicious!” says the Loudest Perfume Hater getting angry for some reason.

“What would you do?” asks Lacey.

She laughs. “Well…I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s using me?!” asks seashell artiste.

The Loudest Perfume Hater laughs… Then she nods a yes.

“Well, are you impressed by his $500,000.00?” asks Lacey.

She smiles. “I am. It’s not a lot. But it’s all he has. And I’m impressed. He worked a lot of hours to make that money.” says the seashell artiste.

“True.” says Thirsten Snotgrass.

“Well, $500,000.00 in a frugal lifestyle of some additional income isn’t so bad.” says Lacey.

“Would you have been able to do that?” Thirsten Snotgrass asks.

A few minutes later. “I think if I was loved thoroughly and truly in a marriage then yes.” says Lacey. “But at this point…it would require an extraordinary degree of love to deal with it. Because I’m exhausted. It’s not that I’m totally dependent on money it’s just…that’s what I have and giving that up is scary.”

“But why would you have to give that up?” asks a hater.

“Because they seem exhausting to deal with and the way I’ve set up my life trajectory financially in my head requires a lot of status quo or a lot of love.” says Lacey.

“Like…you have to have a certain handbag to look forward to given this time frame or…you’ll start weeping?” asks a hater.

“Yes. Yes, because I have my ex-husband. But…he’s my ex-husband. And…we’re already exhausted. And…I just don’t have it in me to push myself to find something that will make me feel more exhausted.” says Lacey.

“What if he really loved you?” asks a perfume hater from Australia.

“That’d be different, of course. But…my experience with men not dead is that they rarely see my heart or true personality and it’s…not the way it should be. Not like what I see other couples experiencing.” says Lacey.

“Like how?” asks the Australian.

“Like…I’ll feel like crying on a date with a living man and he’ll not notice and actually be on a wildly different wavelength. So I just…stifle my emotions and try to be positive. …But with seeming ghosts of men I’ve met they often can tell when I’m in a bad mood before I start feeling like crying. And they don’t act angry about it but instead try to be supportive.” says Lacey. “They act like I’m a woman not an old-fashioned, prim, backward fool.”

“But they’re dead.” says a living man.

“True. But…unless God forbids it…I’m not sure I could fathom caring enough to try finding a living man when they’re often already suspect for other reasons.” says Lacey. “It would require a shocking exception at this point in my life path thus far.”

“You know, it’s possible those dead men don’t like the thought of you being with anyone but them!” says a hater.

“If they’re really dead men…that’s possibly true.” says Lacey.

—