#Minnie Van Service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jodilin65 · 25 years ago

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TUESDAY, JUNE 29, 1999 Yesterday Tom turned 42. It’s hard to believe that in just 8 years he’ll be 50. If there’s one good thing about his being older, it’s that if the place we move to does end up growing over the years, we can move to Sun City in just 13 years.

The thing that really pissed me off was that Tom’s mom didn’t even care to send him a birthday card this year like she always used to. There’s always the chance it was misdelivered or will be delayed, but if not, that just made the woman go even lower in my mind. First she uses him, steals our time and money, then she doesn’t even send him a birthday card!

For his birthday, I made Tom a disk of a screen saver I made for him with different sayings on different backgrounds.

Before I get into our land hunt - Minnie’s trying to get in touch again. Also, and to my utter amazement, I never did hear from Andy this weekend and no pants showed up at my door. I left him a message a little while ago asking what the scoop was with that. Maybe he took care of his own damn pants for a change. Or got too fat for them, button or no button.

Next door was quiet all weekend. As quiet as they usually are during the week. But will it stay this way? I wonder about July 4th. Well, if it doesn’t stay quiet, we’ll deal with it then.

I went out to put my mail out and saw all their van windows open. This may not be New York City, Boston, or Springfield, but that is so stupid!

Later…

OK, on with yesterday’s outing. We left at 6 AM and didn’t return till 1 PM.

We didn’t go to Palm Harbor’s place in Apache Junction as we originally planned, but that’s to be our next step to find out what we qualify for. Then, we go out with a realtor to more property.

We drove out to Maricopa which is nestled by the Ak-chin Indian reservation and the Gila River Indian reservation. They also have Hopi, Navajo, Mojave, Apache, and more throughout the state. In fact, most of Arizona is owned by the government (national parks or forests) or the Indians. They have a lot of ancient Indian ruins around the state too, that I want to check out some time.

We looked at 3-acre lots. Some had manufactured houses on them, some were empty. I was surprised to see how close the houses were, although Tom didn’t think they were too close at all. To me, they looked two houses apart. From us to the collie’s house. He said he didn’t think so. He felt they looked 10 houses apart, and that distance can fool you if there’s nothing in between houses. He said we wouldn’t hear neighbors in our house. Outside - maybe. The 3-acre lots were more expensive but were rigged with utilities and water that was piped into the houses just like they are here in the city. We liked the more secluded, private, bigger lots, that are cheaper, but the catch is that they aren’t rigged for phone, electricity, or water.

I was surprised to see how many kids lived there (I still plan not to have a kid) and the school buses for summer school that went by. They have mail services, but the mail doesn’t come into your house through a slot. You have mailboxes at the edge of your property. I don’t know if UPS goes out there or not, but I’d think so. Maybe the mail service will be better out there and we won’t need a PO Box.

The owners of the rental are here now. When are they gonna sell or re-rent the place?

Anyway, the secluded lots were more private because their natural desert landscape was untouched. The sage bushes and Palo Verde trees are boring looking compared to saguaros, prickly pears, and ocotillos, but they do shield you from other houses. The houses that were on the smaller lots had originally been farmland, so all the sage and cactuses were cleared out. In that area, though, embedded in the base of Papago Butte Mountain, was a house for sale that we might consider checking into. It’d be perfect as far as utilities and water go, and the payments would be cheaper than this house, but the house might be a dump. It’s a manufactured house, but it’s about 20 years old. I’d prefer something new. It’s listed as a 3-bedroom 2½ bath with an addition that could make it a 4-bedroom house, but the big question is - is it quiet being elevated above other houses and with neighbors on either side, that again, seem so close? Don’t get me wrong. They’re not 3 feet away, but I still don’t see how a pack of screaming kids couldn’t be heard from the next house over (not that a 3-acre lot wouldn’t suit us. It’d sure beat 3 feet and be much quieter) Also, being higher, that enables the surrounding houses a straight shot at the house with their noise. Lastly, we were wondering how you’d put a pool in with it being on an incline like that. We may have to put it in front. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about anything noisy coming in behind us being nestled right against the bass of the mountain.

So, now that we saw the area, measured distances, checked out acreage, and looked over landscapes, we checked off all the appealing ads in those papers that the realtor sent so we can check those out, and the mountain house, too. We got a kick out of some of the ads that said: secluded with good neighbors. If you’re so secluded, then how do you know what your neighbors are like? And when they say “good neighbors” do they mean quiet neighbors or neighbors that are decent people?

Some of the mountains are prettier than others. I like the rockier mountains, rather than the ones that look like huge piles of dirt.

Tom asked if I’d be nervous with him gone since some people worry about being all alone with homicidal maniacs on the loose. Homicidal maniacs can be anywhere, but I think there are more of those in cities. Also, and as I told him, if it’s my time to go, so be it. If I’m destined to ever be shot, run over, or stricken with a killer disease, then there’s nothing I can do to stop that. Meanwhile, I can’t imagine my being nervous, and to this day I regret bothering the police to check out the sounds I heard when I first came to this house. I should’ve been a big girl and checked it out myself, just like I do from time to time, and that’s what I’ll do if I hear anything strange no matter where we live. If it’s our house, it’s our problem and our responsibility to deal with anything suspicious or that has our curiosity peaked. Anyway, a homicidal maniac can throw itself into anyone’s house anywhere, but if one does decide to pick our house, it damn well better come armed or with lots of pals, cuz any unarmed cock or two that comes to my door is gonna be walking straight into a death trap. I’ll kill it, bury it, and not even bother to call the cops. Let its family wonder whatever the hell became of it.

Anyway, noise is more important an issue to me than views or privacy. People can look as long as they don’t bother us. If I hear soft sounds off in the distance that isn’t constant, OK. As long as dogs, music, and people aren’t heard as well as I can hear them here.

The only bummer of it is, is that we’re still looking at being here another 2-3 months. At least. As Tom says, we have the rest of our lives, but I want out of here! I’ve been wanting out for years!

After looking at the land we went to K-Mart. They had ugly sundresses, but a surprising number of $20 porcelain dolls. They had some for $30 too, that were a little bigger.

What I did end up getting was a Heart CD. It was another Greatest Hits album, but this time, with the original recordings. Not live. I was hoping this one would have another version of Dreamboat Annie, a really beautiful song, for variety’s sake. They did. Only this one’s not nearly as nice. It also comes with the lyrics. Tom and I had tried to find Heart lyrics online to no avail.

Tom forgot the map, so he bought another one in Osco Drug so he could find the way to Red Lobster. Also, he wanted a newer map of the state. Osco Drug also had a handful of $20 porcelain dolls.

Our experience at Red Lobster was totally different than our last trip there a year ago. No kid could’ve thrown food at us if they wanted to as the nearest table was too far away. Also, all the neighboring diners were adults. There was one baby, but it slept the whole time it was there.

The lobster was good, but it didn’t seem as meaty this time around. Guess it was a little one. He had a hamburger.

Our last stop was the grocery store to quickly pick up a few items. When we were at the check-out counter, I saw a little booklet titled: The Right Way to Pray. Well, how hard can that be? Don’t you just ask God for what you want? Maybe there is a right way and a wrong way to pray since he’s never answered 98% of my prayers. Or maybe there simply is no right way we can pray for the things we aren’t meant to have. You can’t ask for what isn’t destined.

What is it with all this God shit popping up, anyway? There are so many commercials about books to get on how to establish a personal relationship with God. Well, to each their own, and yes, God’s blessed me in many ways, but for the most part, he’s allowed pain and hardship to be inflicted upon me and I don’t care to establish a relationship with someone that could do that to me. I don’t do connections with control freaks whether they’re parents, Gods, or whoever.

I look in the mirror and I still see a pudgy person there. How can Tom call me skinny? I swear I’m only thin in the wrists and ankles! Having such a small mouth doesn’t help my face. It makes it look bigger. I also wonder if my bottom teeth will always go downhill from left to right. Since the teeth on the right side are back further, it makes it look like the teeth on the left side are taller. Well, even if they stay like they are - they’re great compared to what I started with. They’re plenty straight enough now.

Later…

I got to thinking about it and started wondering if all those private calls not only could be Andy, but messages he’s leaving that I’m not getting, so even though I doubted that the machine was fucked up, I called and left a message asking him about it, but he says it’s not him that’s been calling. Well, I admit that it could be sales or Eldon, but my gut instinct says it’s Andy. The calls are coming when I know he’s home, and I really think he had Michelle call when he was back east to try to throw me off. A private call came in right after he left his message. What better way to try to throw someone off than to call right after leaving a message denying you’ve been calling them, huh? I should know. I used to do the same thing he’s doing. Well, although I’m curious to know who the caller is for sure, they say your gut instinct is the one to trust, so I think I can bet on it being Andy. OK then Andy, have your fun while it lasts!

Really, though, if it’s entertaining to him - fine. The loser doesn’t have anything better to do. It’s so sad, too. This guy isn’t dumb. I mean, he is and he isn’t. If he only wouldn’t waste his life sitting home getting stoned, he could offer this world so much.

Anyway, in his message denying the calls, he didn’t say anything about the pants, just that he had a dream about Quinn (oh, God!) and that he misses him. Also, he knows where Papago Butte is and wouldn’t mind visiting me there cuz it’s not too far. Well, Andy dear, it’s about 40 minutes away from where you are, you say you have a shit car that’s unregistered, and the town is Maricopa. Only the mountain’s called Papago Butte (not that we’re definitely gonna live at the base of this mountain). But it doesn’t matter how close or how far it is, cuz I know he’s not going to be visiting.

SUNDAY, JUNE 27, 1999 My vibes have been right so far. No music from next door. All we saw was the gold car come to visit and Tom said he heard voices out back yesterday afternoon when he was rinsing paintbrushes. I told him I knew the humidity wouldn’t stop them from hanging out back (not that I care about voices at this point. It’s music I care about) and he said they may’ve been inside the house with the evaporative cooler running which needs open windows. I said I was surprised they’d run the cooler and not the AC, and he said they may not have much of a choice. Really? I thought everything was paid for them - their bills, their food, their clothes, etc. Maybe not, though. The electricity may’ve been included in the Oswego Street project, but it wasn’t in the NHA.

Just heard the van return and two car doors. One for him. One for her. So, does the smaller fat lady, whose name I don’t know, stay home and watch the kids when Debra and her hubby take off? Who is this woman in relation to Deb? Her mom? Sister? Cousin? In-law? Friend? I never got a good look at her to see if I could see a resemblance to Deb and how old she might be, but she’s gotta be in her 40s at the very least. I can’t tell if Deb’s in her 20s or 30s. Her face is so swollen with fat that her eyes are nearly swollen shut and I can’t see lines and wrinkles too well if they’re there.

No calls from Andy (yet). Now that’s really surprising. I mean, aren’t we gonna have to play phone a zillion times over a lousy pair of pants? Isn’t he gonna have to call a zillion times leading up to the big drop-off of these pants? Maybe they’re already out front, but I’m not gonna check right now. Not with the hinges loaded with masking tape. We masked the doors and shit like that that we didn’t want the paint sprayer to hit.

For the last 5 days or so, there have been private messageless calls. Tom says it could be Eldon, whose number comes up as private, and who’s been known to call and leave no message. Could be Andy, too.

Later…

Tom took the air compressor inside so he could spray paint and he made a major breakthrough with covering the wall art. Most of it barely shows anymore, so that’s great. He did the kitchen and the living room yesterday, although the living room ceiling still needs to be done. Today he’s gonna concentrate on the bedrooms.

SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 1999 The bathroom fan does a great job. Not one drop of moisture was on the mirror when I stepped out of the shower.

To give my hair a break from the same old, same old, I switched shampoos. This one has a separate shampoo and conditioner, unlike the one I’d been using that had both in one bottle. Its vanilla scent, which seems to be a popular scent these days, is nice and it lets me use more conditioner. Those two-in-one put way more shampoo in than conditioner and this hair needs a ton of conditioner.

All’s been quiet next door since I got up at midnight. In fact, from what I can see, no vehicle at all has been over there. My vibes said there wouldn’t be any music, but my logic said there would be. Well, I’m glad my vibes have won so far, but I repeat, so far. The weekend’s young. However, since our chat last Sunday, I haven’t seen or heard anything more than the van’s comings and goings. No kids, no music, no voices. And thank you God for seeing that as of yet, I’ve been wrong on that dog vibe. If that vibe’s right, I just hope it’s not till after we’ve moved. I don’t know if their quietness is a result of our talk, or if it would’ve panned out this way anyway, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts.

Later…

The van went out at 6:30. It’s deathly humid out there now, and hot. That might curb any shit from going down next door, and my vibes are good, but I don’t know. It didn’t stop that black cock from banging in and out of there when he was here in the heat and humidity, but so far, no sign of the ranchero or the white car.

Sex was pretty amazing earlier. Makes me wonder if he’s read my recent writings about the same old, same old getting rather old. He’s still making excuses, as usual. Don’t get me wrong. He’s still on the back excuse trip, saying it’s really weak and needs to be strengthened. Maybe so, and although he denies this, perhaps his age has something to do with it, too. Whatever. What was amazing was that he suddenly, out of the blue, asked if I wanted to go on top. I guess a part of this was cuz of his back and not just for the sake of variety, but what was even more amazing than me being on top for the first time in ages, was that I had no problem guiding him in there. As almost always, neither of us came. I asked if he’s cum by that before and he said yes. Anyway, I told him the variety was nice, and that although I did prefer to screw and be on the bottom most of the time, I like a change of pace every so often. Actually, I wish he’d go down on me every other time we got together (it just feels the best), but I know that that would be too much to ask of him. Way too much. The guy’s tongue would fall out! It takes me longer to cum nowadays. Besides, I already made my feelings known about him going down on me for a change, he didn’t do it, and I don’t want to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.

FRIDAY, JUNE 25, 1999 Less than 24 hours to go before the peace we’ve had around here since Sunday’s gone.

I saw a bunch of people working on the rental yesterday, but I don’t know what they were doing. They were hammering an assortment of objects that were on the ground, they were on the roof, they were everywhere. I can’t believe the place is still empty, but I doubt it’ll last much longer.

I wish I could get myself to quit worrying about what I eat and just live life. Tom says I’m skinny, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m far from it. I’m not huge either, but I’m plump. Quite chunky in most areas. I will never be any thinner than I am now, so I wish I could get myself to stop wasting my time on diets. Also, although I want to, getting a home gym will be a tremendous waste of money. I’m just gonna do what I always do - I’ll stick to it with utter dedication and determination for the first few weeks, and then I’ll have to push myself. I always lose interest and drive. I’m still doing my stomach exercises, but barely. It’s a real struggle to get myself to do it. All that ambition I felt for a couple of weeks there is gone. Perhaps the reason I lack motivation is that I know I’m so limited. I knew my stomach wasn’t gonna get any flatter than where I’d flattened it to after a couple of weeks.

Tom worked a zillion hours overtime, again, as usual, cuz of a failed hard drive that runs the sorter he uses. When are we ever gonna get back on track with the painting, and when will this painting ever end, and when will we get the fuck out of here?! Before Lisa tries calling a hundredth time? Before Tammy decides to go on a let’s-forget-the-past-and-move-on-till-the-same-old-shit-happens-again-for-the-zillionth-time calling spree? Before Andy asks for a dozen more favors or wants me to go somewhere with him? Before next door’s company has banged in and out enough times to drive me crazy and wake me up?

Lisa’s only called once so far, but here we go with Andy’s favors again. Can’t come over without needing something from me. Couldn’t God have held him off just until we could finally get the fuck out of here?! He needs another button sewn. He says it popped off the first time he wore the pants, but I don’t buy it for a second. I’ve never heard of anyone popping buttons like he does, and sometimes I think he does it deliberately just to get a favor from me. And he happens to need to bring the pants over to me on a weekend? He says he wants to bring them over for just “5 minutes” or drop them off. Anything to rebel and to butt into my weekends! I left him a message to just drop them off and I’ll call him when they’re done. I told him we’d be out all weekend looking at land.

What’s he gonna do when I’m gone? He’s gonna have to learn to sew his own buttons on. And stop eating, too! I’m sure that most of this constant button popping is cuz he’s stuffing the shit out of himself. And I also think that’s the cause of the bulk of his puking, too. Stomachs and pants can only handle so much food.

Later…

Wow. It’s supposed to hit 110º this weekend. Finally! This is the mildest summer Arizona’s ever seen so far. It won’t stop cars from blasting in and out from, 10 PM-1 AM, though.

I listened to music, I scrubbed the bathroom, I scrubbed the kitchen sink, and now I’m bored shitless. Perhaps I should read and do some more cleaning since there’s nothing on TV but the usual, and since I have nothing to say till the weekend. Come the weekend, I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. Till then and till we can get the fuck out of here, I find myself vegging out with my thoughts. I think about what my view is going to be like looking out at the natural desert landscape. You know how rotten a neighborhood Oswego Street was but did I ever tell you about the view? The exact view? From my back door, I could see a big old ugly dumpster. A few feet behind that was another 4-story brick building only it was empty and rundown. Some of its windows were boarded up and the ones that weren’t were smashed. There was graffiti all over it and garbage strewn everywhere. That was my view. And that was barely a decade ago.

THURSDAY, JUNE 24, 1999 Andy hasn’t called to tell me he was fired yet, so I guess that means he’s still working. He said the job was a piece of cake and that he has more free time than not while he’s there, so he reads magazines.

Also, he was puking his brains out like he always does the day before he starts a new job. But why? He should be an expert on starting new jobs. He only starts 50 new jobs a year.

Tom was rubbing against me suggestively when I got up. I asked him if he needed a quickie and he said no because it’d be too quick of a quickie and he had to shave. But he had nearly an hour and a half before work. Talk about being inflexible!

Anyway, I feel sexually trapped. This guy just does not want to branch out, explore, experiment, or try anything new when it comes to sex. It’s the same old, same old. It’s starting to get to me, but again, knowing I’m sexually hexed and knowing my bitching about it won’t change anything, I just keep my mouth shut and go along with what he wants in bed as we always have. I mean, there’s no variety. I know what we’ll do step by step whenever we get into bed. There are no surprises anymore. It’s not new and exciting anymore, and I know it’ll really turn him on if I bitch about it (I know it sounds horrible saying this about this otherwise great man, but it’s true. I just know it is), and that God has me hexed sexually no matter what, no matter who it’s with. It doesn’t matter if it’s only him for the rest of my life or a million people. Hexed is hexed. I can’t get him to break his rut of the same old and try something different for a change, and when I can, it’s only once or twice, then it’s right back to the usual. His idea of variety is stopping before we even begin. And every single Goddamn weekend it’s the excuses. 90% of the time, there’s a problem. He can’t just screw and not make excuses for why he has to stop. I know why he has to stop, but I was obviously right when I said he’d never admit to it. Then why not just keep his mouth shut? Why the constant excuses? If he can’t come out and admit his fears and ask that we use birth control, does he have to make excuses instead?

I’ve never enjoyed sex with this guy and I think about quitting, but what kind of guilt trip will he lay on me for it? How guilty will I end up feeling regardless? What will God do to me for it?

Speaking of God and his doing things to me, it’s quite a coincidence that I’ve been bothered, once again, by his taking away my right as a woman to choose, ever since the showdown with next door this weekend. See? If I don’t take what he dishes out to me, he inflicts some kind of pain or punishment upon me for it. There’s just no fighting what God’s got on the menu for me. I fear that if I go against God by throwing away the sex, he’ll do something to me emotionally for it.

Anyway, Tom straightened up the kitchen and the living room of papers and hardware, and I cleaned the refrigerator.

He got some more boxes today and a pretty, colorful pad of notepaper for me.

Later…

Next door’s still quiet at night and during the daytime. They still seem to go in and out a lot, the first trip usually starting now, at 6 AM.

I’m not at all looking forward to the weekend, as always. I don’t know if that white car did start to move in only to change its mind, if it only planned to be there for the weekend, or what, but I do know there’ll be some kind of shit over there this weekend. My guess is that the white car will bang in and out, or the ranchero will. I’ll probably send the city letter off next Monday. Especially if they fuck up my schedule which I just managed to get back on track so we can go look at land Monday, as well as to Red Lobster and to Wal-Mart.

I’ve gone from 107 pounds to 111 pounds. Yeah, I knew I would. Am I gonna try to lose it again? No. I’m not gonna bother, cuz I’ll just gain it right back.

Later…

Oh, no. Here we go again with Lisa trying to call collect. I’m not gonna answer and tell her a third time not to call me. I’m just gonna ignore her calls and hope they stop while we’re still here. We just can’t get out of here fast enough!

There was a private call a little while ago. Could it have been Andy? They didn’t leave a message, but he’s supposed to be at work now. What’d he do? Bail out of this job, too?

TUESDAY, JUNE 22, 1999 Andy left a message about starting a 2-week temp job answering phones during the day for $9 an hour (which he’ll quit or lose by Friday) and in my reply, I told him my feelings about not acknowledging our anniversary. He left a message saying he doesn’t acknowledge anyone’s anniversaries. Only birthdays. He said it was because he didn’t believe in marriage, then he chuckled and said he didn’t know why. I know why. It’s because he’s jealous. I know jealousy when I see it. It’s OK, though, to be jealous. I understand how badly he wishes he could say he’s been with someone for years and has had a great relationship with them. Then he tried to say he wasn’t sure when our anniversary was, but he thought it was June 15th. He knew that. He knew damn well when it was, cuz I mentioned it before the 15th. He can’t even blame his scrambled pot memory on that one, but he didn’t try. Anyway, we acknowledge what we acknowledge and I told him that’s OK (but of course, only I know, despite how much he may suspect it, that this will be our last anniversary where we’re friends).

Later…

Boy, have I been in a lazy mood! I got up at 12:30 last night, but all I wanted to do for the most part was lay around. At 10:00 this morning I ended up conking out till 5:30. I hope this doesn’t mean my schedule is fucked up for Monday. Monday, his birthday, we were gonna go to Red Lobster and look at some land.

Tom called yesterday about some land advertised in the Penny Saver, and we received info on it today. He said there are some promising deals.

Also, ironically enough, a lady left a message saying she sold some property in this area, so, if we’re interested, give her a call. That’s quite a coincidence, although I doubt we’ll be needing her.

It looks like I may’ve forgotten to mention this, but about a week ago, Paula left a message. It came up as private, so she apparently called from a friend’s house. I hope she doesn’t ring someone else’s bill up to call me. It doesn’t look like she’ll be doing that, though. She said she didn’t want a phone anymore, she’ll call me back, and everything’s OK. She hasn’t tried to call back yet, as far as I know. Also, I doubt it was a case of her simply not wanting a phone anymore. Maybe some guys were bothering her, but I think the main reason she lost the phone was due to so many calls to me. Also, she didn’t sound “OK.” She sounded rather down.

Yesterday, I gave Mel (who decided to leave that bracket off) a few pictures of animals I printed out for her, as well as a few of myself at different stages of my life, including one of my hair just past my shoulders back when I was 24.

As I stood up to leave, I wondered - was her big, baggy smock just sticking out? Or was she pregnant? I certainly wasn’t gonna ask and risk offending her and making her wonder if she was suddenly huge-looking and if it was just a case of her smock sticking out. Well, I’ll pay closer attention next time I see her, but it’s awfully hard to picture her pregnant. She just doesn’t look like a mom, nor does she seem like the type to want the hassle. I always pictured her as either never having kids, or not having them till she was in her late 30s.

I decided to forget about singing softly since we did make a deal, after all, to go to our doors if there’s a problem. So, if she can hear me, and if it bothers her, let her come to my door. I highly doubt she can hear me, though, cuz it’s in the house that sound goes easily, not out of the house.

I still haven’t seen the white car since Sunday, and all’s been quiet, but it’s not the weekend yet, either. I know the ranchero and the white car will be banging in and out next weekend, too. At least that white car doesn’t live there like I was beginning to fear was the case. I think it’ll live there on weekends, though.

MONDAY, JUNE 21, 1999 Things kind of came to a head around here yesterday, but it may be for the better. It’s too soon to tell, but it just may’ve been a good thing.

At around 5 AM yesterday, when Tom was getting up, they finally shut up next door. I typed the city a letter too, but we agreed to hold off on the mayor’s till the house went up for sale.

As we were going to Jack-n-the-Box at 7:00, I saw a guy walk out from between the houses in the carport, glance at us, then go back towards the backyard.

When we returned, the hood of the van was open, and I was thinking, great. Just great. So now they’re gonna be playing car repair all day like most freeloaders do and who knows what noise that’ll trigger being just a few feet away.

Between 8:00-9:00, the white car banged in and out 3 times. The final time, which was finally loud enough to wake me up, was the final straw. I blew from there. The years of having to deal with neighbor’s shit had taken its toll on me and I snapped. The stupid fucks with the white car backed the car out in the middle of the driveway, then left it sitting there with the bass booming while they went inside the house. So I stormed over there and walked up to their door which was wide open and let them know I was fed up and they had to shut up. At the same time I was turning to walk away, a woman was saying, “Will you please get out of my house” (but I didn’t step foot over their threshold and I reminded her that it wasn’t her house). Once I was back at our door (Tom was outside at this point) and the dudes with the white car came out. Tom was telling them to turn it down but they played deaf and dumb. Then he told me to call the cops, but they were leaving right as the dispatcher answered, so I told her to never mind and I hung up. She called right back and Tom told her the scoop.

Just as he hung up with the dispatcher, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood two fat ladies and a guy. From there on out, I was thoroughly surprised and even impressed with what transpired. I was a little confused, too. The bigger woman, Debra, who looked and sounded white just like the other woman even though Tom thought she looked Hispanic, told me she was trying to buy the house. I guess the city has different programs and that they’re on an extremely different program than the blacks were on. How can a low-income person afford to buy a house? How can jobless people afford to buy a house? And how can 5 adults and at least 4 kids live in that house and still have room to breathe?

Anyway, Deb basically did all the talking. Her husband, who seemed like a very subdued, passive individual and who appears to be Mexican, said nothing. The other lady, whose name I don’t know, only spoke a few scattered sentences.

The 5 of us spoke for about 10 minutes and Deb let us know that my temper wouldn’t get me anywhere, if there was a problem with anything please come to her and not yell over the wall or go off on her guests, and that she knew where our door was, so she’d do the same. We agreed to this, and as I let her know, it was music that concerned me more than voices or anything else.

She said she was a good person and that she wanted to talk like normal human beings. Well, I must give her credit for coming over and talking to us like a civilized adult. She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to try to reason with us or compromise. She could’ve come over yelling right back. But she didn’t and I appreciate and admire her for it. She’s to be commended for how she handled the situation, which was far better than how I handled it.

All’s been quiet since I got up at 10:30 (Tom didn’t leave any messages, so I guess that means they were quiet) and the white car hasn’t been back that I know of, but don’t get me wrong. Even though I feel much calmer and have a good feeling about how things will go from here, that doesn’t mean that some sort of shit won’t go down (mainly with the white car or some other vehicle). Maybe they’ll go right back to being just as loud, or even worse of a nightmare, but for now, I’m hopeful that things will be OK till we can move, and I feel much more comfortable having met these people. Now that I know the people and have seen the faces behind the voices, I’m not as stressed out.

Tom and I agreed that from here on out, if there are any more problems, to let him know about it in full detail, then he’ll go talk to them.

From here on out, even though I’m sure I can’t be heard, I’m going to be singing really soft so they can’t say I’m practicing what I preach. Normally, I wouldn’t care, since they’ve been noisy and since most people out here are noisy, but I have to care. They have music more powerful than mine. Music that can take away my sleep. Therefore, as far as they’re concerned (if they stay quiet), they don’t know I exist.

So, we’ll just see what happens from here on out. I’m putting a hold on the city letter for now. I may even forget about sending them any excerpts on them after we move. It’s one thing to call a person a racial slur behind their backs as a way of venting, but it’s totally wrong, as far as I’m concerned, to directly call anyone a racial slur.

Even if things do go well from here on out, I still think they were wrong to be as noisy as they have been, and I still think it was intentional. I think they wanted to get attention and acknowledgment and I don’t condone their antics.

Meanwhile, I never meant to condemn them or anyone else for their lifestyle. The only time I have a problem with someone else’s way of doing things is when it comes through my walls. I don’t sic my noise on others. Therefore, I expect them to keep their noise and music for their ears only, too. I expect others to treat me as I treat them.

SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 1999 How do the kids sleep throughout all this loud babbling? Somehow, I doubt these wonderful role models give a shit.

Anyway, they’ve been out back gabbing away since I got up at 10:30. Makes me wonder if they could ever run out of things to say to each other. They just never seem to come up for air. The mouths go on and on and on, and bitch! I hate you for moving! I never thought that I’d be faced with having to worry about next door again like this. Especially after midnight! If it weren’t for us moving, I’d be out back screaming for them to shut up, even though I know it wouldn’t do me any good. Besides, I did say I’d fan out anything that wasn’t bass and that could be fanned out during our remaining weeks left here (unless God sees fit to add more time to our stay here). I really feel bad for the next people in here, cuz knowing how God works, odds are they’ll be nice folks who won’t deserve this shit. Not assholes, or assholes that are just as noisy.

Other than their vocal antics, this is the quietest Saturday yet with them here and that will probably ever be. Tom said there was the expected weekend company, but no music, and only a couple of cars. He didn’t see that white car.

Unbelievably, the van came and went from 10 PM last night to late in the morning. Over 12 hours of coming and going to and from God only knows where. From what we can gather, these fucks are sleeping from around noon-8 PM. I’ve never seen anything like this coming and going. Not even the blacks and the renters combined had these many vehicles and this many trips in and out.

I’m a little disappointed with Tom, cuz I feel like he reneged on our deal. He said if I insisted, he’d send out the city and mayor letters Monday but would prefer to wait till the house went up for sale. But who knows how many more weeks away that is?

I thought I just heard car doors, but I just went into the music room where they can be heard loud and clear and they’re still there. Why are they sitting out gabbing in the dark? Not one light is on over there.

Anyway, Tom thinks that others have complained already. I don’t think so. If they complained about these people, then why didn’t they complain about the blacks? And why isn’t the city doing anything like they did with the blacks?

Tom said that the city won’t do anything cuz of the way they run things. He said the mayor will, cuz mayors know that people write letters to newspapers if the mayor fails to respond to their letters. Well, I disagree, but maybe I’m wrong. I don’t think that just because the mayor’s in real estate and sold David this house that it means he’ll do something about the shit next door. If the city doesn’t do something, no one will. Not unless we the people take action and go over there and shoot all of them dead ourselves.

As I told Tom, I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, but I don’t think we can rely on other people having complained first, or wait till we put the house up for sale in case we can’t put it up for sale for months. Something’s stalling us and keeping us here by hurling one setback after another at us, as I knew would be the case eventually. It does not want us leaving here, and as far as I can see, if we don’t gain by the letters, can we really lose that much?

Yesterday, we thought we finally found the answer to the wall art not being able to be covered by putting on a thick joint wall compound, but guess what? As soon as it dried, the wall art was visible again. It just won’t fucking go away! And of course, he’s still in denial, saying it will get covered with spray paint, but no it won’t. Only painting the walls black or wallpapering will cover it. At least he got the bathroom vent working.

Yesterday morning I wished to hell I had the camera ready for that fat bitch who mooned me really good. It was barefoot, wearing a short dress as it bent over to grind out a cigarette. It obviously doesn’t believe in underwear either. Got a perfect full view of that fat ass!

I figured out how to program my stereo to play the Heart songs I like best repetitiously while I slept, but that didn’t go over very well. I kept waking up for the first few hours of sleep. I turned it off and slept well from there on out. If I’m gonna ever need music, I’m gonna have to go back to playing Gloria’s instrumental CD. That has a steadier beat, although if music pulls in next door that’s loud enough, nothing short of blasting my stereo will override it.

Later…

This is fucking unbelievable! Totally! It’s 3:00 in the morning and the freeloaders are still out there gabbing. I went out back a few minutes ago and screamed for them to shut up. I knew it wouldn’t work, but it made me feel good just to scream like that. Someone answered, “Hello? Are we really that loud?”

I told them, yeah, they were, and that I’d have them evicted. Then all I could make out through the garble of 3-4 voices was something about how they’re only human, but I didn’t want to hear anymore. I just came inside and threw the headphones on and watched a movie.

I’m telling you, no one complained. No one complained and no one ever will.

Why God?! Why me?! Why is it always next to me?! Any prayers to God for peace around here are going unanswered, as always. He wants this for me. He wants me inflicted with this shit from neighbors.

Later…

Still gabbing away non-stop. Also, I just noticed that the white car’s here behind the van now. I knew it’d be back. I forgot to say that it left quietly yesterday morning at 8:30.

These are obviously “seasonal freeloaders.” If it were December, they’d be gabbing all day and sleeping at night. At least I think they would be. You call this human, though? Normal humans don’t gab outside till 3:30 in the fucking morning, and if there’s anything I do agree with Tom on, it’s that no, they don’t mind getting evicted. If you’re gonna be out gabbing at this hour, you can’t be worried about getting evicted, and if you are stupid enough to be out gabbing at this hour, and someone threatens you with eviction, and you still gab on, then you really don’t mind being evicted.

This is not a good moving sign. Between the freeloaders and the wall art crisis and other setbacks, this is not a good moving sign at all. I really hope Tom will write the letters now and stop assuming too much. I mean, what if we are here till September? Or even later? I’m not putting up with their shit that long. No way!

If the kids are sleeping while they’re up yacking away all night, who watches them during the daytime?

I woke up at 107 pounds, and haven’t had much of an appetite. First time I’ve been this low in ages, but you can thank the freeloaders for it. It’s cuz of the stress from their shit. Whenever the fuck we get out of here, I’m sure I’ll be struggling like hell to keep from going over 110 pounds.

I was eating popcorn when the bracket let go. I doubt the popcorn did it, cuz I’ve been eating it ever since the braces went on and that was over a year ago, but just in case, I’m having more graham crackers and less popcorn. There are fewer calories in a serving of bite-size graham crackers than in a bag of popcorn, although you certainly don’t get as much. Still, it should be filling enough as a snack. If I have two servings a day that is a couple of hundred calories each, a couple of 200-calorie TV dinners, and a banana or two, that should keep me from going over 110 once the stress comes off. No wonder I was so thin back east and when I first got here!

I’m just too stressed out to do much when I’m not writing or listening to music. I can’t concentrate on reading. All I do is sit and stare at the wall sometimes. I keep reminding myself that we will be moving. It may not be soon enough, but it’ll happen. It doesn’t seem to reassure and calm me as much as I’d like.

Later…

And the lovely freeloaders continue to ramble on. How is it that the dogs haven’t been going off all night cuz of these freeloaders?

I wonder if these freeloaders are my present from God for having the hoop removed. Maybe he would’ve been more lenient with me with neighbors if I hadn’t gone against him, so to speak, and had it removed. Like I said, if I don’t take what he gives me, I’m really in for trouble.

Later…

Although somewhat quieter, the freeloaders are still out back. This time, I went out back now that it was getting light. I could smell that they were doing laundry. I thought you couldn’t raise kids if you were like me - no routine, schedule, or structure? Well, there are not just an awful lot of kids over there. There are an awful lot of adults over there, too. Maybe the adults that are up are childless, but I’ve never heard of a childless freeloader. They start breeding practically as soon as they hit puberty, and they don’t stop till menopause.

I wonder - is the white car gonna be here every night? Or just during weekends? Will the freeloaders be out back every night from here on out while we’re still here?

SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1999 The van’s been gone an hour and a half. This is the longest it’s stayed out this late that I know of. What if they went to Mexico or somewhere and are having the people with the Ranchero and white car babysit their many mistakes? That’d be all I’d need! Unless they’re not back by 2:00, I’ll assume the van will be returning, then the white car and the Ranchero can bass out. They don’t mind waking up the kids. They don’t just shit on others. They shit on each other, too.

Why has God been so obsessed with using kids and music against me like he has since 1992? Why?! The kids are easier to deal with than the bass, and people attached to me that live directly next to or above me like in the NHA and the apartments I had here. But still, I just don’t get it. God’s obviously not using the kids to show me that he has that planned for me, too. I’ve known all my life I was destined to be childless, like it or not, and 6 years of unprotected sex with a virtually cumless dick has proved that. Maybe God just felt that knowing I wasn’t going to have kids, he felt it wasn’t fair that I live my whole life without a taste of what it’s like to have them close by. Well, believe me, God, I know what it’s like!

Good. The van’s back. Now can we just pack it in for the night and be done with all this shit till tomorrow night so I can have some peace and concentrate on things I want to do?

Anyway, the only reason I can think of as to why God would sic the music on me is due to people I’ve bugged with my stereo, like my old neighbors on Oswego Street and Woodside Terrace (the first time I lived there). If this is the case, once again, it just goes to show how I have to get what I gave many times over. If I make one prank phone call, I get four. Get it? There’s no way in hell anyone could’ve been as bothered by my music as I’ve been by other people’s music. No way. Not even close. There’s no comparison between the stereos I had back in the mid to late 80s, and these bassy car stereos and that band that used to play across the street. If you played the stereo I had back then full blast, it still couldn’t come close to the volume of one of these car stereos playing softly.

It’s almost 1 AM. Makes me wonder if the white car and the Ranchero, or at least one of them, will be staying overnight. They may be too doped up to leave, but if that white car wants out, the van’s gonna have to move first.

Tom was right about Mexican music being less bassy. I heard plenty of bass, don’t get me wrong, but I heard more drums than bass. It doesn’t matter, though. Drums on these stereos are just like bass - they both sound like someone’s hammering your walls. I’m sleeping with my stereo on for damn sure. I know they’re gonna wake me up. It seems only inevitable. It also seems only logical that that’d be just what the Gods would order, too.

Later…

I can’t see for sure, but it looks like the Ranchero left.

It’s a damn shame these sick fucks have so many laws on their side. These fuckeroos are next to impossible to evict, and even if we could have them out of here tomorrow - they’ll just turn around and have people move in that are just like these assholes and the last ones, too. It’s a widespread, endless cycle. And of course, their millions of kids grow up to be just as fucked up, if they stay alive and out of jail.

Tom caught Melanie’s call to remind me of our Monday appointment and told her the scoop. She said it’s a common thing, go ahead and keep it waxed in place, and she’ll glue it back Monday.

Later…

The van left again, but the white car is still there. Just where the fuck do these people need to go 50 times a day and is the white car staying overnight or what?

I brought up the idea to Tom (in a phone msg) of us exploring and experimenting with sex stimulants when we move, figuring that if we use lubricants, why not try stimulants, too? I have a feeling, though, that this stuck-in-a-rut kind of guy here won’t want to bother, but OK. I have vibrators to spice things up. I still say that the vibrators do the trick for me better than he can, anyway. They’re more reliable. They don’t work, they don’t sleep, they’re always on my schedule available when I want them, and they don’t have a million excuses.

Anyway, all he said in his reply was that he wanted fun when he got up. Says he deserves it and that I owe him that. No prob. I just hope my crotch won’t mind, cuz we skipped last weekend. I wouldn’t be too surprised if he came either, cuz I’m getting close to a period.

He also said that he’s gonna work 8 hours on Saturday, 6 on Sunday, then evaluate where we are and decide the rest of the week from there. I feel like we’ve got a long way to go yet. We haven’t even bought the land yet! If we could just finish this fucking painting and cover this fucking wall art I never thought I’d regret doing so badly!

Later…

The van’s back and the white car’s still here. The front light’s off, though, so that tells me all the more that the white car’s staying overnight. The fact that I’ve never seen this car before worries me. What if one of the adults living over there just got this car and what if it’s here to stay? I saw two people get out of this car, but that doesn’t matter. The passenger could’ve been a friend. These subsided blacks and Mexicans know a whole shitload of people.

Just a few more days and the city and the mayor will be hearing from us. But is Tom right for sure? Will it worsen things? Do they really not mind getting evicted? Or will it have the same effect on them as on the blacks? I tend to agree with Tom. Not just for the reasons he does, but because I’ve learned that just because something works once, doesn’t mean it will again. In fact, it’s usually just the opposite. What brought good results once tends to bring negative results the second time around. Or at least with the second batch of assholes. Well, it took two letters for the blacks to get it, so maybe after our 10th letter, the fucks will either shut up or move out.

Later…

No, he won’t be cumming. He’s gone to “do a duty” before we get together, so that tells me something right there. It’s just a gut feeling, know what I mean? He took the little computer in to play Hearts, he says, but I still wouldn’t be surprised if he got relief out of the way first, but again, it’s best that he does. Despite what’s destined, a man shouldn’t cum in a woman that doesn’t want kids if they’re not gonna use birth control.

FRIDAY, JUNE 18, 1999 OK, now that I’ve had time to calm down somewhat, I’ll update the latest batch of shit I’ve had to deal with.

First, though, next door seemed to have taken their antics indoors at about 11:30, and the van made its last trip in and out at around that time, too. At my last 1 AM check, I could see the glow of a TV coming from over there. See, I really think they’ve got themselves scheduled by the weather. I knew there was no way they’d stay inside just because it was hotter and more humid. They’ve got to get the neighborhood’s attention. Apparently, they’re sleeping in later and going out when it’s cooler. They might be sleeping till late afternoon.

Well, we’ll be taking care of the freeloaders, but meanwhile, enough of them and onto other things.

One of my brackets popped off. At first I thought it was gonna be a big deal and something I couldn’t live with till Monday that’d have to be dealt with like now. However, I waxed it and it’s holding it in place well enough till I can get in to see Mel Monday. Tom says he’s still gonna try to be here when they call tomorrow, tell them what the scoop is, and see what they recommend. I think it’ll hold till Monday with the wax, and fortunately, it’s the second tooth from the back, so I can eat on the other side of my mouth. If it were a front incisor, rather than a back molar, I’d have to have only liquid foods, not that that’d kill me to do if I had to.

Later…

I checked just before 2 AM and the lights are out. Maybe they are up during the day, but just don’t go outside. Or maybe I don’t hear them if they’re out. I didn’t know they were out till I went to check on Shiny. With the fan on, I couldn’t hear them. With the AC running and not the cooler, I couldn’t smell their food. As Tom suggested, maybe I ought to just stay inside and fan them out. That way, I won’t have to know they exist and burn with rage and want to go kill them.

My idea to sand the wall art was a bust. Tom’s new plan is to go around and paint the walls and ceiling completely. No more playing games, he says. Then, he’s gonna spray paint the wall art. He says that’ll cover it cuz you can get more on that way. I hope so! He says we’re still on for early August. I really, really hope so!!!

Later…

Another day with the freeloaders to deal with.

I didn’t get up till 8:00, their peak time these days. Tom said he hadn’t heard anything since being home at around 9 AM. That kind of didn’t surprise me. They didn’t start up till 10:00. It’s only just after 10:30 now, and I’m sure they’ll be up doing God knows what till around 1:30.

At 10:00, a white car I’ve never seen before came blasting in. It sat in the driveway for a couple of minutes to let the neighborhood know it had arrived, and by the time I got out there and screamed to keep it down, I didn’t want to know they exist, and that I was to have them evicted, the cock was walking towards the house. It glanced at me for a second without a word, then kept on walking.

A few minutes later, I thought it was leaving, but it obviously came out to test/bait me, along with 3-4 of the Mexicans that live there, then they deserted the car which is still out there. The weird thing about it was that they only based me out for barely half a minute. Just as I was on my way out there to really raise some hell of my own, the music stopped. The people stayed, though. I couldn’t make out a word they were saying, but I can guess what must’ve been said. Something like, “Go ahead. Have us evicted. We don’t care.” Or “No one can get us evicted. We can do anything we want and get away with it, too.” Yeah, well if this is what they think, they’re gonna learn the hard way how wrong they are.

I was surprised to see the van leave as early as 6 AM yesterday, just 6 hours after its last trip. Just when do these people sleep?

Anyway, I haven’t heard anyone hanging out back yet, but I’m sure I’ll know it when this white car leaves.

All I know is that I’m being severely compensated for the two months that house was empty, just like I knew I would. Something’s really out to get me good lately, and I don’t know why.

My stereo conked out again on me yesterday, but thankfully, Tom fixed it. God’s really on a let’s-get-Jodi spree now. So let me guess - he’s gonna have that white car return tomorrow earlier so it can wake me up, right? But why?! Why is God letting this happen?! What did I ever do to these people? And the last people? And the last? I thought people were supposed to only have people harassing them who did something to deserve it first. Well, that’s the way it should be, but it’s obviously not. People just don’t know when to give up, either. They pick and pick and pick. They just don’t know when to quit provoking.

I’d still like to know what I ever did to these people. Why does God insist on throwing these people on me like this? I don’t even know these people. Why can’t God allow me to be left alone? And just what will he have done to me for moving away from these people he seems so desperate to sic upon me?

I think Tom’s right - these blatant fucks are blatantly illegal, and now that they know they have enemies (which they obviously sought out as an excuse to badger people all the more), they’re gonna really live it up at our expense, and I’m sure they’ll insist that this white car visit more often now, too. How I’m gonna keep from killing these people, beats me. I’m so pissed right now and my adrenaline is so pumped up that I could probably take on a champion boxer. Okay, so not literally but these people just don’t care and they just don’t get it. They really are extremists.

Later…

These people are just as weird as the renters and the blacks, only ten times more fucked.

See, it’s in the middle of the day for these people. It’ll be a few more hours before things die down around here. The Ranchero decided to make a visit. The white car and the van backed out of the driveway. The van took off somewhere. After a few minutes of shouting, the white car pulled into the driveway. The Ranchero stayed on the street. Both the white car and the Ranchero have bassy stereos, so which one was playing music, which was shockingly sort of soft, I can’t say for sure, but I’ll bet it was the white car. The Ranchero, also shockingly, was only here for a few minutes (but will probably be back). I heard a shitload of voices hollering at each other.

Later…

I was right. The Ranchero’s back.

Later…

It used to be that these freeloaders wouldn’t slam doors and hang out in cars like the blacks did, but not anymore. There are at least two adults who went to hang out in the Ranchero, play a little bass, and so did their kids. Kids running around at nearly midnight in nothing but diapers! It’s sick! Fucking sick!

I hope one of their kids gets killed. Not only would the kid be better off dead, but maybe that’s what it’d take to teach them a lesson, although I doubt it. As long as there are Mexicans and blacks in this world, there’ll be trouble. If God would erase the Mexican and black population completely, he’d solve half our problems. I’m not saying there isn’t a lot of white trash out there, but how many good Mexicans and blacks do you know? I’ve met quite a few of these people and I can count the good ones on just one hand.

I saw the guy that talked to us and them walking around the other day. Tom was right when he said he walks around the neighborhood a lot.

Which of the 3 is the case here so far? 1. No one complained to the city. 2. Someone complained and the city didn’t talk to them. 3. Someone complained, the city talked to them, and true to what Tom said would be the case, they just don’t give a damn. I have a feeling it’s the first one that’s the case. Why must everything be up to us and dumped on our shoulders, huh?

Later…

The white car just left. Thank God! And please God, don’t let it come back in 10 minutes! I’m sure it’ll be back tomorrow, as it is. When the car started up, the music was a little loud, but get this - after just 3 beats, it turned it off. It turned it off! I couldn’t believe it! The Ranchero’s still here and the van’s still out unless it slipped in without my noticing it. I can’t believe that God doesn’t have this van, the vehicle that lives here, bass in and out 20 times a day. I wonder if it’ll start, though. That’d surely make things twice as bad if not more. If the Ranchero and the white car bang in and out regularly, though, that’ll make up for the lack of bass coming from the van.

Later…

Oh, God! I should’ve known better. The white car’s back. It came in with soft music. Why God? Why me?! What did I ever do to these assholes to deserve this?! There’s no doubt in my mind, though, that all these cars’ trips in and out are to get drugs. All that keeps going through my head over and over again is - bitch, why’d you have to move!

THURSDAY, JUNE 17, 1999 I haven’t heard from Andy since Monday, if I’m remembering correctly. He knows. He knows we’re basically finished. Who knows why he hasn’t called for sure; perhaps he’s waiting for the weekend, but I won’t call him till I hear from him. I want to see if I’m right or not about his not mentioning a damn thing about our anniversary before I go reminding him how it’s just as easy to be offended by him. I mean, he says he’s my “best friend” and he doesn’t even call and wish us a happy anniversary? Please! Some “best” friend. It’s not just about his being jealous, it’s about his being the typical selfish person Andy is famous for being.

It was pretty funny the other day how I reached to open a kitchen cabinet and ended up with half a handle in my hand (the door stayed closed). The middle chunk of the handle broke apart and let go, so we’ve got to replace that handle.

As I knew would be the case, we’re still having a hell of a time covering this fucking wall art I wish to hell I never did, even with the primer, but I got an idea. Tom said he didn’t think of it, which surprised me. I figured that if I thought of it, he must’ve too, but nope. Anyway, I thought we ought to take that sanding block, which only strips what’s on a wall and not the wall itself, and maybe that way we can get through the stubborn parts. The reds, oranges, blues, browns, blacks, and darker colors, just won’t budge. Tom isn’t sure this will work but is definitely willing to give it a try. I’m hoping to hell it will work without adding another week to our sentence here, but with our luck, something or another will keep us here into September, although it doesn’t look that way right now. But we need to get through this painting! If we could just get the inside painted, and the outside trim painted, we’re virtually home-free and ready to sell. Well, there are worse places to be than here on N. 21 Ave.

There was an ad in the Penny Saver with a good deal on a house on a 3.3-acre parcel of land with irrigation and all that, that Tom intends to call about on Monday. He said he was going to wait till Monday cuz he was tired of not being called back. Well, something just hit me - maybe he’s not being called back for a reason. Remember how God had people missing phone calls by seconds on other apartments for me in Connecticut? Well, of course, God knew it was my time to come out here. Well, maybe, just maybe, God is on our side about getting the model we want.

The rental’s still empty, and I wish God would keep it that way while we’re still here, but as I write this, I’m sure God’s up there looking down at me saying, keep dreaming!

The only thing I’ve seen from next door this week is a cock that lives there that came out at 7 PM and mowed. I guess they do have a mower. The weird part was that only 1 kid was out there, too. Not 4 or more. It was about 3 years old, playing in the driveway, stark naked except for its underwear.

Also, the van was there last night. I either just didn’t see it when I wrote my last report, or it was out. They didn’t hit the sack over there till around 12:30.

Tonight, the living room window blind that’s deeper in the carport is drawn shut. The other’s open and I can see straight through to the inside of their front door. They have shelves with God only knows what by that window. Some time I’ll take the binoculars and see if I can see what.

Tom says that if the weekend’s like today, no one will be hanging outdoors. He said it’s like we’ve skipped summer and went straight into the monsoons which aren’t supposed to be till August. It’s very humid out and definitely hotter than last Saturday. We’ll see, but I still say that even if there’s no music, not a ton of cars, no adults out, the kids will be. They’ll be outside screaming all day. There’ll be some sort of ruckus, and I’m not even gonna wait for them to act up. As soon as I get up, on goes the stereo. I may sleep through most of their wild times, though (God help them if they wake me up!). I’m trying to roll my schedule over for Melanie’s appointment on Monday.

Here’s something astounding - I don’t think they had company yesterday or today. From what I could see and remember, there wasn’t any other vehicle but the van.

Another thing that’s sort of surprising is that I haven’t seen the city come out. You’d think that by now, with all these fucking party animals, there’d be something to fix. They should go out and inspect a week or two after someone’s moved into their houses to make sure they’re sticking to the rules, but maybe they just don’t give a damn. They’re just too damn trusting and too damn naïve. Mexicans and blacks live to break rules, and I still can’t believe there’s no dog over there yet.

What I don’t get is why these freeloaders seem to act like they work. From what I’ve seen so far, they seem to have the bulk of their company and shit going on during weekends, just like with the blacks. Maybe their cronies actually work.

Later…

Typical, typical Mexican, I swear! This is just like on Oswego Street in "Puerto Rico." The air cleaner’s on, so naturally, I thought that at this hour, all would be quiet, but boy was I wrong. I went out back to see if I could coax the cat in to eat and got an earful of screams from the kids next door. They’re out barbecuing or something since I could smell food. Meanwhile, the backyard’s infested with screaming kids and I could hear adults, too. I screamed and got a scream from one of their many mistakes in return, along with laughter like it was some big fucking joke to them. What are these freeloaders gonna do - spend hours outdoors at night since it’s too hot and humid during the day? Thanks, God. Thanks a real fucking lot! In fact, they’re probably sleeping in late, just so they can be out at night. Anything to get attention and stand out like a sore fucking thumb. Fucking motherfucking freeloaders, I HATE them!

I can’t wait to see the letter to the city Tom’s gonna write. Why the fuck did that bitch have to move?! Even months after she’s gone she’s still pissing me the fuck off!

Even if these people were normal and quiet, I’d still be pissed at having to pay my tax dollars to these people just so they can sit around all day. Why can’t they get up off their lazy asses and work and support their own fucking needs?! Let them take care of their own damn kids!

Later…

Just went outside to do another “sound check.” I didn’t hear any kids this time. Just an adult female laughing. Yeah, sit on your fat ass and laugh at our expense bitch, but enjoy it while it lasts, you mother-fucking cunt, cuz I’m gonna set you straight before too long!

Later…

Next door is still going strong. What? Is it really a Saturday afternoon out there right now? I caught one of them peering over the wall, but couldn’t tell if it was an adult or not. It was too dark. I thought I heard what could’ve been a chair moving right after it saw that I saw it, suggesting it was a kid that climbed up to peer over, then ducked and jumped down when it saw me. Well, adults or kids, they can peer over all they want. If I catch any of them in the yard, though, they’ll learn in seconds what a grave mistake that was and that they picked the wrong yard. We better not have anything of value out in the yard or they’ll steal it for sure. They may even steal something that isn’t of value just to be stealing. These people don’t have brains enough to think their crimes through. They act on impulse and will risk their lives just for the sake of spontaneously stealing a fucking gum wrapper.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 16, 1999 God, the constant biting gets frustrating! Every day I bite myself or get pinched by these braces, and I’m so sick of it! I had planned to quit the Tic-Tacs and just chew gum after the braces come off, but I don’t know. Not if that means I’ll be biting the fuck out of myself. The more I chew something, the more I get bit up. It not only doesn’t tickle, but the area that gets bit swells up and makes it harder to chew around.

Tom got primer, and as my vibes said, it doesn’t seem to really help a lot. It looks like we’re gonna have to spray paint since that puts a lot more paint on. If that doesn’t work, I guess we’ll have to either go with a darker color or wallpaper. Why the fuck did I ever have to do this wall art?!

The assholes next door have been home for the most part, as usual, sitting on their asses. The van’s on one of its many trips out right now, though.

God, do I dread this weekend!

I’m reconsidering the exercise machine once again. Maybe I should get it and just build. That doesn’t take numerous hours a day like shaping/toning does. I’ll just have too much muscle rather than too much fat, but I think that if most of us had to choose which one we had an excess of, it’d be the muscle.

As I was doing some printing yesterday, I noticed that the second to last call made by Tammy was on the 5th. Well, of course. The day before Doe’s birthday. She was calling to pressure me into calling Doe on her birthday. The last call still has me baffled, but my guess is that rather than deal with acknowledging my letter and going off on me about it like she probably intended to do that time she tried calling twice, she decided she’d play dumb with the hopes that things would carry on as usual so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Later…

I made the mistake of calling Tammy back, who still insists on calling. I figured I could hold her off and keep her at arm’s length at least till we moved, but from here on out, if she calls again, I’m ignoring her just like with the others for damn sure. There’s nothing anyone can do to ever get me to talk to her again, any more than with the others. I’ve had it for good with anyone named O or G, and that includes Lisa. I hate to give her up, but I have no choice and again, sometimes you have to give up the good in order to give up the bad. Reuniting with her when she’s an adult and on her own would only open up an old can of worms, bringing the past and its people with it, to haunt me all over again. I’m haunted enough as it is. For the rest of my life, I’ll have to deal with thoughts and memories of these people popping into my head at any given time of the day and tormenting me, and this is hard enough to live with.

She called swearing that she wasn’t dumping me and that she wasn’t trying to pressure me into doing anything I didn’t want to do (could’ve fooled me!). All she wanted to do was talk about her feelings. She said she doesn’t give a fuck about Ma, but that she still has feelings for Dad. Well, that’s between her and him, as it is, but I understand we can’t help our feelings. Then she started to tell me something about his carotid artery, making his throat and vocal muscles paralyzed. She said he can talk, but it’s very hard for him and that he’s hard to understand (oh, so they called me a few weeks ago so I could feel sorry for them, huh? They figured they’d use a little pity trip as a way of snaring back into their sick little web of abuse and going through the same old sick cycle). This is when I came out and told her that due to her hyping things up in the past, I had no way of believing or knowing just how ill someone really was when the report was coming from her. She told everyone she was dying when she lived in Texas. She blamed that one on having no self-esteem. Well, I was no angel myself, and I had no self-esteem for a while there either, but I didn’t go around telling people I was dying.

The fact that I felt no emotion whatsoever over Art’s condition, tells me all the more how badly he and his associates have hurt me time and time again. It may take years, but you can only fuck with your kids so many times before they’ll be gone forever. I just thank God he wouldn’t allow me kids so that this cycle could be broken, cuz it won’t break with Tammy. Larry’s nothing like Dureen and Art was, fortunately, but that’s only when the whoring wimp’s home.

Anyway, our conversation ended with her asking for examples of how she’s hyped things up. After the dying in Texas incident, I told her I didn’t buy Bill’s so-called cancer for a minute, and this is when she screamed oh, fuck off and hung up. Well, Tammy, that’s exactly what I’ll do. In fact, I’ll make damn sure to fuck off for the rest of your life. I promise. You asked for it, you got it. Meanwhile, you’ll have to talk to someone else about your feelings. I don’t need any more shit from these people and 33 years of it is more than enough.

I watched Tom’s father struggle with cancer until he died. I saw what it did to him. Meanwhile, Bill’s not only alive, but his health is just wonderful. According to what Tom and I read about lymphoma online, he should be long dead, not that I wish he weren’t.

The very beginning of our little chat started out with her not knowing we were seriously moving (not a word about our anniversary). Oh yeah, we’re damn serious. We just can’t get the fuck out of here fast enough! With our luck, we really will be here till September or even October. Even 7-8 more weeks seems like a year.

Later…

I added Tammy to my mailing list, so that’s Tammy, Larry, the folks, the bitch, the freeloaders, the collie people, and Andy that’ll be hearing from me one last time when we move. 1 manila envelope to Tammy, 1 to Larry, 1 to the folks, 1 to Andy, and 2 to the bitch. 3 regular envelopes to the Mexicans and 1 to the collie people. A total of 10 pieces. I also inserted a couple of sheets of old journal shit in the envelopes I had printed pictures on the backs of, so Bob will get a total of 6 and Paula will get 15. I’ll send them out weekly.

Our freeloaders are doing a different routine tonight. Instead of lights out by 8:00 with the blinds drawn and the van there for the night, their blinds are open, I can see a light down the hall that may be coming from one of the bedrooms (there are 2 in front/1 in back), and the van is nowhere in sight. Maybe the late-night scream I gave them has them a little on guard.

I’m surprised I haven’t seen the little kids outside playing in the late afternoons lately. Maybe they do get a little sensitive to temps over 100º.

TUESDAY, JUNE 15, 1999 Half a decade married! It’s been a great half a decade, that’s for sure. Despite his being a disorganized slob and not very good in bed, I couldn’t be more blessed.

He picked up some primer today for the wall art. I knew we’d have trouble covering most of the Goddamn wall art I wish to hell I never did. He picked up a couple of gallons of it and I hope it works. He’s gonna put a coat of it on the wall art tomorrow.

I’ve seen the people that own the house across the street over there, and I saw a jeep pull in there last night. All it did was pull in, sit for a few minutes, then leave. Right now it appears empty, but I’m sure that soon enough the new batch of kids will arrive. Maybe, though, the owners will be pickier with whom they rent this time around. I know we’re not gonna be here much longer, but I don’t want a dog barking non-stop from right across there!

Again, from what I could see, it was lights out next door at 8:00. Why so early? Well, not all of them were early on hitting the sack. Some kid was dropped off at 1:30 AM in two cars. Why it took two cars to drop off this boy of 18-21 who’s definitely not supposed to be there, beats me.

I typed a brief yet perfect little get-the-fuck-out-lazies!/I’m-gonna-report-you-to-the-city letter that I was gonna claim was from that guy we saw talking to them that also talked to Tom, and tape it to the back of their van at 3 AM last night, but I chickened out. Not because I feared what they’d do if they saw me, but because it’d be just my shit luck that they’d come to this door inquiring about it and maybe asking if we knew this man when Tom was home and awake. Naturally, all we’d have to do is deny knowing a damn thing about it, but the paranoia it’d bring upon Tom may very well kill him. So, instead of typing it to ‘Resident’ at their address with no return address, I handwrote a bogus name, put the return address as being across the street and a few houses down, and then in the lower-left corner of the envelope, I wrote: $10 Wal-Mart certificate enclosed. This way, just in case they would’ve thrown the envelope away seeing that it wasn’t addressed to them, they should at least want that certificate.

I can’t believe the mailman hasn’t given me a piece of their mail yet! Most of the mail we get that isn’t ours, although it improved after the 10th complaint, is to N. 21 Dr.

Anyway, the Mexicans will be getting 3 envelopes from me. I decided they should read up on their party review, after all.

Tom sees I was right - no one next door works. He suggested that the guy with the van could be on disability, but admits that it’d be unlikely for a couple to be on disability together. I don’t think they are. I think she’s on welfare and that he’s just freeloading off of her and that he got that van illegally.

Later…

Got an anniversary card from Kim. That was nice of her to remember, unlike someone who’s supposed to be my best friend. That is unless he calls later. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did call later, only I doubt he’ll even acknowledge our anniversary. A part of that could be his jealousy, though, and not just his pot brain with its dead memory cells and his being wrapped up in his own self. A friend shouldn’t have to get another friend a gift, or even send a card on birthdays and anniversaries, but a simple, quick phone call would be nice. A simple “happy anniversary.” But you know how it is, you can’t make people care about things they just don’t care about.

Guess I didn’t re-offend him by sending him the last letter I sent him clarifying what I meant by his jumping from subject to subject. Personally, I wouldn’t have cared if I did. I have better things to do than smooth over any ruffled feathers Andy might have and I’m just not in the mood to smooth over his poor little hurt feelings right now if he’s got any.

Later…

The freeloaders look like they may be getting their yard done now, although I don’t hear anything. There’s an old beat-up truck with a cage-like back that’s parked on the street in front of their house. I was wondering when they were gonna stop watering and start cutting that grass. Could just be one of the many assholes that visit them, though.

I hope it’s as hot as they say it’s going to be this weekend, although I’m sure they’ll still be outside acting like wild little assholes, blaring music from their house. At least half a dozen cars will have to visit, too. Everybody’s always gotta go next door. Next door just can’t go to them. If it’s not as rowdy as last Saturday, then it’ll be like Sunday was. Sunday was in between Saturday’s nightmare and yesterday’s and today’s peace. In fact, if they were like they have been today and yesterday every day that we’re still here, we’d have it made, but that’s just not gonna happen. They said it was supposed to be 102º the day they partied, but Tom said it couldn’t have even hit 100º. They say this weekend’s to be 105º. A little hotter, if not much, but like I said, still won’t keep them from ruling the outdoors.

MONDAY, JUNE 14, 1999 I’ve got a ton of stuff to write about. A ton! I may not remember everything in the first shot, so I may have to come back and make additions as more things come to me. I wasn’t in a good frame of mind to take notes for the most part, and yes, it has to do with our wonderful freeloaders. Besides the lovely welfare bums, though, I was quite busy. Before getting to next door, let me get other things out of the way first.

I’m having second thoughts about an exercise machine. It’d take hours and hours of working out every day to get the ideal body and to really make a difference in my muscle tone and my appearance. I just don’t have the desire to work out 8 hours a day. I’m never gonna be smaller than I have been the last 6-7 months, and I’m never gonna be under 108 pounds again, either. Not without starving or being ill. So, it’s best I just accept that and do the best I can to maintain the muscle and appearance I’ve got now, but I’m not gonna drive myself crazy with it and slave myself 8 hours a day. I’ll never be thin again and that’s that.

I’m hoping to get Trio 2 sometime soon. I forgot about that till I remembered it the other day. That’s the second album Linda, Dolly, and Emmylou did together. They put out their first one in ‘87 when I was living on Oswego Sreet in Springfield.

That wasn’t Andy who called Saturday morning when I last wrote. I was surprised he didn’t call me on Saturday, though. He chose Sunday evening instead. He told me that he and Michelle had been having fun going to gay bars.

I did get a call on Saturday morning from someone else, though. I got up at 8:00 that morning and saw that my dear old sister called. When I went to listen to her message, I got the exact opposite of what I expected to hear. I expected her to really lay into me and cuss me out and cut me down in every way possible, but instead, all she said was hi, hope to talk to you guys soon. What’s going on here? Is she playing dumb, or did she not get my fuck you letter? Well, in hopes of keeping her at a distance till we can split, I sent her a letter saying that I just needed time and would contact her once we moved, but as you know, I’ll do no such thing.

The last 3 days we spent painting the house. Tom was sandblasting the pool steps, too. It’s got a way to go but is moving along sure enough. He packed some more in the back room and took the shelves down that were bracketed to one wall.

We decided to celebrate our anniversary on his birthday. We’ll go to Red Lobster that day, and to Wal-Mart to pick each other up some cheap little $10 gift. We don’t want to be spending any money right now what with the move coming up, and you know how we are - just being together, happy and healthy, is what matters most.

OK, freeloader update - the nightmare began just after I last wrote last Saturday morning. The only thing they haven’t taken from me yet is my sleep. And they also haven’t gotten that dog yet or blasted in and out with car stereos, but they certainly took my peace away from me last Saturday. That’s the only credit I can give these sick, sorry, motherfuckers I’d like to kill so bad. God, I am so sick of blacks, Mexicans, Mormons, and assholes!!!! Someone’s gotta set these fuckers straight. They’ve got to be taught that having a subsidized house is not a ticket to making a scene for the whole neighborhood.

Saturday was like having the blacks and Mormons all over again all rolled into one. The ironic part of it was that this wild party followed the party the blacks had back in June of ‘96 to a T, with the exception of the car stereos. The similarity in it was almost scary, but that’s what you get when you got blacks or Mexicans on your shoulders. I never hated them as much as I do now. They are the rudest, hateful, mean, selfish, subhuman species I’ve ever known, and God should be ashamed of himself for creating such fucking assholes! What did I ever do to these assholes for God to sic them on me as he has?!

The party was also on a Saturday, it also was in June (the 8th rather than the 12th), they too, had a zillion cars over there, they partied for 12 hours, they barbecued, they played music from their house, and a ton of adult and kid’s voices could be heard carrying on throughout the whole ordeal. Like I said, the party was almost identical to the blacks.

Just when I was thinking that these people just might be OK after all, what with God knowing we’re moving soon, I found out the hard way how wrong I was, and boy was it hard to restrain myself. I wanted to let them have it soooooo bad with no regard to Tom’s reminding me that no human being can beat up 16 people. I was too mad to care. Yeah, I probably would’ve gotten my ass kicked, but it would’ve been worth it. These freeloaders don’t know just how lucky they are, though. It’s only because it’s temporary (besides Tom’s wanting to always do things the legal way) but had we no plans to move, you bet I’d lose it on them! I’m so sick of these fucking freeloaders partying at our expense. We pay for them to sit on their asses all day and they treat us like shit in return for it. When is this country gonna wake the fuck up and change its totally unfair laws?! These scum suckers have got to go. We can’t keep supporting them for 3 or more years at a time and have them carry on in society the way they do. No wonder there are so many racists! Well, the hatred they get is exactly what they ask for. They get what they deserve when they encounter racism. If they learned how to carry on like respectful, productive, normal, non-selfish, non-destructive, non-lazy human beings, then maybe people would see them in a different light. Meanwhile, you carry on like a fucking selfish asshole, desperate for attention, no one’s going to like you or give a damn. From here on out, I don’t care if they see me spying on them, I don’t care if they hear me singing at night, I don’t care what they think about the complaints the city’s gonna receive on them, but I’ll tell you one thing right now and this is a fact, not a threat - if any of these assholes come to my door, the reaction won’t be just verbal like it was with that black bitch. There’ll be no words coming out of my mouth and I don’t care if there are 50 of them.

There’s a chance they may get complained about by others, too. That guy who asked Tom what the story was with them was talking to one of the people who attended the party, and he might be lodging a complaint. We think he was trying to weed out any info he could from the guy. Also, their rowdiness set off someone’s house alarm in back somewhere. The reason we’re gonna wait till next week to send off our letter is so that the city doesn’t think we mistook their noise for moving-in noise. By then these losers will have been here 3 weeks. Also, Tom wants to wait till we get closer to moving, cuz he thinks that they’ll react just the opposite of the blacks. He thinks it’ll provoke them into being louder, and that they’re “blatantly illegal.” They go to extremes and push it to the limit till they can’t get away with their shit anymore, then they go elsewhere and start all over again. They don’t mind getting evicted, either. Yeah, but the city’s not gonna just keep moving them around. If they get evicted enough times, then they’re on their own, and if they’re too lazy to work, what are they gonna do? Guess they’ll have to deal drugs, won’t they? That’s probably why so many Mexicans and blacks deal in the first place. It’s easier than working. They’re just so anti-work. “Blatantly fucked” is what they are, and no matter when we move, or what they do, they’re gonna get theirs and I’m gonna see to it. No matter what happens from here on out, and regardless of the fact that they have been much quieter, the city and the mayor’s gonna be hearing from us. Someone’s gotta teach these assholes that they can’t keep up with the same old cycle of shit and that their avenues will run out on them.

Anyway, from the looks of it, Saturday was a special occasion. We thought one of the millions of kids was having a birthday party, but it may’ve been more like a housewarming party, cuz I thought I saw someone carrying a gift as they arrived, and Tom saw a box for a blender in the dumpster. I thought housewarming parties were supposed to be for those who owned houses, not rented.

At 10:00, the music began. Not from cars, but from inside the house. It didn’t have the bass that rap music has, and with no fans, you could only hear it in the music room, and faintly in the bedroom. That was enough for me, though, so I went out front just as half a dozen adults and half a dozen kids were pulled up in two cars and told them to turn the music down.

A woman said, “We don’t have any music.”

I mentioned the music coming from the house, and she said she’d tell them. Believe it or not, the music did get softer. I could still hear it in the music room, but it did actually get softer. But not right away. No, these rebellious little fucks, that are a total, total carbon copy of the phony black cock, took their sweet time in lowering it. Nothing could be heard at all over fans, the music was never close to being loud enough to wake me up, and neither was anything else they did, but we both heard enough. The illegality of it and knowing that it’s our tax dollars that lets them carry on this way is what really burned me up. And how dare God give people like this any kids let alone so many! I don’t want a kid, and he did the right thing by not allowing me one, but I swear, he wants kids to go to the fuck-ups of this world. That was obvious a long time ago, and I try not to let things that I can never change get to me, but it’s hard at times. I’d have gone after them for damn sure if I knew we weren’t moving, and I’d have been way more stressed out and tight-chested. I’d have slept like shit too, always waking up, but I slept OK. Not going to sleep till the party was breaking up helped, too. In fact, I went to sleep at the exact same time I did the night of the freeloader’s big bash.

I thought about opening the music room window and giving them a sample of my music, but as Tom said, they wouldn’t even think twice about it, cuz it’s so much a part of their lives and everyday living.

When I asked Tom what our compensation would be for the new house, since God puts strings attached to everything he lets me have and seemingly with him too, he said this is our compensation. I hope he’s right!

It just couldn’t get dark fast enough, but not even that stopped them from hanging outside yelling and screaming. I can’t believe our yard wasn’t littered like hell. They sat on their cars and were everywhere! In back, in front, in the carport, in the driveway. The house was infested with adults and kids. I knew the heat wouldn’t keep them inside, although conveniently, God’s been keeping things pretty mild around here weather-wise. I kept wishing it was December, cuz I’d think that any normal human being wouldn’t want to be out on a cold winter evening, but these people are anything but normal, and not even human as far as I’m concerned.

Let’s see…besides the 5-hour concert, there were at least a dozen cars, and of course, they kept coming and going. They’re all so fucking fat over there that they probably had to keep going to the store for hot dogs and shit like that (they were barbecuing), among lines of coke, no doubt.

For cars - there was the ranchero, the gold one, the darker gold one, some dark green one, the furniture truck, the blue pickup, a silver pickup, an older white car, a new white car, a red and white van, and more.

The voices were non-stop for 12 hours, and I almost screamed shut up out back by the wall just to make me feel better. However, I knew that if Tom heard me, he’d be paranoid that Iran’s army would come hunt us down and kill us for it.

This is really gonna hurt us trying to sell this place. These people fuck those up who just want to live their lives in peace in so many ways. No one wants to move into a Mexican neighborhood with their loud, overcrowded, selfish, rude lifestyle. I just hope God sends us someone who doesn’t mind the noise, but I know better than to ask him for any favors.

Yesterday, I heard horn-honking, a woman saying, “Fucking son of a bitch,” and the kids’ screams that would come in intermittent bouts. Like I said, it was blacks and Mormons all over again. The blue pickup was over there for a while yesterday. Just like with the bitch, they can’t go a day in their lives without some car showing up there. The fat broad in the ranchero was the visitor of today, but today’s been amazingly quiet. Today they’re pretty much back to being how they were up till Saturday. Not even the kids are out for their evening stroll in the street.

My neighbor at the Vista, Mary B, wasn’t kidding when she said that where there’s 1 there are 50 of these things. There had to have been a total of 50 people, counting adults and kids.

SATURDAY, JUNE 12, 1999 Our beautiful freeloaders have been predictable, outdoors, at home practically all the time, and have company every day. I can't believe there's only been one bout of music and that there's no dog yet, but I still have a dog vibe.

The van's been in and out already and is in and out a dozen times a day. At least, like I said before, they hop in and go. They don't slam doors a dozen times to get my attention along the way. I heard them talking in their carport, but couldn't make out anything that was said. I saw a broom handle leaning against the house and saw that their driveway was wet, so they've been watering again.

Here we go again with the weekend calls from Andy. That's OK, though, cuz if all goes well and as planned, there should only be about 8 weekends left here.

Anyway, there's a gold car here, but it's not the same gold car that the older couple drive. At least I don't think it is. It seems darker. I think that whoever drives this car has kids, but don't all freeloaders? Yesterday, about 4-5 animals were out front. Amazingly, the only sound I heard was when one of them decided to beat its hand on the basketball hoop pole that still stands.

FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 1999 This is the third morning I’ve woken up to spots. They go away after I’ve been up for a little while. It’s obviously accumulating in my sleep, then when my body’s upright after awakening, I bleed a little.

The day before yesterday I was up for 18 hours and slept for only 6 hours. I wasn’t tired, though. Yesterday I was up about 16, your normal number of hours that you’re up for, but then I only slept 5 hours. I crashed last night close to midnight and got up just before 5:00. I’m a little tired. This is good, though, cuz I’m gonna need to be on days as much as I can while we’re prepping and moving.

The bird clock’s dead already? But we just changed the batteries. Damn, those sounds really suck up the juice!

I don’t know why I’ve been calling the house I like best a Redman model when it’s a Palm Harbor. It gets hard to keep track of all the names. There’s Shultz, Redman, Cavco, Palm Harbor, and more.

Later…

The gold car just came next door, and again, I swear this old couple’s white. The guy was on crutches. It’s weird, though. Why would this seemingly well-to-do white couple want to associate with poor, lazy old scum? I don’t have a bad vibe on next door for the weekend, but unless the Ranchero or some other vehicle bangs in, I shouldn’t. That’s because I’m still pretty sure that the weekends will be just like the weekdays and when you don’t work, and none of the people you know work, your daily routine tends to be the same whether it’s the weekend or not.

The gold car’s leaving. This time, someone’s in the backseat with them. The guy’s nauseating, though. Totally anorexic. It seems that the guys I’ve seen over there are bone-thin while the women are huge. Except for the one that comes with the girl in the blue pickup.

Once again, though, just like with the blacks, all the vehicles except for the Ranchero have been nice and fairly new. Whoever it is that owns the van, does not work. I doubt they inherited the money to buy the van and laze around. They either stole the money for the van. Stole something and cashed it in so they could buy the van. Or they’re dealing drugs or doing something illegal in order to afford the van and laze off.

THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 1999 Tom said the war was over. I don’t watch the news. Too depressing. So I asked him which war he was talking about and he said we were bombing some country I’d never heard of. I asked why the slut president felt that was necessary and he said just because. That’s what’s really scary. If you can bomb innocent people in other countries, why not in your own country? People are sick enough to let their friends and family be killed just so they can take down the whole country and more. And then of course there’s our wonderful God to fear and despise for letting this happen.

Yesterday, I saw a young fat girl move the Ranchero to let the blue pickup out, driven by the fat girl and the guy. A couple of hours later, the Ranchero left. No music.

It looks like we may have more Mexicans moving in next door. There’s a gold pickup I’ve never seen before, and then the blue one was here for a while, too. The van’s been in all day. The van didn’t take off till late afternoon yesterday, but for how many times, I don’t know. Anyway, I saw tons of kids and adults carrying kids’ toys into the house. See, this is the problem with Mexicans. They cause overcrowding due to the way they breed like rabbits. Take a house, any house, and you’ve got wall-to-wall Mexicans.

Some guy was asking Tom, as he pulled in today, what the scoop was with next door. I guess we’re not the only ones who aren’t happy about it being a rental, and even more so that it’s an overcrowded rental owned by the city. So, Tom’s gonna send a letter to the city using the address we’ve been using to let them know of the overcrowding in a couple of days. If they start being noisy, the letter will go in right away, to the city and to the mayor.

I decided the pack of freeloaders isn’t worth the ink and paper, so I’ve decided to print the 15 or so pages I have on them and mail that in a regular envelope. I’m not gonna mail them all I’ll write about them while we’re here and send it to them in a manila envelope like with the blacks.

If I said it before, I’ll say it again - thank God there’s no hoop over there! I still can’t believe how quiet they’ve been though, as far as the kids go, and as far as that one bass attack being all we’ve heard so far. I just hope we’re out of here by the time the weather starts cooling down!

The fucking freeloaders are overloading the dumpster. I did say, after all, that there’s a lot of trash next door. God! Why me? Huh?! Why is it always next to me?!

Tom got the paints today (the yellow for the cabinets is called yellow rose) and we’re gonna begin painting this weekend. Right now, he thinks we can be moved by early August. I hope he’s right! At least my October vibe has faded. Even September’s a little weak, so that’s good.

Later…

Damn, these fucking distractions! I’m trying to talk to my husband, but the fucking phone which rings non-stop, just won’t fucking quit! When am I gonna be paid back enough, God? When are we going to let the past be the past and move on, huh? How much more payback do I deserve? Maybe someday he’ll forgive me for my mistakes as well as for my forefathers.

Both pickups have left, but how many people are in that house right now and how many are living there for sure, is still unclear. I just know there are close to a dozen and that most of them aren’t supposed to be there.

I forgot to mention that Tom said Butterscotch lunged at him the other night. He just charged at him when he was walking by to let Shiny out. I believe it. He is a meany. The most aggressive of the rats.

I cleaned the rat’s cage today and put newspaper in place of sawdust. I want to see how well it absorbs, how messy it is, and how much they like it, although I tend to think they don’t give a damn one way or the other. I’m hoping this will work out, cuz I’m getting a little tired of their kicking sawdust outside the cage.

Also, I cleaned the bar walls of the cage. It took me nearly 3 hours to clean it rung by rung.

I just can’t wait to move! The only sad part of it is that when we do move into that bigger, nicer, more modern home with its beautiful desert landscape and its peace and quiet, there’ll be a price to pay for it. You think God’s gonna let me have it sweet and nice with no strings attached? Think again! That’s not the way God works with me. Every good thing he lets me have has a string or two attached. I don’t know what the payment’s gonna be, though. Could be something wrong with the house, something wrong with us, more problems at work for Tom. My guess is that he’ll have things within the house, among our stuff, break or not work right. It’d be just my luck to move and find that the dishwasher doesn’t work, but at least we’ll be out of here!

I mentioned to Tom certain things I saw happening when we moved, including that the sex would remain as it has been. Then he had the nerve to say he would go down on me but was hesitant cuz he doesn’t want me to pretend I’ve cum. What a lame excuse. Why does he always have to make up some bogus excuse, or pin the blame on me, instead of just coming out and admitting that he doesn’t want to? It’s plain and simple - he doesn’t want to. He can just say so. Not make excuses.

The nerve of him, though, cuz wasn’t it him that was the pretender for a while there? Wasn’t it him that claimed to be cumming most of the time for many months till I spilled the beans on him and let him know I knew better? I told him how it was quite ironic how things changed as soon as I spilled the beans on him. When I pointed this out to him, though, he said that it comes and goes in spurts. Yeah, right. Uh-huh. Tom, you’re great at just about everything, but you’re a lousy liar. I mean how fucking convenient to say that, huh? He says the reason he hasn’t been cumming lately is cuz he’s had problems, be it colds, his back, etc. But he always has a problem. Ever since I knew him, there was a problem. Some are legit, but my gut instinct tells me that most of them were just excuses.

I hope he isn’t forgetting the important thing and that’s that he can never cum again if that’s what he wants, as long as he’s happy, doesn’t lie, or play games. I appreciate the fact that he hasn’t put me through the sexual head games he used to, like the I-forgot-how-to-screw game he used to play with me when he wouldn’t go inside.

Oh, did I tell you yet how he’s changed from guessing we’ll have a child to that being a logical thing to happen? Yeah, he feels a kid is logical cuz of how our lives are going. That’s what he said in the past several times. Well, he can stay in denial all he wants and believe what he wants, but I know two things. That it can’t happen no matter how our lives are going, and that it’s still not what I want.

Later…

The van’s made a couple of its multi-trips out.

Again, the little animals are out with the sunset. It amazes me that I can see them, but I can’t hear them.

Tom and I were talking about how mish-mashed this house is. Some of the baseboards are wood, some are vinyl. Some of the plugs/outlets are wood, some are plastic. They used two different types of wood to do the kitchen cabinets and two different shades of yellow. A darker shade for the upper cabinets and a lighter for the bottom. Then there’s the shade of yellow that’s in the tiles, and the contact paper that’s white with yellow wicker-like stripes that’s on a few of the cabinet doors. Of course, there’s also that blue/green paint I painted on, too. Then you have the disgustingly ugly floor colors of gold, dark orange, and brown.

Tom’s mom sent us an anniversary card with a $25 check.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 9, 1999 Been here for 7 years today!

More evidence has come in to make my mass ovulation theory a little more likely. I can’t say for sure, cuz I’m no expert, but I just had a big spot. I’ve noticed I tend to spot after having those mid-cycle pains. I’ve read you can bleed a little when you ovulate, so if you can bleed from ovulating one egg, imagine how you could bleed from releasing a lot of eggs. Normally, you’re not supposed to be able to feel yourself ovulate, but if the ovary wall is opening up wider than usual, with a lot of eggs going through it like a bunch of people trying to cram through a doorway, maybe you could feel it. Any kind of cyst is out of the question, cuz those grow for a long time before they hurt, and it would’ve shown up last December. Why it feels like a UT infection, though, beats me, but I find it awfully hard to believe I’m getting a UT every month at the same time of month. Also, I had no cramps. Usually, when the bleeding’s coming from the uterus, you have cramps, but I never had cramps.

If my theory is right, though, it makes no sense. It’s totally against destiny. Why would God allow me to release so many eggs at once if he knew a kid wasn’t meant to be unless the eggs were maybe dead? I can see it making sense if a kid was meant to be to bypass his not cumming, but since it’s not, I just don’t get it, if this is the case.

If God can do anything, though, and if I’m right about a kid not being meant to be, then it doesn’t matter if Tom doesn’t feel comfortable with cumming, and it doesn’t matter how many eggs I do or do not have, dead or alive.

Now I’ve got quite an update on Andy, which for the most part, isn’t very good.

We finally got to talk yesterday. I couldn’t believe he didn’t leave me any messages last weekend, but I think I know why. He started off by telling me that when he got the letter I sent to Gary’s house, he was not a happy camper and he suggested I don’t include my journal excerpts. He said I was so mean and he was offended by the following excerpt:

I first showed him my dolls, then the animals. He had trouble focusing, though, and I couldn’t get his attention to hold on to any one subject for too long. If I’d comment about the dolls, he’d ask about the rats. If I’d comment about the mice, he’d ask about objects in the back room.

When I wrote this I didn’t mean it to be “mean.” I meant it to be simply a fact like if I said I was short, I was hyper, I had asthma, etc. It was just an observation I made, and I do the same thing all the time. We both do. We’ve both always been on the hyper side and tended to repeat ourselves a lot and jump from subject to subject, and even he himself has admitted to this. It isn’t just him and I’m not saying he’s a bad person for it. I was simply stating what I perceived his state of mind to be at the time. It was sort of like he was distracted and had his mind on other things. I never meant to imply that he wasn’t paying any attention at all to the things I was saying, although yes, Andy has always had a problem with being a little on the selfish side and once again, he’s even admitted this, and has said that he’s gonna do what he wants to do.

I was right about his suspicions too, cuz I’ve dumped my sister and parents in the past and he never wondered if he was next back then. Now, though, he’s wondering if he could be next cuz I seem to have a problem with his ways, he says. There was no way I was gonna lie. I told him “I don’t know what the future holds with that.” Then I guess my dumping him won’t hit him as hard or surprise him as much.

Andy mentioned how he doesn’t dump people so easily, and he’s right. My having a hard time tolerating his ways, and my not sticking to the friendship as faithfully as he has, is my problem. In fact, if I had to pick Andy’s best quality, it’d be his sticking to friendships and not dumping people. I sort of envy him. I wish I could be as faithful and as tolerant, but on the other hand, I used to be that way and found that that was what got me in so many jambs with people. By sticking by and tolerating fuck-ups like Fran for as long as I did, I ended up having to deal with all his shit for as long as I did. Same goes for Nervous and so many others. I’m not saying I didn’t give them any shit in return, but things have changed. I think Andy’s in denial, not willing to accept that we’ve become so different from one another, but it’s true. I’m very very picky as to who I associate with nowadays, and not as tolerant as Andy is or as I used to be. I’m not saying his ways are wrong (except for the pot and the smokes, cuz it’s always wrong when we abuse our bodies) I’m just saying I’m bored, sick of, and annoyed by them, and that’s my own problem. If it’s wrong, or a weakness on my part, then so be it, but it’s not his fault.

It’s tough for me with my conflicting feelings. A part of me wants to stick by him like he’s stuck by me, not dump him, try to be more accepting and tolerant of his ways, and risk the consequences of being in his car again with his pot. Even though he’s a damn good driver, anything’s possible. The other part, the much bigger part, says to walk away for reasons that I’ve already gone through a million times.

Later…

The blue/green pickup’s here now. Also, the van apparently made its first trip in and out for the day, because it’s parked in a different spot than it was earlier.

Back to Andy. What it comes down to is that we’ve just become very different people with very different interests. I’m not saying I’m not doing some things I was doing back in the 80s, like journaling, and I’m not saying we have literally nothing in common, I’m just saying that his ways aren’t for me anymore, and I don’t want a druggie for a friend anymore. I’m just bored with his ways and I’m tired of talking to someone that’s baked out of his mind nearly every time we talk, and who just doesn’t get or remember half the things I say. Or write. He just gets on my nerves. If that makes me a Dureen, in a sense, for being so non-accepting and non-tolerating, then so be it, but I feel it’s best to walk away from him than to try to change him. I’ve politely asked him certain favors, like not eating on the phone, which I don’t think is asking too much, but to try to change everything about him that bugs me would be trying to change him. Meanwhile, he’s got other people he can call who’ll accept and tolerate his ways. Even if he backs off the phone like he has as soon as he suspected he was next, it’s still time to move on. We’ve done our time together and we’ve done what we were destined to do for each other (but I’m not always sure what I was supposed to have done for him).

Wow, it’s the 9th and I’m already on the 20th page for this month. For last month, I was only on the 4th page or so by this time.

Later…

The girl and the guy in the blue/green pickup just left. I remember seeing them when they were unloading the pickup. They’re fairly young. He’s sort of beefy and she’s your classic fat mom, but not as fat as the lady that lives there. She has long hair. It was pulled back in a ponytail with a white scrunchy.

What? Did we forget something? The pickup just came right back, then went right back out again.

We didn’t finish our discussion about his trip (cuz Tom came home and I wanted to spend a little time with him before he had to crash), but I’m very happy with him for the fact that he didn’t try contacting Tammy. I appreciate his respecting my wishes. I’m shocked he hasn’t mentioned God or food, but I’m sure he will soon enough. Again, this isn’t something I detest with a passion. So be it if he wants to tell me about God and the food he eats. Just because I think he’s delusional about God for the most part, and just because I think he’s making a pig of himself and making himself sick, doesn’t mean he’s wrong for it. He can believe what he wants and eat what he wants. It’s just that it gets old, that’s all. I still can’t figure out, though, if he’s stuffing himself to reflect Michelle onto himself, or if he’s doing it to make himself sick so he can have an excuse to avoid working.

All he really told me was that it didn’t rain on him, miraculously, but that it was hot, muggy, and cloudy the whole time he was there. He didn’t get to spend much time at the beach cuz of the cloudiness, and cuz Jenny, Gary’s girlfriend, fucked him out of having some time to himself at the cottage. So did Jenny’s stepfather. I guess he just had to do some work on a cottage wall at the time Andy wanted to be there. Then Jenny came down and took a whole slew of people along with her that live barely an hour away and that could’ve used the cottage any other time. Well, that whole family and its associates have always been notorious for being rude. Except for Marla, although she’s been rather rude to Charlotte. I agree with Andy as far as that goes - fine. Don’t be nice to Charlotte. But let the past go and don’t be rude and tell her you didn’t mean to say hello when you accidentally did cuz you thought it was someone else. I haven’t had any experience with Linda other than the phone chat we had last December, but I can see what Andy means when he says he feels like he’s walking on eggshells when he’s around her. I can see how she may be hard to deal with. This is why I haven’t contacted her as much as Marla. Judy and Al have always been phony, rude, selfish, vindictive, lying, gossiping trashholes, and the brothers are unstable little druggies themselves. Most of the family treats poor Andy like an outsider who no longer belongs cuz he’s even more different and cuz he’s moved away.

I don’t know what really happened in the 70s with our parents. Was it Judy and Al’s fault? Dureen and Art’s? Both? Don’t know and don’t care. All I’m saying is that I’ll never know for sure what went down, but I do know this - I know what these people are capable of. I’m sure they all fucked each other over. Shitfucks shit on other shitfucks all the time. An asshole for an asshole. That sort of thing. Know what I’m saying?

Meanwhile, I sent a note to Andy explaining the excerpts to hopefully smooth over his poor little feelings for now. I’m trying not to make any waves till we can get out of here. I’ll put up with a little more than I normally would, cuz it’s only for a few more months. It’s not like I don’t care about his feelings at all. I do, but at the same time, I can only spend so much time worrying about his precious, fragile feelings. I’m sure he can relate to that, too.

Speaking of precious, fragile feelings, I’m both surprised and not surprised that I haven’t gotten a call from Tammy about the letter I sent her explaining why I don’t want anything to do with her. Again, not that it’d change a damn thing, but just to express myself, which always feels good. I’m surprised cuz I know a letter like she got would upset her, but I’m not surprised cuz she probably wouldn’t want to give me the satisfaction of a reaction, but she’d be falsely flattering herself if that’s what she thought it’d be. A reaction wouldn’t satisfy me at all. No way. I don’t want to know she exists.

Anyway, the next thing I’m going to cover that Andy told me about makes me think, what a total, total loser! How desperate! What a waste of time! But hey, it’s his life. It doesn’t make it a bad thing, just because I wouldn’t want to go cross country to make out with some bar slut. He went to a new bar and made out with some guy, then had to deal with Adam’s boyfriend squeezing his ass. He didn’t want to tell Adam cuz of how happy he was. I can understand that, but poor old Adam’s happiness isn’t bound to last. He’s gotta find out sooner or later, I’d think, that his boyfriend’s a regular little whore.

I don’t know what else he did there. I’ll find out in our next conversation, but I have a feeling this is all he did.

He said that Wendy was super high all the way back there. She does major drugs like Laura did. Yeah, that’s an Andy friend for you.

He said he’s not going to be distributing notes anymore, cuz Wendy got him to see that he should be promoting peace, not terrorizing people. Good advice for a crystal druggie.

Later…

I was wrong. Tammy just tried calling twice, but I quickly picked up and hung up before a message could be left. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her I didn’t want to know she existed and that I’d erase any messages she left as soon as I heard her voice. You know how people are - gotta do the opposite of what you tell them.

An out-of-area call just came in right after the two with Mark’s number, which is typically sales, but it also says that for collect calls. Even so, I have a feeling that despite the many sales calls we get, that was Tammy trying to see if she could get through by calling collect.

I know Tammy, though. She’s a stubborn bitch who doesn’t give up. If she really wants to push her existence in my face, she’ll try again till she can leave a fuck you message, but fine. That doesn’t mean I have to listen to it or have her, her parents, or her brother in my life ever again.

I wonder, does Andy even have her number anymore? If so, he can call her and she and he can bitch about me together after I’m gone.

I asked Tom for his opinion as to my walking away from Andy and the others. He said he didn’t see the necessity of it cuz one can just let things evolve apart. Yeah, right! Not with the parents, the sister, and Andy. That’s not the way it works with them.

Later…

This is the longest stretch of time I’ve known the van to stay put. It’s been where it’s at since around 8:00 this morning. The pickup’s here again, though.

Tom sanded some more spackling and ordered the paints to be mixed. They’ll be ready tomorrow. Just the outside trim and the interior paints, though. We still have to bring them a sample of the light blue that’s on the house and hope they can match it. That way we only have to do the bad spots and not the whole house. We’re gonna be painting the exterior a glossy extreme white, and the interior walls a flat bridal gown. We need to get Blue Mist for the pool, and I don’t know what the yellow for the cabinet is called. I think that one only goes by a number, not a name.

I have more news on Andy. We talked for what seemed like forever and it took me 4 tries to get him off the phone. If I wanted to hang up at noon, for example, I’d have to start mentioning it and trying at a quarter till. Nonetheless, the conversation went well. He seemed sober and alert and spoke more fluently. Yes, most of what he told me was the same old same old, and the inevitable food and God delusion came up, but some of the things he told me were just so typical of him, that they were actually kind of amusing.

Let’s see…he left off with making out with Adam’s roommate and getting his ass squeezed by Adam’s boyfriend. After that, he went to the beach with Wendy. From what he’s told me so far, Wendy sounds pretty fucked up and selfish. He says she doesn’t do drugs as much since leaving Phoenix, though, and that she hated it here.

He didn’t see Charlotte, but he saw Natalie and Al. Natalie said to give her regards to me. Like I really care! He told me of some cottages that got modernized, including his favorite.

He said the first time he went down there, the water was unusually blue and clear. So clear you could see the bottom. What happened to that brown murky filth we always used to know? He said the place was litter-free too, till he went down the second time. He said the second time, the water was just as clear, but there was litter on the flat rocks. So, he decided that he was going to clean it up and not take any credit for it, cuz it’s best to get that from God. Gee, I wish I could get credit from God where it’s due me! I mean, what’s the trick? How does he get credit while I don’t? He said his tongue had been hurting him cuz of a decayed tooth rubbing against it, but that after he cleaned up, it was gone. He said he didn’t appreciate how Wendy bragged to a couple of people walking by that they were gonna go clean up. She never lifted a finger to help either, as Andy figured would be the case.

He said he had a lengthy discussion with his mother. His inheritance will be the condo they own in Springfield, which he doesn’t want. He says he’s gonna sell it and put the money towards buying some other house out here. Judy told him she felt he’d be happier if he sold his stuff and drove home, and that he could stay with them rent-free for as long as he needed to. Andy told her that even though his life is the same here as it was there, he’s staying here. Wendy also offered to put him up in the guy’s mansion she lives in in Brookline, New Hampshire. It’s nice to know he has all these options open to him.

He said he was bored most of the time he was there and that two weeks is too long. He said he’ll only go back there for a week at a time from now on.

Later…

Tom said he didn’t think the Ranchero would be back and that he thought it was just someone helping them out only. Well, it’s back. I knew it would be. The amazing thing about it is that I haven’t heard any music, but we’ll see. The pickup’s still here, too. None of these Mexicans work. They’re totally, totally lazy bums.

Later…

Andy finished off his visit in New Hampshire. The guy that owns the house bought an old ski resort which is the mountain his house sits on. He said the house was gorgeous and so was the view looking down into town. Wendy takes care of this house when the guy’s out of town. He owns 4 houses.

Wendy introduced him to a “functional drunk” who lives nearby. Leave it to Wendy to know such a character. He said that she had a nice house too, with a horse that was well taken care of. She was some artist, I guess, who was seeing a married man.

Andy flew out of New Hampshire and not from Bradley. He flew to Baltimore, then boarded his plane for here. He said he was sitting next to a couple of unruly boys, got up to go to the bathroom, then sat down in a different seat next to a gay guy. The guy was his type, but was from DC and only going to Phoenix for a wedding. Figures, huh? That’s just his luck. If he weren’t his type, he’d be headed for Phoenix to stay.

He told me he went to the bar when he first came back, which was loaded with your typical sluts. He said it was also the first time he went 90 minutes in a bar without smoking. He’s been thinking of quitting a lot. Aren’t most smokers?

I was right about Michelle. I knew it. I just knew it. She did get dumped by that so-called stable teacher. That so-called stable teacher was very similar to how Kacey was, telling Michelle she loved her one minute, then didn’t want her in her life the next. What a shit! She’s been getting jerked around by this girl yet she’s too stupid to keep putting up with it. She and Andy have what I believe to be a very warped idea of relationships. To them, a bad relationship is better than no relationship. I’d rather be alone than have my head played with like that. If Michelle keeps following in my footsteps like she has been, then she won’t settle down with the right person till she’s in her late 20s (she’s 24 or 25 now), and the person she settles down with just may have a dick attached to it.

Here’s the part that’s funny while it’s not funny. It’s just so Andy. Only he could end up in a situation like this with people like Beth (that’s the shit’s name). Beth is bi and has hit on Andy before. That’s when he learned the truth about Beth and decided he didn’t like her.

Andy, Michelle, and Beth went to Camelback Mountain. The three of them were sitting side by side and at one point Beth asked for a kiss, since Andy’s breath mints make your breath wonderful, as he says. Andy looked at Michelle for a response and got none, so he and Beth made out right there in front of Michelle with her watching.

Then they ended up in Andy’s bed. Everyone had their clothes on, except Beth lost her shirt at some point. Michelle was massaging her while Andy was licking her tits. Then Michelle pulled back and said, “Andy I can’t do this. You’re my friend and you’re a guy. I never wanted a threesome in the first place.” So, Andy apologized and admitted to being vulnerable and susceptible at the moment, cuz he was lonely, horny, and missing Quinn. Quinn, of all scum-sucking waste products! Quinn, I love you for hanging your ass, you little cock!

TUESDAY, JUNE 8, 1999 The van didn’t leave as early as 4:00, but I got a good look at the driver of the van, and it’s the guy I’ve seen living over there. I think I’ve got a better idea as to a headcount over there. At first I thought there were two women, a guy, and God knows how many kids over there, but now I think there’s a woman, a guy, and 4 kids. What is it with me and 4 kids? That cunt Barbara in Norwich had 4 kids, the Mormons had 4 kids, and from what I’ve seen, I’ve got 4 kids on my shoulders again.

All my predictions are ringing true so far, but I have yet to see the dog arrive, cuz I don’t think it’ll be here for another week or two. I just can’t believe how naïve and trusting the city is of its welfare bums!

The van comes and goes a million more times than the cock did, believe it or not. I find it hard to believe all these trips are to get stuff for the house. I don’t know where it’s going or why, or if it’s even legal, but at least these people don’t make such a big production out of it. They hop in the van, then after one or two door slams, they leave. They don’t hang out yelling for 10 minutes and slam doors 8 or 10 times before leaving.

Here’s another van report: Van left at 4:00, van came at 5:00, van left at 7:50, van came at 9:00, van left at 12:30, van came at around 1:00, van left at 2:30, van came at 3:30, van left at 4:45, van came at 4:00, van left at 4:10, van came at 4:30, van left and returned at least once more after 4:30. Yesterday, the van stayed in throughout the morning after returning at 9:00 and was gone at 12:30. I don’t know what time it returned, but it left again at 2:30. Then it made a quick run in and out at 4:00, left again, then came back at around 4:30. This was the last time I checked it before bed, but when I got up, I saw that the van was in a different position, so it had to have made at least one more run after 4:30. This is at least 8 times that I know of, that the van came and went. I just can’t believe this van doesn’t bang in and out! That tells me all the more that compensation from a dog is coming my way. If I can help it, though, that dog won’t be here for more than a week. Then God can go do something else to me. Tom says he doubts there’ll be a dog cuz of the patterns I usually see when I, or a move. It’s when they finally shut up or when I get a quiet neighbor that one of us moves. Well, it has been quiet so far, except for that one bass attack, and the collies. I’m very curious to see how the ranchero comes in the next time it visits. I think it’ll come in with its music much louder (Tom said it was almost as loud as the cock would play his music) cuz you know how people are - always gotta do the opposite of what you ask of them. It’s a human obsession.

Later…

The guy and the woman (I don’t know about any kids) left at 6:50 and returned at 7:11.

It’s not even 9:30 yet and already there have been two sales calls.

I’m getting bored with documenting my dreams, so I’ll just copy in what I’ve got so far, then I’ll just write the ones that really stand out. Here are the dreams I’ve written in from May 12th to June 6th:

I went back east to Massachusetts with Tom. We stayed in a motel and I went outside when it got dark and glanced up at the window above me. I saw that it was dark and assumed no one was staying above us. I remember thinking that Tom wouldn’t be seeing Connecticut or meeting anyone I knew there, due to my not being in touch with Tammy. We ended up in the yard of one of the houses I grew up in and were staying there for a while, apparently. I went out in the yard by myself. There was snow on the ground, even though we went there during the summer. I walked to a big swing set with 4-5 swings that had wicker baskets for seats. I saw a spider web on its bars and went looking for a stick to knock it down with. As I looked down on the ground, I noticed several straws from drinks. A feeling of sadness came over me at some point as I remembered how I only lived in the house 2-3 years before they sent me away. I felt cheated and like I hadn’t gotten to live there long enough. Inside the house, I pictured it set up with our stuff, then ran down the stairs into the living room where Tom was watching TV. Tom loved it there so much and when we were talking to someone about it, I said that if we did stay, it’d only be for a year, since I do love Arizona and newer, more modern places.

While back east, Tom was complaining to me about how the big maxi pad I was wearing bulged out in back. I bitched to him that hey, they were just big pads, so deal with it. It’s a normal fact of life.

A woman was playing a sex game with me, also back east, by rolling dice and touching a certain area of my crotch depending on what the dice said. At some point, I shouted that I was so horny and needed to get off. I couldn’t be teased anymore and she said, “Alright,” and kind of cupped my crotch with her hand.

In some building back east, I saw a young woman who appeared to be in her early 20s and wished I had her looks. I wished I could be just over 5’ like she was, that I was as thin as she was, and had her shorter hair and “simple eyes.” I then realized it was Jessie, who acted as if she didn’t know me.

I was alone at our supposed new home which was still sort of occupied. The people were on their way out, though. It was set up high on a hill-like slope in a crowded city by the ocean. Which ocean and where this was, I don’t know. Despite the congestion, the house was airtight enough that you couldn’t hear outside noise. At some point, people from the disability office were there, obviously doing some sort of evaluation on me. They sat at a large table in the middle of the house, while I was in one of the 3 spare bedrooms playing music. I had at least brought over my stereo, I guess. They called me out at one point to ask a question, then I went to the other end of the house to the master bedroom. Upon entering it, I wondered if it was too big for being just a bedroom, but then I decided that once the bed was in there, it’d look great. Besides, I wanted to sleep in the room that had the bathroom off it. I remember thinking that I hoped the former resident’s housekeeper would move out, since I wanted to live alone with Tom, and since I was used to the fact that if I wanted something done and done right, I had to do it myself or else it wouldn’t get done at all. I walked over to the window and admired the vast ocean view. Tears of happiness stung my eyes at the thought of living here and seeing this view every day. To the left of me, a partial statue that looked like the Statue of Liberty stuck up out of the water a few feet from shore. Then another thing dawned on me and I went out to where the group of disability evaluators sat. I asked them if they were aware of the fact that I wasn’t on disability anymore. They said no. Later on, at dusk, while I was still hanging out at the house by myself, Jim left a message saying that he and Jackie were having a party, but that they’d call later to see if I wanted one of them to pick me up and bring me over to their place for a while. I thought that was just oh so sweet of them that I called there to thank them. I couldn’t get Jackie or Jim to the phone, so I drove over to their house in my new car. Somehow, I knew the way and got there OK. I found Jackie who said, “My party ran later than expected.” I guess I stood there a little while. Then when it came time to leave, I chickened out, doubting I could find my way back safely enough, so Jackie drove me home and I asked if someone would drive my car over later. She said yes.

Apparently, I went to a GYN, who was secretive about the results of my exam. He said something about my needing steroids down there. Then I went and got into Nervous’s van and we agreed that we’d later figure out what I owed him for driving me around.

White people moved next door. I saw two cars, a woman, a man, and a boy around 10 years of age. The woman was coming towards me as I was walking towards our front door. It appeared she wanted to ask me something, but I just kept on walking and ignoring her as if I didn’t see her, not wanting to be associated with neighbors. I shut the door on her as I walked into our living room which was crowded with people.

I was watching what was supposed to be a Gloria music video, but that I also knew was no act. In real life, her son’s about 18, and her daughter’s about 4. In the dream, though, the son was about 8 and the daughter was in her teens. Gloria and her son were sitting on a couch. The daughter was crouched nearby sulking about something. Gloria was verbally coaxing the daughter to sit by her. Eventually, she did. She sat to Gloria’s left while the son was to her right. Then she leaned back against the son, who leaned back too, so that his back was to the couch while Gloria’s back was to his stomach, and she started moving up and down as if to massage the son’s stomach and her back at the same time.

I was waiting at Red Lobster for Tom to meet me there. I got there a long time before he did. At one point, I had to go to the bathroom and as I was walking toward it, I thought I saw Andy, but couldn’t be sure cuz the guy kept moving further away and the room was dimly lit.

I was in what was supposed to be this house, even though it didn’t look like this house. I was looking out our back door which was off a parking lot. A van pulled in and was parking as I shut the door, wondering if the person in the van could be a serial killer or something like that.

This dream had something to do with Tammy and Melanie. Something we were supposed to do for Melanie. A favor maybe? Anyway, I guess we never did it, cuz Mel didn’t seem too happy at one point. Marlee Matlin, the deaf actress, might’ve been in this dream, too.

I was wishing I could keep a schedule so I could get into watching TV series steadily. For some reason, a schedule was necessary for that in this dream.

Something about sucking up cobwebs from the ceiling with a vacuum.

I was at some huge, crowded store wondering how they closed a certain doorway with so many people streaming through it. Then some guy told me a warning beep goes off so people can know to move away.

I was supposed to wake Tom at 4:00. I don’t know if we were going to do fun shopping, errands, or what, but I was pissed when I realized it was past 4:00. I feared it was a whole hour past 4:00, and that he’d be pissed too, but a look at the clock showed I was only 20 minutes late in waking him up.

Tom tried to hide it by pulling an outer blind down outside the living room window, but we got new neighbors. It all began when I heard the obnoxious thump of bass. I went next door and saw that 5 white kids moved in. “Kids,” meaning between 18-20 years old. They had their music blaring away in an upstairs bedroom right by the wall of our house where our bedrooms are. At first, we were all friendly smiles as we introduced ourselves and shook hands, then I mentioned the music and could see by their sudden sulking faces and quiet demeanors that they weren’t too happy about my bringing that up. I knew that it’d take firmness to set them straight so I threatened to have them evicted if they didn’t shut up. Their silence continued. I asked one of the girls what her name was, but she just went slack-jawed, unsure whether or not to answer. She didn’t though. No one said another word from there on out.

Someone at some business, be it a library or something like that, looked on a computer and told me that the blacks weren’t evicted. They just moved on their own.

A cop was stalking me. It started out with him chasing me around a room trying to beat or kill me, but then it turned into a scene on a TV that I and someone else were watching. Tom and I lived on the third or fourth floor of an apartment, I guess, and I was afraid to leave any windows open. At one point I saw the stalker’s car pull up on the street and somehow I knew he was gonna pick the lock of our door and come kidnap me, so I went outside to hide.

I decorated a card with drawings for an old elementary school teacher - Joan Bowe.

I was ice skating.

Doe was sitting at a table with some guy crying about something, then looking out a window and commenting on people’s yards. These were yards of people she’d known for a long time.

Michelle, Andy’s friend, kills herself.

I was riding in the backseat of a convertible when I looked up at a tall building and saw it was an FBI building. Then I realized a few FBI agents were sitting in the front seat. They were asking me questions of some sort.

Someone, perhaps myself, killed someone. The dead body was sprawled across a table and a bunch of cops were milling about.

Something about a high-rise. Maybe an apartment building I lived in or a hotel I was staying in? I was walking outside of it when I realized it was already late fall and that we barely had a summer. It barely got up to 100 degrees.

I was psyched cuz Tom and I were going to do some serious shopping in some computer or electronics store. Then a rowdy high school crowd came in, and Chris Tazzini, a friend in elementary school, was suddenly there. She got shoved by the crowd and was annoyed.

We were away somewhere and I left Tom in some crowded downstairs room and went upstairs to change my dress for dinner. My ear began making a weird static-like sound. A voice said I better clean my ear, so I started to do that, then to do my hair till Christine McVie walked in and took over brushing my hair.

I was suddenly on a TV set, with who I believe was Roseanne Barr. I was noticing how fat she still was, wearing black. A color I figured they’d put her in.

My legs were stuck in rubber bands as I came awake from sleeping.

Two of the rats had babies. I had someone sex them for me. There were two females/two males. I kept the males.

I was observing someone pull a dead body from the ocean, but later on, I saw this person alive.

Me and a homeless girl whom I was hesitant about taking in as a roommate, stole some nice clothes from a fat lady.

My Bailey doll was undressed. I guess I was washing her clothes. I was looking for her diaper to put back on, but in reality, she doesn’t wear one. Just a sleeper.

Larry left a hateful message on our machine. At first, I was furious but then something about it (I don’t know what) had me cracking up with laughter.

I thought Tom wasn’t home and I wanted to order a pizza. For some reason, I felt I had to sneak it behind his back and keep it a secret, so I was wondering where I’d dispose of the pizza box after I finished the pizza. Instead of dumping it in the dumpster, I decided to dispose of it a few yards down. Just as I was going to call to place the order, I saw that Tom was home.

Tammy, Andy, and I were hanging out someplace. I was bitching to them about being fat and aging quickly.

My dolls had been packed away and undressed for some time. I put a leg back on that fell off of one of my Barbies, then I felt that it would be a good time to take all my dolls out and dress them. Patrice was the only one I couldn’t dress right away. I was in a building several stories up. Just outside the window, a foot away was another building just like the one I was in. Patrice was just inside the window right across from me. I knew I could open the window in the room I was in, reach across, open the window across the way, and pull Patrice across to my side, but it was nighttime, so I didn’t want to risk dropping her since I couldn’t see well.

I was filling up a big square tub in a big bathroom somewhere. I felt I had to pee and walked over to the toilet.

I was lying in a bed, and I don’t know if I had this baby or adopted it, but someone handed me a baby that sort of resembled Bailey with really long hair. Tom was standing to the left of the bed and his mom was sitting near the bed to the right smiling. Dureen was sitting behind her with a watchful, yet blank expression on her face. I tried to tell the baby that they were nana, but then I looked at our moms and said, “She doesn’t get it.”

Then some woman seated at a desk a few feet behind Tom, suggested a mold of the baby be made so I could use it to practice handling her properly.

I was looking through a phonebook and found Doe and Art’s current number and email address. In this phonebook, there were about 15 pages of family pictures, mostly of Tammy.

I was out just as the crack of dawn was setting in, roaming around a hillside at the beach I spent my summers at, only it didn’t look like that beach at all. I went indoors and suddenly, the 2-story cottage had no front wall. A carload of guys was slowly cruising by. The driver spotted me in one of the front rooms and moved back into a hallway where a closet was supposed to be, but then I realized he’d just back up the car and see me cuz there was no wall, and that’s what he did.

Tammy and I were at some beach or lake sitting on the shore.

Someone was showing someone the proof of someone’s kidnapping and explaining how they were kidnapped.

I was videotaping my so-called long-haired cat who looked like a dog. I was planning on sending Dureen and Art a copy of this video and I was wondering if they’d think this cat was really a dog.

I heard bass softly thumping and I opened the front door to find 3 full carloads of the black bitch’s associates. Guess they came back to live next door.

I went to Florida to see my parents, I guess. I don’t know if Tom was with me. I don’t remember seeing Art in this dream, just Dureen. I was sitting at a table with her and some others. She asked us if we needed anything. I said that just turning up the AC would be good enough for me, and she did. Then she was showing me the rest of the place and it dawned on me that it was similar to the same manufactured home we were looking to get. I remember thinking to myself that I’d just be cool, cuz I’d be disappearing and they’d never see me again after our visit.

I was in a private school that was several stories. A staff member kept asking me to take a test I’d already taken. We were in some huge kitchen with slanted skylights at a long picnic-like table that was filled with several girls or women and we were eating cheesecake. Then at one point, I was climbing out of a pool with two other girls who admired my really long hair.

I was dancing with somebody who was trying to give me these slurping, disgusting kisses.

Tammy told me she was using coke regularly.

I beat up some girl.

I took a journal that was half full of writing and gave it to Melanie. I’m not sure if I was going to leave the last half of it blank for her to use, or if I’d written something just for her in the last half, but anyway, right before I was going to give it to her, I realized I better check the first half in case there was anything there I didn’t want her to see. After checking it, I saw that they were mostly drawings.

Tom and I moved into our new house which may’ve been somewhere back east. This is because the house was huge and old, especially huge. We were on our way to go gambling. Tom asked me if I was excited about it. I said yes, but that knowing we weren’t destined to ever really win anything dampened some of the excitement. He went to wait for me in the car. I was in the kitchen and I remembered that I had reminded myself to look for a good spot for the garbage pail. I scanned the room and decided on a spot and planned to tell Tom when I got into the car that I found a spot in our perfect kitchen for the pail. I left the kitchen and entered the long, huge living room, heading for the door. Then I saw a light on at the opposite end of the room that I felt should be turned off. The living room was so huge that it was quite a jog down to where this light was. Some other day we went back to the old house. I don’t know why, but I saw that we left my wind chimes there and other outdoor things. We left stuff in the attic, too. As I was realizing this while standing out in the backyard, I saw that the people with the collies two yards down were having a huge party and were using next door’s yard too, since there was still no one living there. A kid would pop up every few seconds from behind the block wall and blow through a harmonica at me.

"Shauna" and I were talking about how she could afford to take a month or two off from work to go on a cross-country drive, which she said she’d been wanting to do.

I started some job in Maine and was filling out a questionnaire. One of the questions asked if I liked living in Maine. My boss reminded me she wanted me to wait an hour after work so she could do some treatment on me (connected to my female parts?) and I was wondering if the buses would still be running when we got done. I knew Doe would be home, believe it or not, so I made a mental note to call her for a ride when I could go home.

I was going up and down an elevator in a 6-story building. I got off on the 6th floor and found myself surrounded by fall foliage. When I tried to leave, I couldn’t find the elevator or any other exit.

I was showing Dureen my dolls.

A cop was sadly saying how he found some well-known actress had committed suicide.

Later…

The van left again at 9:50 and I don’t know when it returned, but it’s here now.

Yesterday, I was feeling a little bummed. Fortunately, I rarely feel that way these days, but it was mainly cuz of how long things are taking. I’ve been waiting to move to a house like we want that’s outside of the city for years now. Tom cheered me up, though, then we went to a couple of stores. Also, the frustration of being tight constantly was bringing me down, tiring me out.

I got some more books and some pet food.

Tom saw them cleaning the carpet across the street and thinks they’re gonna try to re-rent the house, rather than sell it. That’s too bad. I had hoped they’d sell it, but hey, we shouldn’t have too many more months to go. In fact, my move date vibe changed from the middle of October to early September. Tom still thinks we’ll move in July or August. Late August is possible, but I don’t know.

Tom’s picking up paint tomorrow.

I’ll really be looking forward to going back to Cigna when we move. I hate Intergroup. It may be more crowded, and the co-pay is higher, but it’ll be worth it to have doctors that are more dependable, all in one building, along with a pharmacist right in the building too, where I can get 3 months’ worth of refills at a time, rather than one refill at a time.

This time around the pain went away faster than it did the other months I had that pain in the lower right side of my gut. Guess it helps to have the cranberry juice on hand.

MONDAY, JUNE 7, 1999 Boy, do they leave early next door. Today they did, anyway. The van left just after 4:00. I could hear voices talking loud enough to tell me just how rude they are. They’re not as loud as the black bitch was, but loud enough for 4:00 in the morning. I could tell that the person in the van was talking to someone outside of the van as it was pulling out of the carport, so again, the person with the van who’s not supposed to be there, works. Meanwhile, there’s at least one adult home now, but probably two or more adults. I wonder if the van will leave this early every day. Does that mean it’ll be back as early as noon since people typically work 8 hours a day? At first I wondered if it was leaving to hide out from the city, but 4:00 is a little overkill of a head start on beating the city since they wouldn’t come out to the house till after 8:00. If they’re even coming out today. All in all, since they’ve been here, except for the ranchero’s mini-concert, they’ve been astonishingly quiet. The lack of bass tells me all the more I can expect a dog any minute (since God’s gonna compensate me for the lack of bass), but that’s when they’ll learn the hard way about following rules. And I’m still pretty sure they’re not supposed to have a dog. That van is not allowed to live there, either. So, if they know what’s good for them, they shouldn’t get a dog unless they want all their frauds exposed; the dog, the van, the people living there that aren’t supposed to be, etc.

Later…

The van’s back. When it left I heard one door slam, but just now I heard two. What? Are they going to be going in and out from 4 AM to after midnight? When do they sleep? And where in the world would you need to go for an hour at 4 AM and why? Questions, questions, questions. I like the mystery here. It makes for fun spying and detective work, but I still kind of wish the bitch had just stayed put. With her and her cronies, I at least knew what to expect. I knew pretty much who was who and what their patterns were as far as who’d come and go and when.

Tom called to let me know he’d be late. I figured as much.

Later…

In Kim’s email to me, she told me her fertility appointments are being postponed so they can check out what they think may be a growth on her cervix. Damn! Talk about hexed plumbing. I really really don’t think she’s ever going to be a mother. It’s rather obvious. I know the signs. All these setbacks are for a reason and I really think that if she was meant to be a mother, she’d have been one by now. She’d be too good of a mother, as far as God’s concerned. She just wouldn’t be abusive enough. Also, it’s what she wants.

Speaking of how life is unfair and all that, it’s amazing I haven’t gotten pregnant in the last couple of years. I’ve always known it’s not meant to be, but knowing how much God loves to give babies to women who don’t want them or who couldn’t cut it as a mother still amazes me that he’s let me off the hook as far as that general rule goes. Nonetheless, as far as Kim goes, something always comes up. There’s always a problem preventing her from conceiving. Regardless of the fact that she wants a kid and I don’t, see what I mean about God using things and other people to control our destinies? It’s no joke. With Kim, he’s using her plumbing and the fact that Walt’s had a vasectomy and is being resistant. With me, if I’m not too dry, too sore, or on a different schedule, it’s Tom’s fear, resistance, and the fact that there’s usually a problem with him. His back, a cold, being tired, sore, busy, too hot, a bum hip, allergies, bum knees, etc. About 7 or 8 out of 10 times we screw, we have to stop cuz of something going on with him. Coincidence? I don’t think so! Try a God-given fear. Well, he can rest assured, cuz even if he had no problems and squirted every day - fate is fate. Just because they couldn’t find anything wrong with me doesn’t mean I can conceive. It simply means that they don’t know why I can’t conceive. I know why, though, and that’s all that counts. I also know I didn’t have all the testing possible done, or have him tested (if he’d have been willing), but what I do know is that the results would’ve been the same - the tests would’ve been negative.

What are his fears based on? The usual - the time the kid would take up, the money it’d cost, my not being able to handle it. Those are the three basic things - time, money, and me. See the pattern? Now ask anyone who’s ever had kids and I’m sure that 98% of them will tell you the same thing - they conceived effortlessly, in no time at all, and they pretty much weren’t planning on it, if they weren’t totally against it. You either have kids just like that, or you don’t have them at all. So, my heart goes out to Kim, cuz I know what it’s like to want a child that cannot be had. I was once in her shoes. Again, as far as having to stop in the middle of sex goes - familiarity is comfortable. However, I feel like all the surprises are a thing of the past. There’ll be nothing new to look forward to. Nothing unexpected. It’s like how I feel about that bitch moving.

I sat and compared a cheaper 4-bedroom Cavco model to the 4-bedroom Redman model I love so much and you know, if we do have to settle if next door really gets out of hand, or if selfish people we’ve helped won’t help us with money if we fall short, it’s really not that much of a settlement. It has its pros and cons as do all models, but it would still work out very well. We could function in it just fine. I just worry that Tom will break his promise to me about not trashing his room, making it harder for me to clean. I know he’ll break that promise. That’s totally his style. He loves things cluttered, unorganized, and in sloppy piles. Saying there’s no room for the stuff is just an excuse.

Anyway, I like how the Redman model’s master bedroom is sandwiched in between its bathroom and its closet, and how it only has two windows. The Cavco has three windows and is on the corner, right smack by the front door. The Redman rooms are bigger, but the Cavco has more of a wall dividing the family room, the kitchen, and the dining area. Its kitchen also has a pantry. So, they sort of even out in the end, although I’d still take the Redman over the Cavco. The sandwiched bedroom with just two windows and the bigger rooms mean a little more to me than more wall length and a pantry.

Later…

That pain is back again. The one that feels like a UT infection. Again, always right before I’m mid-cycle. Could it really then be connected to the ovary on that side? I can’t believe God never hexed my plumbing with growths and things like that and had me have a hysterectomy. I guess he felt a dick that was virtually cumless would do the trick well enough.

Later…

The van left again. I’m sure it’ll be back by 10:00 or 11:00. I’ll bet you anything it’ll come and go 5 more times.

A small truck just pulled in across the street at the rental that says: carpeting & furniture something. There’s also a gray car there. Well, there was. It just pulled out. I wonder if they’re gonna re-rent it or sell it. I hope they sell it. That should keep it empty longer and up the chances of better, white people going in there, but that won’t change the chances of a dog ending up over there.

SUNDAY, JUNE 6, 1999 I went to bed at around 5 PM and got up at 2 AM to find Tom asleep. He should be getting up in 2-3 hours. Meanwhile, to my utter amazement, nothing happened next door while I was up. I didn’t even hear any voices. Tom didn’t leave me any messages, but if anything did go down next door, it went down after I went to bed. All I saw, besides the furniture truck leaving at 8:00 and the red/white pickup, was the blue/green pickup at 11:30. It was there for almost an hour. Then the van left at 1:45. Someone was there watering the yard while the van was out. I’m not surprised, cuz I’m pretty sure there are at least two women and one guy living over there. However, there’s a chance that the guy was dropped off by the red/white pickup, then later picked up by the blue/green pickup. I never got to the window in time to see if the guy was dropped off or if he just went out to talk to them, but the more I think about it, the more I think he was dropped off. So, I don’t know if there are any guys living over there, but I do know there are two women living over there, and one of them isn’t supposed to be there. The one with the van. The van one may work, but I don’t know. I think the carless woman that lives there doesn’t work. I think that even when the van’s out, there’ll always be some adult at the house.

When I got up, I peeked over there. It’s a very dark night out so I can’t be too sure, but I’m pretty sure that the vehicle in the carport is the van that lives there. Also, they have their living room blinds open and a dim light on. I could see stuff piled up near the window, but nothing in particular. It looked more like a room with things thrown in it than a living room.

What I want to know is how the city can be so naïve. Are they really this dumb? Stupid enough not to do regular checks on their subsidized houses to get rid of all the people and cars that aren’t supposed to be there? I can just imagine how many of these subsidized houses have dogs in their yards right now that aren’t supposed to be there.

Yesterday, Tom got the vent installed in the bathroom, but there’s no electricity hooked up to it yet. That’ll be done today. He also spackled holes and I did a few, too. Did a good job, if I do say so myself.

Later…

OK, the sun’s up enough for me to see the vehicle in the carport and yes, it’s the van. Once again, though, if they don’t wake me up, get a dog, or go banging in and out with bass every day, they can fraud the system all they want and I won’t report this van that’s not supposed to be there.

Since my weight and inches aren’t going to go down anymore, I want to get my wedding ring enlarged sometime after we move.

Later…

I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe it! So far next door’s been quiet. There’s been some outdoor activity and vehicles coming and going as I’d predicted, but not only is there nothing going on that could wake me up, there’s nothing going on to disturb the peace in the house while I’m awake, either. If that basketball hoop was still there, though, they’d be driving me nuts. Tom said that 3 vehicles we haven’t seen before visited next door at 6:00, but that there was no music (that’s 10 vehicles). He saw a guy’s head in the backyard at 9:00 this morning when he was doing some outside prep work. For an hour or two, late this morning, I saw a guy and 3 kids out front. You’d think you’d hear their voices loud and clear throughout the entire house like you could with the Mormon kids, but nope. Only if you go into the music room can you hear an occasional burst of voices. At 2:30 the van left, then I noticed a red and white van parked there. The regular van that lives there returned shortly after (11 vehicles). So far things have been as expected, but not as expected. Except for the ranchero’s bass, Tom told me about, they’ve been too good to be true. So far. I’m not saying that they won’t start with constant music. I mean, I don’t sense it, but they’ve got to be furious with Tom for asking that kid to turn the music down. You don’t do that in Arizona. You don’t ask someone to quiet down. That’s like asking them to kill their mothers.

I don’t see anyone in front right now, but that’s typical of Arizona people, too. Always gotta hang out in front. Wouldn’t it be safer to have those kids in the backyard where it’s walled off? Then again, the main reason they hang out front is to be seen and to get attention. I can’t believe they only hung out there for just two hours, though. I really thought they’d be out there for more like 6 hours.

Tom said that ever since these people moved in, the collie house has had lights blaring like never before as if to say they’re afraid of all these people and fear they may break into their house. I don’t know about that. That bitch had a lot of people over there, too.

So, so far I haven’t gotten an eighth of the door slamming I’d get from the blacks. Most of the time someone comes and goes I never hear it (proving all the more that the blacks deliberately slammed doors loudly in regard to me). I’ve been right so far, though, about the hanging outdoors, the many vehicles coming and going, and the van living here. This next week will be an even bigger test, though. I say this will be the scoop: there may not be a music problem like what the blacks gave me, but at least one of the many people living there won’t work and will be home most of the time, the van will stay there, they’ll hang outdoors a lot, have many vehicles come and go, and they’ll get a dog. That’s when Tom contacts the city and the mayor, though.

Tom suggested we check at the library to see if the city still owns the house and that they didn’t sell it at a discount somehow, but we’re pretty sure it’s still city-owned and that these people are subs.

SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 1999 So far I’ve been right about next door. They’re officially moved in and here to stay now, and the van does live there. I knew it would. I just don’t understand it, though. How is it they can be so poor and in need of our tax dollars, yet own a van like this? Maybe the city doesn’t know about the van. There’s a damn good chance that the woman that’s supposed to live there is carless like she’s supposed to be, but let her friend with the van (and the friend with the van’s kids) move in with her and her kids in secret so they could help each other out. Just like how the bitch had the convenience of her cock’s car, and the cock had the convenience of a pussy in his bed. So that makes two adults and God only knows how many kids. The friend probably needed a place too, or at least wanted to be in a house rather than an apartment, and the woman that’s supposed to be there probably appreciates the transportation. Guess they have a deal - you drive me where I need to go, and I’ll let you stay here and I’ll watch your kids along with mine and do most of the household chores.

Come next week, I’ll be able to prove/disprove my belief that says they don’t work. Already, though, we’re up to 6 different vehicles that we know of, about 10 different adults, and God only knows how many kids. Sound familiar? Tom disagrees, but I say they’re gonna be in and out several times a day, every day of the week. I think that just like with the freeloaders and the renters, there’ll be several different cars and people coming and going from there regularly. I just can’t believe I haven’t heard any music yet. Those stereos with major bass are more of a black thing, but still, I can’t believe it. Well, they’ve only been here a week, so we’ll see. They’re bound to have a theme of some kind. Just like it was the kids with the Mormons and the bass with the blacks, there’ll be something with these people. If we get through the weekend without and music problems, I’d guess their theme’s going to be a dog or two rather than music. Till I can get it removed, that is. Of course, I don’t know what the rules are for sure anymore, so I may not be able to get it removed. Hopefully, I can get them to take it indoors, though, cuz I really really do think there’s going to be a dog over there before two weeks is up. Not to mention a whole shitload of loud adults and kids. That I can live with, though. It’s music and dogs that I won’t tolerate. Not even for 5 more months.

Also, true to my vibes, they’re outdoors kinds of people. However, they were just moving in, and the weather yesterday was unbelievably mild. Like 20º below normal for being June. Perhaps something up there is going to call for mild weather for a while to let them be outdoors comfortably on account of me? Well like I said, voices I’ll tolerate, but nothing more.

The van came and went several times yesterday, and at one point, a blue/green pickup came with boxes and furniture and odds and ends. A guy and a girl in their late teens to early 20s unloaded the pickup.

When I got up at midnight, I saw a big huge furniture truck parked just outside their carport. The van was right in front of it. Do these people ever sleep, though? The lights were off when I looked over there, but the van left for a half hour or so just after midnight. As you’ll see, I’ve typed a log of their comings and goings. It’s been quite hectic, but fortunately for them, there hasn’t been much noise yet as far as slamming doors and voices go, and I’ve slept just fine. If you were to sit in the music room with no fans or music on, then yes, you can hear adult and kid voices. Van comes at 7:50 AM. Van leaves at 8:15 AM. Van comes at 9:30 AM. Van leaves at 10:30 AM. Van comes at 11:00 AM. Van leaves at noon. Blue/green pickup comes at 1:45 PM. Pickup/van leaves at 3:10 PM. Van comes at 3:40 PM. Van leaves at 12:30 AM. Van comes at 1:00 AM.

Tom and I both agree that it’ll be a rowdy weekend over there as far as people and cars go. They’re gonna want to show the place off to their millions of fucked up, jobless friends. He doesn’t think there’ll be a problem with music or dogs. He also thinks they work and that weekdays won’t call for much noise over there, but I don’t know. Like I said, God may let me out of having to deal with the music this time around, and thank God there’s no hoop there, but he’d never not let me have to deal with something. Never can Jodi have a neighbor that’s quiet or at least at a normal volume. There’s got to be something extreme. The bass vibes may’ve dropped slightly, but the dog vibe’s soared way up, and I think we can count on a dog over there for damn sure. It may take a couple of weeks, but that’s what I see. Along with the train of cars and people coming and going several times a day, it’s gonna be bark, bark, bark. Yeah well, they’ll just have to deal with me then.

Just like I did with that bitch, I’m gonna start a file on these people of their write-ups, omitting names, of course. You never know if in the end, I’ll want them to do some reading, too (if they’re not illiterate!).

Later…

Well, well, well. Our little freeloaders have been even naughtier than I was aware of. Tom didn’t leave me a message about what I’m about to write about (he crashed before I got up). He told me when he got up which was about 4 hours after I did. Bitch! Why’d you have to fucking move?! I swear it’s the same old shit all over again.

I don’t know how the hell I slept through this, but fortunately for them, I did. Tom says that the ranchero was here again and that it does have a bassy stereo which was blaring in the carport. Tom went out and told him to turn it down, but of course, I know it won’t do him a damn bit of good. I was curious, though, to know if the reaction was annoyed, or what. He said it was a kid, less than 18 years old, and that he startled him. The kid was apparently tired of hanging out with the adults, so it went to sit in the ranchero and make an ass of itself. This is all part of the hear-me obsession these subsidized, low-class, subhuman blacks and Mexicans have. The more you reject and try to turn away from someone, the more they rebel and try harder to be heard/noticed. It’s what they want. They want the whole neighborhood to hear them, to notice them, to acknowledge them, to know they’ve arrived. These sick fucks cry about not being accepted in society, but look how they treat people! Of course, society’s gonna try to brush these species out. Our refusal to tolerate such trash, though, only feeds fuel to the fire. Tom’s asking him to turn the music down will only ensure that all the more they go out of their way to blast us out. I know the drill. I know these kinds of filth. It’s the same old deal all over again. The only difference is that instead of a pack of skinny blacks, we’ve got a pack of fat welfare bums.

Oh, how I wish we could bake them a pie, bring it over to them, welcome them to the neighborhood, then watch them croak on the poison I put in the pie! Thanks, God! Thanks a real fucking lot! You really have a lot of concern and empathy for me, huh? Why do you always do this to me? Why do the rowdy shitfucks have to go next to me? Give me a break! What? Is this my compensation for having the last year of the black’s presence be fairly quiet? Why must I start this whole noise cycle all over again? Thank God, I don’t have to go through this for 3 years, but why can’t I just have quiet neighbors? Power of prayer, my ass! I knew praying for peace would be a waste of time. Now I have to fight to restrain myself from pummeling the shit out of them and do you have any idea how hard that is? It’s like drinking several cups of water and trying not to pee.

The dogs were going off last night, as usual. I’d like to say that they were rudely awakened from a peaceful slumber only to be pissed and have a hard time falling back asleep, but I know better. They all slept like logs regardless of the barking. The barking doesn’t bother them one bit. Not while they’re awake, not while they’re asleep. They just better not be waking me up, though, or else they’re gonna learn the hard way about the consequences of being such rude, selfish assholes.

I’m tired of society’s misfits! All our hard-earned tax dollars go to support these lazy bums while they turn right around and shit on us for it. That’s what we get for helping them. Such wonderful people! Why do these fucking subsidized city bums think that just because they’re in a subsided house that they can be so rude and so loud?! Why can’t these people blend into society and act like normal, civilized human beings and keep their noise for their ears only?!

So, here’s our new plan: Again, though, I don’t know how close we can come to acting upon our current plan, but the latest idea is to just do the bare necessities as far the prep work goes, then settle on a smaller 3-bedroom cookie-cutter house, or a house that already exists on a few acres of land, get out of here in 4-6 weeks, then get the dream home put on our property later on and turn the first house into a guest house or a place for Tom to work on projects and store stuff.

Also, Tom says he’s gonna assume the weekend will be wild over there since they just moved in, but that if they’re still wild come Monday, which he’s not gonna jump the gun and assume, then he’ll write a letter not only to the city address we’ve been using, but to the mayor too, and let them know that this is just ridiculous. It’s sickening! Totally, totally asinine! Well, he may be reluctant to assume anything, but I know. I know there’ll be trouble every day.

Anyway, Tom finished sanding the kitchen yesterday, and right now he’s draining the pool so we can do the step that’s chipped, and we’re gonna prep to paint and get the vent in the bathroom.

Even picking up this old, small house and putting it on a 3-acre lot is better than staying here, but to think that we may be forced to settle for a while on account of these fucking freeloaders really makes my blood boil! I don’t like feeling like I’m being controlled like that. Especially by sick twists that ought to be shot execution-style, or better yet, tortured for hours prior to being shot execution-style.

Later…

The furniture truck left a few minutes ago and the van’s out in the street. So I guess these freeloaders have furniture buddies, huh? That must be how they can afford to rent furniture. I suppose the furniture truck took off to make deliveries, but I don’t know. Is this truck going to live there, too? Or did the people with the truck just crash there overnight last night?

A red and white pickup that was loaded with God knows what and two guys just pulled up alongside the street to talk to some Mexican guy. Then the truck took off and the Mexican guy walked back towards the house. That’s vehicle number 7. I’ve lost count of the people, though.

Later…

Oh, no you won’t. Tammy just left a message, all nicey-nice, as if nothing ever happened. She said she was just calling to say hi, she hopes we’re doing OK, and she’ll talk to me later. Keep dreaming, sis!

FRIDAY, JUNE 4, 1999 I called Andy to get the discussion about food and God over with, but he said it wasn’t a good time to talk cuz he wanted to just relax. Then why’d he answer his phone? Anyway, I told him to leave all the messages he wants this weekend, that I was glad he was back safe and sound, and that I’ll call him next week.

I had been wondering why Paula wasn’t pestering me so much lately till I tried calling her. I got a recording saying her phone’s been temporarily disconnected. I hope it’s a little more than temporary! But anyway, that’s more like the Paula I always knew. I mean, she’d move and lose phones as often as Fran did. Well, she always moved as much as he did, but for a while there, I thought she’d keep this last phone for life. That must’ve been the longest stretch she’s gone with a phone. I’m sure the main reason she lost that phone was cuz of all the calls she made to me. I tried to warn her about that, but it’s her life. Meanwhile, I’ll keep the letters going to her. She damn well better keep that PO Box she just got, cuz I made up about 30 envelopes with all kinds of pictures on the back of animals and scenery. Yeah, I sure got myself a lot of pictures. Got palm trees, cactuses, dogs, cats, and other scenic and animal pictures. I’ve got about 25 different screensavers made up now.

Tom told me what the neighborhood people helped themselves to this time around (the stuff we put in the alley). They not only took stuff we figured they’d take, but they surprised us by taking the faucets off the old sink but leaving the sink there. Now that’s desperate! Who’d want such old, ugly faucets when you can buy nicer ones at a reasonable enough price? I hated those faucets just like I hate the kitchen ones. I’d always hurt my fingers on them. They also took the beanbag and the last two old, beat-up kitchen chairs.

As for next door - Tom says that when he got home at 12:30, that van was there for about an hour and so was the gas company. He said he thinks the reason they haven’t been there is cuz they’ve had no hot water. However, it doesn’t appear that anyone’s there tonight, either.

He said he didn’t see any people, and that he’s not sure of the van’s color. He said it’s some dark, obscure color. Also, he’s not sure what blue/gray is (the color of the van driven by that pregnant child). Oh really? Why is that? Is he trying to stall me from finding out it’s that van after hoping differently after seeing what I thought was different, white people last Sunday? He tried that with the cock. When he changed cars, he tried to convince me that it wasn’t him.

But then he started describing other things that say this isn’t the same van, after all. When I asked if this woman was pregnant, he said that she was so fat that he wouldn’t even be able to tell if she was or not. Well, the woman I saw, the child, I mean, was definitely pregnant. Also, he said he’s seen two toddlers. That Mexican kid, though, had one toddler and one infant, but that’s just what I saw. Mexicans have kids like rabbits, so there’s no saying how many she had for sure. She could’ve left ten kids at home. I’m so sick of Mormons, blacks and Mexicans! If it weren’t for Gloria Estefan, I’d hate all Mexicans, though she’s Cuban.

I asked him if he thought that van belonged to whoever lived there, and he said no, he doubts a vehicle of any kind will be there at night, and he thinks the van belonged to someone related to them. Well, we’ll see. I mean, there’s always a chance someone is there now, and that they walk to the bus stop on weekday mornings to go to work, and return the same way, but somehow I doubt that very much. I think a car of some kind will be living there, but if that’s not the case, I think someone will pick them up and drop them off. What about the kids, though, if they do work? Who takes care of them during the day? Does someone come here like Bill did with the bitch’s kid? Or do they go somewhere during the day? Even if it’s peaceful there during the workdays, that doesn’t mean it’ll be that way after work and on weekends. I still don’t have a bad vibe, but my logic says that as soon as they get settled, they’ll be noisy. I don’t know if it’ll be from voices, dogs, or music, but there’ll be some source of noise and it’ll be more noise than normal. Of course, there’s still always the off chance that they end up being no problem since God knows we’re not going to have to be neighbors for 2-3 years. We had two years with the Mormons and 3 years with the blacks. If this was so, though, that’d be wonderful, but I’d still be like - thanks, God. Now you send me the ideal neighbors? Now?! When we’ve got just a few months left here? Well, if this is the case, better late than never. If I can get a few extra months of peace and take the last 6 or so months off from neighbor’s shit before moving - why not? Still, I highly doubt this will be the case. I’m sure they’ll be anything but ideal to have just a few feet away. Just wait till they get settled in, and of course, I wish I could say they won’t want to be outdoors much when it gets really hot like most people, but I’m sure that won’t stop them. Didn’t stop the blacks. He said he doubts the woman he saw will take to the heat very well cuz of how fat she is and that fat people usually have fat friends so they won’t either. Yeah? Well with my luck she and her cronies will be able to take it just fine. I’m sure they won’t mind at all.

He also said that if she’s as hard to get along with as I felt she is, she won’t have too many friends.

Wrong. Just the opposite. Assholes always have a lot of friends. That’s because most people are assholes, and since most people want people they have things in common with for friends, there are plenty of assholes out there for other assholes to be buddies with. It seems that the nicer you are, the fewer people you know.

Anyway, now that I’m rolling onto days, I should be able to get a look at this mystery van if it comes today, too.

Later…

At 7:50 the van pulled in. At first I thought it was that blue/gray van driven by the pregnant kid, but now I don’t know. I saw not only a boy of about 5 but a girl of about 9, too. Mexicans have kids like rabbits, and if these people are as Mexican as they look to be, there’ll be half a dozen kids living over there. The van pulled out 15 minutes later and once it got out into the sunlight, I could see that the color didn’t quite look blue/gray and I can see how Tom may’ve thought it was brown. This van seemed to be more like a brown/gray. Also, I saw two big fat women in the front, but couldn’t see into the van to see how many kids were in it. After seeing these women, I can’t say for sure that either of them is that pregnant kid I saw. So were there people in the house last night after all? Was this van picking up someone in the house to bring them to work? If so, why bring the kids, too? They can’t go to work with them, can they? Maybe they’re going to get dropped off first at daycare or something. Before they left, I saw them shutting the back of the van which suggests they may’ve unloaded or loaded something into it, but is this van going to live there full-time at some point? This weekend ought to tell me a lot, but I’d say that if weekends aren’t wild over there, I’d be one surprised girl! Maybe there won’t be a music problem, but I’d think that all these kids these Mexicans love to have, would be outside running wild for hours. Not just kids who live there, but other people’s kids, too.

I’ll be finding out their name in no time at all. It’s only a matter of time before the mailman gives me a piece of their mail.

I’m glad my letters to the girls didn’t spawn off calls from Tammy. That just goes to show how selfish she really is. She’s just like Dureen in so many ways. I never pressured or dumped her when she wasn’t having any contact with Doe and Art. But now that I’m not and she is, she had to pressure me into contacting them and then dump me when she couldn’t get her way. Well, she better enjoy life without a sister, cuz she certainly lost me for good, along with the others.

Again, just like I questioned being friends with someone who beats her kids (Paula), I’ve got to wonder if I really want to associate with someone who abuses her kids mentally and physically, uses one of them as a built-in babysitter and housekeeper, and who can’t accept me as I am, even when I’m not just like them, and I don’t think so! I think I deserve better than that. All I need is Tom. Just having one person who fully accepts me is enough.

THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 1999 Boy, are we taking a familiar trip down Memory Lane here! It’s the same pattern. The same exact pattern. The Mexicans moved in little by little without making much noise. Meanwhile, I’d see several different vehicles. Like 3-4 of them. It wasn’t until they got fully moved in and were sleeping here that they began to make noise. As soon as they were settled in, though, it was time to get the neighborhood’s attention. Well, I see the same thing going on all over again. Again, no one stayed there last night. All Tom said he saw was a brown van in the carport at 2 PM yesterday. That’s 4 vehicles. They’ve been moving in little by little, not making much noise. Yet. Just as soon as they get fully moved in and are living there day and night, we’ll be hearing from them. That’s when they’ll let the whole street know they exist. What? Do these subsidized assholes have a system out here? Do they all move into houses slowly and quietly, then raise hell once they’re settled in? Are they all so rude and selfish, desperate for their neighbors to hear and notice what sick fucks they are?

I might’ve been wrong about assuming they don’t work cuz they're moving in little by little says they do, just like with the bitch and cock.

Well, I may be seeing familiar patterns all over again, but guess what? This time I’ve got something I didn’t have the first time around - the city’s address. As soon as the parties, the music, the company, and the dogs get out of hand, I’ll be perfectly happy to put them in their place like I should’ve done with the bitch and cock from the get-go. I should never have let it get to the point where that bitch came running to take her shit fit on my doorstep and make me wonder for the rest of my life if I should’ve decked her. I should’ve dealt with every single fucking freeloader over there by contacting the city from the start of their shit. But I didn’t know these things like Tom did, and I wish to hell he’d brought up the idea sooner. He said he did, but I said it wouldn’t work. I remember saying that I had my doubts about it working, but that doesn’t mean he brought it up from the get-go. Those blacks moved in March of 96 and he never went to the library for the city’s address till late November of 97. Once again, I’m thrilled to know we’ll be out of here soon enough, cuz what once worked in the past, may not work in the future. The city may decide this time around to ignore my complaint and just let this batch of scum do whatever it wants.

What’s not thrilling to know is that the pest will be returning home today. I can imagine all the calls I’ll be getting about it, too. I’ll try to put off the 2-hour conversation all about God and food for as long as possible. I was going to be just as available to talk as always till we moved. Meaning, that I was still going to leave messages 1-3 times a week and chat about once a week, but I’m gonna be harder and harder for Andy to get a hold of as we get closer to moving. I’m not obligated, after all, to cater to this guy’s phone needs. Also, I’m sorry, I know it sounds selfish, but I’m just not thrilled to chat with him these days. I’m tired of it.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 2, 1999 I’m going to cover the basics as best and as fast as I can. I’m not really in the mood to do much writing now. I want to work out some more and go online to see if I can find more goodies. Been getting some really nice wallpaper pictures of landscapes, animals, etc.

Anyway, the city came to mow at 9:30, but I still didn’t have a bad vibe or any vibes about being woken up, so I went to bed relaxed enough and slept fine. Tom fell asleep around the same time I did, but when he got up in the late afternoon, a few hours before I did, he saw the new scum moving in (I can’t believe they moved in while I slept just fine just three feet away! He said it was a pretty quiet ordeal, though, with just a few car doors). I had thought the people I saw Monday looked white, but he said he thought what he saw looked Mexican. Well, it’d make more sense. How many subsidized people are white compared to black and Hispanic? I can tell you firsthand, from experience that most subs aren’t white.

He said he saw three different vehicles. The gold car we already saw, a blazer, and an old junkie Ranchero. The gold car and the blazer look like something the bitch’s associates would drive, but the beat-up Ranchero is a different story. He said he saw some rented furniture being delivered. How can they afford to rent furniture? Renting furniture can be more expensive than buying it. He said he didn’t get a good look at people, but he did see a big fat woman and two toddlers. So far, no dog and the only music he said he heard was played softly and without bass by the Ranchero as it was pulling out. He said it was so soft that he couldn’t tell what kind of music it was and that it wasn’t one of those really bassy stereos. He says he believes they work cuz how else would they pay their rent? With their SSI, SS, or welfare checks, I told him. We’ll see, though. It’s too soon for me to know if anyone there works, how many people are living there (among the ones that aren’t supposed to be living there), and if someone living there has a car, or what. They’re not here tonight. They were gone when I got up at around 7 PM, then they pulled in an hour later. I heard some voices calling out to each other and saw a mattress and a box spring being pulled from the Ranchero. They left at 9:30 and haven’t been back since.

They did what I figured would be done the very first day someone moved in there - changed the security light bulb. This one may not be too obnoxious, though. It seems to be a lower wattage than what was there before.

It’s just a matter of time. I may not have a bad vibe. I mean, this is a totally different feeling than what I had right before the other freeloaders arrived. Before the other freeloaders, there was a very ominous feeling in the air. I was all stressed out, knowing my peace was about to be stolen. Well, I may not feel this way what with knowing we’re moving soon enough, but I’m no idiot, either. I know the parties, the mass of vehicles, the music, the kids, and maybe even a dog, will be a problem. Like I said, it’s just a matter of time. Come the weekend, the whole street will be hearing them.

TUESDAY, JUNE 1, 1999 The next next-door problem has arrived. So far, there's been no problems, but I said, "so far." Just give it time and there will be. I'll write about it more later. Right now, I want to go work out.

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: medical play, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, bondage, ruined orgasm, unprotected sex, squirting, oral (m receiving), cum eating (not yoongi for once), this was meant to be a light palate cleanser after the intensity of day ten but i got lost in my feelings in the first half and then got horny over doctor jeon in the second half i apologise

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DAY ELEVEN

“I think you should be a little more concerned, PD.”

Sejin flattens the two men - oldest and youngest of the house - an unimpressed look. Jungkook tries not to wilt under his gaze. “And why is that?”

Jin clears his throat, staring right back unabashedly. “Tae’s been involved in a terrible accident and you’re just waiting here. You should be rushing over to the house to save him.”

“A terrible accident?” Sejin questions monotonously, before turning in his chair to angle his monitor so that both boys can see. On the screen is a freeze frame of a very familiar scene - Taehyung crouching on the bottom of the stairs, Jin and Jungkook huddled around him.

Ah, Jungkook realises with sinking disappointment, the cameras. Once the producer clicks play on the recording, Jungkook is faced with the HD version of himself gesture excitedly, patting Taehyung on the back and pointing to the banisters.

Cheeks flushing, the youngest member of the house watches in dread as Sejin plays back the evidence of Taehyung willingly forcing his head through two banisters, ears popping out the other side as he glances up with a beam at Jin.

Having seen enough, Sejin pauses the video, and switches back to the realtime feed. “An accident, was it?” Sejin repeats rhetorically as the Taehyung on the security camera drums his fingers lazily against the wood posts, letting out a lionlike yawn. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue. This wasn’t how things were meant to go at all. Behind Sejin’s desk, the majority of the production van is filled with all the mess of a regular office. Stacks of paper, scribbled sticky notes on various surfaces, a large whiteboard with roughly handwritten schedules and a small game of naughts and crosses in the bottom right corner. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes dwell on the whiteboard too long. Don’t raise anymore suspicion.

Beside him, Jin shamelessly shrugs with a smile. “He put his head through the bars on purpose, sure, but he got stuck on accident.” The oldest - though still younger than Sejin himself - emphasises this distinction with a single outstretched finger and an arch of his eyebrows. “So you should go help him.”

Sejin slips his glasses off and lets them clatter to the table, pinching his brow with two fingers. “Am I gonna get there and have Taehyung ask me for the latest issue of Chinese Vogue?”

Jin stiffens, his mask temporarily shattered. “I requested that in confidence.”

The production manager throws his hands in the air in defeat. “How was I supposed to know which of your bogus requests was confidential? Just half an hour ago I got a call from my superior asking why #getjinanXL was trending. You tweeted that you wanted me to buy you extra large condoms because you ‘ran out.’”

“Well, that was obviously a joke,” Jin rebuffs easily. “You know I use Magnum.”

“How would I-?” With a huff of desperation, Sejin shakes his head to clear his mind. “No, okay, back to…”

Zoning out, Jungkook’s eyes are caught by the sight on the screen as another figure walks out into the foyer. Yoongi rushes forward once he sees Taehyung, crouching on the other side of the bars as he delicately prods around Taehyung’s face and neck. The younger man waves him away in frustration, pushing at Yoongi’s chest until he gives up and leaves reluctantly. Jungkook bites his lip and looks away.

Whoops. Staring right at him are the producer and the therapist, each as expectant as the other. “Huh?”

Sejin huffs. “Why would Taehyung intentionally stick his head through the bars of a staircase banister?”

“Tell him, Jungkookie,” Jin adds with a bump of his shoulder.

“Uh…” With a hard swallow, Jungkook’s mind whirls. “He… We were… measuring,” he finishes awkwardly. “Me-measuring Tae’s head.”

“You were measuring Taehyung’s head?” Sejin repeats flatly. “With the stair banister?”

Jungkook shrugs with what he hopes is a ‘what can you do?’ expression, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find a ruler.”

Sejin blinks once. “Then how would you know how wide the gap between posts was? Without a ruler?”

“Oh.” Jungkook stares in barely subdued panic at Jin, who widens his eyes meaningfully, urging him to turn back to the awaiting producer. “We, um, we didn’t think that far. We’ll know for next time?”

“If you want to stay on this show, there will be no next time,” Sejin warns.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. “Sorry, dad.”

“Y- what?” Jungkook hears Sejin cough lightly, flustered. “Please, Jungkook, that’s not appropriate.”

The youngest gives a little bow. “I apologise, Father.”

Sejin clicks his tongue. “Okay, that’s even worse.”

Jungkook glances up, brows knitting and head tilting in confusion. “...whoopsies, daddy?”

Sejin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the hairline. Jungkook spots several grey strands.

Clearing his throat, Jin steps forward slightly. “Taehyung is still stuck, PD.”

“Okay, fine! Fine,” Sejin announces, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But if there is a single other incident like this, I’m calling in child protective services and getting them to baby-proof this place. No more funny business. Understood?”

“No more. Promise,” Jungkook assures sweetly, heart soaring as Sejin slips past them, hurrying out of the production van and towards the front door of the villa.

The moment he’s well out of earshot, Jin claps his hands once with a victorious grin. “It was a bit touch-and-go there,” he admits, “but that’s bought us time. Quick; get the whiteboard, I’ll grab some pens.”

Jungkook grins. Like secret agents, hyung and him were. Moving quickly, the two of them manage to sneak out the whiteboard from the van, trundling it noisily across the gravel, around the back of the house.

---

“I’ll be honest,” Jimin drawls, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just chatted about this. Is the whiteboard really necessary?”

Taehyung deflates immediately, one hand still rubbing at the red marks on his jaw and ears. “What do you mean? I suffered for this whiteboard, Minnie.”

It’s crowded; five people huddled inside the confessional booth. But apart from the bathrooms and the rec room, this was the only place without live security cameras - purely because the only camera needed was the one for the confessionals themselves - and Jin and Jungkook doubted they’d be able to smuggle a very noisy whiteboard into the rec room when Sejin was directly outside it lubing up Taehyung’s neck with aloe vera gel.

While Producer Shin had been lured away by Jin with the promise of a homecooked meal, the four youngest men in the house were bundled into the garden shed, staring at a whiteboard that had barely fit through the door.

Jimin, still unconvinced, shrugs. From his spot perched delicately on Namjoon’s lap he watches the two younger men take a picture of what’s written on the whiteboard, then rub it all out. The man of the hour, Namjoon had been given the right to sit on the only proper chair in the room, the one the producer would normally sit in. Beside it, the wooden stool sits unoccupied. Jimin told the others that he was sitting on Namjoon’s lap because the stool was too uncomfortable, but Jungkook thinks there’s something deeper in the way he relaxes onto Namjoon’s chest, the academic alert but not tense underneath him.

Or perhaps being on this show has made Jungkook more suspicious.

“The whiteboard was vital, hyung,” he defends adamantly, grabbing one of the pens Jin-hyung had handed him, yanking off the cap with a satisfying click. Immediately the alcoholic smell of ink tingles his nostrils, but he ignores it, turning to the others. “What if Namjoon-hyung was a visual learner?”

From behind Jimin’s back, Namjoon adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “I- actually I learn best through listening.” His hand drops, hovers over the space both him and Jimin share, then rests awkwardly on the armchair. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Namjoon-hyung is so cute. “It’s okay,” Jungkook assures, suppressing the endeared grin that tugs at his lips, “We can brainstorm out loud, and Tae and I will just take notes.”

With Taehyung in his Sunday best (well, a button-up shirt so baggy it looked like he hat batwing sleeves) and Jungkook having dug out his glasses to look extra smart, the two of them were prepared to make this as academic as possible for Namjoon. Even after getting laid for the first time, academics were his comfort zone, and the two youngest were happy to oblige.

“First things first; what was it you had to do? Honeymoon?”

Jimin leans back on Namjoon’s shoulder so the taller man can see past. Namjoon shakes his head lightly, his purple hair in serious need of a touch-up; the natural brunette frames his face now, emphasising his brow. Jungkook wonders if he’d let him dye it a new colour, just for something fresh.

“Just husband and wife,” the academic corrects, “It didn’t specify, uh, anything else.” His voice is still quiet, as if speaking on it is taboo. One day he’ll get used to discussing sex openly, but until then, the others will meet him halfway.

“Okay, so, Y/n is your wife,” Jungkook states with a nod, “do y’all have kids? Is it a newlyweds situation? We need backstory here.”

The squeaking of a pen catches Jungkook’s attention before he even finishes speaking. To his right, Taehyung writes in sharp strokes across the board.

Y/N PREGNANT

“It’s the nineteen thirties,” Taehyung announces in a smooth voice, eyes finding each member in the room, “war is imminent, and worldwide men are preparing to be conscripted. Every moment spent with their loved ones is precious, and for General Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung pauses to draw a gangly stick figure giving a salute, “him and his wife Y/n-” this time a female stick figure joins the scene, a cartoonishly round stomach off to one side, “-have only one goal. To knock Y/n up before he goes to battle, so that even if he never returns they ha-”

“Wait, wait!” Jimin cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Isn’t this too dark? Too elaborate? They’re fucking, not going for best screenplay at the Oscars.”

Taehyung deflates a second time, the hand holding the pen dropping limply to his side. “You don’t like it?”

Face stricken, Jimin waves his hands frantically. “No, no, I love it! Honestly! I just- I feel like Namjoon probably wants something a little simpler? Perhaps not so bleak?” The blue-haired man swivels around on Namjoon’s lap, his hand resting inconspicuously on the back of his neck, playing with the longer hairs there.

Namjoon swallows. “Uh, yeah, simple is probably good. Honestly, I feel a little unsure about all of this. What if I, I don’t know, drop character or get shy? Won’t it be awkward?”

Taehyung scratches at his chin as he thinks, the beginnings of beard scruff shadowing his jaw. “If we help you brainstorm, you can just memorise a basic script.”

“I guess so,” Namjoon muses, eyes fluttering unconsciously as Jimin continues to trace the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have your own scenes to worry about.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Two birds with one stone, we can help each other. You know; I suck your dick, you suck mine.”

“That isn’t the quote,” Namjoon protests automatically, “but- I get your point. Anyone have any advice on how I even go about this?”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re the smart one,” he points out, “I did try to help but clearly my services weren’t appreciated.”

“Oh, honey,” Jimin coos, “I always appreciate your services.” The double entendre is clear in the silk of his voice and the arch of his brows, sent with a sweet smile, and Taehyung flushes in response.

Jungkook winces, ignoring the spike of - of something green and ugly in his chest. “Okay, enough from the lovebirds, this is about Namjoon. Joonie-hyung, I would just offer to help out and join with yours but I was gonna do mine this afternoon, and I don’t think a husband would fit very well into it.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon assures, shifting under the weight of the man in his lap. His fingers flex on the arm of the chair behind Jimin’s back, unsure. “Taehyung? Yours might work, I guess.”

Unaware of Namjoon’s indecision, Jimin suddenly stands up off his lap entirely, stalking over to Taehyung with a bemused grin. “You think our well-trained Taehyungie could be the family dog?”

Taehyung, though keening under Jimin’s sudden attention, seems hesitant. “I- I don’t know, Minnie, I haven’t really…” He trails off helplessly, casting Namjoon an apologetic stare.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon rushes out, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. “You don’t have to, I could just do it by myself.”

It’s strange, watching Jimin so visibly caught in indecision. He hovers in the centre of the small shed, torso towards Taehyung but head twisted back to stare at Namjoon. Wanting to support Namjoon, but wanting to protect Taehyung.

Jungkook feels like an outsider invading in on a precious equilibrium. Namjoon shifts, gaze dropping. Taehyung can’t keep his fingers still as they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Jimin’s so still the thin silver threads of his earrings don’t even shift in the air, but his eyes flood with emotion, bottom lip twitching just slightly as he seeks for something to say.

Jimin isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think, Jungkook muses. Saving the uncomfortable decision, Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, diverting the attention of the other three. “We could always practice? Jimin, you’re pretty. Pretend to be Y/n and give Joon-hyung some tips.”

The effect of his words are instantaneous. Jimin perks up, turning on his heel to grin down at his elder, who gasps almost imperceptibly. Taehyung’s eyes dull with something akin to disappointment. At himself or at the situation, Jungkook can’t say, but the sight of him turning to the whiteboard and swirling sullen circles of ink on the glossy surface has Jungkook’s heart breaking.

Leaving the other two to talk - Jimin resting gracefully on one of the arms of the chair, his feet dangling between Namjoon’s - Jungkook hurries forward, wrapping his fingers around Tae’s to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks softly, low enough to give the two some privacy.

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing.”

Jungkook isn’t deterred by the shortness of his tone, but changes tacts nonetheless. “It’s a bit weird,” he offers up, “it’s like each of us is the wingman to the other guys, but we’re all going for the same girl.”

With Jungkook’s hand still on top, Taehyung begins to swipe the pen across the board again. This time, what looks like a flower with long, pointed petals takes shape in thick black lines. Taehyung himself stays focused for a few moments of silence, until he’s ready to speak.

“But it’s not just that,” he explains in a low timbre, “it’s not just her.”

Jungkook lets his hand be maneuvered by the deft movements of the masseuse. Every part of Taehyung was so elegant, like he’d been sculpted from marble. From those slender fingers, to the slope of his nose. Lashes that brushed against his brow bone as he focused, teeth pressing just slightly into his lip, a dusky pink. “No, it’s not,” Jungkook agrees after a moment.

Taehyung lets his hand fall, Jungkook’s slipping off. With eyes hidden behind dark curls, the elder sneaks a look at Jimin and Namjoon, the two smiling and laughing, Jimin’s fingers playing with the strap of the watch on the other’s wrist lazily.

“I never know who to be jealous of,” Taehyung admits with a weak chuckle, capping the pen. “Anyways; that doesn’t matter. We’re here to help Namjoon.”

Jungkook spares a glance at the lovebirds on the armchair. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers shortly, eyes locked on the way Jimin curls onto Namjoon’s shoulder, the two locked onto Namjoon’s phone as he types in notes. “He’ll do fine.” Letting out a deep sigh, Taehyung scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he’s clearing the funk away. “It doesn’t matter, we’re all in this together.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “But- Well, no, this is still a competition. Technically we should be against each other, not together.”

The air leaves Taehyung’s lungs in a rushed breath. “Fuck, you’re right. I should, like, hate you, right?”

Jungkook hums with a raised brow. “I guess.”

“I should be trying to cockblock you and tell Y/n you have syphilis, yet here I am wanting to suck the dicks of everyone in this room. But also maybe hold the hands of everyone in this room. You can imagine my confusion.”

Jungkook feels his stress slip away at the genuine smile that tugs at Taehyung’s lips. Even if his eyes are still muted with sorrow, he doesn’t seem so despairing over it. The youngest reaches out to grip onto Taehyung’s upper arm reassuringly. “We could have hate sex if it’d make you feel better?” he offers up in a soft voice.

The blue depths in Taehyung’s gaze recede a little more as his smile brightens. “I’d like that.”

The two manage to hold this Hallmark moment for a little longer before Taehyung’s shoulders begin to shake with suppressed laughter. In seconds, the two are dissolving into chuckles and snickers, Jungkook throwing his head back and Taehyung hunching over with the force of it.

Across from them, Namjoon and Jimin pause their excited conversation to stare at them in bewilderment.

“What did we miss?” Namjoon asks, brow knitted but eyes wide.

“Never mind,” Jungkook deflects, heart feeling strangely warm as Taehyung grins under his lashes at him, like the two of them have an inside joke. “We should probably pack up, though, unless we want Producer Shin coming back in the middle of our top secret team meeting.”

Jimin clicks his tongue in agreement and stands up off Namjoon’s lap. Lithe like a cat, his arms come up over his head and his back arches into a stretch, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook knows his eyes aren’t the only pair watching the way his shirt lifts to display a band of pale golden skin.

“Alright,” the porn star lets out with a relaxed sigh, arms dropping and shirt falling again, “let’s head out, then. Joonie’s sorted.”

Namjoon stands up behind him, nodding shyly. “Thank you, guys. I feel a lot better about it now.”

Jungkook and Taehyung share a look. “To be fair,” Jungkook says with a light cough, “I don’t think Tae and I really helped at all.”

Jimin sends the two of them a broad smile, eyes crinkling in good humour. “You did provide the whiteboard,” he points out. “Though I imagine your efforts to steal it without Sejin realising were in vain.”

Taehyung frowns, hand automatically lifting to rub at his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Jungkook offers to Jimin, “he wouldn’t have seen it!”

Jimin blinks. “Where do you think Sejin went after helping Tae out of the staircase?”

Jungkook feels the odd pressure of dawning realisation that hasn’t quite materialised. “His office,” he answers slowly, “why?”

Behind Jimin, Namjoon ducks out with a sympathetic smile. “He probably noticed the giant whiteboard missing, Jungkookie.”

The camboy opens his mouth, waits for words to come, and closes it again. “Mm,” he replies eloquently.

“Oh, we’re gonna get in big trouble, huh?” Taehyung mumbles, fiddling with the pen in his hands.

“Wait,” Namjoon offers, “I’ll tell him it was me.”

Jungkook frowns. “How does that help?”

“Sejin won’t get mad at me, he loves me. I’ll just tell him I was getting a head start on my work for next semester.”

“When did he tell you he loved you?” Jungkook asks with a pout. “He never says it back to me.”

“I didn’t- What?” Namjoon frowns. “I was just chatting to him for advice one night and he told me I remind him of his son.”

“He doesn’t have any kids,” Jimin says with a lilt of confusion.

“I think he was talking about his cat,” Namjoon admits with a pained look, “but he loves his cat, so he must love me. Anyways, I’ll tell him I was using it for study and I don’t think he’ll mind. Just clear off the board and one of you can help me wheel it back.”

Jungkook sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the board. Beside it, Taehyung is frozen with his head bent and his mouth dropped open, staring at the pen. Neither Jin nor him thought to bring a duster, so Jungkook balls up his sleeve in his palm and wipes off the-

And wipes off the-

“Why isn’t it coming off?” Jungkook asks frantically, scrubbing over the shiny lines of black. “It’s not even smudging!”

“Um, Jungkookie,” Taehyung utters lowly, curls shifting as he slowly looks up. “This is a permanent marker.”

Jungkook’s hand freezes. He steps back, eyes wide as they stare at the image drawn in thick black.

The blooming form of what looked like a lily on the bottom corner, that was fine, but the giant all-caps Y/N PREGNANT followed by a very evocative drawing of a heavily pregnant woman beside a patriotic Namjoon was going to be harder to explain.

Slowly, Jungkook swivels on his heel, coming face-to-face with Namjoon, whose eyes are almost open wider than his mouth. “Hey, hyung,” the youngest offers up with a tentative smile, “how much d’you reckon Sejin loves that cat?”

It’s late afternoon by the time Jungkook has done his penance with the whiteboard and Sejin himself, but luckily it means that Yoongi is definitely in his room when Jungkook goes knocking.

More content with his own company, the second oldest tended to retire to his bedroom early to “entertain” himself. Jungkook had assumed this was a euphemism for masturbating, but Taehyung had informed him that the doctor was making his way through an impressive collection of the Slam Dunk manga these days.

As expected, Yoongi opens the door to Jungkook on his third knock, ushering him in with a look of confusion.

“Hyung,” Jungkook begins in an entreating tone, “you have a first aid kid in your room, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, back straightening in alarm. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, no, it’s sex reasons,” Jungkook explains quickly, eyes wandering around the room, eying up the open closet in the back of his room. “Do you have a white coat?”

“I- what? No, I don’t have a white coat,” Yoongi stutters out, face scrunched up in confusion. “What is this about?”

Jungkook hums, brushing back hair out of his face absentmindedly as he delves deeper into Yoongi’s room, checking in the drawers of the small nightstand. “I can make do without the white coat,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, before turning on his heel to face the older man again. “Do you have stirrups?”

“Stirrups?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His arms are folded over his chest tightly, though the brown loose-knit sweater loses the intimidation factor. “Why would I bring stirrups? They’re attached to the chair anyway, I can’t just pack them away in my suitcase.”

Dammit. Jungkook collapses onto Yoongi’s bed back-first, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “You need to help me, hyung. I’m determined to win fan favourite this week, so I need to go all out.”

A sigh of realization comes from the other side of the room. “Your prompt,” Yoongi remarks flatly. “What is it; nurse and patient?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open as he sits up. “Doctor and patient,” he declares proudly. “I asked if Sejin could promote me to neurosurgeon but he said it wasn’t relevant.” The thought dampens Jungkook’s spirits a bit. Even just regular surgeon would have been nice. “But anyway,” he continues, “whatever props you have would be greatly appreciated. I already googled a list of medical terms, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he shuffles over to his closet and pulls out a sizeable, bright green first aid kit, laying it on the bed. Jungkook gasps in excitement and makes room for him, but Yoongi just tuts. “First of all,” he explains while unzipping it, “these aren’t props, they’re medical-grade supplies. And you can’t have them all. I don’t trust you with most of the things in here.”

Jungkook frowns, but shrugs off the disappointment. Something is still better than nothing. “Okay, hyung,” he allows in a small voice, “thank you.”

Yoongi fails to hide the quirk of a fond smile as he takes out some of the stuff in the kit. “You owe me,” he says instead.

You have to give it to Jungkook; the dedication to his craft is impressive.

After he sent you a vague and rather concerning message about needing to see you in the gym for ‘health reasons’, you were greeted by a hand-written DO NOT DISTURB (unless you’re y/n) sign taped to the door.

Inside, the indoor gym had been transformed. Most of the larger equipment had been shifted to one side, leaving the other half open. In the middle of the open area is a weightlifting bench covered in a white sheet which you’re certain was off his bed. A comically out-of-place office chair is beside a table which Jungkook is using like a desk. The desk is pushed up against the mirror which fills one whole wall of the gym, and you can’t help but laugh at the infographics and charts he’s printed out on A4 sheets of paper and taped to the mirror.

There’s a fuzzy x-ray of some ribs taped next to a heart rate line, frozen mid-pulse like he took a screenshot off a video, which is next to a chart filled with increasingly smaller letters, like one you’d see in an optometrist’s office. Though everything is mismatched, the effort he’s put it really warms your heart.

The desk is where you find Jungkook. He sits with his back to you, typing away obnoxiously loudly at a laptop on the desk. On the screen, gibberish keysmashes fill up an otherwise empty Word document. Rather than a lab coat, Jungkook looks more sharply dressed than you’ve ever seen him in a ironed button-up shirt, pale blue. The back of the fabric is taut against his skin, clearly borrowed from a slightly smaller, or at least less jacked man. But it provides a streamlined view of the muscles in his back and shoulders, tucked into belted black pants to highlight the surprisingly narrow waist.

Kitschy or not, you’re grateful that Jungkook got some kind of cheesy medical roleplay if it meant you finally got to see him in fitted clothing.

Even though he must have heard you open the door and lock it behind you, he remains tapping away at the keys. His head tips slightly to the side, expectant.

“Jungkook,” you call out, disappointed and a little confused when he doesn’t respond. But you quickly realise your mistake. “Oh, uh. Doctor Jeon?”

Like clockwork, he spins around magnanimously on the chair, hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture. “Ah, my favourite patient. Do come in.”

So we already know each other then, you surmise. Remembering all these details was an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome part of this week’s theme. Developing a backstory, information on the scene, almost felt like constructing a scaffold to continue. There was something equally reassuring and exciting about it. A bolt of arousal shooting between your legs, you step in to the middle of the open area, sitting awkwardly on the covered bench.

“Take a seat,” Jungkook adds redundantly, like he’s following a script. “Let me just bring your file up. Name?”

You pause as he wheels back around to the laptop, pulling up what looks like an Excel spreadsheet. “I thought I was your favourite patient,” you quip with a smirk, but unable to suppress your fondness at how much thought he’s clearly put into it.

Jungkook’s shoulders drop, but he doesn’t falter. “Of course, I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been in the field for so long, you know.” He shrugs demurely. “I was actually a neurosurgeon before this.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can catch it. “You went from neurosurgeon to doctor? Isn’t that backwards?”

Jungkook’s eyes waver, biting his lip. “I prefer the simple life,” he offers as an explanation. He shakes himself out of it, and turns back to the computer once more with a warm sigh. “Alrighty then, I’ve got your file here. It’s been a while since your last visit,” he remarks, cursor hovering over a watermarked image of a clock. “I better check your vitals again.”

You watch in bemusement as he readies himself, first sanitising his hands using a small travel-size bottle that’s in the shape of a cartoon shark, then pulls on a pair of latex gloves that had been lying on his desk. Even in the strangely comedic atmosphere, the sound of him snapping the glove against his wrist makes you gasp soundlessly, thighs pressing together in need.

Jungkook notices it, eyes darting down as he rolls his chair over. He unbuttons each cuff off his shirt and rolls them up to expose his forearms. His hair is getting thicker as it grows, and even though it’s pushed back, a few locks slip forward to frame the smirk on his face.

You swallow, neck craning as he gets closer. The bench you’re sat on clearly isn’t intended as an examination table because it’s just as low to the ground as the chair, and there’s something inside you that runs electric when he comes close, looking down at you from it. With spread knees, he places them on either side of yours and pins you there, making you gasp.

The feeling of the cold gloves on your cheekbones, pressing to keep you steady is dizzying, more so when he looks intensely into your eyes, searching with a cool professionalism that you’d never seen from him before. Though it’s new, you recognise the shift in the tension of the room signifying the true start of the scene.

In your peripheral vision, you spot his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but you’re locked onto his gaze. Jungkook smiles softly. “Eyes are healthy,” he remarks, “good to know you’ll be able to see everything properly.”

The gloves catch on your skin, one sliding down to tighten on your chin, tipping your neck back even more. You’re barely breathing, waiting for his move.

“Open up and say ahh,” he instructs huskily, and you’re responding without thought, letting your lips part and your tongue relax. Jungkook frowns. “Wider.” You feel the corners of your mouth pang as you lower your jaw as much as you can in his grasp. “Keep it like that,” he demands sternly, and your heart thuds.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just look inside. You jerk instinctively in his grip as two gloved fingers slide down your tongue, but his rebuking glare has you settling again, trying to breathe through your nose as he delves deeper, smirking at the way you squirm, legs trapped between his and eyes lidded as you feel the length of his fingers heavy on your tongue.

Quicker than you can put your head around, his fingers plunge deeper, far enough down your throat to make you gag, tears springing to his eyes. His fingers leave as you let out a little cough, blinking wetly at him in betrayal.

Jungkook smirks, not bothering to wipe the shine of your saliva off his glove. “Gag reflex intact and responding well,” he notes smugly.

“How is that a vital?” you question, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s vital for what I’m about to do to you,” he quips with a lecherous grin, and you bite down hard on your tongue to fight the urge to tremble.

“And what is that, Doctor?” you ask instead, blinking owlishly up at him.

His lip quirks. “Don’t play coy, now, Y/n, I’ve seen the way you look at me during our appointments. Tell me; why is it that you came here today?”

You swallow, eyes heavy on him. “I’ve been suffering a strange sensation, Doctor,” you make out, your voice quieter than you intended. “Can you make me feel better?”

Jungkook exhales harshly, hands dropping to rest on your knees. “And where does it hurt, hm? Here?”

You suck in a breath as his legs spread further, coming close enough that your knees press against his crotch, the hardness undeniable. A single hand shifts up to lay against your forehead, questioning, and you shake your head. His hand skims lower, pressing firmly against your sternum where you feel your heart race against it.

“Here?” he questions, and continues on when he receives a negative. Next he veers off to the side, cupping a breast and brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Does it ache here?”

You whimper, arching into his hand. “A little bit,” you offer up weakly, glad you opted out of wearing a bra in anticipation of the scene.

The answer seems to amuse Jungkook, and you shiver when you feel his other hand playing with the hem of your shirt, the gloves tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I better check it out then, hm?”

You feel so exposed, the air conditioner chilling the air and the mirror reflecting Jungkook’s back as he leans in close, breath tickling your bare shoulder as his hands cup your breasts.

Without further preamble, he begins to roll your nipples simultaneously between his fingers, enough pressure to make you shiver as he studies your reactions closely. The feeling of being touched so intimately with the barrier of latex gloves feels both taboo and exciting, and without even realising you find your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, gripping at his biceps as they flex with every movement.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Jungkook asks lowly, humming in response when you shake your head. “What about this?” Suddenly, he’s tugging, pinching them harshly enough to make your back arch to ease the pressure.

You squeal, fingers digging in deeper to the corded muscle of his forearms. “Yeah,” you gasp out shakily, “h-hurts.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. “But you like it, don’t you?” he accuses as he continues his rough treatment. “Coming into my office, begging me to touch you like this. Fucking filthy.”

A moan slips out as you rock your hips against the bench, seeking friction for the heat between your legs. “Please, Ju- Doctor Jeon, it hurts,” you cry out, gaze imploring as you blink up at him.

All of a sudden, he pulls back entirely, hands falling back onto his own knees as he watches you. “Show me,” he instructs, eyes hazy.

You shiver, the cool air shifting over your naked torso as his stare burns molten hot. “Show you what?”

Carding a hand through his hair to push it back, Jungkook wets his lips. “Show me where it aches the most,” he explains, voice like crushed velvet.

This was a side of him you’d never seen before; neither the competitive dom nor the obedient sub. His sexual versatility never fails to surprise you, and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the calm dominant air he exudes. Shakily, you part your legs.

He scoffs lightly. “That isn’t much help if I can’t see it. Undress.”

A rushed exhale leaves you at his shortness, but you stand up and push off your leggings and panties, kicking them to the side. It’s far harder to bare yourself to him this time, and as you sit, you can’t help but hesitate.

Jungkook raises a brow at your pause, leaning back like he’s disappointed. “I’m a very busy man, Y/n,” he chastises, “these appointment slots aren’t long and if you don’t want the next patient coming in while you’re choking on my cock, I suggest you do as I say, when I say it.”

Your legs fly apart the moment his voice lowers into a growl, clenching automatically at the open air at your most vulnerable place. “Please help me, Doctor,” you plead lowly.

Jungkook curses under his breath and comes forward again, placing a single gloved hand over your core. You jerk instinctively but keep your legs open at his warning glare. Even through the gloves, he has to feel how wet you are, slicking up the latex without him moving it. “It hurts here, hm? Lie down on your back and I’ll take a look.”

Your breath picks up as you turn and lower yourself onto the white sheet, legs dangling over the end. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t come around but returns to the desk, rolling his chair away and rifling through what looks like a first aid kit. You crane your head to watch him, narrowing your eyes in confusion as he returns with what looks like two rolled up lengths of gauze bandage.

“This isn’t the usual gyno office,” he explains, unravelling one slowly, “so we don’t have stirrups. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure to keep you nice and open for me.”

Like he’s done this a million times before - though the rational part of your brain knows he’s probably making this up as he goes along - he begins using the bandage material to bind your ankles to the legs of the bench, wide enough that you have to shuffle right to the edge, spread wide. He doesn’t say a thing when he ties them, mumbling to himself like he’s recalling instructions, and slips in his fingers to test how tight they are.

He’s kneeled between your open legs now, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he runs his fingertips over your sopping folds, eyes lidded with arousal. “Does it hurt here, Y/n?”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to scoot even closer. “Inside,” you explain, sighing in relief when two fingers plunge inside your walls, scissoring to stretch you out.

Jungkook has one hand on your thigh to hold you steady as he rocks his fingers back and forth like he’s seeking something, and the feeling of the latex, so slick with your juices, has you trembling immediately. “It’s important in this line of work,” Jungkook breathes out as his fingers widen even more inside you, “to be thorough, so just relax for me, let me in.”

The moment you try and unclench, his fingers curl and press up against your g-spot, and it’s like a line of electricity connecting all your nerves together lights up. Your legs instinctively flex in an attempt to close around his hand, but the taut bonds keep them spread, and you sob at the reminder, arms giving out so that you end up flat on your back again.

Jungkook chuckles. “Looks like we found the problem,” he remarks cheerily. His fingers continue their assault, targeted now as you writhe beneath him, and the wet sounds of the latex as he increases to three digits echo obscenely in the large room. “That’s it.”

The joints of your fingers ache as you cling onto the edges of the table for dear life, unable to stop the rising wave of pleasure that threatens to crash. It’s so close you feel it in your teeth, eyes rolling back and babbling nonsense to try and get him to go faster, harder.

Faintly, you hear the sound of him humming in amusement, and your mind conjures the mental image of him, sleeves rolled up and gloves dripping with your arousal, hair falling in his eyes and teeth glinting as he grins and brings you to orgasm. It’s that thought that finally begins to tip you over the edge, and just before the wave crests, you feel his fingers slip out.

“Looks like it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he remarks cheekily.

“No, no, no, don’t stop,” you blabber mindlessly, but it’s too late, and your orgasm washes through you as he sits back and watches the unsatisfying roll of pleasure take your body.

Irrationally, you feel tears prick at your eyes with the cruelness of his actions. “It sti- It still hurts, Doctor,” you sob, reaching a hand down to cup yourself, wanting more even as you hiss with the sensitivity.

Jungkook tuts in fake sympathy. “My fingers can’t reach any further, Y/n, if I couldn’t reach where it hurts, I don’t know how I can help you.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you blink your eyes open again, struggling to focus on him. “Use your cock, Doctor, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” You could just about cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle jingling, and Jungkook kneeling over you, lining himself up. You can feel the tip pressed against your entrance, just enough pressure to tease you. “Too impatient for me to even put a condom on, naughty girl.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, just fuck me, Doctor,” you whine, your sentence punctuated by a strangled cry as Jungkook snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Somehow you’d forgotten just how long Jungkook was - while he wasn’t the thickest or overall largest, and even the thought of mentally cataloguing the guys’ dicks was strange - there was a graceful rising curve to his length that felt like it pierced right through you, and as he starts a punishing rhythm, you feel the air punched right out of your lungs.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jungkook growls. “Acting innocent when you just wanted my cock to fuck you stupid, hm?”

With every thrust, your body is rocked back and forth on the bench, and you feel the bandages that bind your ankles to the legs of the table loosen, a little bit at first and then enough that they slip off completely. It feels odd to no longer be tied down, and Jungkook notices how your body is suddenly shifting far more than it was before.

His pace slows down and you feel a gloved hand wrap around one of your ankles. “Do you want them back on? I don’t think I tied them so well,” Jungkook notes hesitantly, and if you weren’t wildly chasing your orgasm, you might have cooed at his character dropping away to reveal the Jungkook you’re more used to.

As it is, your mind can only care about one thing. “I don’ need them, just fuck me!” you plead, and Jungkook exhales sharply, lifting your ankle until it rests on his shoulder, holding down your hips to fuck into you once more.

With the new angle, you can just about feel him in your guts, and your mouth drops open soundlessly, the only noises escaping your lips are gasped breaths as you feel a deeper orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” you manage to slur out, a raw scream bouncing off the walls as he lowers a hand to rub at your clit, the slippery glove only making him thumb it faster. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking-ah!”

Your sentence is cut off violently as an orgasm rips through you as suddenly and overwhelmingly as an electric shock. If you’re making any noise, you can’t hear it, your mind like white static as you sit there and let it take you. Every inch of you is singing, down to your toes, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you into oversensitivity, you feel another release, one that makes you shudder and Jungkook swear violently, spilling inside you as he grips at the flesh of your hip.

It takes a while for the blur in your mind to clear, vision swirling in hazy technicolour and whole body trembling. Jungkook must have taken the gloves off at some point, because you feel the softness of his hands as they seek out yours, gently squeezing to rouse you more.

“Y/n,” you hear him say, voice still distant. The fog dissipates more with the calling of your name, and you feel yourself tune in again, once more becoming aware of the cool breeze of the aircon on your heated skin. Jungkook leans over you, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Y/n. Have you ever done that before?”

You knit your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

Jungkook lets out a light chuckle, sitting back. He’s still inside you, barely softening, and you groan at the sensitivity of him shifting. “Look,” he guides, and you glance down to see your stomach and thighs, shiny with wetness, too thin to be cum. The liquid soaks his shirt, too, leaving dark patches. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook gushes, his doctor persona well and truly evaporated by now.

You laugh weakly, an exhausted smile stretching at your lips. “I don’t think so? Fuck, that was a lot.”

“You were amazing,” Jungkook praises, squeezing your hands one last time before letting them go. He begins to pull out, then, and you shudder at the emptiness, remnants of his cum dripping out of you as he lowers your leg to the ground again. You sit up carefully, still lightheaded, and watch as he quickly rushes over to the desk, returning with a gauze pad damp with water from a bottle.

He uses it to clean you up in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but bite your lip when you notice he’s still hard. Just as he finishes wiping away the last of the wetness from your thighs and begins to wipe himself off, you reach out a hand to halt him.

“Doctor,” you coo teasingly, “won’t you let me clean you up? I wanna repay you for making the ache go away.”

His chest heaves as he shudders out a breath. “Really?”

You blink up at him as he stands in front of you, his cock right in front of you, glossy with your combined cum. “Don’t you wanna test my vitals one more time, doctor? Just to make sure?”

He gulps as you lean closer and lick a single stripe up the underside of his cock. It’s only slightly bitter, and well worth it for the look on his face and the feeling of his hands carding through your hair.

“I’ve got some filing to do,” Jungkook offers up, chest puffing as he slips back into his role, “if you’re going to clean me up like a good little girl, you can do it while I get back to work. I’m a busy man.”

You bite your lip as he cups the back of your neck and urges you to stand, leading you towards the desk. It’s just tall enough that you can sit on your knees below it, mouthing at his cock as he sits back in the office chair.

Giving a guy head isn’t your favourite hobby, but there’s something weirdly erotic about licking your own cum off of him as he types away, all but ignoring you. As you clean him up dutifully, you realise it’s a challenge, of sorts, to suck him off so well that he breaks concentration.

His jaunty clicks of the mouse and punching of keys continues away as he sighs lowly, feeling your lips wrap around his tip. You tongue the slit, keeping yourself steady by gripping the meat of his inner thighs and let your eyes slip shut so that you can fully focus on the minute sounds he lets out.

As you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, testing your limits, you begin to learn the rhythm of his typing, recognising what makes it falter. His tip is sensitive, particularly where it meets the shaft, but it’s when you lap at the skin below his base and suck his balls into your mouth, tonguing at them languidly, that makes him break concentration fully.

“Hngh, fuck,” you hear him make out in a strangled voice, a hand coming down to stroke at his own length.

You bat it away immediately. “I thought you needed to work, Doctor,” you tease, “just let me take care of it.”

Jungkook groans but doesn’t protest when you wrap a hand around him and jerk him off, fingers tight around him as you suck at his perineum, making him moan prettily, the tapping of keys sparse and uncoordinated.

“Fuck, gonna- gonna cum again,” he warns, thighs tensing with the urge to thrust up into your grip.

You switch positions to suck his length into your mouth, rolling his balls in your hand and bobbing your head. Jungkook’s falling apart so beautifully, gasping out little ah, ah, ahs with every breath.

The moment you feel him stiffen up even more, you suck in a breath through your nose and swallow him down to the back of your throat, tearing up as your gag reflex kicks in.

He cums with a cry, shooting ropes of cum down your throat, and you wring out every last drop until he’s hissing and pulling away.

Jungkook helps you up from under the table with shaky hands and tucks himself away, panting. “Holy shit,” he says with a exhausted laugh, “I should have gone to medical school.”

The two of you spend the late afternoon showering and then returning the gym to its former glory. It’s not until even dinner has passed before you recall the rule of the Bangasm Bomb - a different bed every night.

You’d slept in Jungkook’s bed on the Monday night, and so you’d have to seek shelter elsewhere.

After getting into pajamas, you step out into the second-floor hallway, glancing around to see if anyone’s door is open. Jin’s is open - he’s still downstairs having a beer with Yoongi - but you’ve used his bed before. The only other one that’s ajar is the bunkroom.

Inside, Namjoon has his nose inside a book by a Japanese author you’ve vaguely heard of, and Hoseok folds a pile of laundry on his bed.

“Room for one?” you call out hopefully. The two of them have each chosen a separate bunk so they can see each other, but while Namjoon has a bottom bunk, Hoseok’s hair just about brushes the ceiling on the third and highest bed. The two of them glance up in unison, matching grins as they wave you inside.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hoseok chimes out cheerfully.

“I was wondering if I could stay in a bed here tonight. I can’t room with Jungkook again.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm in recollection of the scene the three of you shared on Monday. “Well, we’ve got plenty of space. Pick a bed; any bed.”

It makes the most sense to choose the third stack of beds, on the far wall from the door. With only two beds instead of three, it’s easy enough to choose the top one, a perfect halfway point between Namjoon and Hoseok. “It’s not so bad in here,” you remark, tugging up the sheets so you can slip under.

“As far as punishments go, it does seem pretty tame,” Namjoon notes, adjusting a pair of thick reading glasses that balance precariously on his nose. “Though I do feel like it’s the equivalent of a naughty corner. Even if it’s comfortable, it’s the social factor that makes it undesirable.”

“It’s basically a sleepover for losers,” Hoseok surmises.

Namjoon pauses and nods. “Well said.”

You chuckle. “You two seem to be getting along well. Doing a lot of bonding in here, are we?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Hoseok points out. “We’ve been chatting away the boredom. Did you know Namjoon thought he could speak to crabs when he was a kid?”

Namjoon lets out a wounded noise, carefully marking his page with a bookmark before tossing the novel to the side. “I never said that! I said I thought they were trying to speak to me, okay?” The academic pokes his head out to look up at you. “Hobi-hyung is scared of Big Bird from Sesame Street!”

Instead of defending himself, Hoseok nods with an indignant pout. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Wow, you’ve only been in here three nights and you’re already sharing childhood trauma? Jin’s gonna be devastated he missed it.”

“Jin had the chance to come join me and he chose not to,” Hoseok declares. “As far as I’m concerned, Namjoon is the only man in this house I respect.”

Namjoon beams, eyes crinkling behind thick frames. “Thanks, hyung. I respect you, too.”

Hoseok’s chest puffs up in pride. “You better after all the things I’ve taught you.”

Namjoon’s blush is telling. You lean forward in interest, glancing back and forth between the two. “Wait; what did you teach him?”

“Well, we’re not gonna tell you,” the dom responds petulantly, turning his nose up, “it’s a surprise for your scene together.”

You pout, leaning back onto the pillow on your bed. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun when you get to experience it firsthand, trust me.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh at Hoseok’s teasing, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand beside the bunks. “Don’t hype it up too much, hyung, I’m not that good yet.”

“You’ll get there, young grasshopper.”

You frown at the uncertain look on Namjoon’s face. “I can go ask one of the others to room with them if you wanna, uh, practice some more.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. This can be my rest day.”

Hoseok sighs sweetly, rubbing his eyes. “Actually, rest does sound pretty nice. We can pick it up tomorrow. Night, Joonie. Night, Y/n.”

You and Namjoon chime out a simultaneous reply as Hoseok climbs down the stairs to deposit his pile of folded laundry on the empty bed below, returns to the top bunk, and tucks himself in.

Namjoon seems equally relieved to be able to go to bed early, curling up with a pillow cuddled to his chest. “Sweet dreams,” his low timbre calls out.

You smile fondly at your two boys, snuggled up with peaceful faces as they drift away. “Sleep well,” you offer up, before getting comfortable and letting your own eyes slip closed.

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