#and in a decade we’re all gonna look back and people are gonna start pointing out how offensive some of this stuff is

[micamicster]

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again Ted Lasso is the glee of the 2020s

[noraantilles]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader, Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: A secret monster fight club pulls you, Sam, and Dean into the dark underworld of New Orleans. When your name is called to fight, survival means stepping into the ring — but the real battle might be against the ones you trust most.

Warnings: violence (hand-to-hand combat, graphic fight scenes), blood and injury descriptions, emotional manipulation, themes of guilt and self-doubt, harsh language, angst with a touch of hurt/comfort, brief mentions of trauma (implied, not detailed), intense emotional conflict, reader has increased healing

Word count: 4.8k

New Orleans wasn’t the kind of city where you expected peace. It thrived on its chaos— the music, the people, the dark corners that felt like they hadn’t seen daylight in decades. But even in this city of whispers and shadows, what the djinn described felt… wrong.

It started the usual way. A bar on the edge of the French Quarter, where the air smelled like spilled beer and gumbo. The djinn, Kael, found you in the middle of a quiet drink, tumbling through the doorway of the bar. His appearance didn’t scream “monster.” No glowing tattoos or deadly aura. Just a guy in a worn hoodie, his hands tucked in his pockets like he was ready to bolt.

��You’re hunters, right?” he asked, his voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in days. His eyes flicked from Sam to Dean to you, sizing you up. “I need your help.”

Dean didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Yeah, no. We’re good.”

Kael sighed, stepping closer. “You don’t even know what I’m asking yet.”

“And we don’t care,” Dean shot back, his tone sharp. “Djinn don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to asking for help. Usually, you’re too busy stuffing people into nightmares.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Kael said quickly, holding up his hands. “This isn’t about feeding or whatever you think we do. This is… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Kael hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the door. “There’s a fight club,” he began, his voice dropping. “For monsters. Underground, secret, brutal. They’re not just fighting each other anymore. Humans are starting to show up - hunters. And not willingly.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he finally looked up. “What do you mean, ‘not willingly’?”

“They’re being taken,” Kael said simply. “Dragged into the ring as trophies. They don’t stand a chance.”

“And you care… why?” Sam asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Kael’s shoulders stiffened, and his jaw clenched. “Because they’re taking my kind too. Not all of us want to be killers. Not all of us want… this.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, you thought you saw something raw in his expression. “I tried to stop it on my own, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

Dean snorted. “And you think we’re just gonna trust you? That you’re some kind of saint? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s not about trust,” Kael snapped, his voice rising. “It’s about survival. They’ll come for you too, eventually. Hunters are the biggest prize. You want to wait for that, or do something about it now?”

Your table went quiet. Sam leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, deep in thought. Dean’s eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming against the table.

“This could be a trap,” Dean muttered, his voice low. “For all we know, he’s setting us up to be the next act in this freak show.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted, his gaze fixed on Kael. “But if he’s telling the truth… we can’t just ignore it.”

Dean scoffed, pushing his glass away. “You realize how insane this sounds, right? An underground fight club for monsters? What’s next, monster karaoke?”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that, but the tension in the room was palpable. “Dean,” you said, your voice steady, “if there’s even a chance he’s telling the truth, we have to check it out. People’s lives are on the line.”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine,” he muttered, glaring at Kael. “But the second you so much as blink wrong, you’re dead. Got it?”

Kael nodded, his expression grim. “Got it.”

Sam stood, grabbing his jacket. “So where do we start?”

Kael gestured toward the door. “I’ll take you there.”

As you followed Kael out into the humid New Orleans night, the tension between the three of you lingered. Sam and Dean exchanged wary glances, their hands hovering near their weapons. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to be one of those cases that left scars — physical or otherwise.

The warehouse loomed like a forgotten relic, tucked between crumbling brick walls and the darkened riverbanks of New Orleans. The air smelled of mildew and oil, and faint vibrations of bass-heavy music thudded through the ground. Kael led the way, silent but tense, his shoulders rigid as though bracing for a fight before it had even begun.

The bouncer at the door was a demon, massive and his eyes blackened when the four of you approached. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles bulging beneath his black T-shirt, and he had an expression that said he wasn’t here to negotiate.

Kael approached him with careful confidence, pulling a small coin from his pocket. It glinted faintly in the dim light. “Morrick,” Kael said, his voice steady. “Let us in.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, eyeing Kael like he was a bug he might enjoy squashing. “What’s this?” Morrick rumbled, his voice deep enough to rattle your chest.

“Payment,” Kael said shortly. “And a promise that we’re not here to cause trouble.”

Morrick’s gaze shifted to the three of you, lingering a little too long on Dean, who stared back with that signature Winchester mix of defiance and irritation. “Hunters,” Morrick said, his lip curling into a sneer. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days, Kael.”

“They’re with me,” Kael said quickly. “And if anyone asks, they’re… participants.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, not happening.”

Morrick gave a low chuckle, stepping aside as the door creaked open. “Good luck,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re going to need it.”

The warehouse opened into a massive, dimly lit chamber. Neon lights flickered, casting an eerie glow over the crowd. Monsters of all kinds filled the space—vampires with sharp grins, werewolves with twitching ears, ghouls hunched in shadowed corners. The air was electric, buzzing with adrenaline and bloodlust.

At the center of it all was the cage—a brutal structure of rusted metal and electrified fencing. The pit was stained dark, and the crowd roared as two figures inside clashed violently, their movements a blur of claws and fangs.

“This is it,” Kael muttered, his voice barely audible over the din. “Welcome to the ring.”

Sam’s expression hardened as he scanned the room, his jaw tight. “This is worse than I thought,” he said.

Dean grimaced, his hand resting instinctively on the knife hidden beneath his jacket. “Yeah. Real cozy.”

“What’s the deal here?” you asked Kael, keeping your voice low. “How does this work?”

Kael sighed, motioning for you to follow as he navigated the crowd. “The fights are arranged by tiers. Winners move up; losers… well, let’s just say they’re not walking out of here. Every monster here is either a fighter or a gambler. They come for the blood and the chaos, but mostly for the money.”

“And the humans?” Sam pressed, his voice edged with anger.

“They’re the showstoppers,” Kael admitted, glancing away. “They save them for the big rounds. Hunters are a rare catch. Makes for a good spectacle.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, grabbing Kael by the arm. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”

Kael pulled free, his expression guarded. “Would it have changed anything? You’d still be here.”

Dean looked like he was about to deck him, but the sound of a loud buzzer cut through the noise, followed by the announcer’s booming voice.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer growled, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “We have a special treat tonight! A fresh contender has entered the ring — an unexpected guest. Give it up for…”

The announcer paused, letting the suspense build.

“[Y/N]!”

Your stomach dropped as the crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, monsters craning their necks to get a look at you. Sam and Dean turned to Kael, their faces a mix of confusion and fury.

“What the hell is this?” Dean hissed, stepping toward Kael.

Kael put his hands up defensively, backing away. “You needed a way in, remember? This is it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam snapped. “You used us?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Kael said quickly, his voice rising. “This is the only way to get close enough to stop it. You wouldn’t have gotten through that door otherwise.”

“You son of a—” Dean lunged, but Kael was faster, slipping back into the crowd before Dean could grab him.

“You’re dead, Kael!” Dean shouted after him, his voice seething with rage.

Sam turned to you, his expression pained. “What do we do?”

You took a deep breath, your hands balling into fists. “We go along with it. For now.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like we have a choice,” you shot back. “They’ve already called my name. If I don’t go in, they’ll kill us all.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. His fists tightened at his sides, the anger radiating off him in waves. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, glaring into the crowd as you stepped toward the ring.

The cage door creaked open, and the crowd’s noise swelled. Your opponent — a hulking werewolf with a cruel grin — waited in the center, claws glinting under the dim lights. The cage door slammed shut behind you with a resounding clang, the sound echoing through the warehouse like a death knell. The crowd surged closer, their roars a frenzied mix of bloodlust and anticipation. The electrified fence hummed faintly, casting a faint blue glow over the ring.

Across from you, your opponent stepped forward. He was easily six and a half feet tall, his muscles straining against the ragged remains of a shirt. His yellow eyes glinted under the dim light, and his grin revealed rows of sharp teeth.

“Well, aren’t you just a snack,” he snarled, his voice low and guttural.

You tightened your fists, planting your feet firmly on the bloodstained ground. “I’m a lot tougher to chew than I look.”

The announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets! Who will take the first win of the night—our reigning champion, Garrick the Wolf, or our newcomer?”

The crowd erupted, jeering and shouting. Dean’s voice cut through the chaos: “You’ve got this, [Y/N]! Stay sharp!”

Sam was quieter, his gaze locked on you with the intensity of someone already calculating the odds.

The werewolf didn’t wait for the bell. He lunged at you with startling speed, his claws slashing through the air. You barely ducked in time, the tips grazing your shoulder. The crowd roared in approval as you rolled away, springing to your feet.

“Fast,” Garrick sneered, circling you like a predator. “But not fast enough.”

He came at you again, this time aiming low. You sidestepped, landing a sharp kick to his ribs. The impact sent him stumbling back, but it didn’t seem to faze him. Garrick grinned, licking his lips like he was enjoying the challenge.

The next hit came hard and fast—a clawed hand slamming into your side. Pain shot through your ribs, and you staggered, barely managing to stay upright. Dean’s voice rang out from the sidelines, sharp and panicked. “Stay on your feet!”

Sam leaned forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the cage. “Come on, [Y/N], you can do this!”

The werewolf pressed his advantage, throwing a flurry of punches and swipes. You blocked most of them, but a few slipped through, leaving your arms bruised and stinging. The crowd roared louder with each hit, the bloodlust palpable.

But you weren’t out yet.

As Garrick reared back for another swing, you saw your opening. You ducked low, dodging his claws, and drove your elbow into his stomach. He doubled over with a grunt, and you followed up with a sharp uppercut to his jaw. The force of the blow sent him staggering, blood dripping from his split lip.

The crowd quieted for a moment, stunned by the sudden shift. Dean let out a low whistle. “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Garrick growled, his yellow eyes blazing with fury. He charged again, but this time, you were ready. You sidestepped his attack, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. With a swift kick to the back of his knee, you sent him crashing to the ground.

He tried to get up, but you didn’t give him the chance. You drove your fist into his face, then another, and another, until he slumped unconscious beneath you. The crowd erupted in chaos, half cheering, half booing.

The announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Winner: [Y/N]!”

You stood, breathing heavily, your knuckles throbbing. Blood — his and yours — splattered your clothes, but you barely noticed. Your gaze flicked to Sam and Dean, who were both watching with a mix of shock and pride.

“Holy crap,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. “Where the hell did she learn to fight like that?”

Sam smiled, his relief evident. “You did good,” he said simply, his voice warm with pride.

You gave them a small nod, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the ache in your ribs. The fight was over, but you knew this was just the beginning.

As the cage door creaked open and the crowd shifted its attention to the next match, you stepped out, already preparing for what came next.

The air in the club grew heavier with each match, the metallic tang of blood mingling with sweat and the faint, acrid smell of fear. After your first win, the announcer wasted no time calling you back into the cage. No rest, no reprieve—this place thrived on brutality, and the crowd was hungry for more.

Your second opponent was a vampire, lean and fast, his fangs glinting under the flickering neon lights. He smirked as he entered the cage, running his tongue along his teeth. “You’re dead meat,” he hissed, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

The fight was harder than the first. He was quick — almost too quick — and his punches came in rapid succession, each one a blur. But you held your ground, focusing on your footwork, waiting for an opening. When it finally came, you struck with precision, driving your knee into his chest and landing a series of blows to his face. By the time he hit the floor, the crowd was roaring your name.

Sam and Dean watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mixture of pride and unease.

“She’s wiping the floor with them,” Sam said, shaking his head. “How is she doing this?”

Dean crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving the cage. “I don’t know, but it’s starting to freak me out.”

The fights kept coming, each opponent more dangerous than the last. A hulking shapeshifter. A snarling hellhound. Even a demon who fought with a kind of reckless fury that left the crowd on edge.

Your movements became sharper, more calculated with each match. You dodged blows that should have flattened you, landing punches and kicks with surgical precision. Blood smeared across your knuckles, your clothes, even your face, but you didn’t stop. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out the pain, the exhaustion.

“You see that?” Dean muttered as you took down the demon with a final blow to the head. “That’s not normal.”

Sam nodded, his brow furrowed. “She’s in the zone. But how long can she keep this up?”

Dean didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

They didn’t let you leave the cage after each fight. Instead, a group of medics — ghouls with steady hands and empty eyes—patched you up as best they could before shoving you back into the ring. Dean paced outside the cage, his frustration mounting with every match.

“This isn’t right,” he said, glancing at Sam. “She’s good, but they’re going to wear her down. It’s not a question of if—it’s when.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll figure something out. Just… trust her for now.”

Dean didn’t respond, but his scowl deepened as the announcer’s voice echoed through the club once again.

The fights became a blur, each one blending into the next. Your body moved on autopilot, ducking and striking, blocking and countering. The crowd’s chants grew louder, more frenzied, as you kept winning.

By the time you finished your latest match — a brutish ghoul with fists like sledgehammers — you could feel the wear and tear on your body. Your ribs ached with every breath, and your legs threatened to buckle beneath you. But when the cage door opened, you walked out with your head held high, ignoring the blood dripping from your temple.

Dean met you at the edge of the cage, his eyes scanning your injuries. “You good?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, wiping the blood from your face with the back of your hand. “It‘ll heal, soon.”

Dean didn’t look convinced, but he stepped aside as the medics pulled you away.

“You’re unbelievable,” Sam said, his tone somewhere between awe and concern. “But you need to pace yourself. These things… they’re not human. They don’t tire the way we do.”

You gave him a faint smile, the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin. “Good thing I’m not normal, either.”

As you sat on a splintered bench, waiting for your next match, you noticed Kael watching from the shadows. He gave you a small nod, but there was no satisfaction in his expression—only guilt. You didn’t have the energy to glare at him, but you made a mental note to settle the score once this was over.

The announcer’s voice rang out again, pulling you from your thoughts. “And now, the champion of the evening, the one you’ve all been waiting for… [Y/N]!”

The crowd erupted, their cheers echoing through the warehouse like thunder. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the ache in your muscles. You had a faster healing factor than normal humans but this was a challenge even for you. Sam and Dean watched you closely, their expressions unreadable.

“This is it,” you thought to yourself as you stepped back into the cage. “One more fight.”

The cage was eerily quiet after your last fight. The crowd, normally a cacophony of cheers and jeers, seemed to hold its breath. Even the announcer paused for a moment longer than usual before stepping back to his microphone.

“And now, for the final match of the night…” His voice boomed through the warehouse, and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation. “A battle you won’t forget. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Y/N’s last competitor,

Dean Winchester!”

The roar that followed was deafening. You froze mid-step, your blood running cold as your name was called alongside Dean’s. Turning toward the sidelines, you saw Dean standing there, equally stunned, his face a mask of disbelief.

“What the hell?” Dean growled, shoving past a group of onlookers to approach the cage. “This has to be a mistake.”

“It’s not,” Kael muttered from the shadows. He avoided eye contact, his posture tense. ��They want to see a fight. A real fight.”

Dean’s fists clenched. “You think I’m gonna hit her? You think I’m gonna just—”

“Dean,” you interrupted, your voice calm despite the storm brewing inside you. “We don’t have a choice.”

His green eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the chaos of the room faded. “Like hell we don’t,” he spat. “I’m not fighting you. End of story.”

The announcer’s voice cut in again, dripping with amusement. “Come on now, folks, don’t keep us waiting. Let’s see who’s really the best.”

The crowd grew restless as Dean followed you into the cage. He followed reluctantly, every step heavy with tension. Once the door slammed shut behind you, the jeering started again, chants rising for blood.

Dean turned to you, his jaw set. “I’m not doing this.”

“You have to,” you said firmly. “It’s the only way out.”

“No,” he snapped, his voice louder. “I’m not gonna fight you. End of discussion.”

The crowd booed, some even throwing bottles against the electrified fencing. The announcer’s laughter echoed overhead. “Looks like Dean Winchester’s gone soft!”

Dean’s scowl deepened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, though they stayed by his hips. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice so only Dean could hear. “Dean, listen to me. They want a show. If we don’t give them one, they’ll kill us. All of us. You, me, Sam—everyone.”

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head, pacing like a caged lion. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“There’s not,” you said, your tone soft but unyielding. “So hit me.”

Dean stopped pacing, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“Hit me,” you repeated, stepping closer. “Start the fight. Make it look real.”

“I’m not hitting you, for God’s sake!” he shouted, his voice echoing over the noise.

You sighed, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Fine. Then I’ll hit you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, but there was doubt in his voice.

You raised your fist, but before you could swing, he grabbed your wrist mid-air. “Don’t.”

The crowd roared again, and the announcer taunted over the microphone. “Come on, Winchester! Show us what you’ve got!”

“You’re not leaving me any choice,” you said, pulling your hand free. “If you won’t fight me, I’ll make you.”

And then, you did it. You said the words you knew would hurt. The words that would cut deeper than any punch.

“Look around, Dean.” Your voice was low, sharp, each word slicing through the noise of the crowd. “All this time, you act like you’re the hero. But now, when it matters most? You can’t even throw a punch.”

Dean shook his head, his expression hardening. “Yeah, real classy of you.”

“You’re no hero, Dean Winchester. Everywhere you go, everything you touch falls apart. And you know it.” You paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. “Ever wonder why Sammy’s still with you?”

Dean froze, his shoulders stiffening. “Don’t.”

“It’s because he feels like he has to,” you continued, your tone colder now. “He’s cleaning up after the mess his failure of a brother keeps making.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t move. You stepped closer, driving the knife deeper. “You think you’re better than John, don’t you? But deep down, you’re terrified you’re exactly like him.”

“Stop,” Dean warned, his voice trembling with restrained fury.

“You’re a mess, Dean. And the worst part is, you know it. You think Sam looks up to you?” You leaned in, your voice dropping into something almost mocking. “He pities you.”

That was it. The punch came fast and hard, like a freight train you didn’t see coming. It landed squarely, pain exploding in your nose as the world spun. The crowd erupted, their bloodthirsty cheers ringing in your ears.

You stumbled but didn’t fall, spitting blood onto the ground. A dark, jagged laugh bubbled up, cutting through the chaos. “Finally,” you muttered, just loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean’s face twisted with anger, his eyes blazing. “You want a fight? Fine.”

The punches came hard and fast, each one heavier than the last. You blocked a few, letting him land enough to make it look real. The crowd screamed with excitement, their bloodlust fueling Dean’s rage.

Your ribs ached, your vision blurred, but you didn’t stop. You threw a few half-hearted punches, enough to sell the fight, but not enough to hurt him. You could see it in his eyes — he didn’t want to do this, but the anger you’d provoked in him gave him no choice.

Finally, with one last punch to the side of your jaw, you went down. The world tilted as you hit the floor, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The announcer declared Dean the winner, but you barely heard it over the ringing in your ears.

Dean stormed out of the cage without looking back, his fists still clenched, his shoulders heaving. The medics swarmed you, their cold hands dragging you to your feet. You waved them off, stumbling toward the edge of the cage where Sam was waiting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with worry.

“It‘ll heal,” you muttered, wincing as you reset your broken nose with a sharp crack. The pain was fleeting, already fading as your body began to heal.

Sam’s eyes followed Dean as he disappeared into the crowd. “He’s not okay.”

You nodded, wiping the blood from your face. “I’ll talk to him.”

And with that, you pushed past the medics and toward Dean’s cabin.

You found Dean in the corner of the dimly lit cabin, sitting on a rickety chair with his head down. His hands were wrapped in bloodstained bandages, fingers twitching slightly, and his right leg bounced up and down in restless rhythm. He didn’t look up as you entered, the tension in the room almost suffocating.

“Dean?” you said softly, taking a tentative step closer.

“Get out,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and low.

You stopped in your tracks, the weight of his words hitting you harder than the punch he’d landed earlier. For the first time, it occurred to you that maybe you’d hurt him more than you intended — not physically, but in ways far harder to heal.

“Please, let me explain,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

“No.” He finally looked up, his eyes tired and red-rimmed. “You said enough.”

“Whatever I said out there, it’s not what I think about you,” you began, your words rushing to fill the silence.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was louder now, sharp with frustration, his gaze locking onto yours. “Then why the hell did you say it?”

“Because I knew you think those things about yourself,” you replied, stepping closer. He stiffened but didn’t stop you. “I had to find a way to push you, Dean. You’re stubborn as hell, and I knew you wouldn’t fight me unless I made you angry enough.”

You dropped to your knees in front of him, your eyes level with his. His leg stilled, but his fists remained tightly clenched.

“And it was a mean move. I know that. But the person you fought out there wasn’t me,” you said, your voice softening.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion breaking through the storm of emotions on his face.

“You fought yourself, Dean,” you continued. “Every punch, every ounce of rage — it wasn’t about me. It was about the things you believe about yourself. And you fought like a damn king because deep down, you don’t want those things to be true.”

His breathing hitched, but he didn’t look away.

“And you’re absolutely right for it,” you said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Because none of it is true. Not one damn word.”

Dean’s eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep it together.

“I could give you a million reasons why everything I said is false. You’re not John. You never were. You’re Dean Winchester. The man who always puts others first, even when it tears him apart. The most skilled, pie-obsessed, Led Zeppelin-loving hunter I know.” A faint smile touched your lips. “And the best older brother anyone could ever ask for.”

A single tear escaped down his cheek, and he looked away, his jaw trembling. But you didn’t move, holding your ground.

“I’m proud of you, Dean,” you said quietly. “And you should be proud of yourself, too.”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the air from your lungs. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation, holding him just as tightly.

The two of you stayed like that, silent, the weight of the night slowly lifting.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “And don’t think you have to apologize for hitting me,” you said, your tone light, teasing.

Dean pulled back slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. “Nah, you deserved it.”

You smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through your chest.

Maybe you both had your scars, but in this moment, you knew they’d heal.

[folliesandfolderols]

Only five people besides Tim know he has a soulmark. Only one person besides Tim knows whose it is. No one besides Tim knows how much he wishes his soulmate wanted anything to do with him.

Pairing: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne Rating: Teen Words: 6,480

Written for the TimDami week prompt "Soulmates" for December 4 (and posted extremely late)!

Preview beneath the cut.

“Tim, you ready for this?”

Tim, curled up on one of the overstuffed couches in his apartment, looked up from his laptop and snorted at the sight of one of his best cameras in Kon’s hands. “I’m not starting an OnlyFans.”

Kon gave him a grin, unfazed as usual. “Nah, man, I don’t know how you could unless you managed to keep your face completely off-camera the whole time and filmed in a beige room. Sounds boring. I meant we’re gonna throw that tramp stamp of yours onto SoulmarkSearch.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dude. I’m not doing that when I’ve obviously already met them in person at least a few times.”

“Yeah, like, a decade ago. Your mark hasn’t grown since the time Bruce was ‘dead.’” Kon raised the camera to peer through the viewfinder. “With the pictures this thing can take, you’d be able to track them down in a few days.”

“Assuming they want to be found.” Tim stared at his screen without seeing the spreadsheet he was working on.

“Hey, I know the fundies keep trying to make soulmark child marriages legal again, but no one decent wants to mess with jailbait. They’re probably just a few years older than you. Your mark’s so tiny that the most you two have done is shaken hands a couple times. If they figured out it’s you, I’m guessing they just dropped you like a hot potato once they saw how young you were.”

It was a feasible explanation, but Tim knew better, of course.

He swallowed. It barely even nauseated him, all these years later. “I’ve been legal for a while now. If they know it’s me, they’re staying away on purpose. Which means they really don’t want me to be their soulmate at all.”

“Well, I mean. They also died for a while,” Kon pointed out, lowering the camera again to give him an expectant look. “That probably put a damper on the search.”

Tim had discovered his soulmark while Bruce was lost in time, after being sewn back together by a League of Assassins surgeon, then had done his level best to never look at it again. Its proportions and location made that task a little easier. Barely the dimensions of a thumbprint, it could’ve been from a 90-year-old woman he’d helped across a street, or a baby he’d held for a few minutes while their mother got help in a clinic. He almost didn’t bother to cover it up with Bruce’s liquid bandage (specially formulated for soulmarks). No one was staring at his ass in the locker rooms. In the end, though, caution won out.

After it had faded into the same silvery-white as his stretch marks, betraying the death of his soulmate, he’d stopped looking because it hurt too much. He’d done all he could to eliminate it from his awareness. The measures of denial worked so well that he had forgotten the colors must have come back until years later, when Bernard mentioned it the first time he fucked Tim.

That hadn’t been awkward. At all.

It had definitely been a good reason not to shower and change in front of the Bats anymore, though. Besides his soulmate, only Bernard, Kon, Cassie, and Bart knew it existed.

“They’ve obviously made no effort to find me since then.” Tim shut his laptop. He wasn’t getting work done with Kon here. Why had he even tried?

“People in our circles come back to life all the time, which means you might know each other pretty well and they just don’t want to pressure you. C’mon, Rob, let’s get you set up with your person,” Kon wheedled. “You’ve been alone since you broke up with Bernard. That’s a long time.”

Tim rolled his eyes and stood. “I really don’t want to. I know you’re super happy with your soulmates and that’s why you want me to be settled too.” Hell, the fact that Kon had been able to form soulmates at all had been a happy surprise, since Clark couldn’t. “But there are plenty of nightmare scenarios out there and, let’s be honest, given how our lives go, that’s way more likely to happen to me than anything good.”

Kon folded his lips in on themselves. He couldn’t argue with that, and Tim knew it, so he didn’t let him stew in the knowledge for long. He added, “Plus, I have you. If there was really some big cosmic plan behind these things, we’d have been matched for years. Who needs soulmates when I’ve already got someone better?” Clapping one hand on his best friend’s shoulder, he asked, “How about we order Indian? I know you loved the butter chicken from that one place downtown last time.”

He could see Kon struggled to drop the matter, but in the end Tim got his way. “Yeah,” Kon said, setting the camera down on a corner table. “Can we get the garlic naan too?”

But later that night, as he sat in the Cave waiting for Stephanie to come back from patrol so they could write some case notes together, Tim found himself calling up SoulmarkSearch on his phone. Sometimes it was fun just to look at the infinite variety in shade and design. Couldn’t hurt, right?

read the rest on ao3

[so-sures-blog]

So … is he?

[I thought of this while showering at midnight, then wrote the whole thing in the next three hours on a school night.]

You're really gonna tell me they don't have the same eyes?

***

It always started as a question before it snowballs into something more.

“Dayeon, can we ask you a question?”

Dayeon turned to see 008 and 018 standing behind her. She smiled, trying to seem as open and friendly as possible. The Numbers were nice to her — intimidating in general — but indifferent to her mostly. They mostly kept to themselves and didn’t approach her often, but when they did she tried to be as genuine as possible. Ijin saw them as family and trusted them, so that meant Dayeon cared about them too.

“Yeah, what is it?” She asked 008, who was the one who spoke first.

The man — giant really, because Dayeon had to crane her head all the way up to look at him — shifted his feet, appearing oddly uncomfortable. 018 crossed his arms, defensive and avoiding her eyes.

“Well, 018 and I were discussing about 001 and his normal life — how he’s interacting with normal people his own age and —”

“Oh my God,” 018 interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We wanted to ask, is he gay?”

Dayeon choked and did a double-take. “What? No, he’s not. Why would you say that?”

“Because he has girls literally hanging off him and he doesn’t even notice! No guy would ever act like that unless he’s gay.”

“He’s not gay, just oblivious! This is the first time that he’s interacting with normal girls his age — he’s totally clueless when it comes to romance!” Dayeon argues back.

“Are you sure? Even if he’s oblivious he’s sure to pick up the cues of a girl liking him. He was literally trained to read body language,” 018 pointed out.

Dayeon pauses; that was actually a good point. She thought of all the times Yeona’s crush was painfully obvious. Was Ijin actually oblivious, or was he faking it? “Still, it's not like there were any girls that were interested in him back in the Camp for him to pick up signs; he was nine years old and all he was focused on was surviving.”

“Yeah, but so was 032 and he still —” 008 smacked 018 and he quickly stopped talking.

“What are you talking about?” 016 materialized behind her and Dayeon jumped; she didn’t even hear him coming.

“We’re asking her if 001 is gay,” 018 interjects bluntly before she can open her mouth.

“Is he?” 016 raised a brow. “I mean, it would certainly explain why he doesn’t notice all those girls.”

“Thank you,” 018 guestured to 016 empathetically.

“No, he’s not!” Dayeon said. “He’s shown no interest in guys!”

“If 001 has all those pretty girls hanging off of him and doesn’t have a girlfriend by now then he really is gay. Even if he’s oblivious he would notice someone taking an interest in him.” 016 pointed out.

“That’s because he isn’t even interested in romance. He’s more focused on his family and living his normal life. Besides, he isn’t really … emotionally available, if you know what I mean.” Dayeon winced, trying to phrase Ijin’s decade of trauma as delicately as possible.

“Oh, but 032 is?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” 016 dismissed immediately.

“Alright then. If you want to know so bad, I’ll just ask him myself,” Dayeon said. She turned around and scanned the area, taking note of where everyone was. 002 was off to the side restocking the supplies while 004 was beside him, cleaning his knife. 006 and 032 were settled down across the camp having lunch. She spotted her brother on the other side of the clearing.

Dayeon walked up to Ijin, who was busy organizing his guns.

“Ijin, can I ask you a question?” She asked, adopting an innocent expression. Her brother looked up before smiling that small, sweet genuine smile he always saved for her. For a moment, Dayeon almost felt a bit guilty before she shoved it away.

“Of course. What is it?”

Dayeon plopped to the ground beside him before taking a deep breath and saying —

“Ijin, are you gay?”

On the other side of the clearing, 006 spat out his drink.

“W-What?” Ijin looked startled at the question.

“Are you gay?” Dayeon repeated calmly. Vaguely, she can hear the sounds of 032 choking on his food and the thwack, thwack, thwack, of 006 smacking his back to clear his throat.

“N-No …?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes …?”

“Alright! Just wanted to know!” Dayeon said brightly before kissing his cheek and walking away. She could feel the eyes of all the other Numbers burning into her back and she tosses the group of 008, 018, and 016 a sweet, victorious smirk before heading to find 005.

She would find this hilarious.

[jgroffdaily]

Excerpts from the article (which appeared online as cast and crew were traveling to their first rehearsal today):

On a chilly day in early February, Jonathan Groff, Daniel Radcliffe, and Lindsay Mendez are huddled on a couch in a photo studio in Queens. Not three weeks after Merrily We Roll Along ended its off-Broadway run at the New York Theatre Workshop, gathering again for a photo shoot has made all of the actors cry. (An amused publicist thinks it was the sight of their old costumes, by Soutra Gilmour, that set everyone off.) “It’s just really settling in that we’re taking this to Broadway,” offers Mendez, a Tony winner for Jack O’Brien’s 2018 revival of Carousel. “It’s a big dream for us to get to shepherd this piece, which means so much to so many people, and yet has never gotten its proper due.”

“To hear the overture on Broadway…?” Groff adds. “I’m gonna die.”

In the Broadway production, which begins previews this September at the Hudson Theatre, Groff stars as Frank, ​in turns slickly handsome, roiled with conflict, and sparky as a golden retriever; Radcliffe as an endearingly neurotic Charley; and Mendez as Mary, whose wide smile conceals great depths of longing (namely, for Frank).

For Groff, doing Merrily felt fated. “I had just reached this point in my life where I was really looking back and reflecting on relationships that I suddenly realized were almost two decades old,” he explains. He later learned that Radcliffe and Mendez had done their own “first big New York shows” (revivals of Equus and Grease, respectively) at around the same time. This was no small thing, as they approached a story as concerned with the vicissitudes of a career in the performing arts as anything else.

“The people that start young and then stay in it well into adulthood tend to love it,” Radcliffe says. “They tend to be doing it because there is something in their bones that makes them want to do this. And I think we all have that.” Adds Mendez, “There’s an unspoken-ness between us. There’s a lot of trust, and a lot of teamwork.” (When I ask Friedman about her stars’ touching natural chemistry, she tells me that in Merrily, Sondheim has “written love songs. He’s written about losing love, wanting love, missing love, despair, all the things, but it’s all around love.” So, in the year that she spent building her New York cast, “I looked for loving people.”)

For all intents and purposes, the Broadway revival is the same show that ran at the New York Theatre Workshop. Not only do both productions share the same actors—including Katie Rose Clarke as Frank’s estranged first wife, Beth; Hamilton alumna Krystal Joy Brown as his glamorous second wife, Gussie; and Reg Rogers as Joe, the producer behind the first hit show that Frank and Charley write together—but the same creative and production team, too. “We had a big break between the New York Theatre Workshop and going to Broadway, and every single person has come with it. They all took other jobs in order to be able to do this job,” Friedman says. “It just cast a spell over us all.”

As they move into the Hudson—which Friedman selected for its intimate-feeling scale (of Broadway’s 41 active theaters, it’s one of only nine that seats under 1,000 people)—she is keen to protect that enchantment. “I am absolutely determined not to do anything different,” Friedman says. “The piece is the piece; it speaks for itself. And as long as we keep the integrity of that and the joy and the warmth and the love and the storytelling—it should sing.” This has more or less been her line from the beginning. “One of the things that Maria has said from day one is, ‘I have not changed a lyric of this show or a word of the script. I am doing this show as written,’ ” Groff says. “It’s not like she’s doing a take on Merrily. She really believes in the piece itself without adding any sort of flashy concept.”

Then as now, her deepest regret is that Sondheim is not alive to see the production, but she knows that he would have delighted in Merrily’s return to Broadway. Her only hope is that after all these years, audiences are ready to receive it. “It’s a profound piece,” Friedman says. “If it gets you, it stays with you and makes you ask questions. And if it doesn’t get you, it’s got some great tunes.”

PIANO MAN

Groff wears a Gucci jacket. Pants from The Row. Grooming, Amy Komorowski.

In this story: hair, Ilker Akyol; makeup, Francelle Daly for Love+Craft+Beauty. Produced by The Canvas Agency. Set Design: Viki Rutsch.

[karatekels]

All’s Fair – Chapter 2

Thanks for your patience, everyone! We should be done this story in the next chapter, but I've added some sexy Terry here to tide you over!

Chapter 1

TW: Teasing, coercion, dubcon, groping, fingering, Terry Silver being manipulative and hot about it

Terry’s POV:

A fair? Terry thinks to himself, watching your incessant hopping next to him while standing in line for something called the Drop Tower. Your sweet little surprise was better suited to a toddler than to him. He supposes it’s fitting for you to choose something like this; everything about you oozed a sort of childlike innocence and sense of wonder.

He isn’t sure exactly what it is about you that initially drew his attention – he had been with people far more attractive, intelligent, and powerful than you. Dozens of them, in fact, though he had long stopped bothering to keep count.

He assumes that that’s part of your appeal.

You were so inexperienced, so innocent, that the thought of getting you close enough to let him take all of that from you and keep it for himself forever has him absolutely thrilled. Bagging you required the polar opposite of his typical, more… active pursuits of someone that he wanted to fuck; a test of his patience, his self-control, and his ability to pull you into his web until you were in so deep that you would never get away of your own volition.   

The loud hiss of the ride's hydraulics startles him out of his thoughts as the ride shoots another group of screaming people into the sky, making him tense up.

That was another issue altogether.

Terry had made a habit of avoiding crowds – apart from classier, quieter events – since returning from Vietnam. Being around this many people running and screaming, even if it was from happiness and excitement, has him on edge. Add that to the loud noises coming from the machines and the thought of being shot into the air, and he is already starting to fall into the dark pit of PTSD.

He digs his nails into his palms and forces himself to take deep, steadying breaths, then turns to look at you. Sweet and innocent as you are, he finds that you help ground him in a way. Something like you could never be associated with the horrors of that godforsaken jungle.

The way you act as a repellant to his dark memories and hallucinations makes him want to swallow you whole, to keep you inside of him so that he never has to worry about them rearing their ugly heads again.

Almost as if you had heard his thoughts, you turn and look up at him, flashing a dazzling smile that has something inside him purring with satisfaction. You are positively smitten with him; it’s written all over your beautiful face. You had remembered your little discussion about a funfair from months ago and decided to give him a taste of the childhood he’d never had. So sweet, so giving… and he’s so, so ready to take.

He had slowly been working you through your anxieties and nerves about being intimate, as Margaret would call it. Terry knows that your defences are crumbling, and he thinks it’s high time he pushed past them. He didn’t have a decade to let you gradually get to the point where he could bend you over wherever and whenever he wished; he isn’t a patient man, and he’s been pushed to his limits by you.

If he just took you, skipping all of the steps in between, you might be hurt, sure, but it would speed up the process greatly. Then you could both go back a few steps and he could teach you to enjoy the experience.

And enjoy it you would.

“We’re next, we’re next!” you chirp happily, and he turns to watch the ride come down and free its occupants. He looks at the lap bar and over-the-shoulder restraints with skepticism.

“Babes, I don’t think they’re gonna let me ride this with you,” he says in a low voice, keeping the optimism he feels out of his tone.

“Why not?” you ask with a frown, your forehead creasing.

“I think I’m too big,” he replies, a tad smug.

Sure enough, as he goes to take the seat on the ride next to you, the restraint that pulls over his head cannot accommodate his broad shoulders. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he slips off the ride. You make to join him, but he puts a firm hand on the lap bar, keeping you in place.

“You should still go on the ride, doll. I’ll be waiting right here.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, kicking your feet where they hang down beneath you. “I don’t mind skipping this one.”

“Nah, are you kidding? Watching you having fun’ll be a blast! And I get to keep my feet on the ground,” he jokes.

“Scared of heights, Mr. Silver?” you tease, giggling at your little joke. He forces himself to chuckle in return. You’ll pay for that insinuation.

“We’ll see who has the last laugh when you’re done screaming your little head off.” Soon enough, he’ll have you screaming more than any damned carnival ride…

He removes himself from the proximity of the ride, moving to stand on the other side of the fence, still right across from you. He stares directly into your eyes and raises a challenging eyebrow at you. You blush, and he drinks in the sight greedily. You have a determined look on your face, but he sees the look of shock spread across it the instant you start to shoot into the air. He observes your ascent with a small, amused smile, hearing your exhilarated shrieks as they rise through the sky with you.

The ride sends you up and down repeatedly, and Terry watches not only your hair rise and fall around your head at the motion, but your skirt moving in a similar way, baring more and more of your legs to your audience below.

You’re a fucking tease, and you probably don’t even know the meaning of the word.

There’s a sudden low, appreciative whistle from off to his left, and his eyes flit to another man enjoying the view.

“Damn, she’s got legs for days!” the man leers with a laugh, and Terry immediately sees red, still on edge from all of the triggers this place was teeming with. He’s grabbed the man by the collar before he even seems to realize it, and pulls him close.

“If you want to keep your eyes in your skull, walk away,” he growls, and the guy turns white as a sheet as he takes in Terry’s infuriated expression. He throws his hands up in immediate surrender – Terry scoffs immediately at the man’s weakness; this punk really thought he was worthy of even looking at you? – and Terry roughly pushes the man in the chest, releasing his grip on his shirt and watching as the man slinks off before he turns his attention back to you, where it belonged.

The ride is coming to an end, slowly lowering you back to the ground. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair is a wild mess about your head, and your eyes are bright in your excitement.

He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, and feels a pang of jealousy. He should be the reason you look like this, not some cheap thrill ride.

Your safety restraints are removed and you come skipping over to him, giggling breathlessly and tossing yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Well, if these silly rides had you acting like this – throwing yourself at him, that is – the perhaps humoring your little idea of a date night would be worth the trouble after all.

“See? It wasn’t scary at all!” you inform him proudly, beaming up at him.

“Really? You could have fooled me, with all the screaming you were doing,” he retorts with a smirk, taking your face in one hand and relishing in how your blush deepens for him. With his free hand he smooths your hair back into place, trying to tame your wild curls. He finds he’s taking a surprising amount of pleasure in treating you like his little doll, and from the way that he can feel your pulse speed up through his grip on your lower jaw, you clearly like it too.

“Thank you,” you coo sweetly up at him, standing up on your toes to kiss him.

He purrs into your mouth, pulling you flush against him – best start pushing for more now. He keeps his lips on yours for a moment more once you start trying to squirm out of his grip; you need to remember who is in charge here. Eventually, he relents, satisfied by the dazed look in your eyes.

“So what’s next, babygirl?” he croons, pressing you to speak more – your voice took on a delicious, husky quality when you were turned on.

“The… log ride?” you say hesitantly, as though unsure of what to do with yourself in your dazed state. “The log ride!” you repeat with more conviction, once you gain a bit of your composure back.

Christ, he thinks to himself as you tug him through the throng of people. Claiming your virginity had better be worth all of this.

He’ll make sure it is.

---

While he found what was supposedly the appeal of the log ride disgusting – being splashed with treated, reused, communal water – the ride did have some benefits. You being seated between his legs had been a big one. He had snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his crotch, and used you to shield him from most of the water. You had shrieked with laughter, slapping the tops of his thighs with playful indignation, and he was able to enjoy how good you looked wet, your dress plastered to your body and emphasizing your curves.

He had been appreciating it, that is, until he once again caught more pairs of eyes on you than just his own. He had immediately taken off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders to conceal your body. You were clearly charmed by his chivalry, attributing the gesture to him being worried you were cold. The action also had the added benefit of revealing his arms and chest, now prominently visible in just his white T-shirt, and it resulted in other men immediately becoming wary of letting their eyes roam over you. A real win-win, in his opinion.

You had dragged him to the teacups next, and he had taken great joy in spinning the disc in the middle of your seats as firmly and quickly as possible while you begged him to stop. He had never been one to get dizzy, gleefully feeling the inertia of the ride sliding you around the seats next to him, pushing you further and further into his side until he swears your body will just absorb into his own, letting him own you fully and completely, as he should.

You are now incredibly woozy after the ride has ended, clinging to him for dear life as you stumble along beside him, and a shiver of desire moves through him as he controls you like a marionette. You’re drier after the ride, but he insists you continue wearing his jacket anyway; he doesn’t need any further exacerbations to his temper. He leaves you on a bench, keeping one eye on you the entire time as he moves to a booth selling food, buying something to settle your stomach.

Taking a seat on the bench next to you, he watches your lips close around the straw of your gingerale, sipping it gratefully. You then immediately tear into the bag of cinnamon-sugar mini-donuts that he had seen you eyeing every time you passed them since you had arrived. They are far too sweet for him, but hearing the soft moan escape your lips at your first taste has him all but demanding a taste of his own.

He leans in to kiss you, and you giggle against his lips before he takes it a step further, tracing your lips with the tip of his tongue to lick the crumbs from your flesh. You let out a whimper and he seizes the opportunity, slipping his tongue into your mouth, one arm wrapped tight around you and keeping you flush against his chest with your hands trapped between you, his other hand in your hair, holding your head in place. He can feel you trying to push against him, but he only squeezes you tighter until you relax in his grip, timidly kissing him back. Good girl.

Not wanting to make a scene (for the sake of his own reputation), he releases you for your good behaviour, and it takes you a minute to be able to bring yourself to speak.

“Terry!” you hiss at him, scandalized, but you can’t keep the sheepish smile off of your face. “We’re in public!”

He sprawls out across the bench, looking unrepentant. “Why do you think I stopped?” he asks teasingly, and you playfully shove his arm. “Why don’t we go in there next?” he asks, pointing behind you two to a small, windowless building advertising itself as the Hall of Mirrors. He doesn’t know what exactly that entails, but it looks like it would have you two away from prying eyes, so it’s worth checking out in his opinion. He wants to see what else he can pull from you willingly today, before he needs to push for it.

“Wanting to go check yourself out?” you tease with a smile, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Not that I’d blame you,” you add quietly, a slight blush spreading across your cheeks.

He could listen to you compliment him all day, but instead he takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers together before guiding you to the attraction’s doorway. You walk in before him, and he smoothly hands the man staffing the building a wad of bills, demanding that he keep anyone else from entering for twenty minutes, not bothering to wait for a response. Money talked; people didn’t need to.

He follows you into the dark room, finding that the interior lives up to the name; it’s literally just a labyrinth of floor to ceiling mirrors with pale white lighting illuminating the space from above. From the way the two of you are standing, you appear surrounded by copies of him. He feels it’s an appropriate metaphor for your reality.

He approaches you slowly from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him firmly. Placing his head on your shoulder, he gazes into your reflection’s eyes, watching the blush spread across your cheeks just from his stare. Maybe he should have more mirrors installed in one of the bedrooms at home; dozens of possibilities for their use are popping into his head. He breathes deeply, not wanting you to feel him getting hard.

“Don’t we make a cute couple?” he purrs in your ear, making you giggle breathlessly. One hand slides up your body to your neck, gripping your chin in his large hand. “I have very good taste,” he adds smugly, gently taking your ear between his lips and nibbling it gently. Your gasp echoes through the room, and you jump in surprise, though he feels a shiver go down your spine.

See? You wanted this, you just needed a bit of a push; he is more than happy to provide it for you.

“Terry!” you whine, trying to squirm away, but he’s done letting you escape him.

“What?” he pouts, moving his lips down the side of your neck. “You didn’t want to let me play with you in public, so I brought us in here!”

“This – this is still public, T-Terry!” you insist, though you’re stammering as your body responds to his touch. He moves his hands up and down your sides teasingly, slipping them beneath his jacket to feel your warm skin through the thin material of your dress. “Someone could come by any minute!”

“Better give me what I want quickly then,” he quips, only half-joking. He backs you into a mirror, pinning you to it, and he can’t deny the thrill that moves through him as he watches your doppelgangers in the same position all around him.

“W-What do you want?” you ask shyly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Oh, the things he wants to do with you in a place like this…

Instead of any of the depraved acts that come to mind, he lifts your chin with a finger, gazing deeply into your eyes with his most piercing stare.

“I want you… to let me touch you,” he breathes, lowering his head so that his forehead touches yours, and you shudder.

“You are touching me, Terry,” you joke, but your breathless voice reveals just how nervous you are. He needs to be very, very careful here…

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he murmurs, coaxing compliance out of you. “I know I’m normally better at keeping my hands to myself, but you look so beautiful tonight, and you made me feel so special, bringing me here… I just want to make you feel good, baby. Please?” he begs, kissing you deeply before you can give him an answer.

He eventually lets you up for air, and as you don’t immediately protest, he tightens his grip on your waist before running his hands up your body, cupping your breasts over your clothes and playing with them gently, firmly brushing his thumb across where he knows your nipples to be. You let out a throaty moan that seems to take you by surprise, and buck your hips towards his involuntarily. Before you can get a word in, he has sealed his lips over yours again, swallowing any requests for him to stop before you can utter them.

He develops a rhythm, slowly feeling you up over your clothes and cooing his praises and words of encouragement into your ear, kissing you whenever he gets the sense that you’re going to try to put a stop to things until you’re compliant once more.

“I love feeling you like this, babygirl. You’ve been driving me crazy for so long,” he pants against your neck, his hands squeezing your butt firmly while you writhe against the mirror.

“Terry!” you cry out his name softly, with arousal rather than apprehension, and there’s never been a more beautiful sound. Eagerly, he moves his hands to the hem of your skirt, kissing you with everything in him to distract you from your thoughts as his fingers wander up your bare thighs. You’re being so deliciously submissive, letting him have his way with you, and he should tell you as much.

“Yes, Y/N,” he groans against your lips, dipping his head again and again to capture your mouth in kisses until you’re mirroring his movements back at him, bobbing your head to the rhythm he sets as though you're in a trance. “My good girl. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have in your life; I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, ghosting his finger along the soft fabric of your underwear, and you seem to come back to yourself, your eyes flying open. You move to push him away, but he snatches your hands – gently, so as to avoid frightening you – and pins them over your head with one of his hands, his other returning under your skirt and worming its way through your clenched thighs.

“Terry, N –” you start to protest, but he interrupts you. An incomplete ‘No’ wasn’t a ‘No’ at all in his book.

“Ssshhh, babygirl, it’s okay,” he croons, kissing you once more into obedience. “You’re overwhelmed, I understand, but I know that you just need some help getting over your nerves. Trust me baby, you’ll love this,” he continues. He keeps his hand still, not removing it from between your thighs but not continuing to push his way up to his goal, and peppers your face with kisses and murmured words of encouragement until your thighs unclench around his hand.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes approvingly, slipping his fingers further up your inner thigh. Your skin is so soft, and warm, and quivering beneath his fingertips, and he longs to bury his face between your legs. “Let me get you off; you deserve it,” urges, running a long finger across your slit over the material of your underwear. You are soaked, and keen loudly at the new sensations. He gently but firmly covers your mouth with his other hand, his eyes dark and glittering with amusement and arousal.

“Gotta be quiet, Y/N,” he teases, even as he starts rubbing your clit through your underwear, making you twitch and whimper against him. “You don’t want anyone to come and find you like this, do you?”

You shake your head vehemently, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he can tell that you’re trying to stay still and quiet. Precious thing.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purrs, his eyes bright as he watches your face, slipping a finger beneath your underwear and into your wet heat. You squeak, and your breathing comes hard and fast, though you try not to make a sound. He knows you won’t last long and sets to bring you to climax quickly, knowing that your remaining time having this place to yourself is coming to an end.

He pumps his finger inside you as deeply as he can in this position, not wanting to cause you discomfort; this first orgasm needs to be good if he wants to get you hooked on his touch. Curling the finger upwards to brush your G-spot, he rubs your clit over your underwear with his thumb, quickly bringing you to the peak of pleasure, your knees starting to give out from the stimulation. He swallows your screams of ecstasy into his mouth greedily, using the hand that had covered your mouth to help keep you upright.

“I’ve got you, Y/N,” he says soothingly, removing his hand from under your dress and wrapping it around your waist, discretely wiping his hand clean on your skirt. You shudder against him, your hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt, and fight to even your breathing. “You did so good, baby. So, so good. Thank you for letting me please you.”

He’s laying it on thick, but again, it was all about paving the way for you to let him have his way with you whenever and however he wanted you. Eventually, you manage to look up at him shyly, a timid smile on your face.

“I–I…you don’t need to thank me, Terry,” you say with a giggle, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment.

“You were right,” you mumble into his shirt, but he hears every word. “You always know what’s best for me.”

And that right there makes all of this worth it. Your willingness to put yourself in his hands, in his control, is his top priority.

He wonders what else he can do with you tonight, and finds himself eager to find out, pulling you along behind him, stumbling from your still-weak knees towards the exit of the Hall of Mirrors.

[^ Terry checking himself out in the Hall of Mirrors]

---

Chapter 3

[gingersnapwolves]

Kouri watches One Piece live action, episode 1

So to start off, I’ll say that I’ve loved One Piece for years. I fell out of it a while back and then the idea of catching up was daunting, but I’m super hyped now so I’m obviously going to have to get back into it. That being said, it’s been well over a decade since I watched/read the East Blue saga so I really don’t remember any of the specifics and any changes they make will likely fly over my head unless they’re major.

“This is a world like no other” is possibly the most accurate thing you could say about One Piece

Baby Luffy is adorable but it is distracting that he doesn’t have the same accent as Adult Luffy

They increased Luffy’s IQ by about fifty points and he’s still so stupid lmao

That’s not a complaint btw, I absolutely adore both versions of him.

Watching this like “oh, people die in this version lol”. My wife and I used to have a running gag to say “nobody dies in One Piece!” because even the villains always survived no matter how much damage they took. The first time I said it after [redacted] my wife just about beat my ass LOL

They made Zoro so fucking hot

I love that a corner point of Shanks’ character is that he knows when something’s not fucking worth it

Nami!!!! She’s so awesome

The soundtrack for this fucking slaps, I’m gonna need it

Did I mention that they made Zoro so fucking hot???

“Interesting choice” lmaoooooo Luffy please

Zoro: what the fuck just happened

Nami and Luffy’s first interactions are so fucking funny

Having Helmeppo be naked for this was a galaxy brain choice

This was such a great fight scene! I love all three of them working together so early

One of my few complaints about the live action is that we see way more of Zoro and even Nami being badass fighters than Luffy himself. I understand that there were probably budget constraints (and ‘how do we make this even look good in live action’ constraints) but Luffy should’ve been able to take out Captain Morgan on his own

Zoro is such a drama queen lol

I loved that they found a way to actually show the “practicality” of Zoro’s third sword

So glad that Koby got to punch Helmeppo in the face

Koby pushing them off is another great touch

Garp: great now I’ve gotta go get my dumbass grandson

“They must’ve been planning this for months” I’m crying

I love how the pirates interact with their wanted posters

Also love how they put ‘this season on One Piece’ like we’re not all aware by now that we have to immediately binge the season if we want even a snowball’s chance in hell of a season two

[lululawrence]

Strange story: I was at work the other day and dunkirk was playing on the tv and I was gushing and being very loud. So this coworker, was like, Cristal are you okay? And I was like YES! There’s Harry! I love him. And she was like, the first thing she said was like, “Is he gay? He’s gay isn’t he.” I KID YOU NOT. My brain malfunction so I was like after 10 seconds of silence “yea he is.” I for sure can’t remember what the specifics of Harry’s sexuality is. And she was like “is he dating someone?” SO MY BRAIN WAS LIKE “do I start larrying or WHAT?!” and in the end, I was like “yeah with his bandmate for since the beginning of his career” and she was like “but he has a gf?” AND I WAS LIKE YEA UM “yeah its pr, like mutually beneficial contract only” and then she was like what’s the bandmate look like, so your miss girl here pulled up a photo of Louis and the first thing she saw was this article about larry where their faces side by side and the first thing she said “OH THEY LOOK ALIKE” so once again miss girl’s brain malfunction and I was like… “what????” and she asked “how long have they been together?” and so like a loon, I said “um—over a decade.” my little larrie heart busrt a little when she said “Ahh, no wonder.” And then after a few minutes she was like “do I know the women he’s pr with???” and so I listed all the names, miss girl was SHOCKED. but ok, we’re alright and then she was like “Ahh it’s okay if he’s not out. His choice.” CRISTAL HERE GOT DEFENSIVE A LITTLE BECAUSE MY BABIES, THE HORROR THEYVE GONE THROUGH. And so I said, “um—closeting is not his fault??” and she then said “but why does he need all these pr???” and so with the patient of an angel, I told him “do you even know how homophobic the entertainment industry is?????!!!”

Anyways, that’s my short story. My point is, how do you let everyone know you’re a larry in a concert without telling them that you very explicitly? And what do you wear???

ads;kgjha;sdlfkjdas;lfksaj oh my word lmaoooooo i love you and your story lololololol

but also like the random questions at the end hahahaha like do you want a literal actual answer? i hope so cause that's what you're gonna get since i always try to code larrie so people can make the conscious choice as to whether to interact with me or not lollll

so like... at a concert, it depends on which concert you're talking about lmaoooo if it's a harry concert, you wear some louis merch and bring all the rainbows. if it's a louis concert, you wear harry's rainbow tpwk tee and again bring all the rainbows. that...... well i feel like that usually gets the point across lolllll but as for what i wear, again if it's a harry/louis (or in the old days, 1d lol) concert i wear all the rainbows. i have big rainbow, bi, and ace flags so i usually rotate between those, i have my eye makeup and nails usually done in the colors of one of those flag options, and then i'm usually also participating in a rainbow fan project, so i'm then also passing out rainbows. so i am essentially a walking rainbow. i also figure that is like... half the job done, yeah? i still bring rainbows to niall's shows too btw but they are much smaller usually and not as overt. because niall's shows just don't feel the same as harry and louis' lolololol and honestly, who needs to advertise as a larrie at a niall show anyway? hahaha

but yeah. i actually tend to more just try to advertise myself as PRIDE FRIENDLY rather than a larrie specifically, but i did once (or... twice i think actually) wear harry's rainbow tpwk tee to a louis show. and one of them was in detroit in 2022 and louis defo pointed at me a few times because it took me a hot minute to recognize and admit to myself that he really was trying to point at me hahahahaha i'd worn the shirt as a snarky way to get back at an anon that i didn't plan to advertise anywhere and i was never going to let the anon know even... i hadn't planned on wearing it to any of the louis shows, i just brought it to wear with my friends on travel days hahaha you probably don't care about any of this lololol

soooooo does that... answer your question? i hope so haha if not let me know and i'll try not to get so distracted this time ahha

[bakfoo]

Opening Post:

It’s 1990, we open with Kangaskhan (Kanga for short) and her baby looking quite peeved.

“So you’re supposed to be my new guardian? Let’s hope you’re better than the last.” Hints that she’s a problem and almost refuses help altogether. 

“Ironic, sending a human to protect me when humans have been the ones to take away from me.”

“It’s alright. I’m not a fan of humans either” the human replies. We’re gonna call him Arthur (Art)

Over the course of the open inbox it’s revealed:

The weapon Art carries is from his time in the Kanto Johto war. He hasn’t fired his service weapon in almost a decade

Kanga and her baby are very much self sufficient and Kanga feels that this is an empty gesture from the people in charge

No matter how they try to evade him, Kanga and the baby are always chased down by Art because he’s that good at his job

Team Rocket is very much on the rise and is starting to get eyes on the safari zone

Art is very distrusting of humans, ESPECIALLY trainers

The baby goes a little bit behind her mom’s back to find out more about Art because she was told a lot of things but this is the first time she’s learning about things on her own

Plot point 1: 

Kanga and the baby get into actual trouble

Art goes through great lengths to get them back to the safari zone but at the cost of his health 

Even still, he refuses to fire his rifle

He’s badly hurt and taken to a hospital. 

Kanga has this nagging feeling that this guy isn’t telling her everything so she demands to go with him.

Open inbox:

Art is fine and he makes it clear he’s been through worse

She questions him, others question him, he slowly opens up:

Tadaaaa backstory/flashback time

Art was a “handler,” an officer who sent pokemon in waves to attack Johto to varying success

He was born in Kanto, but others distrusted him for obviously not having a lineage in the country

That pressure pushed him to send his most trusted companion, a Marowak, to his death. That Marowak's skull is what adorns his helmet.

He would’ve been the most decorated officer in the Kanto Johto war if he hadn’t thrown his medals away in disgust

He was a key figure in a coup that is responsible for the rise of the current Kanto government

He is still so dangerous that he’s considered an “Operator” (think of a trainer who fights along side their pokemon in perfect harmony) without having any pokemon under his command

He never wants to fire his weapon again.

Plot Point 2: 

Kanga and baby go back to safari zone while he heals. She’s all “well damn ok I guess this dude is at least trying to make things better” and slowly over time they become friends

Eventually, they develop a working bond and help kickstart the Kanto Preservation Operators Union (KPOU) with help from other people who are very much like Art.

The baby grows up and is anxious to see the rest of the world, Kanga lets her go with a tearful goodbye. She tells him that she’ll send letters to Art, especially. He feels accomplished for what he’s done.

After their time together, Art finally comes to forgive himself and starts to become a better person, coming out of his shell to make friends with more of the safari zone and even other humans who have like minded views.

Kanga starts to feel trustful again, inspired by the trailblazing that her daughter set out before her since the baby was the first to reach out to Art instead of her.

Plot Point 2:

Team Rocket attack again, but this time, they actually want to take out the newly started KPOU so that they can cause trouble without impunity. 

Art finally fires his rifle. This situation is no longer about him. Team Rocket is the embodiment of everything he hates about his past, and he won’t let the KPOU dissolve before it can do any good. With gunpowder and steel, instead of fighting for a wrong cause, he fights for his happiness. 

Since team rocket know know he’s dangerous, they jump his ass with almost everything they have. He’s almost overrun but Kanga is the one to save him in the nick of time. Together, they fend them off 

Epilogue:

Done via article or written docu-series moment. The KPOU is a resounding success, one of the greatest success stories being the restoration of the Lapras population. Its founders are still living strong, doing better things by the day

The inbox is open for one last time, a final send off is had, and the askblog is over

[sorryaboutyourwindow]

Okay okay okay I’m gonna let my ego take over for a bit and answer these for myself cuz these are fun to think about-

1. Three things that shaped me into who I am. An old pocket watch my aunt got for me in Taiwan with my Chinese Zodiac on it, a Snow Globe that’s decades old now that was a baby shower gift for me/my mom, and a plaid brown blanket my grandma got me from London when I was three. I guess they’re all constants in my life and maybe I’m taking a more symbolic approach to this question but it’s fine.

2. Picture of my handwriting.

This was brainstorming for an engineering model project I was on a bit ago.

3. 3 films I will never tire from. Grosse Pointe Blank, Tangled, and Mean Girls.

4. Inside joke. “Poot poot, im scared”

5. I was a Pinterest girlie that relied on uploads but couldn’t keep up with this one Haikyuu comic, I forget who it was by but the ship was sakuatsu. Eventually I caved and made an account and now we’re here.

6. Best/worst part of being online. Never being able to get away from people. I’m an extrovert and love my friends, I’m just bad at dealing with people and need space. It’s nice I can talk to them whenever tho!

7. What scares me the most and why. Eternity. I am terrified of the unknown and what’s to come after all of this shit and I don’t know if I could live with myself forever, but I love to exist so so much and don’t think I could ever be ready to not if you know what I mean?

8. Reoccurring dreams. There’s this one, it’s more of a nightmare if anything, of being trapped in a beach house during a hurricane and I’m in the corner watching a blonde woman holding her son to try and save him. It’s short but I don’t know where it came from or why it sticks around.

9. Story about my childhood. I have always had the tendency to be a bit of a control freak so I would often just end up playing by myself because I just got annoyed. I used to play in my grandmas garden and pretend that I was a fairy or witch and shave chalk into powder to make “potions” and “fairy dust” and climb their trees to pick pecans. There was this one time I was kinda in my own little world and they had a porcelain dove on the bench, and I went to pick it up to acquire another familiar. This little bitch had a hornets nest inside of it so when baby me went to pick it up, I got stung smack dab in the middle of my palm.

10. Am I emotional. Yes, very, but at odd times. I get worked up really easily and passionate about the smallest debates or subjects but then if I go to break up with someone I don’t shed a tear. Yet somehow, every decision I make ends up being with my heart instead of my head despite how analytical I try to be.

11. What do I consider to be romance. This one gets its own few paragraphs.

In short, romance is when I’m so consumed by the person that I don’t care about what anyone else thinks. Ive dated a girl for two years who turns out never had feelings for me, I dated a guy who was my best friend and ended up being my stand partner for the rest of that year, I got groomed (all the same year btw). All of those kinda sucked for me and looking back there’s a good chance we were using each other and I was kinda embarrassed to be seen out in public with them let alone be affectionate.

I hate the sappy shit, hate the cheesy dates, hate the stereotypical rom com romancing because I just thought that was embarrassing. But right now it’s like really fucking weird for me cuz I have a boyfriend that I actually am actively proud to be around and show off to my friends and will lean on in public and don’t give a shit if he kisses me in public. It’s really fucking weird but really fucking nice, he loves the cheesy shit and honestly I’m starting to love it too.

12. Advice. Don’t make it official before the first date, set boundaries and restrictions with yourself on how physical you wanna be with a person on that specific date, if you’re scared to confess just do it and move on to rip the bandaid off, no “I love you”’s until at least the fourth date uhhhhhhhhhh

13. What am I doing right now. Eating spicy ass soup I made. It’s so good.

14. Something I’ve always wanted to do but too scared to. Tell my Abuela I cannot stomach her cooking. That or skydiving.

15. What do I think of when I hear the word “home.” That Edward Sharpe song.

16. If I could change one think about myself what is it. My tits are two different sizes, I just want my bras to fit okay.

17. Three things that make me happy. The beach, bookshops, and hanging out with friends after events when it’s really fucking late and hey we’re in the city anyways.

18. Do I believe in ghosts/aliens. As much as I would love proof, I’d like to keep a bit of hope out there for either. We don’t actually know what the afterlife looks like nor if there’s life out there in an infinitely expanding universe. Cannot qualify or disqualify, plus it’d be cool if they were and I wanna be hopeful.

19. Favorite thing about the day. Sunrise, it’s so goddamn pretty and it’s especially nice if you’re seeing it with someone.

20. Favorite thing about the night. Stargazing, I can never do it because of light pollution, but when I’m out in the country I’m genuinely in awe.

21. Am I spiritual. Spiritual as in there is something greater than us out there, not religious.

22. 3 things about someone I love. He’s strong, not just physically but like he’s been through some shit and I’m proud of him for still being here. He actively tries and seeks criticism because he just wants things to be as good as he can possibly make it for someone, doesn’t matter what. He’s an extrovert, and gets along with people, and gets along with my friends and it’s so sweet to see him interact with people.

23. 3 things about someone I hate. I don’t hate him, I’m just hurt. He has a right to want me out of his life since I definitely fucked up. He doesn’t realize there are other smart people in the room. He never actually acknowledged that I’m not stupid.

24. One thing I’m proud of myself for. My body, baby me would be proud. I dealt with an eating disorder for a while and it’s been a slow recovery process. But I get compliments on how I look now and I fit into the clothes that I want to and goddamnit I’m proud of my stretch marks. I’m proud of my body.

25. Favorite season. Spring, I’m a plant person and it’s just a season of rebirth and it’s summer without the temperature being in the triple digits. I love it.

26. Favorite color. A sunflower yellow, it’s just bright and cheery and pops and I love it.

27. Nicknames. Isa mostly, but my little sister accidentally called me Isi once and I loved it but it hasn’t happened again.

28. Collection. Trinkets for my bookshelf, cool guitar picks, books I want to read, and Starbucks mugs from cities and countries I’ve been to across the world.

29. What do I do when I’m sad. Play Angus and Julia Stone and turn off my lights and stare at the ceiling. Or call a friend and binge rom coms.

30. One thing that never fails to make me happy/happier. When my boyfriend texts, it’s stupid and cheesy but goddamnit I love talking to him.

31. Messy or organized. Messy in my room like I actually cannot walk in here, but control freak organized with my bags and files like I will never not know where something I need to use is for work or school.

32. How many tabs open. Just on my laptop, over 76. On my phone, it’s 67 in one tab group and another 38 for Ao3.

33. Hobbies. I play upright bass, electric bass, guitar, ukulele, harmonica, piano, and sing plus love going on deep dives on plants and space shit. I also surf, kick box, love to read, garden, and follow LFC.

34. Pet peeves. When someone messes with my cooking to check if it’s done immediately after I say “give it a second it needs more time.”

35. Trust easily. Yes, it’s gotten me assaulted twice.

36. Open book or walls up. I have really really really bad rbf to the point where a lot of my classmates are scared shitless of me if I correct them, but if you get me to start talking I’ve probably told my entire life story like sixty times but just not all to one person.

37. Secret. I kissed him.

38. Fave song atm. Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan.

39. YouTuber I’ve been obsessed with. Omahdon I think was the name. They did ow comic dubs a while back and I binge watched them when I was sad.

40. Bad habits. I pick at scabs and cuticles, I have never once finished my tbr or been over 10% of catching up, I forget to bring down my mugs of tea, and I never fold my clean laundry. Ever.

OH MY FUCK IM DONE BYE

questions I think would be fun to be asked

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

what made you start your blog?

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

what scares you the most and why?

any reacquiring dreams?

tell a story about your childhood

would you say you’re an emotional person?

what do you consider to be romance?

what’s some good advice you want to share?

what are you doing right now?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

name 3 things that make you happy

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

favourite thing about the day?

favourite things about the night?

are you a spiritual person?

say 3 things about someone you love

say 3 things about someone you hate

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

fave season and why?

fave colour and why?

any nicknames?

do you collect anything?

what do you do when you’re sad?

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

are you messy or organised?

how many tabs do you have open right now?

any hobbies?

any pet peeves?

do you trust easily?

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

share a secret

fave song at the moment?

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

any bad habits?

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)

[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 30, 2010 I have now reached the beginning of the end with Digital Confessions! Now I’m basically at the climax of the plot, then ready to tie up the loose ends that will hopefully finish off a decent enough story.

Meanwhile, it seems like we’re back to square one; waiting for nothing. There was not one single call today, but we’re still working on our online experiment. Still don’t know if it can save us in the end, though, if worse comes to worst. I really wish we could stop struggling and start living! But this has been going on pretty steadily since 2007, so why would it stop now?

Late last night my stomach really started flipping out on me. I realized at that point it had been too long to blame it on the Chinese food I had. I prayed for it to stop. Amazingly, it did. Ah, but I had popped a couple of Tums a little earlier, so given the fact that all my other prayers have gone unanswered, I’d say it was either the Tums or a coincidence. If whatever’s up there didn’t care about those who died in the earthquake in Haiti, or the victims of Hurricane Katrina, or the tsunami of 2005, why would it care about my husband and I? Aren’t we just two people out of billions? Well, right or wrong, I can’t help but see it that way. As much as I love summer, I wish I could snap my fingers and jump to the end of the year. Why? Because by then we’ll either be laughing at these days or we’ll be dead. Why must almost all our problems be so long-term? If we manage to solve this one, I know we’ll just go right into a whole new problem that’ll go on and on for months or even years.

Unfortunately, I’m starting to question Andy’s intentions. He had been being a good friend, sending words of encouragement and not judging or condemning my own words, some of which I figured he might not agree with. I appreciated his letting me have my own way of thinking and believing. But then he started defending the old neighbors in regards to the time I hurled a glass bottle over the wall and into their driveway after getting so fed up and frustrated with their shit, and yes, I was truly guilty of that one. But not the part where he says I said I was going to send them a picture of a burning cross. If I said that – and I don’t recall doing so – it was a bad joke. This simply isn’t the kind of thing I’d get off on doing. For me, the problem was their behavior, NOT their color. Only THEY had a problem with color/religion.

Sometimes I wonder what people expect from me. I mean, what do they want me to do? Take the blame for every single thing that’s ever happened to me whether I deserved it or not? For a while, I was that way. I got it in mind somehow that if I took the blame not only for my own mistakes but for others as well, I would somehow be a better person for it and would win more approval from others. And so that’s how I was for the longest time. If you fucked up or fucked me over, you didn’t have to worry! Jodi would be quick to rescue you from having to take responsibility for your own actions. But not anymore. Not after realizing what a liar this made me look like and how untrue I was being to myself. I can’t make people believe me when I say I didn’t do a particular thing, and I can’t stop others from defending those who have victimized me and gone a hell of a lot further than I have, but that’s ok. I know what happened. I know what I’m guilty of, and I know what I’m innocent of. And I know that if some guy, for example, steals my handbag when I’m out and about, I’m not going to say it was my fault. And if someone rips off your own handbag or wallet, that’s not my fault either! I’d rather the whole world look down on me for not taking blame that isn’t mine, than for everyone to just adore me for accepting blame that isn’t mine.

What’s he gonna do next? Accuse me of some stranger’s murder in Ohio? Tell me I deserved every slap I got from my mother as a tiny baby?

As I told him, if he’s so bothered by what bothered me a decade ago, maybe we need to take another break. And maybe he doesn’t want to resume any friendship, but just “punish” me instead by defending my past tormentors. Like I really need this shit right now in life when I’m struggling just to survive, never knowing if we’re going to make it or even be alive a month from now?! Really, why the hell is it so important to him to defend the old neighbors? And after all this time. I was the one who lived with them yet he’s so sure their noise was within normal everyday limits and that it was only during the daytime. If what happened with our old neighbors a decade ago bothers him so much then he can just fuck off, and I told him this, too. If not, then I guess I’ll just have to put him on ignore. I just don’t understand why he’d be so upset at what I thought, felt, believed, said or did to my own damn neighbors from way back when. I can see him harboring a grudge over something I said or did to him, but my neighbors?! My NEIGHBORS?!?! Maybe that’s the whole point in this; to get back at me, then get off on reading about it in my journal. He’s the one who said my entries were longer and more interesting since he started harassing me, so maybe that’s what this is all about, IDK. And maybe he’s full of shit when he says he’s been as successful as he has been. I hope not, though. I’d really love for him to be as happy and as well off financially as he said he is.

I live in the woods because I just want to live in peace and not fight with people. So if you feel you have to judge me and try to change me into what you think I should be, you’re wasting your time. I’m just going to ignore anyone who tries and send you straight to my spam box. Anyone who knows me knows I’m hard to gain as a friend but easy to lose. And I’m sick of being told how we should do things and that Tom’s wrong for not applying for jobs in person. Why should he waste time and gas just to be told to apply online?

He admitted that the prank calls were from him, but they weren’t meant to be pranks to harass me as Tom must’ve thought was the case. I guess he was playing parts of the tape I sent him where I’m pretending to be all furious with him and Tom took it as pranks. But Tom said we got “slammed” with calls and it cost him a lot of minutes to delete all the messages. Just how many times did he call and play this tape?

He pointed out that someone threatened me with coming over with a knife on Formspring, saying he never said that, and I believe him on that one. As I told him, he’s weird, mean and funny at times, but I’ve never known him to make threats. The knife could’ve been tied in with Maliheh or someone else entirely, but no one’s come to knife me, so I’m not worried about it.

Speaking of Formspring, I might shut it down since Andy and I are now keeping in touch by email, and no one seems to have anything to say or ask me lately.

What I don’t believe is the 6-page letter he wrote screaming at me that he said he sent right after we moved to a PO Box we once had in Tempe, AZ. Oh, I believe he sent the letter. But I don’t believe Tom would read it, decide it’s too nasty for me to know about, then ditch it. Tom wouldn’t have even opened it. He always brings me anything addressed to me unopened. Andy must have addressed the envelope wrong or it got misdelivered.

Since we’re on a mission to rehash the past, I had a dream last night that reminded me of something he did when we were in our 20s and living back east. Today I wouldn’t give a shit, but back then at that age, I was kind of hurt by something he said, but first, maybe I won’t shut down Formspring just yet after all. I just got a question alert and found someone warning me to stay away from Andy, saying he just wants to “get me,” etc. It’s not showing up yet, though. Formspring is always slow. Hmm… someone he knows? Well, they can’t know me very well. They spelled my name wrong.

I don’t know what to think at this point. sighs I don’t want to dump the guy again, but who the hell is he to judge me? Guess what I end up doing depends on him. I’ve already told him how I feel, so if he really wants me as a friend, he’ll just worry about his own self and quit telling me how I should’ve lived my life in 1999 and how Tom should live his now. Or maybe I’ll just never hear from him again.

About the dream. It was of Sharon W of all people, Norma’s daughter. In the dream, we were supposed to meet somewhere for some reason, but I don’t know where or why. I was on the phone with my mother before going to meet Sharon. She told me to respect her fame, and I was like what fame? She was a small-time singer, but she never got famous for anything.

I suspected that Sharon would be rather cold towards me because she believed I made prank calls to her mother many years ago, and because of all the years of being labeled as crazy, and she was. Had I still been young it would’ve bothered me, but being in my 40s, I found it rather amusing. “You think I’m just the craziest bitch you ever did meet, don’t you?” I taunted her with a grin. She just gave me a dirty look and ignored the question.

In real life when I was in my early to mid-20s, Andy told me that Norma told his mother she had received prank phone calls. I don’t know when she was supposed to have gotten them, but I guess Norma said that Sharon automatically suggested that I had made the calls. Today I would just laugh something like this off, but I was young back then and I took a lot of things personally. Today I care only about the feelings of those I care about. But if I don’t know you very well, I’m not going to sweat the fact that you may think I made calls I didn’t really make. Yet I called to defend myself back then. She apologized and all that, saying she should’ve gone to me first. I told her not to worry about it and that it was done and over with as far as I was concerned. But then Andy went and insisted to her that I really had made the calls. This really pissed me off too, that my supposed best friend wouldn’t take my word for it when I said that of all the people I had pranked in my life, Norma was not one of them. I never had a problem with Norma and so I never saw any reason to bother her. But the fact that Andy wouldn’t believe me and couldn’t see that I had absolutely nothing to gain by lying to him, a person who did the same thing back then, really upset me. He did later admit that he should take me for face value and quit being so quick to call me a liar, but it was too late by then when Norma was concerned. Norma will go to her grave fully believing that I pranked her and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Now onto more important things than someone who feels they have nothing better to do than stick up for my old Jew-hating neighbors who lived for tormenting me to no end. Marie texted me from the hospital last night. Her chest cold got really bad and caused her to get an ear infection and she felt really out of balance. Hopefully, she’ll rest up and let herself get better before she goes back to playing Wonder Woman. Really, that girl does too much, LOL!

Later…

pulls hair I’m losing a ton of work and story-writing time today with all the darn emails and phone calls I’ve been getting, LOL! The call turned out to be quite a pleasant surprise, though.

I started to get in some writing when the phone rang and I saw it was my parents calling. My first thought was that they’d heard all the shit that was going on in the news and were worried about us.

They were calling from the cell to use up minutes, so we talked one at a time. First mom talked with us and asked us about what stores and restaurants are in our area. I’m guessing they may want to send gift cards, but anyway, we told them we’ve got most of the major chains around us as well as what stores aren’t in her area and all that. Then she said she’d put Dad on to ask us other questions.

So Dad gets on and says, “You’ve sold things on eBay, right?”

Oh, yeah. We’re the eBay experts. :)

Haven’t sold anything recently, but I got rid of a good chunk of my doll collection that way and a bunch of other shit we didn’t want or need. And of course we once had an eBay store in Arizona.

My parents have a small store at a flea market that keeps them active and generates extra money for them. They haven’t been online for years because they didn’t use it enough and just couldn’t get used to the idea of virtual stores. They have a storage locker they’ve been cleaning out containing all kinds of stuff they didn’t get around to selling or that they just have no use for. Tom said it’s kind of sad that they’re doing this. In other words, preparing for the end, knowing they don’t have much time left. Yeah, it is sad. Some people have said that I shouldn’t pity them after past problems we’ve had, but it’s not that easy. I just hope we too, aren’t looking at a limited amount of time left, but if we are, we are.

For now, though, they’re sending 198 pre-2000 Beanie Babies to sell on eBay. At first I thought he was asking if we’d sell them for them and send them the profits, but he wants us to keep whatever we can get for them. This was really nice of them! So we’re researching things now and once we get them and see the items we’ll decide where and how to go about selling them. Opening a temporary eBay store might be our best bet right now, but eBay isn’t the only place to sell things. There’s also Amazon. We’ll just have to compare fees and things like that. We’re thinking we can maybe get $300 - $400 for them, but it won’t happen overnight. Meaning, it’s not going to be something we can sell off in a day. We’ll probably sell them in small lots too, as opposed to one at a time. We’ll also probably list back to back instead of simultaneously so people won’t ask for combined shipping.

Other than that, they’re doing well and have been in the 90s for over two months. They had the coldest winter they ever experienced, and now they’re having a super hot summer.

I was shocked to hear their electric bill was just $99 after having to run their AC all the time, plus they’ve got a hot tub outside. I’ve never been big on hot tubs. I could take them or leave them, but the heat we’ve been having sure makes me wish we had a pool! We could get a fairly good-sized inflatable for a couple hundred, but it’s not something we want to spend money on right now. Especially since we couldn’t use it year-round.

Andy got upset with me for telling him to fuck off if he has a problem with me and for not letting him get things off his chest. But that’s not what I have a problem with. What I have a problem with is when he gets on me for shit that doesn’t even pertain to him and he judges the way I’ve handled things. I don’t understand why the way I interacted with people years ago has anything to do with us and the present day and age. He says he’s on my side, but I don’t always feel that way. I feel like he’s judging me and trying to get me to shoulder the blame for things I’m simply not responsible for. I don’t think he gets that sometimes people really are victimized that didn’t ask for it or provoke anyone in any way into giving them the shit they give them.

He seems to think I’m all about revenge and not accepting blame where I should accept it, but that’s simply not true. When I was younger, like most younger people, I did tend to be more vindictive and selfish and less willing to own up to my mistakes. No one can “ground” or “punish” me for admitting to a mistake, so what have I got to fear in coming clean? I swear I don’t want to get even with every single person who wrongs me, and I don’t have a problem with admitting when I’ve made mistakes. If anything I’ve deserved just about everything I’ve ever gotten in life, and I’ve said this before. I don’t know what else he wants from me.

If someone went to attack me I’m going to try to fight back, but again, I don’t feel the need to get even with everyone that irritates me because I understand we’re all only human. I’d rather just not have anything to do with someone I may not like. Twenty years ago I had plenty of time to get even with someone that fucked with me. Today I’m just too busy and it’s just a whole lot easier to avoid people I don’t like.

It just really bothers me to be criticized and judged for the way I have lived or live my life today. Had he offered his opinion or a suggestion once, that’d be one thing. But it’s another to come off like you’re trying to get a person to be a certain way over and over again. What’s wrong for him may be right for someone else. That’d be like me condemning him for the way he went about quitting smoking or condemning the way he handled a fight with a coworker, for example. That’s between him and the coworker. Not me. Even if I don’t think he handled the person well, who the hell am I to judge him and tell him how to live his own life? It’s none of my business.

What I meant by the fuck off part was that he’s not obligated to stay in my life if he’s that unhappy with me. If he thinks I’m this cold-hearted, vengeful bitch that refuses to take the blame for anything, he shouldn’t bother with me. I won’t hold it against him if he wants to walk away. We can’t pick our family but we can pick our friends and he has a right to choose whoever he wants for friends same as he has a right to choose what clothes he buys.

I don’t want to dump him again, but I also don’t want him playing mommy to me either, scolding and judging my every move, be it something that pertains to him or not, or that happened in the past or right now. Maybe we should find a gray area between the black and white. Meaning, back off on the emails. I hate getting multiple emails every day from the same people anyway. Maybe it would be more special and we’d get along better if we backed off to once or twice a month. Of course, I also don’t have to read/respond to emails if I’m busy with other things at the time or just not in the mood.

Like I said, I just wish he’d be mad at the shit that involves us. He has every right to be upset with me for dumping him. That was wrong and it was 100% my fault. All of it. Totally, absolutely, completely my fault. I know some people would say I too, should have the right to pick and choose my friends, but he didn’t do anything wrong. Just get annoying at times. But so did I. And so that’s why it was wrong of me to dump him like I did.

Someone who’s apparently following my journal has been leaving messages on Formspring. I thought it was Andy playing around again at first, but I doubt he’d spell so poorly, misspell my name, and basically bash himself. Another mystery to ponder. Can’t tell if it’s someone who knows either of us or what their game is just yet. Maybe it’s a stranger simply stating their opinion, or maybe it’s someone one of us knows with a purpose in mind and woweeeeee!!! Andy just sent me some pictures of himself! Even with the extra weight that most mammals put on with age, he looks fanfuckingtastic!!! And still younger than his age too, and less gay looking, for whatever that may be worth to the guy, LOL. It’s so nice to have these. I have no other pictures of him cuz we had to leave so much stuff behind in Arizona.

So I guess that other than economic stress and Andy getting under my skin at least a little bit at times, the day wasn’t all bad. I just lost some work and story-writing time is all, and did I run my 1-3 miles today? No, of course not!

No NC hit today on Opera. Hmm… maybe it wasn’t Maliheh, after all. Or maybe she was just too busy to check my latest entry.

TUESDAY, JUNE 29, 2010 Tom was right. The temp agency did call. I’m just trying really hard not to get my hopes up. The woman told him they’d reactivate his file since he hasn’t worked for them for so long, and that if someone named Stacey doesn’t hire him for the Q & A job he applied for, he should keep calling every week to see if they’ve got anything else for him. Although I’m trying not to think too positively so I don’t end up all the more disappointed if things don’t work out, he’s totally qualified for one of the jobs he put in for. All the other jobs he’s put in for so far he was either somewhat qualified for or not at all qualified for. But this type of Q&A job is exactly what he was doing in Oregon minus the management part of it. I used to tease him by calling him a queer-ass manager till I knew that stood for quality assurance. Hey, my sister’s convinced my husband’s queer, so let’s hope he gets this queer-ass job!

Meanwhile, Operation Strike Out On Our Own has been a success so far. We’re trying to make $45 a day online. If we can, then it won’t matter if there’s no other source of income because $45 a day is all we need to survive. Technically we could probably make it with a little less. We would still prefer for him to get a regular job, but we wouldn’t have to kill ourselves to avoid starving in the streets if this works, and I wouldn’t worry nearly as much as I have been. Can’t say what it is we’re doing, though, cuz if it works many others would want to quit their jobs and do this too, unless they were either making good money or were one of the few lucky ones with health coverage they didn’t want to give up. The more people that do this, the fewer jobs for us, so I’m very selective as to who I discuss it with.

Think positive and you’ll be all the more disappointed if things don’t work out. Think negative and you’ll be all the more delighted if things do work out. I really believe this. So this is why I’m trying not to get overly optimistic. It’s hard, for obvious reasons, not to hope he gets something – anything – even if it were just a part-time minimum-wage job. With our online job, that’s all we need, and at this point in life, sure, having a lot of extra money would be nice, but it’s not crucial to me anymore. Just knowing we can pay the rent and buy groceries is enough for me. Anything after that is just a bonus. The only bad thing about this working out is that we wouldn’t have much of a life. We would literally have to work just about every waking moment, but just to know we could pull it off if we wanted to would be wonderful. Especially since I don’t expect any more money from the government.

Got another Hope Mills, NC hit on my Opera blog. If it’s Maliheh, why has she returned? Just out of curiosity? To see if I’d mention it? Although I’m not sure she knows I can see who visits me there. Some other reason? IDK, maybe it’s not even her, though it seems unlikely that it isn’t. What are the odds of her “reacting” on Facebook to certain things I’ve said in my journal, then getting an NC hit after providing a link in which I claim to have a picture of her? I did, however, “decide” later on that the picture wasn’t of her. Either way, I’d guess it’s safe to say she’s following me out of sheer curiosity, LOL, cuz she certainly doesn’t want to be friends. She never accepted my friend invite.

Fell asleep last night shortly before midnight and woke up at 4:30 thinking I was going to puke for the first time since 1997, but fortunately, I didn’t. We’re thinking something must’ve been bad in the Chinese food I got yesterday at the grocery store.

I woke up nauseous as hell and my mouth was watery as hell, too. Knowing that cold air helps, I stuck my face in an open window. Only problem is that while it’s almost always cold at 4:30 in the morning here, it’s been warm all around for the last 4 days or so. But luckily it subsided almost as fast as it came on and I was able to get back to sleep without incident. Today my tummy still feels a little shaky, but it’s the least of my concerns. Puking may be the worst feeling in the world, but I’d gladly up and puke right now if it could mean a job for Tom.

I’ve got to get back to running today. I took the last two days off and my hip has been noticeably worse ever since. Lately, I’ve had this pain in my right hip that shoots down to my knee. Hope it’s not the beginning of arthritis!

Marie returned from her trip to New Hampshire after having a stomach virus turn into a nasty chest cold, the poor thing. I’ll be looking forward to hearing about the trip once she’s better.

Andy gave me an email address to contact him at. I did and he replied by saying that he hopes I have a better day today. Well, I’m better than I have been, though nothing’s actually changed yet and we still could be doomed in the end.

He said he started reading a book I wrote for him in 2007, which I can’t quite remember. As I told him, my memory ain’t what it used to be. I remember writing something rather extensive, but I’ve been writing extensive things most of my life. I’m a writer. It’s what I do. I’m surprised he hasn’t thrown everything I ever gave him away for not giving him our number and address when we moved.

I will start chapter 20 today of Digital Confessions, then maybe – just maybe – I will live long enough to get to Evil Amongst the Evergreens.

Dorian seems to prefer being referred to as Blue, as Paul seems to prefer Mitch, so they will be Blue and Mitch from now on. Blue read my entry yesterday where I said that no one cared to wish my husband a happy birthday and how much that upset me, then he replied by wishing him a happy birthday. That was so sweet of him!

MONDAY, JUNE 28, 2010 Today’s Tom’s 53rd birthday and what I’m fearing more and more is going to be his last. He keeps telling me everything will be alright, but will it? How can he possibly know that? The government stopped sending our checks and he has no job, so how is everything to be alright?

I know this is the beginning of the end, and like I said, I’m ok with it because I know life never could have been what we wanted it to be anyway. Had I thought we had a real shot at a modest home that was at least mostly peaceful, then I’d be pissed. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still pissed. I’m plenty pissed at God, society and life in general for giving so much to some people simply for breathing while we’ve worked our asses off for nothing.

But once we’re gone God can never hurt us again, or allow anything else to do so either. There are no guarantees that the afterlife if there is one, won’t be a lot worse, but there will be no more pain and suffering for us here. Right now we’re healthy. We have a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. We aren’t the homeless guy pushing a shopping cart down the street, but if we don’t off ourselves when the money runs out, that’s exactly what we will be, and that’s not something I’m tough enough to handle. Not for even a few days, let alone 730 days which is when the pension would have kicked in.

All I can do for now is just enjoy what time is left. It’s not easy, though. I’m having a hell of a time motivating myself. All I want to do is just lie around or listen to music.

I did, however, make a lot of progress on my book yesterday. That much I’m determined to finish before I go, though I don’t see the point in continuing with my language studies. It kind of sucks that I won’t live long enough to learn more and lose more weight, so I’m just focusing on what I’m not going to miss at all. I’ll never again shiver through another winter or have to listen to 10 hours of barking each day as the weather cools down. I don’t know why, but like I’ve said before, the colder the weather, the more the dogs go crazy when Jesse’s not home. Soon there’ll be no more stress and constant worries about how we’re going to make ends meet. I’m tired of being beaten over the head with money! I never wanted to get old and to have to deal with arthritis, cancer and other nightmares that come with old age, knowing we’d have absolutely no one to help take care of us once we got too old to do so ourselves. So there’s just as much to not miss as there is to miss, and unless a miracle breaks between now and about a month from now, there’s not much anyone can really do to save us. Well, there is. It’s just that those who could do something don’t give a damn. It’s more important for the church to raise millions of dollars to control who marries who than it is to help people like my husband and I. And it’s more important for the government to send our money to other countries than to help those in need right here. You know that.

Anyway, to try to take my mind off what seems to be an impending death by carbon monoxide poisoning, I’m trying to distract myself from reality through music, writing and sleeping as much as I can. Been taking Benadryl every day. It knocks me out a little earlier and makes me sleep longer. Man, I WISH I could sleep till the end! I can totally see why so many people killed themselves during the Great Depression. People are quick to call them cop-outs, but they obviously just didn’t understand the hell they were going through. No, things don’t always work out, and yeah, sometimes we really are dealt more than we can handle.

IDK, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe fate’s leading us to the end because there’s going to be either nothing at all or a fanfuckingtastic afterlife waiting for us. Just don’t feel sad, mad or sorry for us. Every curse has its blessing. Every blessing has its curse.

My story is about 52K long now, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to stretch it to full length. Why is it that I can ramble on and on in journal entries, but never think of enough things to keep a story going for long? I could throw in trivial things to keep it going, but that’d be boring. It seems I just don’t need 100K - 200K words to tell whatever story I’m telling. I guess I was just meant to be a short story writer.

Later…

Just finished chapter 19 as Tom’s birthday slowly winds down to an end. He doesn’t appear bothered, but it’s sad to see no one give a damn about him. Not his mother, not his sister, not anyone. I’m glad he at least has me, but still, not one person cared to send a card, an email, or give him a call. Not one. One of the finest human beings I ever met and no one cares.

The weather’s been hot and dry and just over 100º.

Emotionally, I’m still a bit of a rollercoaster. One minute I’m pissed, the next sad, then nervous, then I go numb. Sometimes I just want to die, but sometimes I want to live and beat life at its own fucked up game. It’s easy for me to scream, “Damn God to hell for doing this to us or at least letting it happen!” but I know things could be worse. If we were still living paycheck to paycheck like we were for a while, we’d already be screwed big time. Maybe even dead. But I’m tired of money being an issue and the stress and hardships that go with it every single fucking day of my life!!! After all these years, why should I think things will ever change? Every time we start to get ahead, we get kicked back down. If this happened occasionally I’d call it life. But because it happens all the time I’d call it an obvious and scary pattern that says it’s just the way it’s meant to be. Something up there wants to torment us to no end, especially me since I stress a lot easier than Tom does.

Tom explained to me why he thinks things will work out, when we’ll get our money, etc, and in the midst of it, he told me about yet another person we never met who died who is only adding to our stress. It’s one of the politicians that’s fucking with people’s lives. Why is it that some stranger’s death has to put us out while our deaths wouldn’t put a single person out whatsoever? My parents would be sad for a while and Jesse would have to have our bodies hauled away and our shit packed up and dumped, but that’s the extent of it. If anything our deaths would be a bit profitable. We may not be rich in cash but we are rich in collectibles, gadgets and electronics. Remember, my job was once to win sweeps and contests before the economy went to hell and never came back.

All I know is I’m just sick of our lives coming down to one big vote. Everything is all about voting; things that shouldn’t even be a matter of voting. I’m tired as hell of politicians, society and whoever else being in the driver’s seat of our lives! All we do is get stuck in one endless rut after another! We want so badly to move on, but life just won’t let us.

And of course the fucking politicians are going on vacation like they do every other week and that could mean additional stress time for me while they’re out having fun and living it up at our expense. Meanwhile, nothing that I myself have ever done – not that I’d want it to – could ever have any kind of serious effect, control or power over anyone else. Why is that? Why am I one of society’s designated little slaves? Well, I don’t want to control other people’s lives or anything like that or put them out in any way. I only wish to hell they’d let my husband and I decide how to live our own lives! Starting with a job – just a lousy fucking job – would be really nice. But no, that’s too much to ask for. It’s always too much if it’s us asking for it. Again, why is that??? Why are we any less deserving than the next guy?

I’m not going to get into it now because I’m too frustrated, but tomorrow we’re going to try something in an attempt to break free of these chains God/society/politicians/life/whatever has put on us. I meant it when I said I doubted life could ever be what we want it to be, but still, if it works, then California can take their fucking jobs and shove them way, way up their asses. :) And the government can go fuck themselves right along with them. :)

SUNDAY, JUNE 27, 2010 Another day of hating to wake up and face our incredibly bleak-looking future. I almost didn’t write today because I have been too depressed. Yesterday, though, I was oddly calm. I wasn’t depressed, pissed or scared. I even laughed a few times.

But our fate is still etched in stone. The stage has been set and things are going to be set into motion soon, and there won’t be a damn thing we can do about it. Not unless something miraculous happens real soon after hopelessly trying to return to the land of the living for the last 20 months. Oh, didn’t I tell you? Miracles don’t happen to Tom and Jodi. They really don’t. And as sad as it may sound, a part of me is hoping they don’t. I don’t want to spend another 30-40 years working hard just to be rewarded with all kinds of struggles and hardships, never to achieve any of our dreams while we’re at it. We’d only be miserable most of the time and forced to live a life of settling. So I’m ok with the end if the end is as near as it appears to be. We’re estimating we can make it for about another month.

They say God has a hand in guiding us down the paths we travel in life. If that’s true, then He really could’ve done a better job in preventing a lot of the bullshit we went through from happening. Had the house Tom been in when we met been a little bigger, a little newer, a little nicer, and definitely a hell of a lot quieter, we’d probably still be there today and the house would have been paid off years ago.

Or He could’ve helped make sure we never lost the Maricopa house. There are a number of things He could have done to help us. But He didn’t. He just didn’t care to help us help ourselves choose a better path in life. Instead, He pretty much took our hands and led us in all the wrong directions.

All I know is that if nothing gives between now and a month from now, we’re positively screwed. Either the government has to make good on their promise to pay us the money they owe us, or someone has to give my husband a job. These are the only ways to survive other than winning tons of money and that’s certainly not going to happen. Meanwhile, we’ll see if he’s right about the temp agency he used to work for calling him in for an interview tomorrow, even though I’ve learned that interviews don’t mean shit if no one hires you. The work world belongs to the young and the not-so-white, and so what if my husband has tons of experience and qualifications? Dark skin and youth are still preferred over anything else these days in this country. Still think the good old U. S. of A. is the best country?

So smile, God, we just may be in your little kingdom soon. :) You gonna beat us over the head with money there, too?

I realize my saying these things about God may piss some people off, but I don’t want to hear it, ok? Just move on to someone else’s journal if it bothers you that much. We all have a right to our own beliefs and it’s ok to disagree. So let’s just accept the fact that we can’t always agree on things and leave it at that. I don’t try to cram my beliefs down other people’s throats and I expect the same respect in return.

Even if we got the money owed to us in time, as Tom totally believes we will, we still have to go back to worrying about whether or not we can beat the clock. Tom can fill out every single job application in the world, but we can’t make anyone give him a job.

Meanwhile, I guess I should live as if the end isn’t near and keep plugging away at my online job even though it doesn’t make much. But something is better than nothing, isn’t it?

In other news, the water pressure was sluggish yesterday, and I thought great, just great. We’re going to be spending what may be our last month on earth dealing with this shit. So Jesse came down and checked things out, but once he saw we had no leaks or anything, he went and checked out the well. Everything at least appeared to be ok, but he switched us over to the ditch to allow the main tank time to recover.

The good thing is that he doesn’t think he got that job down in L.A. This way I won’t have to worry about him being 400 miles away in case of an emergency. He’s never home as it is, but is usually just a phone call away.

Another good thing is the weather. It’s hot and dry like I like it and we’ve finally been able to leave windows open all the time. It’s to hit 100º today which is fine with me! I’m sure I’ll be the only one in Auburn, California to squeal with delight once the thermometer does hit 100º, and it’s close. Just 5 more degrees to go.

SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 2010 I don’t want to get into much detail right now, so don’t ask, but it looks like the end may be closer than I thought and we very well might be on our last 4 or 5 hundred dollars, then it’s bye-bye for good. The government claims they’re going to send us the 5 grand they still owe us, but I know our lovely government can’t always be trusted.

It’s ok, though, if our time really is up soon. Amidst some disasters, I got to do a lot of fun and interesting things in my life, and it really doesn’t matter much if I die at 44, 64, or 84 when you really think about it because there’s always going to be things we’ll miss and things we won’t miss no matter when we die. I’ll miss some people and some things I like to do, but I won’t miss an awful lot of shit as well.

I’m not saying our number’s up for sure. I’m just saying it looks that way right now. Enough that I’ll probably quit my online job soon and even quit dieting and exercising. I don’t even know if I’ll continue my language studies. If I’m going to go soon I want to spend my last days doing things I enjoy. On the other hand, I enjoy languages and running, so maybe I’ll keep at it.

I will focus mostly on music and writing, but if we can’t make it past the next few weeks, then I probably won’t finish Digital Confessions and I definitely won’t get to Maliheh’s story.

Maliheh called again and tried to cheer me up. As I told her, I really appreciate her efforts, but nothing she can say will change whatever’s meant to happen. I said and did some mean things 19 years ago and just recently online until I realized it wasn’t her playing with me on Formspring and I’m sorry. But I’m glad that in the end we finally got to work things out and move on.

“If the end has truly come for you, what are you going to do?” she asked me.

I said, “I’m going to pick my last meal just like death row inmates do. Mine’s going to be lobster. Then we’ll probably gamble our last $100 or so in a casino and leave it to fate to save us if it wants to.”

Tom, on the other hand, thinks he’s going on an interview on Monday. The temp company he used to work for had a few jobs he’s qualified for that he applied for, and so he thinks that as soon as their computer flags him as having worked for them before, they’ll at least want to see him even if they don’t hire him.

Yeah, whatever.

Paula’s sending $10 for me to make her up some CDs. No problem. I just hope she sends it before we go if we truly do end up going. Like I said, though, I don’t know for sure that this is it for us. It just looks that way right now and I don’t want to discuss it anymore. I just want to kick back, relax and live it up till it’s over. If it’s not over, then fine, life will proceed as planned.

Later…

El Cocko’s back on his summer watering sprees, not realizing – or giving a damn – that it cuts our water pressure down. He roared out on the motorcycle at 8:30 and I doubt he’ll be back till after dark. I just hope he doesn’t do this shit while he’s at work.

FRIDAY, JUNE 25, 2010 I just heard from Marie. She made it safe and sound to New Hampshire and says I didn’t have to delete her email from the blog (she was complaining about all the repetitious Maliheh entries). She just wishes she could be here to comfort me. And I appreciate that, as I told her, but I not only planned to take a break from writing elsewhere but there’s only so much her comfort can do. Not that it wouldn’t be nice, but as I reminded her, what’s going to happen is going to happen whether she comforts me or not. Tom and I can only do what’s within our power and control to try to make things better. The rest is up to fate, like it or not. Fate. That’s always what it comes down to no matter how hard we may try to achieve or change things on our part. Fate. It’s such an evil word in some ways.

And so are scorpions. You know, the ones I thought I left behind in the desert along with the fucking tarantulas. Guess it goes to prove that we can run, but we can’t always hide. The past will be back to haunt us anyway. It was in the kitchen. At first I thought it was a weird-shaped spider, but as I got a little closer to it, I could see it was a small scorpion – yuck!

We both got up as the sun was coming up. At one point I was in the bathroom when I heard water dripping. I checked the faucets, but they weren’t dripping any more than usual. Then I looked at the window which was partially open and saw water running down the screen. My first thought was that the cooler sprung a leak and Tom went out to check it out. He came back a second later and said it was raining. If we were allowed to live in a peaceful place where we didn’t have to have sound machines going all the time just to be able to concentrate on whatever, I’d have heard the rain falling. It was just a quick light rain, but once again, the weather’s been so damn freaky here! It rarely rains here between now and September or October.

Tom read that in a few years, they’re going to have an evaporative cooler that can be used even in humid climates. I told my folks it’s too bad they couldn’t have one. They’re so much cheaper than ACs and I love how they pump in fresh air instead of circulating the same air.

Haven’t heard much from Eileen. I know she’s a busy person, but a part of me wonders if my stories may’ve scared her off. Then again, if mine could scare anyone, then Stephen King wouldn’t have any friends at all.

Later…

Here’s an entry I can’t post online as I’m writing it right now on 6/25/10, but I will post it right before we die, as it looks like the end could be a hell of a lot closer than even I realized. Before I get on with it, these final words of mine – if that’s what they truly end up being - are NOT to piss anyone off or to make them feel guilty or upset in any way! That is NOT my intention.

The fucking state had to get federal funding and so they only sent us one week’s worth of unemployment instead of the usual two week’s worth they’d send us every other week. I thought Tom was saying they were going to send the week they owed us, plus the next regular check within a few days to a couple of weeks, but apparently, they’re not sending us anything else till they send us our next round of forms whenever they happen to feel like sending them, plus that week owed to us. And of course they neglected to let people know about it until the day they were supposed to send the last round of checks. And of course my ever-so-trusting and optimistic husband believes we will get the money soon enough. But I’m not so sure, and I’m also not so sure I even want to. I just don’t know that I want to bother living anymore and this is why I’m writing this now; in case we don’t make it.

I guess I’d prefer to live, but do I? Do I really? Do I really want to live when I know life could never be what we wanted it to be anyway? Do I really want to live just to struggle another 30-40 years in someone else’s tiny old rental, never to get our dream home or have any kind of financial security? I don’t think so. If we could get a decent house without having to listen to hours and hours of barking and struggle to make ends meet, then sure. But this is obviously just a dream.

Tom said we could declare a hardship if the checks stop before the jobs return and cash out on at least some of our pension, but I’m not interested. That would not only sink any hope of buying a place right there, but we couldn’t make it between the time the checks stopped and the pension money came. These things usually take months.

I’m still sad, scared and mad – definitely mad – but the thought of ending it all appeals to me like never before. It no longer seems the terrifying, devastating thing it was in 2007 when it looked like we weren’t going to make it and would be forced to choose between death or starving on the streets till my parents helped us. Does it really matter whether I die at 44, 64 or 84 when there are always going to be things I’ll miss about life as much as there’ll be things I won’t miss at all?

No one we know could possibly help bail us out this time around if we really are on the last 4 or 5 hundred dollars of our lives, which is all we currently have right now. I don’t trust the government one minute when they say they’re going to pay us the 5K that’s owed to us and carry on from there on out, and you know what? I hope I’m right. If we don’t go now, we’ll only have to go in a few months, so why delay the inevitable?

I’m no longer dieting or working the Turk and I may even quit exercising. I don’t want to spend my final weeks or months (whichever it is) doing things I don’t enjoy. I don’t even know that I’ll bother to finish my story or continue with my language studies. All I want to do is sleep, eat and listen to music till the end comes. But I can’t put this online right now because I’m not going to be dumb enough to risk intervention. If we’re going to go we’re GOING. Period. We’re not going to risk surviving so we can go on to have worse lives than we already have. I’ve been there before (after I jumped and broke my arm) and I’m not going to be there again. We’re not going to do anything for the sake of attention, though I’m sure there’ll be those who will insist we killed ourselves merely for attention. There’ll also no doubt be those who will be quick to call us cop-outs, saying that if we just hung on a little longer – just a little longer – things would’ve gotten better. But we DID hang on! For over 20 fucking months!

All I want to do at this point is just get it the fuck over with and get out of here. I’m ready to take the chance that there could be an afterlife awaiting me that might be much worse than being on the streets in this life. I hope my death isn’t slow and painful and that I don’t go on to a place worse than this, but I’m going to die someday anyway, and I’d rather it be together in the comfort of our own bed than on the streets in some cold, dark alley with our stomachs growling with hunger.

We will die from carbon monoxide poisoning. We don’t have a garage, so we’ll light some charcoal in the bedroom after sealing ourselves up in it. We’ll leave a note in the kitchen for Jesse. He might want to smash the bedroom windows from the outside to let the fumes out, though maybe they’ll dissipate by then. I don’t know how these things work. I only know that if all goes well it will shut our brains down right away and be a faster and less painful way to go.

I’m sorry Jesse will have to deal with this and I appreciate his letting us split the rent payments, but I did NOT appreciate all the barking and his lame excuse of “When I’m not home there’s nothing I can do about it.” Sorry, but there WERE a few things he could have done, and like it or not, dog owners ARE just as responsible for their dogs when they’re not home as when they are home.

I just want to take the last couple hundred dollars, get a lobster at Red Lobster, gamble off the rest at one of the casinos, then end it all in what I totally believe would be a quicker, less painful way than the streets would have been.

Tom filled out all the applications he could. But we couldn’t make anyone give him a job in the end.

I figured all the bad dreams I’ve been having had to have meant something. I don’t always dream good dreams before something good happens, but I always have nightmares before bad things happen.

I’m tired of feeling like a child whose life belongs to society, fate, God…whatever. We’re suffering because of these fucking greedy bankers in which enough was never enough. How many fucking fancy cars and houses would have ever been enough for them? How many?!?! Do they even care about the millions of lives they’ve destroyed? Does God? No, I’m sure He doesn’t. I’m sure He’s blessed them with lifelong good fortune. Geez, maybe I should’ve been a bad person. I mean a REALLY bad person. After all, they seem to be the ones to get it all. Maybe if I’d had a kid to abuse I’d have all the money in the world, or at least enough to keep me from worrying so damn much of the time. Maybe if I’d killed someone I’d win a nice new house.

I may’ve made some accomplishments in life and had my fun moments, but most of my life has been nothing but a tale of woe and rejection. And in the end, it consisted of a government that cared more about “bailing out” other countries rather than taking care of its own. And now thanks to the Republicans, greedy bankers, God, and whoever/whatever else may’ve had a hand in this, my husband will never have the home we wanted. Just a lousy fucking home was all we wanted. Nothing fancy, nothing special, just an ordinary home with an ordinary life where we didn’t have to struggle and where I didn’t have to run sound machines to drown out my neighbor’s fucking dogs that are left to bark for hours each day. But all this was too much to ask for. If it was ME asking for it, it was too much. Getting a job and eventually a modest home in a peaceful place was just a dream. We might as well have been asking for a million bucks. My sister was right in saying this dingy trailer was all we had in life. We had each other’s love too, but without money, that love couldn’t possibly matter because the cold hard fact is that without money, one can’t live. Period. Money really does make the world go around, like it or not. I wish the evil thing had never been invented. Money kills. And it killed us.

I don’t know why God cared to bless the rest of my family and Tom’s family with homes and money. They may not be rich, but they never had to struggle a fraction of the degree that we did. Not even close. We were just as capable and deserving as them and the next guy, but God obviously didn’t think so.

But it’s ok. Don’t feel sad. I really did prefer death over the streets, or else I’d be out there right now, hungrily trudging through some alley waiting till I collapsed with hunger. But my husband and I both agreed we deserved better than that, and that was death, and we both wanted to go together and not leave the other behind. I never would’ve been tough enough to handle the streets. I’m just not as tough as people thought I was.

I’m sorry I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive my brother, sister and the people in Arizona that screwed us so bad. I couldn’t even forgive Tom’s mother for abandoning us in a previous time of need and deciding she no longer wanted to be a mother to my husband and a mother-in-law to me.

While I can’t make my nieces acknowledge the fact that they said some pretty mean things to me and harassed me for months online, I hold no ill feelings toward them.

My brother told me up front he wasn’t going to get involved in any family disputes when he decided to waltz back into our lives in the mid-90s. Then his son died. And while that was a horrible thing, he used that as an excuse to shit on the family every chance he got, pitting various family members against others, etc. I dumped him as soon as he started sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. I was so pissed! Just furious! And ever so glad I did not live near him for I would have ripped him to shreds. Not even his generous height and weight could’ve saved him from my wrath! But I will try to remember the good times in the end, and there were some good times. My brother had a great sense of humor.

As for my sister – I’m sorry, I just don’t believe her. I tried and tried to look for all kinds of other possibilities, but regardless of which one called the cops on me, she STILL had a hand in leading the Jew-hating freeloaders to our door who were hell-bent on legally screwing me in a day, time, age and state that they knew they could do so and get away with it. She STILL sent the letter she sent to my husband in defense of her abusive ex. She STILL called him and defended him by phone, too. I don’t know, maybe she didn’t call the cops. Maybe she meant it when she said she didn’t know where we lived at the time, but one of them, be it her or Bill, had to know where to send the damn pigs in the first place, didn’t they?

But at the time I didn’t understand what I do now about women who love and are attracted to abusive men and how they subconsciously seek them out and all that, etc. The point is the same, right or wrong, I stuck up for her and I ended up in jail. Not for sticking up for her, but for the freeloaders. Had she not turned on those trying to help her, we never would’ve known there was a warrant for my arrest at the time (we had no mail service where we lived) in the first place. And eventually, the statute of limitations would have expired. It’s a shame our relationship as sisters had to end the way it did. We were actually kinda close in the end, despite how different we were. But some things just aren’t forgivable. And I don’t think forgiveness is something we can choose. I think it’s like with our orientations and what flavors and colors we like. Which basically means it’s not something we can consciously choose. We can hope, but I don’t think we can choose. At least I know I never could. I have forgiven almost everyone who’s ever wronged me. It’s just my siblings, uncles, Tom’s mom and our old neighbors I can’t forgive. That alone may seem like a lot, but again, it’s not something I have much control over. I would never accept Jenny C back as a friend. She was just too selfish and bossy for me. But I forgave her years ago. Why, I do not know. Why did I forgive Maliheh B for breaking my heart in such a rude, mean and totally uncalled-for manner, and for making the same prank calls that only I was dragged into court for? Would an apology from those I couldn’t forgive have made a difference? I don’t know. But I do know that it’s kind of hard to forgive someone who doesn’t believe they did wrong in the first place.

I’m sorry to put our deaths on my folks and those friends – cyber and not – that cared about me/us, but I know they’ll get over it. Just please try to look on the bright side of our deaths, and believe it or not, every dark thing in life really does have its shiny spot. We would have only gone on to struggle, we’d have continued to worry, and like I said, the idea of spending the rest of my life in someone else’s noisy rental didn’t sit well with me. We probably wouldn’t have been insured till we were 65, and well, I never did want to grow old. No one would’ve been there to take care of us once we got to the point where we couldn’t take care of ourselves.

Maybe when we’re dead God will explain why He’s had it in for us for so long and why He favors some people over others and blesses some with better lives than others. Why do celebrities make millions of dollars just to act in a movie? I can act just as well. In fact, it’s the one and only thing I’m just about perfect at. I’m a good dancer, a good singer, a good writer, and good with languages, but I’m an excellent actress. I don’t know why. It’s just the way it is. But how come? Why are they lavished with millions simply for acting in a movie? Acting is easy. We’re not all good at it, but it’s easy. Try writing books such as I have. That’s way more work than acting in a movie. So where were MY millions? My husband had all kinds of sophisticated computer and electronic knowledge. Where were HIS millions? Seriously, I hope I get to turn the tables and beat HIM over the head with the fucking stuff for once, and shove money bills down His throat and ask, “Why?!?! Why, you mother-fucker?! Why did you leave us no choice but to kill ourselves, knowing full well I could never have made it on the streets?! Here, choke on the shit, you fucking bastard! Much in the way you made my husband and I choke on the fucking shit!”

As I said, every dark side has its bright side. I’ll no longer have to worry about poverty or any illnesses or injuries I might have gotten. I’ll no longer have to live in a sick, twisted world that legally discriminates against people who are every bit as good – if not better – as everyone else. I’ll no longer have to sit and watch Tom’s hard-earned tax dollars from his working days go to lazy welfare bums and terrorists in other countries. I’ll no longer have to watch blacks get away with hate crimes simply for what “might” have happened a century ago. I’ll no longer have to hear in the news about some kid who was beaten by his mother over and over again only to be returned to her one last time before she kills him. Really, I’m tired of life’s unfairness. I’m tired of seeing good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. It’s like God WANTS life to be unfair, wrong, twisted, backward, and just plain sick. And so unless some miracle happens that I can’t see (but you can believe me when I say that miracles don’t happen to Tom and Jodi S), we will be dead soon enough.

Never once has God made anyone who’s ever wronged me – in a big way or a small way – pay for it. Never once. That leaves only me to have to deal with them. It’s up to me to take care of them because no one else is going to. God isn’t, the law isn’t, no one is. No, I’m not going to go after anyone before I die. Too risky. No one’s worth going to prison for and death is better than prison as it is the streets. But if there’s even the slightest chance I can haunt them from the other side – those that have REALLY burned me bad – you can bet I won’t hesitate! So just because I may be gone, don’t assume we’re done for I just may be back. :)

Joely N and Michael M were the black freeloaders who lived next to us in Phoenix and vandalized our property, along with blasting music constantly. We could not eat, sleep, think or even piss in peace. In exchange for complaining to the city, the Jew-hating, vindictive assholes had their cop friend, Jerry O, also black, type a threatening letter (if it wasn’t one they received from someone else they pissed off) in which he got my fingerprints on during our little interrogation by thrusting it into my hands. He knew I’d made pranks and threats before, so I was the perfect one to set up, and then my being so naïve to the law was further taken advantage of and I was railroaded like crazy. I was tricked and manipulated into pleading guilty for something I wasn’t even charged with. They never told us about most of their “evidence,” all falsified, until right before sentencing. I truly believed at the time I was being sentenced for writing about them in my journal, in which they pulled copies from out of our recycle bin and altered and added in all kinds of threats and racial slurs, determined to play the race card and turn it into a racial issue. And so I was made to look like the bad one and I lost half a year of my life and thousands of dollars. Forget about all the stress, rage and frustration I went through on account of these people’s hatred. So God help these people if my spirit is free to “visit” whomever I want to in the afterlife. God help them! And Paul, my wonderful lawyer who put on the most pitiful performance in court, and Judge H, who went along with the DA and her INSANE sentence. Wife-beaters don’t even usually get 6 months!!!

Tom was my compensation for those who were abusive to me, be it verbally, emotionally, physically or legally. But never was I compensated in other areas I was lacking in life. Never.

So many people were always quick to point out my weaknesses, but rarely my strengths. The newspapers back east were quick to write all about the prank calls I made. But whoever wrote about when I quit smoking other than myself?

I could never have proven, though I wish to hell I could have, that I was wrongly jailed in 2000, then slandered by the media. But what if I could have? Do you think the Arizona Republic would’ve been quick to shout THAT from the rooftop?

Tom begged me not to go alone, insisting he would be sent to prison no matter how obvious it looked like suicide and not murder, and I laughed. I fucking threw myself out a window when I was 17 and no one cared. I was punished for it instead and treated as if I’d just tried to kill a dozen people. Believe me, they made me wish to hell I had succeeded! No one who had a hand in influencing me to jump was ever made to pay for it, so why would my husband, who would have absolutely nothing to do with it, be made to pay? He’s just as much of a victim as I am. Then again, I just got through saying how unfair life is, didn’t I? So yeah, we will go together. He wouldn’t want to live without me anyway, any more than I would want to live without him.

Should we smash our stuff before we die so no one can get what was ours? Nah, I don’t care about our stuff or what happens to our bodies and neither does Tom. We won’t be needing them anymore, so it really doesn’t matter. I just wanted to have my final say is all. People are going to choose to believe or not believe what they want, and they’re going to make all kinds of assumptions, and that’s ok. I expect and accept that. People will say we didn’t try hard enough to find work, we didn’t fight hard enough to live, and that’s ok. Say what you want, think what you want. We know the truth.

Some are probably asking themselves, “Couldn’t they have borrowed money from someone?” But no, we couldn’t have. Tom’s family wouldn’t have given a shit about us if they could’ve afforded to help us, and I think they could have, and my folks have had major expenses with having to pay for medical costs and needs that aren’t provided by Medicare. Besides, they don’t have much longer to go themselves and we couldn’t have gone running to them every time the shit hit the fan.

I hate to bring up any horrible memories, but it’s kind of like with the 911 attacks. Those that jumped knew they’d be burned to death if they didn’t. And most of us would no doubt rather jump than burn. While Tom may make it for a while, I’d certainly burn on the streets in no time. And so I have chosen to jump rather than burn because that is our only two choices. If I didn’t have a sleeping disorder and could at least get a bed every night in a shelter, I might’ve been able to make it a while, but getting beds in shelters is very hard to do what with how few beds there are compared to homeless people.

“You’re so smart.” “You’re so talented.” These are things I’ve heard many times throughout my life. And while it was true that I didn’t know it all, I’d say that yeah, I knew more than your average Joe Shmoe and Jane Doe. I played instruments, I could draw, I could dance, and I got to be a pretty damn good singer after quitting smoking, believe it or not, after being the worst singer in the world as a kid. Really, I got to be about an 8. Not bad. Not bad at all. I did some skating, I could act, and I was familiar with a dozen languages. But you know what? In the end, none of it mattered. Not one single bit of it meant shit. I may as well have been dumber than a newborn.

When they first took me to Florence jail in 2000 and I spent those 12 hours there, I couldn’t help but feel like something was preparing me for something. And it was. It was preparing me for the half a year I would spend in the Phoenix jail. Something up there was showing me – See? It’s not like on TV. People aren’t going to be raping and beating the shit out of you, so don’t worry. It’ll be hard, but you’ll survive.

Same with what happened at the motel in 2007. It was preparation. It wasn’t just to reconnect my parents and I, and it wasn’t a reprieve. It was just an extension. One to help get me “used” to the idea, if you will, of staring death in the face.

I’m sorry, Marie. I know you loved me and I appreciate you caring for me the way you did, but I assure you it would have been much, much easier to say you’d help us than to actually do it. Maybe if we weren’t so far away, but we were. I know you meant well, though. I hope you find that special someone someday.

To Andy: I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend to you. I hope you continue to have the success you’ve been having.

Will I go to heaven or hell? Will I be reincarnated? Something else? Nothing at all? I don’t know the answer, but I guess that if God had planned all along to send me to hell because I had a few girlfriends before meeting Tom, wouldn’t He do that no matter when and how I died? Well, either way, I’m going to find out what happens when we die soon enough and I guess they’ll add my name on legacy.com. I was born in 1965, btw.

I’m still scared of the actual dying process. I’m scared of what may lay beyond. I’m a little sad and a lot mad. But I have to die someday anyway, and I’d rather go on my terms than on the terms of a bunch of sick greedy bankers and a bunch of fucking twisted politicians who put themselves first, other countries second, and their own people last! They’re the ones to blame along with the God above who sat back and let it all happen. Yeah, congratulations, assholes, for right along with the bastard in the sky, you have managed to help kill my husband and I. I hope you’re happy.

THURSDAY, JUNE 24, 2010 The guy here got the picture situation squared away, and we’re now friends on Facebook too, LOL.

Poor Shanara. After a 4-day tease, she finally got her period. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” I almost told her. “God gives to those who don’t want and who don’t deserve in the first place.”

Despite how young she is I sense she’d make a great mom. Just the fact that she wants a kid is enough to disqualify herself in that department, but I still think she’ll be pregnant within a year. God may prefer to bless people with other people’s dreams, but I don’t think Shanara’s as unlucky as I am. Even she herself said she hasn’t been through nearly as much hell.

Later…

Yesterday I was so depressed. I had several crying spells and would try to stay in the other room so as not to share my misery with Tom. I just didn’t want to get him all down as well. I tried to keep as busy as I could to distract my mind from the things that are depressing me. As soon as I would relax and do things like listen to music, my mind would go off on a tangent and pretty much take me places I didn’t want to go.

My days are numbered and there’s no playing it down or sugar-coating things unless a miracle happens soon. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m just sitting here in one big old waiting room, just waiting, waiting, waiting… watching the time tick by and knowing I am completely powerless to change fate. Knowing that sometimes some things really don’t work out and get better and that all one can do is try their best to change things. Like those trapped in a collapsed mine. Those who aren’t killed instantaneously will fight to survive and get out alive. Some will succeed, but some won’t. Well, without getting into detail just yet, that’s pretty much the situation my husband and I are in right now. Our world has collapsed and we’re still alive and struggling to survive. But after doing all we can possibly do on our part, the rest is up to fate. We’ll either make it or we won’t.

I would prefer to live and go on to buy that dream home we’ve been wanting and to be able to fill my journal with many happy things. But some of us just aren’t in the habit of getting what we want, and I’m one of them.

There is much sadness, anger and fear, but at the same time, if our time really is meant to be up soon, I kind of wish we could just get it over with and be gone from this world right now. Why wait around for the inevitable? It only drags out and prolongs the stress. Might as well get it over with. If we live we would never have gotten what we wanted, I’m tired of living in other people’s little old dumps, I’m tired of listening to their fucking dogs, I’m tired of financial worries, and I never wanted to grow old anyway. And who would have taken care of us once we got too old to care for ourselves?

Normally we keep the back bedroom, the bathroom, and the front kitchen windows cracked during the summer, but the barking has gotten so bad I had to shut the front window and open the side one instead.

Later…

I knew those bad money dreams had to mean something. Sure enough, we’re only getting a week’s worth of money, and they say they’re going to send the rest within a few days to a few weeks, but I’ll believe it when I see it. I started praying to God for me to not only be right in believing the money will run out before the jobs return but to see to it that we don’t get the money owed to us so we can get out of this sorry world sooner.

Tom’s still so sure he’s going to get a job before the money runs out but says that worst-case scenario, what he’d like to do is apply for all kinds of assistance, not because he hopes to get anything, but to make the government work for screwing us. Then he’d like to declare hardship and cash out his pension and live it up till that runs out, saying he doesn’t want to just die and not be able to enjoy some of what he worked so hard for first.

Me, I still just want to go when the time comes. I’m ok with gambling off what’s left and living it up that final day, but as soon as we’re out of money and there’s no stalling Jesse on the rent anymore, I just want to go. Period. Why delay the inevitable? It’s like being on death row. Why prolong what’s only destined to happen anyway? Besides, I wouldn’t be in the mood to live up anything. As it is I’m fast losing motivation to live. My will to survive is totally becoming drained the more we struggle on and on and wait for nothing. I’m tired of stressing over money while God, the government, the state, etc., do absolutely nothing to help us!

I simply don’t have the will to live anymore. Nothing interests or excites me anymore. I haven’t wanted to have sex, I haven’t wanted to go anywhere, I haven’t wanted hardly anything at all. I have to push myself to work, I have to push myself to exercise, I have to push myself to diet. All I want to do is write and listen to music when I’m not eating or sleeping. Oh, and study languages. I wish I were one of those who could tell myself, “Cheer up, things will get better. Smile, be happy!”

But I don’t know that. After 20 months, how could I really believe that?

Applying for assistance would be more work for us than it ever could be for the state and government, as I told Tom, and why spend hours waiting and filling out forms for nothing?

Knowing full well how much time it takes to cut a check and that they simply wouldn’t write it out, put it in the mail and send it to us, we’d have no money for 4 months or so between the time the unemployment checks stopped and we got the pension money.

My life may never have been perfect, but it once held the promise of all kinds of surprises and possibilities. Now my life is so damn boring and predictable. I have hobbies that I enjoy, but I wonder if it’s only a matter of time before I lose interest in those things as well.

How did my life get to be so full of stress and hardships? Once upon a time I never worried about how we would pay the rent or if we could eat. My worst money worry was simply whether or not there’d be anything extra leftover for fun stuff.

A part of me misses my old problems. They were frustrating, but they were safer.

Sometimes I wonder, what would it have taken for God to give us a break had we lived into next year and beyond? Would we have to be attacked by someone first? Have this place burn down? Become paralyzed in an accident? What would make us just as deserving of a decent life as the next guy?

Once again, there’s no doubt at all that Maliheh’s checking me out.

I looked up Hope Mills on city-data.com after we talked. The winters don’t have the kick that MA winters have, but she still gets some snow. I’m surprised. I thought almost all of NC was nice year-round. It’s humid as hell from what I can see – yuck! I’ll stay in Auburn even though its winters are as cold and wet as the summers are hot and dry. Our average highs are in the 30s and 40s in the winter with the average lows being in the 20s and 30s.

Finished chapter 18 about 5 days ahead of schedule. Didn’t accomplish much yesterday, though. I was too depressed.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 23, 2010 I’m not sure which is worse – scary dreams or sad dreams. I dreamt that Tom died. I don’t know what I was doing alive. I meant it when I said I’d kill myself if anything happened to him. The only thing was that I only knew him for a decade in the dream. I was sitting at my computer trying to block him out of my mind when the reality of the fact that I’d never see him again hit me and how short those 10 years together seemed in comparison to a lifetime. In my mind, I screamed for him to come back and give me another decade together.

I actually woke up crying and I told myself, if you two don’t ever kill yourselves together out of desperateness for some reason, and if you don’t end up being the one to die first, he’s almost certainly going to go first being that he’s almost 9 years older, and one day that realization that you’ll never see him again will be for real. So maybe you oughta quit bitching that he’s home so much of the time and always there.

My husband and I may be more like damn good friends than anything else, but he’s my one and only true soul mate. The only one I could ever really be myself around that fully understood me, and that I could tell anything to. It isn’t that I couldn’t be myself around people like Andy and Marie, for example, and tell them anything. It’s just different with Tom, and well, he and Andy and Marie are totally different people. It’s something I don’t think anyone could possibly understand without experiencing the same feelings. I would literally break all my bones right now to save his life if I had to. There’s never been and never will be anyone else I’d go to such extremes for.

TUESDAY, JUNE 22, 2010 I got a score of 100% on my first 3 Catalan lessons! Still plugging away with the German too, and reviewing my other languages – Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, etc.

Marie is going to see Tammy this weekend, a former girlfriend from Valleyhead who’s now married with kids. I know she’s really excited about it, so I hope she has fun and enjoys the visit!

Some people have asked what happened with Maliheh and me in court. Well, we never got that far. I had other legal issues going on in a nearby town at the time. Maliheh’s case was in another town which was dismissed on January 15, 1992. Part of the deal was that her case would be dropped if I agreed to plead guilty for the pranks I committed on a company that was taking me to court in the other town, and I did. As my lawyer told me at the time, the DA would rather try to nail my ass for calling a big company as opposed to calling one person.

Maliheh’s upset with me because her friends are dumping her on Facebook.

And that’s supposed to be my fault?

I see she picked up the messages I sent her on MySpace back before I knew what was going on.

Andy and I swap a few messages here and there on Formspring and it’s great. I love laughing over old times and catching up on the present. It’s just enough contact to keep in touch, but not so much that it keeps me from my work and the other things I do.

I told Tom I gave Andy my own phone number and he said that wasn’t a good idea. He said that since he obviously must not trust me since he hasn’t given me his number or email address, now he has a weapon to use against me if he gets mad at me again whether I deserve it or not. I asked how he could use it as a weapon, and he said he got slammed with prank calls on his cell about a year ago.

“And you’re just now telling me this?” I asked him, and he said he didn’t want to worry or upset me, but why would it? Besides, I don’t have to answer if I see a number I don’t recognize.

It is kind of interesting that he hasn’t given me any contact info. He doesn’t seem to have anything vengeful planned, but I’m not worried either way. I don’t want him to tell me anything he doesn’t want to tell me, and these days a phone is hardly a “weapon” to use against anyone. I’m just surprised anyone would have the guts to make prank calls these days. It’s too damn easy to get caught, even if you block your number. The cell and landline numbers have been previously issued to other people, so whoever the caller was might have also been dialing randomly or thinking they were calling someone else.

Tom just came in cuz he just wanted to make sure I didn’t want to yell at him some more before he gets to doing what he’s doing, and I said no, I’ll yell at him later, LOL.

MONDAY, JUNE 21, 2010 OMG, this is so fucking funny! Maliheh’s definitely reading my journal! OMG, I’m laughing so hard now I can barely type. OMG, it’s sooooo hilarious. I swear she had 2 photo albums on Facebook, 1 with 2 cat pics, the other with 2 of her, 1 of her house, and the same 2 cat pics. A couple of days ago I commented on how I didn’t like the face shot of her in my online entry titled Anonymously Maliheh. Well, that disappeared after I mentioned it.

After the Looking for Maliheh entry where I tell people to search for her name on Blogger if they want to know more about what happened with us in my 1991 entries, she hides her friends.

After today’s Maliheh Turns into a Cat entry where I claim that she contacted me on Blogger saying to check out her profile, etc., she almost disappears entirely, LOL! I can’t poke her, I can’t friend her, I can’t see her friends, I can’t see any pics but that damn cat profile pic, nothing. OMG, it is just so fucking funny the way I’ve been fucking with her. For so many years I blasted God for protecting my perps (even if what she did is nothing compared to some others), but maybe I’m their Karma, LOL. My playing with her may be harmless and she knows this, but just the thought of writing the story and her going to read it, no doubt wondering what I make us “do” in the story, totally amuses the holy hell outa me. :)

It gets even funnier. You can share people’s profile links on your page, and I made sure to share hers! Under links you can usually leave a comment. I said, “Aw, such a cute little kitty!” I asked Marie to say how much she was looking forward to the story, LOL! Well, I did this after I asked one of her friends why so many of her friends were friending me, asking me to friend them, then both disappearing and reappearing.

Wish to hell I could see the messages she’s exchanged with friends! And her profile as well.

SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 2010 Marie called yesterday just to hear my voice and to cheer me up. I love her for caring, accepting me as I am, and trying to assure me that things will work out. But how come everyone else is so sure of that and I’m not? What do they know that I don’t? Or is it me who knows something they don’t?

Andy left some messages for me. I always felt he’d one day meet Stevie Nicks since he had become friends with her mother, and he has! He said they’ve met 4 times and he has pictures of them together. I’d love to see them!

He says Marla doesn’t read my journal because she’s busy, my writing has improved immensely although he doesn’t read my stories, and he can read Spanish but not fully understand it though he’d love to learn. I directed him to the language learning site I use.

Still can’t learn Esperanto at the language site because they’re still messed up. Yeah, them and their fucking problems. I warned Andy about that, too. But I was able to enroll in the Catalan course, so now I’m learning that. Again, it’s just another variation of romance languages, so it should be fast and easy. I got 100% on my first lesson. Still need to get on with my German, and of course there’s always room for improvement in my other languages. I may know a shitload of Spanish and sign language, but even I still find myself totally lost at times if the person speaks/signs too fast.

People have asked if I have any learning tips. Just keep at it regularly and try to make yourself think in your new language. When listening to music, translate what you can when you listen to the words and do things like that.

What shocked the shit out of me was that Andy said he wasn’t aware of all the legal shit that went down with me in 2000. He only learned of it through my journal. I was surprised because of all the publicity the case got. It got the same kind of attention murderers or celebrities get! The media circus was so insanely asinine that I still can’t believe it ever happened and I doubt I ever will. I remember thinking, “What’s next, a call from Oprah?”

Tom wonders if Andy may be exaggerating how well he’s doing. Yeah, I wondered that, too. According to him, his life became great as soon as I left it. Hmm… interesting. I doubt he’s exaggerating, though, and if he is I doubt it’s by much.

Yesterday I was out hanging sheets when all of a sudden I was face to face with this cute little mommy bird sitting on her eggs in this nest that’s been in the corner of the porch roof for a while now. I took some pictures.

It was 50 fucking degrees when I went out running yesterday morning. 50 fucking degrees in June! I miss living in a warm climate! By mid-June last year and the year before we could keep the windows open till mid to late August, but not this year! We still have to close them at night. :( That’s ok. A few more months and I’ll never have to worry about being cold ever again if things don’t turn around.

SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 2010 The IHOP turned out to be great. It was funny, though, cuz on the way there I commented to Tom that the bill would come close to the amount of the GC which was $25. He said, nah, it wouldn’t, there are a lot of places having specials these days, etc. But sure enough, it was $4 just for his soda and my coffee which was excellent since they’d just opened and brewed their first pot. It all came to $23.88. He got chocolate chip pancakes, and I got sirloin bits mixed with sautéed mushrooms and onions which included two eggs, hash browns and a couple of buttermilk pancakes which I soaked in butter pecan syrup. Man, was it good! I even ate most of the nearly 1200-calorie meal, too. Since Tom’s been dieting and isn’t used to eating so much at once, he couldn’t finish his. Not even I’m used to eating so much at once! I was full for hours.

I was told by Shanara that my journal was inspiring to her because I don’t try to sugarcoat my life. I had to laugh at this one because usually it’s the other way around and I tend to drive people away when I’m having my down times. Not intentionally, of course, but I do tell it like it is, and many people are simply put off by us when we’re in a foul mood of some kind. As I told her, though, I WISH I COULD sugarcoat my life. Believe me, I WANT to be able to fill this journal with all kinds of happy things. Yet I continue to sit here and watch people just go up and get what they want in life with little to no effort at all while I pray to God for just the damn basics just to be ignored. What’s the trick? Really, what am I doing wrong? Why is it that so many people can just up and take what they want from life as easily as one gets up in a restaurant, walks over to a buffet table, selects what they want and walks away with it?

So many people say they believe God loves everybody equally. Yet look at all the diversity in life. Does He really, really love us all equally? Or could it be that people choose to tell themselves this because it’s just too damn scary to think otherwise and to accept the possibility that He/It may actually have it in for some of us?

In other news, I began learning Esperanto which should be simple enough and take no time at all being yet another romance language. It’s one of those cases where I could understand the gist of what was being discussed if I looked at a webpage in Esperanto, but couldn’t pull whatever I wanted to say out of thin air on my own until I study it. I can’t decide if it’s more similar to Spanish or Italian. Some of the words are close to German, and of course I would not know that had I not started learning German. So it’s true that the more languages you learn, the more they help with others. So far I have begun learning just a few rules and basic words, but just as soon as the language learning site I normally use gets its act together I can begin learning it right. Those jerks always have tech issues, always.

Later…

LOL, no more friending Maliheh’s friends. She’s now not only got her friends invisible (except for the 3 that have accepted my friend requests), but now she’s hiding her likes/interests and she removed that face shot I mentioned in my last entry, too. I’m surprised she didn’t block me altogether, but like I said, she could be hoping I’ll harass her so she can then have grounds to get me. That’s ok. I’m smarter now than I was 19 years ago. I know how not to get carried away. She’ll never fuck with me again. She just doesn’t want me getting at her friends, obviously, and that’s ok, too.

Well, now there’s no doubt as to whether or not she knows what’s going on, LOL! I’ll back off now. Wouldn’t want to burn any of the few bridges that are left when it comes time to let her know her story is done – hahaha!!!! I mean, I still have her email addy, but she might’ve blocked me or marked me as spam. Maybe she’ll be curious enough to keep checking my journal every so often to see if it’s there, but I will email her and let the friends of hers I can get a hold of know about it when it’s done.

I forgot to mention that I asked one of her friends who went to initiate a live chat with me after “wowing” a couple of my photos how Maliheh’s doing these days and how they knew each other. He played drums for her for a few months, he said. What, was she a singer or something? I don’t remember her mentioning being into singing in the very brief time we knew each other, but she did mention playing the guitar. Anyway, this one unfriended me, obviously not wanting to get involved or go against Maliheh, but I still have the other two friends.

Jesse’s gunning engines now. I’m not surprised. He does love the cold and it seems the only time he can sit still is at night or when it’s hot. Well, when he’s even around in the first place. Like I said, as annoying as they both are, I’d rather the barking than the engine gunning because that’s easier to drown out. I wouldn’t mind if he’d finish the weeding down here, especially so I can have a clearer running track, but I also want to go to sleep soon, too.

FRIDAY, JUNE 18, 2010 To the one in Texas: Yeah, you’re right. As I just told someone else, it’s hard to give a shit about life when life doesn’t seem to give a shit about you. There’s only so much effort one can put forth on their own to better their life. Our lives have been awful since coming here and in many ways, I’m sorry we did. It’s quieter here, but we have absolutely no life at all and we obviously never will either. I used to look forward to waking up, but now I just seem to function like a robot for the most part just waiting till the end comes.

To the “feathery” one: I hear you! I wish we were black sometimes, too. Then my husband would get first dibs on jobs, we could play the race card anytime someone pissed us off and count on people siding with us, and even be exempt from being charged with a hate crime should we decide to take our frustrations out on someone that’s different than us. I doubt we would ever be that vindictive and cold-hearted, though, so I’d settle for just the special treatment in the job world.

In a few hours, we’ll be at the IHOP. Hopefully, that will pull me out of this dismal mood.

As I told Marie, I’m sorry I can’t be a better friend to her. One that’s more fun, closer in distance, and able to devote more time to her.

Later…

Hey, everybody! I got 6 months for a threatening letter I did not write, but what’s this teenage-punching pig get? More training!

Still think there’s a good God up there?

Why do they bother to film their violent acts and corruption they lavish upon us citizens if they’re just going to be allowed to get away with it???

I’m kind of surprised, even bummed, that the people in the area didn’t jump and beat the pig down. Since they’re obviously immune to any form of real disciplinary action, maybe if society starts fighting back and kicking the crap out of these pigs, they’ll think twice before they fuck with us. Talk about it being no way to treat a lady! No one this angry and macho should be allowed to serve on the police force. No one. Someone could be chasing me with a gun and the pigs are the last ones I’d count on for help.

Geez, I shouldn’t have watched this. It not only made my foul mood even worse, but it’s only going to deepen my hatred for whatever’s up there.

Well, this is just going to be one of many things to remind me that while there will be some good things in life I’ll miss after I’m gone, there’s still an awful lot of shit I ain’t gonna miss as well! I will miss my family, friends and hobbies, but I won’t miss living in such a cruel and unfair world one bit!

It’s 5am, so the dogs will be going off anytime now. Gotta put the sound machines on. I can’t believe how much more realistic the sounds have gotten. It really, really sounds like it’s raining in here. The old ones just sound like static. Anyway, they don’t go off as much at this time of year, and when they do it’s not usually for long, but I like to have them on anyway so I’m not distracted from whatever I’m doing. The only time I can count on them not distracting me is when it’s really hot or Jesse’s home.

Tom believes that most people wouldn’t be bothered by the dogs at this distance, but I’m not so sure I agree. Yeah, they’re about 150-200 feet away, but these are fairly good-sized dogs with loud barks, and we do live in a trailer, not a normal house. The walls and ceilings are only a couple of inches thick. That’s why it gets so hot and so cold in here as easily as it does. Maybe someday whatever’s up there will feel we deserve a real home. I doubt it, though. I doubt it. So should I tell myself it’s better than being on the streets? I suppose I should, but it doesn’t necessarily make me feel any better depending on what mood I’m in. If something’s bad enough, does it matter if there’s anything worse?

Anyway, I had to work in 4 different languages yesterday. If there is one thing I can thank God for it’s the ability to pick up languages as well as I do, even though I’m sure I’ll never be native-like in any of them since I don’t plan to ever live where any of these languages are the official language.

THURSDAY, JUNE 17, 2010 Now that’s something different. Maliheh now has her photo album viewable that contains two pictures of her two cats. Shall I use “Booty” and “Kiwi” in her story? LOL Anyway, one of the 3 people I friended accepted, and the one I sent the note to hasn’t replied. I’m kind of not surprised, but maybe I should send it to the one who accepted my friend request. I’ll think about it. I just went and friended about 10 more of her 50 friends. It’s interesting to see what she’s written on her friends’ walls. On the wall of the girl who accepted my friend request was a happy birthday wish.

She writes as spastically as I remember her to speak, drawing out words with extra letters.

Oh, wait! Now I can view 5 profile pics when I click on her ‘photos’ tab. I swear I couldn’t view anything before. Wonder if she’s feeding me info or something. Anyway, there were the two cats, one house and two of herself. One is the picture I’ve been seeing all along where a part of her face is blocked. The other is a good face shot. She’s still thin and still looks a decade younger. Probably weighs less than I do just like before. In 1991 I was around 100 pounds and she was probably around 90. But she does look older and kind of plain for that matter, and her hair is boring. I liked it long and straight, but now she’s wearing it shoulder-length and wavy. I would never recognize her, though, if we passed each other on the street, and I wouldn’t be the least bit attracted to her these days either.

Set most of my blogs private. At least for now.

Got a lot to do today, but what else is new? It’s cool, though. I like keeping busy. Never was one to just sit around and stare at walls.

Swapped messages with an old lady in Ohio and a black guy in Louisiana. Both had interesting things to say.

I forgot to say that there’s one other thing Andy and I talked about the other night, but it’s a hushable that can’t go online. What was funny was that I knew damn good and well it wouldn’t be anything we’d disagree on. He feels the exact same way I do yet it’s something most people would criticize us for even thinking about, LOL. I wish I could take his advice too, but it would only be a temporary fix.

I think he missed the questions I asked him yesterday. He left me a message yesterday but doesn’t seem to have noticed mine unless they’re questions he doesn’t want to answer, LOL. I forgot to ask how he can afford insurance with his own business. That shit’s expensive! Even if I had all the money in the world, I would never pay for insurance unless I had an existing condition where I knew I would use it regularly.

No matter what his faults are and my faults are, I still love the hell outa the guy. Always have, always will. We could scream at each other one minute, then in the next, I could say, “Give me a hug, you asshole,” and I know he’d smile and be quick to give me that hug. If he were suddenly at our door in need of a place we would take him, even if we had absolutely no room for him. And we don’t. He’d have to live on the floor.

His mom’s alive and well, he told me. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I thought they were both gone.

And Marie’s always gonna be a special one, too. Yeah, she’s still a part of my life even though I haven’t written much about her in the last few days. I just gotta keep a whip handy in case she’s a bad dog. :) I let her know I was alive so she wouldn’t worry. She said she woke up scared, but can’t remember the dream that woke her. I’ve been sleeping shittily too, and have had unpleasant dreams.

Oh, someone asked me what have I learned most by spending so much time broke. That’s easy. That it’s not always our fault. We don’t always have to be lazy, stupid alkies or druggies to end up this way. Those homeless people on the street – they didn’t all “ask” to end up that way. Some of them did, but some just fell prey to the wrong circumstances. It can happen to anyone. Anyone.

Couldn’t my parents at least pay to store our stuff and give us food and gas money so we could at least live in our car if we were faced with homelessness? someone else asked. I don’t know the answer to that with the way their medical expenses that aren’t covered by Medicare may be adding up, but I wouldn’t ask them to in the first place. My parents aren’t going to be around forever to run to, and I swore in 2007 that I would never again ask for money. Death would be better than the streets anyway. Either way, I have a few rules I like to stick by. I do not take sides or defend anyone in a fight. I do not ask you for money. You do not ask me for money.

I was also asked if I pray. Not too often. Most of the things I ask for don’t happen, and when they do, they seem to take forever, so I figured I’d be better off just trying to rely on myself and just do whatever I can possibly do on my own to get something I may want. I hate to say it, but it’s kind of hard not to give up on a being that seems to have given up on us. Guess some things just work better for others.

I can relate to a lot of the feedback I’ve gotten and have felt similar emotions as some folks have described. I have felt sorry for myself. I have felt angry. I have felt punished. I have felt like a failure. I have felt like a victim. Now I’m just trying to feel acceptance as to the fact that whatever will be will be, and not be so hard on myself. I have many skills and talents and I know that and it’s not like we have nothing. We have each other’s love and a lot of nice collectibles, clothes and electronics. If we didn’t have so much shit in here, this place wouldn’t seem so small.

Gosh, I sound so depressing, don’t I? I assure you, though, I sound more down than I actually am. It’s like me saying my grandfather died in 1985. Well, it’s sad that he died, but I’m not depressed.

To answer other questions, Andy is a family friend, not an old neighbor. I’ve known him all my life. He’s 4 years older. Sometimes we do Formspring live, other times we pick up messages when we can. Sometimes our schedules will clash and sometimes we’ll be busy, so we can’t always chat live. I should always be able to get in to answer questions at least once a day. We didn’t chat today, but that’s ok. It would keep it more special not to chat every day. I’m ok with once a week, even once a month. By then I just might have something new to say anyway, LOL.

Lastly, I probably won’t work much on my new story till I’m done with my current one, and yes, writing is loads of fun and one of my top hobbies. You won’t usually make much money in it what with all the writers out there unless your books are turned into movies, but it is fun.

Speaking of books, my friend/teacher/editor in the UK will be releasing his latest book soon after about 6 weeks of editing. Maybe someday I’ll set up a site and have my own books available for download for a small fee.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 16, 2010 Formspring keeps crashing, so I will answer a question Andy asked me right here. Not surprisingly, he’s siding with my MIL and judging a situation he only knows some of. sighs I hope I’m not going to regret us being back in touch with each other. I’ll always be sorry for things I said and did to him that was wrong (and I appreciate his apologies for his own part in it), but man do I hate being pushed and judged! There’s nothing I hate more than being told what I should do, what I need to do, and what would be “right.” What’s right for some isn’t necessarily right for others. Then after this, I would appreciate it if no matter how much he still didn’t get it or agree with us he would not bring it up again. It wasn’t his problem, it never affected him, and he shouldn’t be bothered by stuff that doesn’t pertain to him in the first place.

We don’t bother with those that don’t want to bother with us. Period. And while we would probably accept her apology if she apologized for abandoning us in our time of need, I would still prefer not to associate with those who could do that to us in the first place. Would he want me to insist it’d only be “right” for him to get back with Michelle?

Anyway, Tom’s mom is a very wealthy woman. Not millionaire rich, but wealthy enough. Probably even wealthier than my folks. When I first became a part of the family people secretly warned me of her tendency to use and take advantage of people, and I found it so hard to believe. She seemed like such a nice lady and I was proud to have her as my MIL. It was when his dad died in 1995 that things changed. She began asking for a million favors – mostly car rides and home repairs. I had the same attitude about it at first and as most people would I’d tell myself, “But she’s his MOTHER.”

We learned that before Dad died, his parents agreed to take half of whatever money they had whenever the first one died and split it amongst their 5 kids. But none of us ever got a dime. No one said anything, though, because hey, it was still her money. So those of us struggling to make ends meet continued to struggle while her savings climbed well over the quarter-mil marker (Tom’s the one that used to do her taxes. Of course).

Tom’s a softie at heart and easy to take advantage of. It wasn’t long before I could see that she was using him, but I just put up with it figuring it would stop when her house was sold and she moved in with Tom’s sister like she eventually did. But it didn’t stop. She would always promise to “catch us later” when we’d have to shell out money we barely had for parts we’d have to run out and get in order to repair this or repair that, but we were never paid back. When the money came into the thousands I finally put my foot down and pointed out to Tom that hey, we didn’t have all this extra money to spend. But she did. Then there was the fact that I hardly ever saw my husband when I didn’t go over to her place with him. After work and on weekends he was with her. She became more like a daughter to us. My husband was becoming a stranger and it seemed we mostly kept in touch by phone. I’d call over there but he’d be too busy being run ragged at our expense to talk for long.

Finally, I said, “Ok, so she’s your mom. But that doesn’t make her God or give her the right to treat you the way she has. We’re losing so much money and time. Isn’t that enough for you?”

He agreed. But we didn’t want to “dump” her just because she was selfish. We didn’t hate her and we still don’t. We just simply told her the truth – that we were running out of money and needed to start spending more time with each other. Sure she did little things along the way like buy him lunch from a fast food place while he was there working, but all the burgers and fries in the world couldn’t have possibly made up for the thousands of dollars we were out, and all the time we lost.

But we kept in touch as always.

Then we moved to Oregon. They told us to ask if we needed any help. When all the disasters up there struck, she sent 5K. We greatly appreciated the help and offered to pay her back, but she said not to. I was ok with that, though, as I kind of saw it as getting part of the money we were supposed to have gotten when Dad died, and well, she was rich and we were poor. Just don’t ever ask for money again, we were told. Hearing this really hurt, too. I’m sorry, but a parent’s job of helping their kids when they need it should never end just because their kid may be in his 40s and has needed help before. I found that to be really cold after all we’d done for her. Then all contact from her stopped. Our cards and letters went unanswered as did emails to Mary and Dave. We’d been abandoned and left to fend for ourselves in our next time of need. She was never “dumped” and she was never “cut off.” SHE chose to abandon us and abandon us she did. There was nothing we could do but accept this. We’re not in the habit of trying to make people associate with us who don’t want to, and like I said, I know most people think that if it’s family they should automatically be forgiven and allowed to treat us however they want to treat us. But Tom and I just aren’t that way. If we don’t like you for whatever reason, we aren’t going to bother with you whether you’re family or not. And if we’re wrong for it, so be it. And no amount of pushiness can change the way we feel. We have a right to do what we feel is best for us and we will. Ask anyone who knows me, the more I’m pushed to be someone I’m not or to do something I feel isn’t good for me or that isn’t right, the more I tend to swing the other way.

So if my presence really matters to those who know me personally, then I suggest you not push me away and that you just let me live my life as I see fit. Just worry about yourself, Ok? Don’t tell me what’s right or wrong or try to change me and I won’t do it to you. :) If you really read my journal you’ll see I’m very big on the idea of acceptance and people being allowed to be who they are. I’m not about to go to church if I don’t want to – for example – just because the lady down the road may think I should and that I’d be wrong for not going. Lastly, this is the last time I’m going to defend myself on this subject. I’m an adult and I don’t owe anyone any explanations for the things I do. Neither does my husband. I’m tired of people judging me. Just tired of it! I don’t want to hear about my in-laws, I don’t want to hear about my nieces! Blood relation is NO excuse for abuse!

Oh, I should add that this was in 2004. We last talked to Mary (the one I call Miss Perfect) in 2007 when even worse disaster struck when we moved down here. She put a call through to my folks who at the time had long-distance blocks on their phone. I really appreciated her doing this, but once again, they knew how to contact us, but never once did they call back the next day to ask how we were. They just didn’t care. In fact, I can’t believe she even put the call through and accepted my collect call in the first place. I really can’t. Maybe she was just curious to see if I was going to tell her Tom was dead or something when it was my voice she heard requesting her to accept charges, IDK. All I know is you can’t pay people back who don’t want to be paid back, you can’t make people return to your life that has abandoned it, and frankly, I don’t want to either. Not even my own folks would turn their backs on us like that, and believe me when I say they have their faults, too.

I’m just under 5’ 4” in height. Well, on these 5-inch heels, I’m wearing I am, LOL. Each time I wear them they get easier to walk on and the balls of my feet and ankles don’t hurt as much. But I wish they made the sole out of suede or something because my heel tends to slip off. I need one more hole in the ankle strap to hold it snugger around my ankle. Tom said he’ll punch one in with a nail for me. He’s a sweetie, but I can do it myself.

I got up earlier than I wanted to and found I was up a pound as well. So I said, “fuck it,” and didn’t go out running today. Instead, I stuffed myself with Jelly Belly jelly beans. The ice cream parlor mix is yummy.

I was watching a video a friend on Facebook made about how she was being stalked by some woman. Does anyone online NOT have a stalker?

I’m still not sure whether or not to set my blogs to private or not. No, I don’t want to write anything that might offend people, but it’s still also my journal. I will think about it some more.

Later…

Andy and I were laughing over old times and catching up on each other, though he’d certainly know more about me through reading my journal than I would know about him. Some things are obvious, but other things I’m not sure if he’d want online or not, so I will use my best judgment. He can tell me to delete anything he doesn’t like.

He said he was sorry if he upset me with all the MIL talk. That’s ok. No harm done. He knows that when it rains in my journal, it really pours! In other words, I’m just a bitch who really lets it all out.

He has done so well for himself over the years. I ain’t gonna lie; I really thought his life wouldn’t change much. It seemed to be the same for so long, but then again, so was mine. Seriously, though, I really did see nothing but poverty for him all his life. Instead, it was really my own future I was seeing.

He said he wasn’t trying to brag or rub it in, but he owns his own condo, his own business, has a 5-year-old car that looks new, health insurance and money saved up. He’s had many boyfriends but still prefers going solo. I was so happy to hear this, but once again I started to wonder what went wrong with us. What did we do to deserve to be broke and renting someone else’s trailer at ages 44 and almost 53? Come on, it’s gotta be our fault, right? Right?

Wrong. It was just part of our chosen destiny. I mean, if this is our fault, then it’s also the little kid’s fault who got murdered by his insane mother, right? Right?

Wrong. Some things are just meant to be, plain and simple. I can wear all the high heels I want, but I was still meant to be short and nothing can change that. I don’t know why we were meant to be poor, but we are. I have asked God to give me the strength to accept this fate that we cannot change (even though my husband thinks we can), but He has refused my request. Perhaps that’s because it was meant to be a punishment of sorts. IDK, maybe we ripped people off in a previous life. It seems He really wants me to feel the stress and frustration that comes with never knowing for sure if we’re going to be able to keep the roof over our heads and food in our tummies. Two days in a row I had bad money dreams. Were they warnings? Or just because it’s what I’m preoccupied with?

Either way, I am bound and determined to accept the poverty that’s in my destiny. I don’t know how or when, but I’m going to someday, somehow, accept what I cannot change. It’s not like we haven’t tried. We’re still trying, but no one will cut us a break. We only have so much power. Not everything is within our control, though I sure wish it was.

But as I told Andy, living poorly isn’t the end of the world and we don’t need insurance either because we are healthy. If this is what’s meant to be and what’s right for us for whatever reason and who we were meant to be, then so be it. It at least makes the easier times more special and keeps us from taking things for granted. I know it sounds funny saying that I hope to “do better” at being poor, but I really think life would be easier if I just learned to accept it.

I know we’ll never own a house again. Tom doesn’t know it, but I know it. If we were meant to have a house, we wouldn’t have lost one house and two pieces of land. And I’m still convinced that I was given this sleep disorder to help hold us back. The only way I can work is at home and without a schedule and there’s only so much money I can make that way. And please don’t even ask me to explain it or try to tell me that all I have to do is set an alarm. If it were that simple, folks, I’d be doing it.

To sum it all up; the point is the same. I know we’ll always be renting dumpy little trailers if we make it through the economic crisis, and that’s still an if. If there’s any good in knowing we’ll never own a place again, it’s that I won’t have to worry about losing it. I know money will be an issue for us no matter how long we do live. But we’ll never again ask for money and I will one day learn to accept that no matter how smart, ready, willing and able we may be, it ain’t gonna change the basic plan for us. We’re poor, we always will be, and that’s just life for some of us. If we can just keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, I can then consider anything extra as a bonus.

Anyway, I’m super happy for him but wouldn’t want the condo. I WOULD rather rent. You know anyone within 0-3 feet of us can’t shut up. We all have our areas in life where we’re cursed. For us, it’s money, toilets and neighbors if we have them too close to us. Barking, car stereos, house stereos, car doors slamming, inside doors slamming, people stomping or running, screaming kids, cabinets slamming, TVs blaring – you name it, we’d get it. Some of this is to be expected when you live so close to others and even reasonable, but it was always overkill for us. Always. We always just “happened” to get those extremes.

Andy also had a dog next to him that drove him crazy. He called the pigs on the owner all the time, but the owner himself was a pig. He’s VERY lucky he never went to jail! VERY lucky! See what I mean when I say that I’m made to pay for what others can get away with? Pig ended up moving because there were so many complaints about it. This kind of surprised me being a pig and all, and because so many people let their dogs bark so much.

He urged me to get rid of Jesse’s dogs by dumping them somewhere or killing them. I would if I knew he wouldn’t replace them, but he would replace them. This is the West, you throw your dogs outside and you forget about them.

Oh, and I asked if it was him who asked me those questions that didn’t seem like questions he’d ask. He said it was and he was just trying to throw me off his scent. He really threw me off, alright! I really thought Tammy, and then Maliheh, was behind it.

Tom was emailed a qualification test today. Let’s hope it’s for a reason and not just to waste his time!

Andy hasn’t been friends with Michelle since 2000. She started tweaking and still is, though he talks to her mother at times.

I’m fucking with Maliheh again, even though I know I shouldn’t and that it’s got to stop. But I just had to send her a message yesterday telling her that if it’s not really her sending me the anonymous messages on Blogger, and if she didn’t really “ask” me to write a story with us as lead characters, please let me know because I’d like to know if someone’s impersonating her. But if I don’t hear from you, I told her, I’ll assume it’s you and send you a copy when it’s done.

I figured she’d either continue to be determined to ignore me, assuming she’s gotten all the messages, or would be so freaked out at the thought of someone impersonating her that she would want to deny contacting me. I figured her most likely choice would be to ignore me, and that’s the case so far. But could she possibly be ignoring me because she’s curious about the book? And why hasn’t she blocked me on MySpace and Facebook?

Anyway, today’s joke was to friend a few of her friends on Facebook, and to send a note to another saying:

Is Maliheh B still around? The last thing I want to do is bother any of her friends, but she sent me a message on Blogger asking me to friend her here. I did, but am not sure I did it right and that it went through.

You can tell her I’m working on the book she asked me to write with us as lead characters. I was really freaked out at first for about a week there, thinking that someone was impersonating her, but when I sent her a message asking her to let me know if it wasn’t indeed her that I’ve been swapping messages with, however anonymous they may be, she didn’t reply, so I assumed that yes, it really was her. I meant it when I said I had no hard feelings about the past. We all make dumb mistakes! Anyway, it will take several months, but I am mapping out the plot and doing all that fun stuff we authors have to do. I will email it to her when it’s done. I might mention it there from time to time as I work on it. Don’t know if I’ll post it there, though, once it’s done. The title is either going to be Evil Amongst the Evergreens or Strangers in the Woods. She’s welcome to send any input she wants. It’s her story in a sense. She should hear from me again at the end of the year unless other projects I have going delays it and it will eventually go to my publisher/editor in the UK. I altered her last name, as she asked me to, and am sorry this is so long. :)

TUESDAY, JUNE 15, 2010 NOTE: This entry was written before I got Andy’s 3 messages (yeah, he said I could say his name). The next entry will be my comments on the messages he left me. I will also reactivate Formspring but not until I know he’s had a chance to read this. I’ll reactivate it tomorrow night, probably between 6pm - 9pm.

Got a nice anniversary card from my parents with $40 enclosed and an IHOP GC for $25. That was way nice of them! Think I’ll work on a letter to them tonight. Just as soon as Miss Can’t Keep a Schedule for Shit pushes her schedule up a few hours, we’ll go IHOPing at 6am.

It just hit me that anyone reading this journal who knows the person I was referring to in my last few entries, would know who I’m talking about. but that’s ok because I’m not saying anything bad about them (at least I don’t think so) and it is still my journal, in which case sensitive viewers are invited to leave. :)

They’re still welcome to leave the messages, but I’m not sure I understand the point of rehashing things all these years later. What would be the point of it? Really, what in the world is the point??? What happened happened a decade ago and it’s not like I beat the shit out of anyone. So why is it still so important to them all these years later? Again, I’m sorry for being such an ass and not giving them our number and address when we moved, but nothing’s going to change what happened. Guess sometimes we still gotta get things out.

And how many times can I swear I didn’t erase part of the tape? Huh? How many? If I wanted to spite them that bad, wouldn’t it have made more sense to simply not send the tape at all? But I did send it because even though I knew I was moving on and planning my little disappearing act, that was no reason to keep what was theirs.

It also hit me what they meant by my voice being so slurred. I made the tape deliberately do that for funny effects. See, the tape recorder I used to use to tape their messages was an old ancient piece of shit that when you held the ‘play’ and ‘record’ buttons down just partway, the tape would slip and slide, making whatever you were recording slur up and down and sound funny as hell. I remember recording some of the edits that way. The “edits” were bits and pieces of conversations and prank calls.

I have had many hours to sit on it and while I’m still going to take a wait-and-see attitude, I still don’t know if we should rekindle the friendship. For one, they basically just did the same thing I was guilty of – being an ass. I’m supposed to be sorry for all the mean, hurtful things I said and did (and I am), but why should they be able to make cracks about my husband’s weight and say mean things themselves? Since when do two wrongs make a right? And why would they pick on someone’s weight when they themselves admit they’re heavy, too? That makes no sense at all. I understand their anger, but do they really want to be friends, or do they just want to get me back?

There are basically 3 issues I have with this person. The two I just went through which is the fact that we’re rehashing old shit and doing the same thing I did that I shouldn’t have done. I’m still very glad they contacted me and got things off their chest, though, even if I don’t get half the things they’re talking about. The third thing is that I would worry about them pressuring me to do things I didn’t want to do if we were friends again. I don’t need them judging me for the way I handle situations and people like my nieces. It’s ok to disagree on how I handle them, but who the hell are they (or anyone else) to tell me I was wrong for it? If I beat the snot out of some spoiled brat of a kid in public that just can’t shut up, then people would have a right to judge and pressure me. But when someone bombards me with harassing and threatening messages, family or not, I’ll handle them my way, thank you, and if you don’t like it – then oh well.

No, I’m not mad at them – fucking mosquitoes get off my fucking monitor! – and I’m sorry if I’m coming off as a bitch, but I’d rather be honest and lay all my cards on the table. Isn’t that what they accused me of not doing in the past?

Like I said, I’m not trying to excuse what I did or play it down. And I know they can’t help what they feel. What may bother one person a lot might only bother another a little. All I’m saying is that the things they’re so angry about seem rather petty compared to other things. Try being framed by your neighbors and their corrupt pig pal and losing thousands of dollars and half a year of your life. And that was just some of what we lost. But yeah, for the zillionth time, I did wrong. I fucked up. I really did. And it was wrong of me to write in the journals I sent them that I was going to share it with their family. I wasn’t going to really, I was just fucking with them. It was mean and I’m sorry. I also remember writing that I’d be back in their life someday, though, at the time I wrote it, I honestly didn’t think I would be.

Never thought they’d clean up their act either and quit the cigs and pot. I’m way proud of them! I really am. They said they quit smoking in 2002 and that I was part of what helped influence them to quit the weed. They said it pissed them off so much that I could tell they were high when they last called that that’s part of what gave them the incentive to quit 17 months ago. I’m also surprised they have a computer. They just never seemed the type to get anything that technical. Guess I just don’t always know it all!

Was it really as long as they said it was since I last heard from them? Damn, it was! Goes to show once again that my memory just ain’t what it used to be. I thought it was only last fall that they called. Aging is as frustrating as it is fascinating.

I thought about admitting to everything they accused me of. Everything. Even if I didn’t do it or don’t remember it. But then I WOULD be a liar, wouldn’t I? I also thought of forgiving and getting in touch with everyone that’s burned me just to make people happy, but if I did that I wouldn’t be being true to myself. I don’t want to have anything to do with those who have hurt me – and I mean REALLY hurt me – related to me or not. As someone else said, blood may be thicker than water, but blood has a way of thinning out really fast when people become ass-wipes. I’d only worry they’d burn me again, all the while I secretly wanted to just strangle them. It wouldn’t be fair to me, it wouldn’t be fair to them. Who wants to associate with those they don’t like if they can help it? Who wants to have to smile at them and put on a false face and be who they’re not when they can simply ignore them? That’s what I mean when I say I would be worried they’d pressure me too much. They once knew someone who died. I won’t say how they died. All I’ll say is that they loved this person even though they were abusive at times. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I learned they were gone because I was always fearing for my friend’s safety. Always. Then I realized I had no right to judge and pressure them, worried or not. Well, the point is, I would want the same respect in return and I don’t know that they could give it to me. Could they not pressure me to “make up” with those I don’t want to associate with? Could they not shove God in my face all the time and tell me I’m wrong for my beliefs and opinions? They don’t have to agree with me and I would never try to make them agree with me or change them in any way. That’s why I can’t stand these Mormons so much. It’s ok to dislike gays and to think it’s wrong for same-sex people to marry. But it’s NOT ok to try to force people into being who YOU are. If there’s one trait I hate most it’s those who try to get others to be who they themselves think they should be. But I’m ME. And I need to be myself. And sometimes the only way to do that is to disengage myself from controlling people. I’m not saying they’re some kind of a control freak or anything. They’re nothing of the kind. I’m just saying they’ve pressured me before in some ways and I don’t want to go through that all over again. So what if we agree or disagree about God and His intentions? Does it matter? Does it really matter?

Oh, I forgot to tell them that yes, Tom knows the weight would come back if he stopped dieting. That’s why he’s determined to diet for life. He realizes that you have to literally make lifelong changes in order to lose weight and keep it off what with how much slower our metabolism gets with age. We both used to be able to eat all we wanted and not gain weight. Now we just look at food and on it comes. So a change of lifestyle is a must as opposed to just dieting.

Anyway, I hope the person knows they will always live in my heart no matter what happens and I wish them the very best. And their family, too. I know they lost their parents. My belated condolences to you, buddy. I hope they’re still good friends with Michelle. She seemed like such a nice person. If I remember correctly, and that’s a big if, their friendship with Laura ended years ago.

I may never know the answer to this, but I still wonder if I had more than one person playing with me on Formspring. Yes, there were many different people asking the questions, some I knew and some I didn’t, but some of the questions just don’t seem like it was from the person I’m referring to. Yet they obviously knew me. Why would the person I’m referring to of all people ask me how I know I’m gay and why I married a man? They should know how I know, and as I said, if you want to get really technical, I guess I’d be considered bi, not gay. Yes, I have been attracted to many more women than men, but the person I loved the most that I had an attraction for happened to be a man. He’s no settlement if that’s what they’re thinking. No one settles for 16 years. At least not me. Gay, straight, or bi, after we marry, we’re still always going to find various people attractive throughout our lives because we’re still only human. My parents have been married for nearly 60 years. Do you really think they haven’t had a wandering eye here and there during those years?

I personally have not slept with another woman (or man) since meeting Tom, but I do flirt every now and then. Will I ever sleep with one again? Probably not, but I’m also not about to make any promises I may not be able to keep because I just don’t always know what the future holds. I just know we’ll be together as long as we live no matter what happens along the way. We’re soul mates. The lust part may’ve fizzled out over the years as with most long-term relationships, but we get along so well. We haven’t fought in years. The other day he was going through the shed, determined to keep one of the extra rat cages while I went on and on about not keeping too much extra crap around. Well, that is considered a “fight” for us.

Why was the person I’ve been talking to my only male friend? That was another question they asked that doesn’t seem like something they’d ask. They should know I had other male friends, though Fran and “Nervous” were certainly poor choices for friends no matter what body parts they were sporting. Currently, two of my top 3 favorite cyberbuds are males.

I wonder how long they’ve been reading my journal. It was a while ago that I tipped them off about it, so have they just spent all this time quietly reading in the background, or did they just recently get a computer of their own? I guess it could be a new roommate’s computer or something like that.

My new shoes came and OMG! My first thought was: these are so uncomfortable, I can barely walk in them, and I’m sending them back! But as Tom pointed out, they didn’t cost much, I’ll get used to them, and they’ll just give my legs a good workout by working muscles I don’t normally use, and it’s true. Running doesn’t work some of the muscles these things do. It’s just really rough on the balls of my feet and ankles and they pitch me forward as well. Still can’t reach the ceiling, even though it’s gotta be just 7’. I may be taller, but my arms aren’t any longer!

My weight was still at 127 when I got up even though I couldn’t have had over 1000 calories yesterday. Someone kept me so busy I didn’t have much time to eat, LOL. But today I’m definitely going to catch up on the things they distracted me from. Still kinda sorry the game’s over. While it’s true that I don’t need any unnecessary drama in my life, the little devil in me still likes to come out and play at times!

Oh, another question they asked that doesn’t seem like something they’d ask was if I thought I deserved to be jailed for the calls I made. But they used to do the same thing. So if they thought I deserved it, wouldn’t they deserve it, too? Of course there’s always the possibility they asked this to try to throw me off, IDK. I should’ve realized when they asked me if I ever knew anyone who ever had sex with a dog and what type of sex they had, that it was Andy. But I kept my word and didn’t say who it was. It was when he came out with the “rooms being on fire,” lyrics from an old Stevie song, that I knew who he was for sure.

When I still thought it was Maliheh, the only two things I could think of that I wrote about that she might consider lies, was my saying she was drunk the night we met. She wasn’t exactly falling down and her words weren’t exactly slurred either. I also know that while it’s highly unlikely, those calls I got after I got caught calling her, might not have been connected to her.

The revenge thing threw me off, too. The “revenge” was when he first contacted me on Formspring and said the things he said. Well, I guess the next day people gave him some shit about whatever, pointing out the Karma thing. I totally believe in Karma, but I still feel like something’s protected my perps. If they were ever made to suffer in any way, it’s news to me.

Gotta pay for our mailbox at the UPS store too, after a year of getting away with free service. Not sure how many months we’re going to get. We thought of getting mail at our physical address since Jesse doesn’t seem the type to fuck with it, but we like the idea of people being around to sign for things when we’re not home. It may also cause confusion when we move to have one person’s mail forwarded but not the other. If I go back to regular sweeping where it’s once again a part-time job to supplement our income like the other site I work at is, this place would be better.

Later…

Decided what the hell, I’ll reactivate Formspring right now. So go ask me any intelligent or ridiculous question you want, and Maliheh, if you’re reading this by some chance, you have my permission to fuck with me. :) But Andy, make sure you’re always at least somewhat serious so I know it’s you. I agree it would be a good way to keep in touch without really keeping in touch. After all, this is supposed to be a place to discuss what’s going on in my life and my head. Not a means of keeping in touch. And I promise to watch what I say and use my best judgment.

For now - you said you owe me an apology for being annoying. No, I owe YOU one. I really, truly did sound scary as hell on that tape! OMG, I can totally see how anyone would freak out over that one. Didn’t sound like no wind-up toy that time (and BTW, that one had me cracking up). I’m not sure if I was holding the buttons down on the tape recorder or not, but you know my superb acting ability can fool anybody. Even you, apparently, and for that I am so, so sorry!!! I really thought you knew good and well I was just fucking with you.

I can’t explain the Michelle/Laura or other thing other than to assume I was “line mixing.” I’m pretty sure I was reading bits and pieces of a letter we were going to send to Fran or someone like that, along with other shit. Remember how we used to do that when we’d prank people and I’d grab a random journal of mine when I’d write them by hand, then read a line from one page, then another, then another, to really confuse and fuck with people’s heads? Well, that’s what I was doing. I’m sure of it. Hun, I was never mad at you or wanted you to pay for anything or suffer in any way. Had I known how overboard I was going I’d never have done what I did. Never.

And yes, just like I could be annoying for a million reasons, I’ll admit I got tired of the 5-hour phone chats, mostly about God or shit I had no idea about or interest in while you’d chew in my ear, and while I may’ve needed the break from you, it was still wrong not to be more accepting and tolerant. As I just got through saying in my last entry, we’re not all the same. We gotta just let each other be who we are. So it will always be one of those things I’ll forever regret that I also don’t. I both do and don’t regret the break from my folks as well.

And I believe you when you say you’ve changed so much. Most of us do over time. It’s those that don’t change at all (I won’t bother naming names) that I worry about. I’m still into some of the same things, but I’m also into some different things as well.

Oh, and I tried to find what it was you said you wish I didn’t write about so I could delete it, but couldn’t find it. On Formspring, you’ll have to be more specific and tell me the name of the entry. I should be up till 8am, but just remember I may not reply the instant you send messages. Formspring often has issues where it can take hours for questions to go through. Or I could be off doing other things at the time.

Don’t worry about the “fat” comment. I don’t mind if someone thinks I’m fat. It’s kind of true anyway, but that’s not what bothered me. It was your comments about Tom, though as he said, he doesn’t care and it doesn’t bother him. You know how it is – we don’t care so much when people pick on us, but when they do it to those we love we tend to get a little touchy. Most importantly, I personally think I look a little heavy. Not obese, but I could stand to lose a few pounds. Probably won’t, though, as I do love to eat. I just want a piece of my steak! Remember, how I screamed that once when we were working at Denny’s and I was trying to go on break when it was really busy? Man, I was such a lousy waitress with all the mean shit I’d say! I remember some guy saying, “Hey, lady, I asked for more sugar a while ago,” and I hit back with, “Yeah, so? I asked for a million bucks, but I didn’t get it, did I?”

No wonder I was fired.

Yeah, you WOULD, get a kick out of seeing me think it was Maliheh, LOL, and the timing was perfect, too. I really did contact her recently. Then when you said the Dodos were your favorite band that threw me off even more. I thought Fleetwood Mac would always be your favorite.

I wish to hell I could hug the hell outa you, but I can tell you right now there’s no fucking way Tom and I will ever step foot in Arizona again. Part of the reason I can’t write about. Yeah, not even I bare my own soul online 100%. Either way, Tom and I believe in “not going back.” I haven’t been to New England since I left there, I haven’t been to Arizona since I left there, I haven’t been to Oregon since I left there, and if I ever leave California, I won’t be back here either.

Hey, wait till I tell my folks in my next letter to them – all is going slow but well. We thank you for the anniversary present, the weather’s nice, and been in touch with Andy – hahahahah!!! I’m sure they’ll be pleasantly surprised, though.

Thank you for wishing Tom and me our dream house. Don’t know if we’ll ever get it, but I’m hoping we do! But you know I was always better at achieving goals than dreams. If you’re dreaming of anything these days, I hope you get it, too!

MONDAY, JUNE 14, 2010 Had a scary dream about there being no money on our card.

So Maliheh inspired me to jump back on the diet wagon (thanks, girl!) and I’m dropping back down again. I can fall from 129 pounds to 125 pounds in just a couple of days. The hard part is getting under 125. I would look ok at 120, better at 110 and best at 100, but will settle for 115.

Should I “pop” my belly? You know, as in puke up what I eat after I’ve had a few minutes to enjoy the sensation of having something in my stomach? Been thinking about it lately, though it’s something I’ve never done before. I just don’t think I could bring myself to do it. Puking is gross. But the ole “stuff and pop” method does seem to work for some people. I know I could lose weight the healthy, old-fashioned way if I really wanted to, but I hate being hungry all the time. Whichever way I go about it, I suppose I should try to lose at least a little weight before it gets out of hand. I talked about puking with Tom and right away he urged me not to do it, saying the esophagus isn’t meant to handle all that stomach acid, it gets addicting, is a waste of food and money, etc. sighs I’m not sure what to do. I think I could control myself and not get so carried away with it. But if only I could bring myself to actually do it to speed things up! I’ll still work out and stay in shape. I may not work out as often as I should, but I’m still strong, fit and fast and I have been for most of my life. I try to run a mile most days and do a couple of hundred ab crunches. Now I just need to figure out how to bring myself to puke up at least one meal a day.

Jesse was down on some other dirt bike Tom’s never seen before while he was cleaning out the shed. Fortunately, it didn’t wake me up. I got up at 11am with a stuffy nose, then went back to sleep till around 3pm. He said something about possibly having to go down to L.A. on a job. I hope not! Not just in case of an emergency, but because I’ll be the one to have to deal with the barking all night long if he does. They may not like to go off during the hot days, but at night it just might sound almost as bad as a winter day with those things left alone up there. Again, why have dogs if you’re never home? He’s been in and out on the motorcycle and in the truck. He’s rarely home longer than to shit, shower and sleep. In fact, now that the sun is setting and the temperature is dropping, the dogs are going crazy right now.

My new shoes are up in West Sac from Anaheim, so I’ll get them on Monday or Tuesday.

Ok, on with the latest “questions,” that were waiting for me when I got up. They only answered half of mine and the ones they did answer I have no way of knowing if they’re even true or not. I do know I’m losing interest in this game and getting bored fast. Nothing’s changed. It’s just the same old, same old. They continue to cower in the dark while they swear they’re not the least bit afraid of me. Then why all the anonymity? I won’t block them out, but I may put them on ignore unless they’re willing to really start leveling with me and play this game fairly. What I mean by playing it fairly is by telling the truth and keeping their word. Do they really expect me to believe they eat pussy for a living like they said? Why don’t they just not answer what they don’t want to answer? They didn’t want to tell me their eye color or orientation. Ah, but they do know foreign languages, so they say, and they liked my sense of humor best about me. Yeah, that’s what most people say they like best about me besides being for real and not being afraid to tell it like it is. If you asked me for my opinion, I’d tell you your new outfit’s ugly if that’s what I truly thought and risk offending you before I told you what you wanted to hear.

The sense of humor thing doesn’t make sense for Maliheh, though. She didn’t give herself a chance to get to know me long enough to see if I had a sense of humor. Then again, it doesn’t take much to get a person laughing and joking. I probably cut some joke or gave some sarcastic answer/comment about something at the bar.

If it’s true that they really know another language and aren’t just lying to throw me off (unless they consider swears, gibberish or slang to be their foreign language) then it’s definitely not Andy, Tammy or Jenny, and almost certainly not Joely, either. Although I don’t know which language it could be, Maliheh seems like the foreign language type. She was at least interested in sign language.

Sometimes I wonder if I should stop writing about them as they obviously love it when I do. Would they get sick of me if I stopped answering their questions and writing about them? Ah, but right or wrong, I do gotta admit this is kinda fun. I just might miss them if they disappeared, but like I also said before, they’re really starting to bore me and get old.

Later…

It’s Andy. Yeah, he’s the one who’s been giving me a run for my money on Formspring, and no there is no doubt it’s him. He said too many things that my other “suspects” couldn’t possibly know.

Am I disappointed the game’s over and that it’s not Maliheh? Yeah, kind of. Am I surprised it’s Andy? No, though some of the things he said still make no sense. Maybe I had more than one person harassing me, or maybe he threw in some weird ones to try to throw me off, but I’ll never know for sure.

Well, the convo I posted that was fake and staged totally by yours truly as a means of trying to flush them out worked! Guess I’m just too damn good, except that they said I fucked up and wrote “her” where it should’ve been “me.” Oops!

He doesn’t believe it, but I am going to keep my word about not revealing his identity in my online journal. There’s no reason I can’t give him that much and respect his wishes. I deactivated my Formspring account because I knew that if I left it open, people would know who he was. Besides, it’s no longer fun for me now that I know who it is, and I’m sick of Molly, even though she’ll probably bug me elsewhere to try to get at Alison. Andy knows there are other means of contacting me if he would like to continue to talk, and it’s only deactivated, not deleted.

he told me everything that he was upset about, and I must admit I was shocked. Not just by how hurt and angry he’s been, but because I honestly don’t remember doing half the things he accused me of. I’m not shitting either. I tried to remind him that our memories do decline with age. In fact, Tom and I were talking about that just the other day. For the longest time I was notorious for having a great memory, but over the last couple of years or so I can see a difference in both my short and long-term memory. When I do my proofreading of old journals, I’m stunned to find all the things I’d forgotten about. And sometimes reading about them doesn’t always trigger the memory, and I try and I try but I still can’t recall it. I’m not saying I didn’t do some of the things he accused me of. If it’s true I really did some of the things I don’t remember, I think he’s mistaking my intentions. Growing up as kids we pulled so many pranks on so many people. And into our adulthood, too. And as he himself always said, I was always the perfect actress. So I think I might’ve been a little too convincing in some ways and that he thought I was dead serious when I was really just fucking with him. He said he thought I had totally gone over the edge. He said he’s going to call from a blocked number tomorrow night and play a tape of me threatening him. It will be interesting to see if I remember that, too.

But I swear I don’t remember writing in the journals I sent him before moving that he was raped and had to go to the hospital. Or that he had Laura and Michelle watch me in parked cars outside our house.

I said it was up to him whether or not we keep in touch, but I’m not sure if that’s really such a good idea for either of us, especially him. After all we’ve been through he’s never going to take me for face value and believe a thing I say. He’s always going to believe I’m lying and out to burn and then dump him. He doesn’t seem to understand that not everything I tell him is a lie. In fact, very rarely have I lied to him. But yes, I did say and do some mean things. Things that were unnecessary and that he didn’t deserve.

He also seemed defensive of Tammy and her kids and that really bothered me. Like how dare I write about the hell they put me through, right? That’s like me being raped and beaten, writing about it in my journal, then being chided for having the nerve to “treat” them that way! But yet he asked why I would want contact with someone else that caused me a lot less grief than Tammy and her kids ever did.

I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life and I have hurt some people along the way. But some people really HAVE hurt ME for no reason whatsoever. Why would I want to say or write that someone fucked me over that didn’t? And why should I be ashamed of writing about those who did? That’s what journals are for – to write about the good people/times and the bad ones as well. And while he’s certainly entitled to their opinion, I don’t know if I can be friends with someone who could side with those who have abused or hurt me in any way. Tammy calling the cops on me for trying to stick up for her (even if I didn’t do it in the greatest way) after Bill abused her and Lisa, surprise warrant out for me at the time or not, was WRONG. Even if Tammy apologized right now, how do I know she wouldn’t make trouble for me in the future the next time she got pissed at me?

He probably thinks what happened with the old neighbors and their corrupt pig pal was bullshit as well, but like I said, he’s entitled to his opinion. I just don’t know if I can be friends with someone who’s determined to call me a liar on everything I say as much as I care about him and want nothing but the best for him. Still, I understand why he finds it hard to trust me, and like I said, we don’t have to agree on everything. Like with carrots. He loves carrots – ewwwww!!!! I hate ‘em! Is he the one who loves anchovies, too? As I said, I can’t remember everything I ever saw, heard, said, and did.

I’m not trying to shift blame or deny the mistakes that I’ve made. I have no problem with accepting blame that’s rightfully mine. What do I have to lose by doing so? Some things really are my fault, and no, I’m not perfect, and yes, I sometimes fuck up. So if I’ve owned up to some of the mistakes I’ve made with him, then why does he think I’d refuse to own up to all of them? Yet I honestly don’t recall some of the things he accused me of. Well, I’m saying it right here in print. Yes, I have made mistakes. Some of them I don’t remember. Some may be misconstrued. And some I do remember. But I really do make mistakes and I’m sure I always will.

I contemplated stopping public journaling because I don’t want to hurt people’s feelings or make them angry simply because I write something that I perceive to be true. But then said, nah. Why give up something I love to do? It’s a big hobby for me and I shouldn’t have to stop just because some people are bound to get offended. We all say shit some people aren’t going to like and I’m certainly no exception. Whether you know me personally or not, you’re gonna get pissed at times or at least disagree with some of the things I say. Period. And that’s ok. I accept that much. But should we really be friends again with so much distrust between us? It was wrong of me to do what I did to him. I mean the big, main picture where I simply moved without giving him our new address and number. I may not remember most of what he accused me of, but that still doesn’t mean I didn’t fuck him over. But what he doesn’t get is that I didn’t do it to hurt him or piss him off or because he did anything wrong to me other than get on my nerves at times. My reasons were part of a huge and complex thing that goes far beyond just him. But I DID hurt him, intentionally or not. I did. So he has no reason to trust me. He may not wish me dead, but he should hate me and not want a damn thing to do with me if I put them through as much emotional bullshit as he said I did.

I have no reason or excuse for what I did. None. I guess I just felt compelled to “wipe” the slate clean when we left Phoenix. New house, new town, new people. And not that this is any excuse either, but I didn’t want him pressuring me to remain in contact with my folks. I needed that 10-year break. I really did.

Shit, I drank nearly a gallon of water. No wonder I’m such a little pissaholic.

So anyway, he was also “appalled” at how I treated my nieces. So I should have been kind enough to stay in their lives and let them continue to send me all kinds of nasty and threatening messages simply because we’re related? Just sit back, smile sweetly and take their craziness and their abuse? I don’t get that. I really don’t.

I know that the vast majority of people think one should take and accept abuse from those who are “family” just because they are family, but I just can’t do that. I did it for 30 or so years, but I just can’t do that anymore. I guess I have too much self-respect for myself. You abuse me, and you’re outa my life. Period. And it doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you or if we share any blood. And no one’s obligated to keep in touch with me either.

But in the end, no matter what happens from here on out and no matter how much “Yes, you did, bitch!” “No, I didn’t, asshole!” he and I may go through, he will always have a special place in my heart. How could he not? We shared so many good times. A lot of bad times, but good times, too. I mean it when I say his worst fault was being annoying, just like we all can be.

I won’t give up writing about present times, but maybe I should at least back out of publishing the Arizona journals or keep them in a place where he won't see them. We’ll see. Even if we never talk again, I don’t want to piss him off anymore or hurt him. dabs eyes I’m sending him a hug in my mind and I hope he can sense it. I think he deserves a friend better than me.

Speaking of being related, he was once more like family to me than anyone else, and I think in a way he always has been and always will be, as strange as it may sound. Damn! Fuck! Damn! Shit! Why’d I have to go and do all the things I did??? Here’s where some people would tell me there was no point in beating myself up over past mistakes I can never undo, but I can’t help it. Damn! Fuck! Shit! Mierda! Cazzo (meirda is Spanish for shit and cazzo is Italian for fuck)! Shit, I forgot my German lesson (I don’t know how to swear in German yet).

I wonder if he really has learned other languages or if that was just a throw-off.

And what’s this about me being pissed for our house selling for 2K less. He said this has nothing to do with me, but Jodi, realtors do that all the time. They want to sell the house. Yeah, I know they do. But why would I say or write that when in fact we got way more than we expected for the Phoenix house (85K) and 5K for the Maricopa house? Ok, is HE playing with MY head or is somebody mixed up here? We didn’t know what we were going to get for Maricopa and I don’t remember us having any expectations either way. We’d only owned it for 4½ years and fell way behind on the payments before we lost it when Tom was fired for not being a religious freak at work and wanting to mix business with pleasure. And yes, I kid you not, they really fucked my husband over good.

He said he doesn’t know why, but it bothers him when I blame God for my problems. Yeah, that’s another thing we’re never going to agree on. If someone murders an innocent child, it may be entirely the murderer’s fault, but why did God allow it to happen? Why??? I’m totally convinced there’s always been and always will be some outer force against me. But maybe it’s not God. Maybe I just call it God because I don’t know what else to call it.

But this doesn’t mean I don’t think I’ve been blessed at the same time I’ve been cursed. I have. I really have.

I don’t know what’s going to happen from here on out. I guess I’ll just have a wait-and-see attitude. I just feel he deserves a better friend and that I should stick to those who trust me. I don’t think he really wants to be friends, though, because he won’t give me his number or email, but that’s ok. It’s his right. :)

I know he loves these loooooong, interesting posts, but I’m getting kind of beat. Yeah, he’s been running me ragged, LOL. And I’ve been neglecting my work, stories and language lessons. He doesn’t believe I work and that I have a medical condition, though somewhat rare, that prevents me from keeping a schedule, but I really do gotta at least make some money.

I’m not really going to puke my food up. It’s a nice thought, but definitely something easier said than done. Puking is disgusting. I’d rather just stay fat.

SUNDAY, JUNE 13, 2010 First, here are the questions my “questioner” has asked me so far. Love how they sometimes cap the first letters of nouns like the Germans do. Also, I apologize to my regular subscribers for this entry being so long, LOL! You can just skip it if you want!

Have you ever tried eating Matzoh?

What did you and Andy fight about? Did you fist fight? Did he ever give you a bloody lip?

What do you think Jessie, Andy and Jenny are doing in their lives right now? Do you think they are still alive?

Is Jessie female? If so why was Andy your only male friend?

Jessie, Jenny, Andy & Paula. Name 3 great memories you share with these people?

I fear no legal trouble from you-M

I only read my-diary so ask your questions there or here

what past friend do you have the best memories of?

how many computers have you owned in your life?

you wrote: But where and how can I ask you questions? I’d like to ask you some too, you know. Isn’t it only fair? Ask me in your journal. I’ll read it there and post the answers here.

What was the largest tip you got as a dancer?

Of all the friends you’ve ever had which one were you friends with the longest?

My favorite Band wrote a song about you.

Next time I have a bad day do ya mind if I take it out on you? It seems to inspire you to write better.

I don’t think you’ll get this many questions from all of us if we have to register. Trust me, I’ll NEVER register.

Also, if I harass you more are you gonna get scared like the last time and make it private?

Thanks to me your journal entries are longer and more interesting. Don’t you think I should harass you more?

It seems you’ve only had sex with women a handful of times in your life and almost the same with a man. Why? And how do you know you’re Gay?

From reading your journals I gathered that you haven’t slept with a woman since 1991. You claim to be Gay. Why did you marry a man?

Would you accept money from a man to eat you out? A woman?

I liked you once but I pity you now. Would you still want to be my bud?

Does Tom fart a lot more since he’s gained weight?

After I got my revenge on you, I suffered the next day from someone else’s abuse. Does that make you feel better?

Is it smart to eat a man’s jizz?

Do you ever feel like a misfit?

Do you prefer friends who are easy to get along with or who call you on your bullshit?

I bet you simulate sex with your mannequins cause you’re not getting any in real life, huh?

Yes it matters. What type of sex did your girlfriend have with the dog?

What type of sex did your friend have with the dog?

Has anyone you know ever had sex with a dog?

Being that you have an interest in Space, what planet most intrigues you and why?

Do you watch/enjoy porn?

What foreign Country frightens you the most?

Do you think it’s ok to date a Satan worshipper?

Don’t you think you deserved to go to jail to pay for all the people you harassed on the telephone throughout your teens, twenties and thirties? Karma is a bitch just like you buddy.

You love to blame other people for your troubles but did you ever stop to consider what part you played in the consequences?

It’s hard for Everyone to keep a schedule. Why do you use that as an excuse not to work in the real world? BTW all of us hate people.

Why did you avoid answering my two questions? Isn’t the theme of this thread “ask me ANYTHING?”

In your Journals, why are you not completely honest? Why do you spread false truths?

When you lived in Az. did you ever go to a concert at The Celebrity Theatre?

Why is your husband such a lazy bum who can’t get a job? I bet he doesn’t go out every day IN PERSON filling out applications.

Okay, those are the “questions.” I accidentally deleted a few other questions where they made cracks about Tom’s weight and work history as well as me looking fat in my photos.

I’ve narrowed it down to 5 possible “suspects” and have put names next to each question (not included here) as to who I think might ask each one. Some of these questions might be from a split chick named Molly. She started harassing a good cyber friend of mine (Alison) before we met, then she started trying to buddy up with Alison’s friends, including me. She did a Google search on Maliheh, so I warned her (and I still think it’s her) that she might hear from Molly. How do I know she did a Google search on her? That’s for me to know and you to wonder. :) The problem is I can’t block the bitch on Formspring without blocking out Maliheh or Andy or Jenny or whoever the fuck it is for sure.

Now, back down to business. I promised that once I go from fairly certain to definitely certain of the person’s identity I would not reveal their name unless they tell me it’s ok to. And they might. They seem to love being discussed in my journal. But for some reason, they’re obviously very much afraid of me. Like terrified. Why else would they be hiding like they have been so far? I’ve assured them no legal action will be taken against them and that I am harmless, but I guess they don’t believe that, LOL.

I will admit that while I love a good mystery to ponder, I am curious to verify their identity and I hope they’ll be brave enough to one day come out from behind the scenes.

When my friendship with Jenny C ended – yeah, you guessed it - I prank-called her and she pranked me back. But who should get caught? Well, me of course! But when I received the subpoena to appear in court I crumbled it up and tossed it in the trash. Then I came home one night and the guy who lived below me said that the cops had been there looking for me because someone called them saying I supposedly beat up an old lady named Mrs. Baker. Right away I knew it was her trying to flush me out for the default warrant out on me. We didn’t get our day in court, however, till I left Springfield and moved to Deerfield. In fact, it was my getting in trouble with Maliheh and this other company that ultimately forced me to have to go to court for her. The arresting officer was kind enough to ROR me instead of keeping me in jail all weekend, and I didn’t want to let him down by not showing up in court even though I knew they wouldn’t do anything, and they didn’t. So I guess Jenny might see that as “revenge,” but I doubt it. All I can say is this: if you are Jenny, remember how you asked if I still wanted to be your bud? Well, NO, I don’t! I don’t hate you or anything, but as you once said of me, you just weren’t a true friend. We never had much in common and I found you to be very selfish, insensitive and bossy. I wish you luck, but if by some chance “all of us” includes Jenny, we will NEVER be friends.

Of course, Andy’s refusing to forgive me for a tape I never had could also be considered revenge in his mind, but I’m still going with Maliheh.

But all this hate and anger the person harbors doesn’t seem to fit the crime. If it’s prank calls that have them so upset, why so much anger? And why all these years later? Had I kicked the crap out of them or ripped them off, then I could see all the hate and anger, but for phone calls? Maybe there’s more going on in their minds than I know.

I remembered a couple of other things about Maliheh. She kept screaming that I wouldn’t listen to her, but as far as I recall, she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise because she wouldn’t stop screaming at me. She was making a turkey one night too, and said she quit smoking. It was serious enough to be called at work by her doctor, she told me.

They did say I could ask questions here that they would answer on Formspring. So here goes my 20 questions! Well, it may not be quite that many.

If you won’t tell me your name, would you at least tell me your eye color?

What is your orientation?

What do you do for a living?

You said you liked me once. What did you like about me?

Do you want me to continue with the story you asked me to write?

Do you know any foreign languages?

Ok, so only 6 questions. Sorry I couldn’t come up with more to ask!

Anyway, this has been fun and all that, but it’s keeping me from my chapter deadline on my other story. My boss/teacher on the other side of the world wouldn’t appreciate that, LOL. So I’m off to finish chapter 16.

SATURDAY, JUNE 12, 2010 No Formspring abuse. IDK, maybe Maliheh’s been laid up in a hospital somewhere and hasn’t even been online for the last year. I doubt it, though. Whether or not it’s her who asked the “questions,” I’d say she at least got the email and Facebook messages that she knew I wouldn’t know that she got. With MySpace, though, I would know if she got the message. Yet it’s still marked as “unread.”

And today she’ll get one more email and a friend request on FB, LOL. Yeah, I know, I’m bad. I just had to send her a message claiming to have gotten an anonymous message on blogger from her apologizing for the past and the Formspring “questions,” and asking me to write a story with us as main characters, LOL. I “accept” her apology and apologized for calling her 19 years ago, even though it’s hard to be sorry for calling someone that went from sweet and sincere and kissy-kissy and talking about getting together the following Monday, to this mean, cold, rude bitch in less than a day. Still… there was just something about that girl.

I actually started a story too, LOL. Shall I send it to her if I finish it? LOL, I guess I’ll just have to wait and decide that if I do finish it!

Do I still think the questioner was Maliheh? Yeah, I do. I think she stopped once I started accusing her but hasn’t blocked me on Facebook because she wants to hopefully “get” me, just like a certain black bitch down in Arizona would probably love to. Ah, but I’m smart enough not to get carried away so I’m “getable.”

I must admit that a part of me is sorry they didn’t come back, whoever it truly was. Like I said, I love a good mystery and I wanted to hopefully learn for sure who they were at some point. But some of what they said was a little scary. Especially when they spoke of running out of money. Talk money and I get really nervous! I just worry about the checks. Then again, if they’re going to do anything serious, I doubt they’d warn me about it in print. It was stupid of me to delete some of those wonderful questions too, but some of them are still there.

Later…

“After I got my revenge on you, I suffered the next day from someone else’s abuse. Does that make you feel better?”

That was the last question on Formspring I received from who I still think is Maliheh. I mean, this pretty much stamps out Andy, Donna and Tom’s family because they never got “revenge” on us in any way. It pretty much rules out anyone associated with Valleyhead as well.

And it makes me wonder if perhaps I was wrong all these years in assuming God doesn’t take care of my perps.

They also said they once liked me, but now they pitied me. That would rule out Joely. Oh, believe me, she NEVER liked me. I was too Jewish to stand a chance on her “like” list.

But I didn’t think Maliheh ever liked me either simply because we never got a chance to know each other. All I know about her is that she was good-looking, she played the guitar, and she attended a sign language class with Kim.

If it’s Maliheh, I hope she’s reading this because if she is, I would like to say that oddly enough, no, it doesn’t make me feel better to know she suffered any kind of abuse. If her worst fault was being a rude mean bitch, then she certainly didn’t deserve whatever abuse befell her. Hell, I can be a rude mean bitch myself. Should I be abused for being a bit of a snot at times?

If God forbid the person is not Maliheh and is actually connected to those responsible for jailing me because of the city complaint, most people would probably say they wished you all the abuse and suffering in the world and that they could never forgive you. Well, I’m not going to say anything either way as to what I may wish for you. But I am sure that I could never forgive you. Or my sister. I know a lot of people are big on forgiveness (though I don’t know why since it seems that no one can forgive anyone for even sneezing on them), and that I’m wrong for it, but I can’t help how I feel and I don’t want to lie about it either.

There is fucking people over and then there is fucking people over. And some things are obviously easier to forgive, forget and move on from than others. What happened between Maliheh and me is nothing compared to the people in Arizona as well as my sister. So we made prank phone calls and said mean things to each other. It was wrong, it was stupid, it was immature, we both fucked up, we shouldn’t have done what we did, and while we may never fully agree as to what happened nearly two decades ago, I totally forgive you, Maliheh, and it would be nice if you did the same for me. You don’t have to, though. You’re not in any way obligated to forgive or like me, but for whatever it’s worth, I would invite you over for coffee or whatever right now. I mean it when I say I no longer have any hard feelings towards you and that I know what I did on my part was wrong. I still hope that you will contact me (other than on Formspring) and we can at least say hello every now and then, but if you would still prefer to remain behind the scenes that’s ok, too. You can even continue to hate my guts, but maybe we could compromise. Maybe you could accept the friend request but still remain in the shadows. That way I can know that yes, it was you sending the messages, but that we’re moving on. I don’t know what else I can offer you. If you want me to exclude you from now on from my online journal, I could do that for you, but you’d need to let me know.

Speaking of journals, I was reading back on the parts with Maliheh. Other than being a shitty writer back then, I was surprised I mentioned her being my height. Really? I remember her to be small, yes, but my height? She must’ve really been a hell of a hottie because I prefer tall women. Her image is fuzzy in my mind after all these years. I don’t even remember if she had bangs or not, though I think she did. I do remember enough to know she was hot as hell.

I’d forgotten that she first thought something was wrong with the phone lines too, when I first crossed her with others, but I’ll take my word for it, LOL.

Well, I don’t know how many times I can apologize for pranking her or for whatever else I may’ve done to piss her off, but I really am sorry and I don’t want her to suffer in any way.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve got more than one person playing with me. Sorry, but not even a sarcastic, smart-ass bitch like myself could have that many enemies, though I suppose anything’s possible.

Anyway, if one of you is Maliheh, I forgive you for your part, will be your friend if you ever want me to and make the past up to you as best as I possibly can, and would probably STILL be drooling all over you if I saw you right now, and you and I both would probably still be hard-headed bitches at times, too. But just please – send me an email, accept my friend request or both, will you?

Last night I swear I heard a car door at 1am. At night sounds carry better, and the sound of a car door could easily come down the mountain from up at Jesse’s place, though I doubt they could be heard from other properties. Wow, is he really staying out that late?

I forgot to say that while we were out yesterday we stopped at a nearby Petco that recently opened up. Do they have any brown rats in California??? All I ever see here are whites and markings.

We saw these really cool lizards, and also these ball pythons and corn snakes. The python looked way cool, but I couldn’t see myself spending $80 on an animal that doesn’t do anything but look cool and that needs to live in a temperature-controlled climate.

Still don’t know what, if anything, we’re going to get when this rat dies. Another rat? A dog? Nothing?

Other than having 3 bouts of the runs and an ex-friend of Alison’s trying to buddy up to me on Formspring, all is fine. The weather’s gorgeous!

FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 2010 Here’s a good one for you. On Tom’s way home yesterday he returned with a box of Double Stuff Oreo cookies after picking up the mail. I asked where they came from and he said a letter had come in the mail saying that I had complained about not getting a coupon for these cookies in some kind of sign-up club online, and even though I didn’t qualify for the cookies for signing up for that particular club, there was a coupon anyway.

But I didn’t complain. I swear. Double Stuff Oreos aren’t worth complaining about. The original, maybe. Brownies, more likely. Lobster, you bet. But Double Stuff Oreos?

So let me get this straight – if I complain about whatever, I get nothing. If people imagine that I’ve complained, I get cookies? Not bad. Not bad at all.

I got a few amazingly intelligent questions on Formspring after resetting it to allow anonymous questions. One asked what country scared me the most and another asked what planet interested me most since I have an interest in space. Then someone else asked me if I was into porn. What was interesting about the country and space questions was the writing style. It was similar to the ones harassing me. They were well-written and well-spelled, and some nouns were capped as they are in the German language. Also, they couldn’t know I’m into space stuff without reading one of my journals/blogs. I don’t recall ever tweeting about space, and Formspring is a Twitter application. I doubt there’s a connection, though. Would the same person really go from asking if I realize I look fat in my photos to what planet interests me most?

Now that I’ve written in my journal that people can once again question me anonymously, it will be interesting to see if those unreasonable and stupid questions return and what new material they would like to supply me with. Of course that could be the whole idea; to get a place in my journal.

Anyway, we went out to Payless today in the dry and gorgeous nearly 90-degree heat, but it was a wasted trip. The selection was limited and they didn’t have what I wanted.

But then when we came home and I jumped online to look for a pair there, I found the perfect pair of 5” wedge sandals for $27 + free shipping right off the bat! Got them on eBay.

Woke up to questions from Marie which she’s asked a million times before, LOL. But I guess Marie just wouldn’t be being Marie if she wasn’t constantly saying and asking the same things.

Met an amazingly level-headed woman on one of the journal sites for being just 26 – well, for any age, but especially 26 – named Shanara. Her name is very unique and pretty. I might steal it for a future story but don’t worry, I won’t have her killed off (we were talking about how some things we’ve written about “coincidentally” happened afterward)!

Later…

I’m on “detective duty” now. I’m continuing to get a surprising amount of questions, mostly reasonable. But this one person first asked if I knew anyone that ever had sex with a dog. I said yes, but that I promised never to say who it was (it was Andy). Then they asked what type of sex my friend had with the dog. Well, how do they know it was a friend? And could this be Andy?

Anyway, whoever my stalker is is a night person, so it will be interesting to see if they read my journal and ask me some more intelligent questions as the night wears on. If I never hear from them again I’m going to be more convinced it was Maliheh harassing me. My MyOpera journal never got a hit from Tammy’s location, so I’d say she hasn’t been reading my journal lately and that she and her brood aren’t behind it. It could still be his family, Donna, Andy, or a Valleyhead staffer, but I’ll probably never know for sure.

THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 2010 I did some research and dug into Maliheh’s background a bit and found she’s lived in a number of states, including California. She appears to be an only child and lost her father back in 1994. She’s now 53.

I was unable to gain access to the criminal file I found on her but learned several other tidbits of information on this pathetic person I only met once – just once - who apparently still holds a grudge against me for “Dear Johning” her 19 years ago when she was 34 and I was 25. The “Dear John” letter was really an “I just want to be friends” speech I gave her. And I said it over the phone, not on paper. My intention was to let her know up front that while I was attracted to her, I wasn’t in the market for a relationship at the time with all I had going on with me, and so I just wanted to be friends. I didn’t want to lead the girl on, even though there were things I didn’t like about her and I doubted I’d want more than casual sex with her. In the end, we were never intimate in any way. She kept insisting her next partner was going to have to get tested for AIDS, but I felt that was a bit premature. The only intimacy shared between us was when she was all over me at the club we met at. Yeah, she was a bit tipsy the night we met in Northampton, MA the summer of 1991, LOL, though I admit I enjoyed her attention. She used to attend a sign language class with Kim, the girl who lived next to me at the time.

So we danced, we kissed, we talked, and then the next day she was very rude to me on the phone. I felt like I was talking to an entirely different person. We got onto the subject of guitars, something we both played at the time. I mentioned one of my strings breaking and she offered to pick me up a new string on her way over for the visit that never came to be. Then she got mad at me when I told her to hang on because I didn’t remember which string it was that broke.

Next she accused me of playing “20 Questions” and being persistent. I didn’t think I’d asked too much other than the normal getting-to-know-you kind of stuff, or that I had been persistent in any way, but she obviously thought I had been.

Her coldness and false assumptions and accusations really pissed me off. I started making prank phone calls to her. It was wrong. I don’t deny that. I got subpoenaed to appear in court and then she started pranking me in return, only she didn’t get caught. The courts didn’t do anything but slap me on the wrist, but I had to go through a whole lot of stress until they did.

Out of curiosity, I look up people I once knew that I both liked and disliked, something I’d be willing to bet the vast majority of us do from time to time. I found her first on Facebook. I was pretty sure it was her even though she was holding a cat in her picture that was partially blocking her face, coupled with the fact that she’d gained a lot of weight over the years. I said, what the hell, and so I sent a message. This was about two weeks ago. My journal link is on my profile page there. She obviously gathered information about me by reading it before she started badgering me on Formspring when I posted the link to it a few days ago in one of my entries.

I’m not going to get into how I figured out it was her. All the “ex-con in the unreal world” will say is that I hope she’s gotten me out of her system by now. We obviously don’t like each other, and although I didn’t want to, I contacted her one last time and asked that she please back off and just leave me alone. At first I would’ve been willing to hear her out if she’d quit cowering behind anonymity and being too gutless to face me directly, but now I don’t want to know she exists. Not directly, not indirectly. I only want her to just get back on with her life. She’s welcome to follow this journal, but I don’t want any more contact from her, and I won’t contact her again either. She has my word on that one.

In more important and better news, I really appreciate my loving hubby and friends for their support. As one friend said, I have the power of BLOG, and so if this fool wants to give me more info to put in it, then so be it (though I’d still prefer her to grow up and back off). Either way, I appreciate my two male cyberbuds. They are not only wonderful sounding boards, but they make me feel like they’re looking out for me, and it’s nice to know they care. I value and appreciate their feedback, opinions and suggestions.

As for Marie…she still rocks my world! And while my husband and journal may be enough of a “bitching outlet,” it’s still nice to know I can share my troubles and annoyances with her, too. She has a heart of gold, something that can’t be found in too many people.

Later…

Ended up getting up later than expected thanks to it getting so cold in here early this morning. Every time I think we’re done with cold mornings, one sneaks up on me. I woke up shivering at 7:30, just a few hours after I crashed, and saw that it was down to just 57º in the bedroom. Tom was already up. So I threw my robe on and drifted back off to sleep about an hour later and didn’t get up until 2:00. I was surprised I slept so late. Of course by then it was 79º in here. Overall it has been unusually cool, once again. We had to open windows for a while but didn’t need the cooler.

One of my buddies fondly let me know I’ve been blogging too much and should focus on my book, LOL, and I am. I am. My chapter-a-week goal has been coming along nicely so far. I’m on chapter 16 and up to 44,000 words. I don’t know how many chapters I’ll have, but I’m guessing around 30. So Digital Confessions should be “released” in September or October, cuz remember, once it’s done I still have to proofread it and try to catch any typos and discrepancies.

Nonetheless, I wasn’t kidding when I told those who are automatically emailed my posts to let me know if it gets to be too much. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if they ask for their emails to be pulled out because I know that anytime they want to know what’s going on with me they can either email me or go directly to any of the sites I write at.

Marie and I chatted briefly. She’s kind of stressed out now with roommate troubles. So she’s looking to move out and find someone who wants a roommate. I let her know she could email me anytime she needs to vent. Hey, I do it to her! It may not do much for her to know it, but if I were single and living near her (or she near me) I’d take her in without hesitation even if she may get to be a bit much for me at times and I had to chase her around with a whip periodically to keep her in line. :)

Before learning the identity of my little interviewer, someone suggested whoever was asking me those “questions” on Formspring was perhaps a complete stranger. I always disagreed. Judging by the type of “questions” and overall tone, I doubted it was a stranger. I figured it was probably someone I hadn’t seen or spoken to in a million years. But there was a degree of emotion behind their “questions” that pretty much told me it was no stranger.

Another part that won’t go online: I went into the privacy settings on Formspring to allow anonymous questions again, only I didn’t say so in my last post. I want to see if they’re checking up on me. Not long afterward I got an anonymous question asking: What foreign Country scares you the most? I answered with: Probably one of the Middle Eastern countries.

Look at the way they capitalized the C in “country.” I noticed that with my troublemaker’s questions. They often cap the first letters in nouns like Germans do.

But is it really Maliheh? She hasn’t logged into her Twitter or MySpace account in a year, though I can’t say when she was last in her Facebook account. They don’t show the last logins. If she hasn’t been in any of these accounts and no longer uses the email address I found for her, then she wouldn’t know I sent her anything unless she really is reading my journal.

But maybe she hasn’t logged in on MySpace because she knows the messages are from me. I told her in the email I had tried to contact her on other sites.

And here’s something else that’s weird. Why hasn’t she blocked me on any of these sites, and why did the name change on the Twitter account? When I first looked her up on Twitter I found one nameless account with 1 tweet. Today the name Joni M Something was added to the s/n. So again I searched for her name. I got a different account with her name on it this time around. I swear these things weren’t there before. And she’s following the account I first tweeted to. She has no tweets in this seemingly new account, though. and I don’t know just how new it really is since she’s got 8 followers.

Whether she’s the one harassing me or not, I’d say that yeah, she probably did get at least one of my messages.

Now back to the noun capper. Could it be the same person? Hmm… if it is, why would they suddenly ask a reasonable question? If it’s her, is it her way of “defying” my commands to leave me alone? By asking a normal question she gets to defy this order, in a sense, because then I don’t supposedly know it’s her communicating with me and that she’s not complying with my telling her to leave me alone.

Well, like I said, I love a good mystery, but I sure am curious! I’ll be around to see if they strike tonight if they’re bothering to check my privacy settings regularly or if they contact me elsewhere.

In tomorrow’s entry, I’ll mention that I’m allowing anonymous comments again, and see if they ask me yet more “questions” giving me clues as to who they are. Just as long as they don’t fuck with the unemployment till it either runs out or he gets a job!

I was just going to comment on how much quieter the dogs have been, but they’re going off right now. Where would Jesse be at this time on a weeknight? I bet they’re still going off early in the mornings, but I haven’t been up then recently.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 9, 2010 Someone asked what I do for work. Then jokingly added, “in the real world.”

Well, in the real world, I started off with housekeeping and babysitting. Then shifted to singing and dancing. Then ended up entering contests/sweepstakes, and right now I’m mostly an artificial intelligence worker. I say “mostly” because I do a few other things, but I’m not at liberty to discuss that in public.

I was also asked about my anonymous “interviewer.” I was sure it was one of my sisters-in-law in Arizona, but Tom insists I’m wrong. I’ve gotten all kinds of suggestions from Valleyhead staffers to Jenny, someone I was once friends with back east. Even Joely’s cop friend was suggested. Well, until I find out who they are, I’d really like it if they would send me a private message on any of the social sites or blog sites I use so we can discuss what’s bothering them in private. As I said on Formspring, I will keep their identity confidential if they could muster up the guts to confront me head-on and stop hiding in the shadows. They obviously feel I have betrayed them somehow. I am a very open-minded individual and very willing to hear whatever it is they may have to say if they’d simply reach out and contact me. I don’t understand what they’re afraid of. They’ve got my word in print that I won’t mention their name. If you are connected to the family in some way, I won’t even mention you to Tom, if that’s a concern of yours. Who you are doesn’t matter. What you’re feeling matters, and it seems to me you’re awfully angry. So let’s talk. :) I’m a good listener.

I will be available to pick up messages tomorrow around noon PT.

Later…

Maliheh, Andy, Marla, Donna, someone connected to Valleyhead, cousins, other family, corrupt cops, ex-perps - whoever you are - I’m not running. And that’s obviously what you’re trying to get me to do is shut down my blogs and then go run and hide.

And you’re obviously not going to have the guts to expose yourself and since you’re pathetic “questions” quickly got boring, I can no longer be asked questions anonymously on Formspring. What a bummer, huh?

But to answer your last round of dumb-ass questions, you cowardly wimp who’s obviously terrified I’ll come and kick your ass if I know who you are, yes, I realize I look fat in my photos, as you asked. I’m just your all-American fatty, and you know what? I’m gonna stay that way! Why? Because I love to eat, that’s why. So don’t expect any skinny photos from me anytime soon. I’m 128 big fat pounds. :)

“I hear you want a dog. How are u gonna feed the mutt when u run out of money and commit suicide?”

I make enough to keep things afloat with my online job. So if I keep working, why would the money “run out?” We’re not on unemployment anymore, if that’s what you mean. That ended just last week. I thought we were going to be eligible for the last tier, but nope. Didn’t quite qualify. But that’s ok. Tom got a call this afternoon and was hired at a manufacturing company, so you need not worry anymore about him being “too lazy” to look for jobs offline as opposed to online, since this was obviously a big concern of yours. That’s all I will say about his job. I will not say where it is, what shift he’s on, or even what his pay is.

To finish answering that last fucktarded question, it’d take a hell of a lot more than money to get me to off myself, pal. Don’t be fooled by all the times I say, “I’ll kill myself if this happens or if that happens.” Like some people, I could get a headache and that’d be enough to get me threatening suicide. But if I ever do it will be my choice and only if I’m ready to go and leave a world that’s so unfortunately overrun with lonely, bored sickos like yourself.

“What if I knew where you lived and I came over with a knife?”

If you knew where I lived, you’d have come for me by now. That is unless you don’t have the balls to.

Meanwhile, until you can stop hiding behind anonymity, I’m no longer going to waste my time communicating with you. I was willing to talk in private about whatever’s got you so ticked off, but you’re just too chicken shit to do that, so until you get a little more brass where it counts, I’m not going to bother with you.

Someone did a Google search for me but spelled my name wrong. Besides, I don’t know anyone in Perth, Australia which is where the search originated from.

You can rate Marie’s story. I swear I added a note that I was posting it for a friend, but they didn’t include it for some reason. Anyway, I did not write this story. I simply edited it.

Later…

Tom’s getting ready to head out and I’m stuffing my face with these totally delicious Grissini breadsticks. You should try ‘em sometime. Add a few more inches to your waistline right along with me. :)

Anyway, once all settles down in Crackpotland I will re-allow anonymous contact on Formspring. For now, I have to wonder why some people would lower themselves so much that they would allow their own selves to associate with such fat criminals like myself with fat, lazy husbands who are poor and almost certainly always will be. I know I wouldn’t want to bother associating with some fat crazy bitch who was 15 pounds overweight, worked online where there is no “real” world, and stuffed herself with Grissini breadsticks. I mean, shame on her! You’d think that at age 44 she’d get a fucking life! Maybe she just needs to commit suicide. :)

Marie, Paul and Dorian are their usual supportive and wonderful selves. Marie said, “15 pounds overweight? More of you to love, and the perve here in NY also says more ounce for the bounce.”

Yeah, she would say that too, LOL!

Paul said it was good of me to twist their intentions, pointing out that I have the power of BLOG and that they’re just giving me more material for it.

Dorian got a kick out of the breadstick-eating, ex-con in the unreal world thing.

Later…

Wow, it was 18 years ago today that I left New England.

Just thought I’d do some reflecting. The kind that won’t go online. All’s been quiet in Crackpotland. It will be interesting to see if they come at me through any of the journal sites. If they have any brains at all, they’ll figure out that there are a couple of other ways they could contact me anonymously.

I’ve narrowed my guesses down to Andy, Donna or Maliheh, my top guess being Maliheh. I can’t believe Andy would say, “Don’t you think you deserved to go to jail for those you harassed on the telephone?” when he was guilty of the same thing, and I also doubt he would say that I love to blame others for my troubles without thinking of the part I played in the consequences. The only strange thing is her picking on Tom, but I guess it’s not that strange when you really think about it. When you want to take jabs at someone, the best way is not only to swing directly but to swing at something/someone they care about as well. As Dorian said, maybe they’re bothered by Tom’s not working, but maybe not. Maybe it’s only relevant to them because it’s an issue in my life right now. And as he also pointed out, these crackpots will pick on anything, even misspellings and typos.

Andy would spell as well or even better, but like I said, it doesn’t seem like the kinds of things he’d say, and I did contact Maliheh before revamping the online journal. She’d have had two weeks to comb through it. I just didn’t think she’d be that interested.

Do I think Maliheh would do such a thing? Yeah, I do. After all, as soon as I was busted for calling her, she started calling me.

As for Donna, unless she’s brushed up on her writing, she could never write that well.

Tom adamantly insists it’s not Miss Perfect or Evie. They would probably write well, and I can see them asking some of the questions, but not the ones about the dog and suicide. Or the comment about me looking fat in my photos.

I just worry about them fucking with the unemployment, whoever they are. I can’t stop the unemployment from running out sooner than he’s hired somewhere if God thinks that’s all we deserve and are good for, but someone else sure could hassle us along the way if they got it in mind to do so.

And while it’s super-duper unlikely, like incredibly unlikely, there’s always the possibility it’s someone who does a fine job of seeming like a damn good friend.

Like Paul.

Like Dorian.

And even like Marie.

Marie would just have to deliberately go out of her way to write differently than she normally does to throw me off.

Nah, it’s Maliheh. My gut now says it’s almost certainly her. I’m getting more and more sure of it. Especially with the phone thing she mentioned. She didn’t know me when the black bitch screwed me. So wouldn’t it be more reasonable to mention the trouble the person got in when you knew them and when you had a hand in influencing it to happen? Well, I sure thought so after reflecting on it long enough. Enough to send her a quick warning on Facebook not to contact me again before I blocked her.

Could it be Ann Marie? Again, anything’s possible, but she seems unlikely. Until and if anything else happens to say otherwise, I’m going with Maliheh. The person was up late too, when they left the “questions,” and I remember her saying she wasn’t a morning person. The only thing that doesn’t make sense about the phone thing is the teens and 30s thing. How could she know I made prank calls in my teens, and why does she assume I did it in my 30s? That would be something a Valleyhead staffer might say, but nah, I don’t think it’s a VH connection.

Marla? Hmm… she might say most of what was said, and she’s pretty literate herself from what I remember, but right now it seems so much more of a Maliheh thing. Especially since I just contacted her not too long ago and was sure to leave my journal link.

Online enemies I’ve made such as at Kiwibox? I doubt it. It’s been so long, and again, why mention the calls when I went down for supposedly doing a lot more than that? And that was 10 years ago, not 20.

My sister and her mistakes could never write this well, and the “I hear you want a dog” part just isn’t them. And when they did rehash the past, it was about the neighbors, not the prank calls. It would only be natural to bring up the last thing that happened.

Hey, I just got a funny and interesting idea. Why not post that she “confessed?” That’d really kill her if I’m right, and she was such a fucking asshole anyway, so why not, right?

Maybe I’ll compromise with myself and just say that I know it’s her rather than that she confessed. Maybe this will flush her out if it is her.

Is it??? I love a good mystery to ponder, but I’d really like to know who it is! If they’re going to do anything else once they see they can’t hit me anonymously on Formspring, it should be within the next hour or two.

Later…

Well, Maliheh got my message on Facebook because she went and blocked me in return. I figured as much. Now that she can’t get at me on Formspring, she’ll have to go through other means.

Wait! No, she didn’t block me. I can still bring her page up when I search her name. Hmm… maybe she’s trying to “trap” me.

I dug a little deeper into Maliheh and found her accounts on MySpace and Twitter where I blocked her like I did on Facebook, though she hasn’t been on MySpace, and has only made one tweet on Twitter which was also a year ago. I also doubt she’d have the guts to contact me non-anonymously, but I blocked her nonetheless.

TUESDAY, JUNE 8, 2010 “Why is your husband such a lazy bum who can’t get a job? I bet he doesn’t go out every day IN PERSON filling out applications.”

This is the question I received yesterday on Formspring – completely anonymous of course - from what I’d be willing to bet not everything, but almost everything is connected to my sister or her associates. They’d be my first guess anyway. Guess number two – my ex-perps in Arizona. Guess number 3, Tom’s family, though that doesn’t seem like their style at all. To be selfish, and even a bit on the rude side, yes, but vindictive?

Hmm… wonder why they feel so sure they can “bet” he doesn’t go out daily to fill out applications in person? I mean, why do they assume he doesn’t?

It’s almost certainly someone who’s kept close tabs on my life/journal for a considerable amount of time now, and Tammy’s the only one I can think of who would do such a thing out of those who just can’t seem to get enough of me and my amazing life. If the reverse-discriminating freeloaders wanted to harass me, this doesn’t seem like the way they’d go about it. They would attack me personally, not Tom. Remember, I’m the Jew here, not him. And I still don’t know that they’re even aware of my journal.

Then again – and I fully acknowledge this possibility – it could be a total stranger I don’t even know exists. Maybe Tammy has absolutely nothing to do with it and she doesn’t even read this journal, doesn’t want a thing to do with me, doesn’t want to know I exist, and is keeping her word to my parents as far as leaving me the hell alone. Maybe she got that sick of me after cyberstalking, harassing and threatening me last summer, and she just can’t stand to even take a chance of reading what I may have to say about her hence it cracks her fragile little eggshell-like feelings and be more than she could handle.

Maybe it’s my brother. Maybe it’s his daughter. Maybe it’s his wife. Hell, maybe it’s my fucking landlord or his sister! Maybe it’s Ellen Degeneres. Maybe it’s Obama. Maybe it’s the spirit of Adolf Hitler.

I doubt it, though.

Regardless of whoever the hell it is, I did answer their “question” and let them know that I would discuss it in this entry.

So here goes. Any idiot should know that what’s in person is also online. This isn’t the 80s. Almost no one has “hiring” signs in person only these days. They do in-person and online or just online only. But rarely does anyone do it in person only in a day and age when computers are so much a part of life. So to really, really answer their “question,” why waste time and gas going to places in person when you can just apply online? Besides, if there were that many people hiring around here – enough to go to every day – wouldn’t it be safe to say he’d already have a job?

Speaking of jobs in hard-hit Cali, he did get called in for an interview at a temp agency yesterday. The temp agency was in Sacramento, a city we haven’t been in for years and do not miss, but the job is for a night administrator in Auburn who pays $10. With me working online, even minimum wage would be fine. It would be plenty enough to live on and that’s what counts. Anything else after that is just a bonus. Anyway, although they asked if he would be willing to go in at 5pm if they called him, they never did call. This is a position women typically get, so that may be an issue. Also, most of his job experience is within middle to upper management and because he has made good money most of his working years, companies may be hesitant to hire someone they feel may expect too much.

Nonetheless, I have not contacted my sister since replying to her when she first contacted me in January of 2009, nor have I contacted her kids since August of 2009 when I stupidly said hello to Sarah and replied to a couple of Lisa’s messages. I am going to continue to ignore them and hope they do the same with me. They have expressed a deep hatred for me and my husband, so why they would want to bother with someone they’re supposed to loathe in the first place is beyond me. I hope they will have enough self-respect not to bother with those who don’t want to bother with them.

This part won’t go online, but I’m setting up a little trap of sorts tomorrow. I’m going to mention in the entry that she should go see what I have “hidden” in my photos on MyOpera. There’s nothing really hidden there, but if it’s her, she’s going to be curious enough to check my journal to see if I mention her “question” and then be curious to follow the link, thus appearing on the visitor’s map.

The only thing that points away from the drama queen and the brood is the proper spelling, punctuation and use of caps. Not something they’re usually good at. But that also may’ve been done to throw me off. After all, her letter of complaint to her city councilman was fairly proper.

More than likely she was curious to see if I’d mention talking to mom on her birthday and if we discussed her, and so she read the entry for that day. Then she saw that crack I made about daring to defend her which prompted the Formspring insult which prompted me to give her a lousy review. Yeah, she was listed at a business site, LOL, that lets people review them (she sells Avon products). So I gave her a lousy rating/review and she shut down her account. Aw, too bad, huh? If I was less than 80% sure she was behind the “question” I wouldn’t have done it. It’s nothing compared to getting someone thrown in jail, indirectly or not, but it was still nice to “fight back” and do something. I just hope God will protect me for that little stunt the same as He has protected those who have burned me really badly.

Later…

Still don’t know the identity of my latest cyberbully, but now I’m guessing it could very well be my sister-in-law Evie. Yes, Evie. It may’ve been easy to say I don’t think she’d do such a thing, but how well did I really know her? The reason I’m suspecting her (if it isn’t tied in with the freeloaders or Andy) is that it not only comes after contacting her but because of the additional questions I was asked and the way they’re spelled. There were a couple of spelling errors, but otherwise the spelling, grammar and use of caps are pretty good.

My MyOpera journal also got a hit from Tempe, AZ.

“Why don’t you have the guts to identify yourself?” I asked them. Here’s what they asked me:

“Don’t you think you deserved to go to jail to pay for all the people you harassed on the telephone throughout your teens, twenties and thirties? Karma is a bitch just like you buddy.”

“You love to blame other people for your troubles but did you ever stop to consider what part you played in your consequences?”

“It’s hard for Everyone to keep a schedule. Why do you use that as an excuse not to work in the real world? BTW all of us hate people.”

“Why did you avoid answering my two questions? Isn’t the theme of this thread “ask me ANYTHING?””

“In your Journals, why are you not completly honest? Why do you spread false truths?”

“When you lived in Az. did you ever go to a concert at The Celebrity Theatre?”

What about Andy’s sister Marla? Hmm… would she ask me these things? Gosh, I just don’t know. And some of these questions don’t seem right for Evie, like the first one about Tom being a lazy bum. The concert is the most confusing one of all. It seems so out of place. What does it have to do with everything else they’ve been asking me?

Later…

Some guy on Thoughts said he didn’t see how I could call the “questions” I was getting on Formspring cyberbullying when I said, after all, that people could ask me anything, even anonymously. Well, he does have a point there, but as I told him, he doesn’t exactly see the big picture because he doesn’t know the situation.

To answer the latest round of “questions,” no I never saw a concert at The Celebrity Theater, and I don’t know why they think I went to jail for prank phone calls. That’s not even jailable, though I did go to court. This was back east. And my 30s? They got the teens and 20s right, but after racking my brains thinking about it, I’m pretty sure I never made any calls in my 30s. The last prank I remember making was with Andy shortly after moving in with Tom. I was 27 at the time.

Yes, I have considered the parts I played in various situations. I am no more perfect than anyone else who has made their share of mistakes. I have no problem admitting and accepting blame for the things I am truly guilty of, like making prank phone calls. But sometimes people really do get shit on without the slightest bit of provocation. They really do. Sadly, though, we do live in a world that thinks that everybody asks for everything they get.

Lastly, there is no “real world” that I know of, and what “false truths” am I supposedly spreading around? They’ll have to let me know.

I was chatting with one of my cyber pals and was thinking about how people have complained that he’s too anonymous and won’t say where he lives, what he does, what his name is, etc. As I told him, though, it’s your right to say or not to say what you want about yourself, and besides, I personally wouldn’t care what you did for a living. To me he’s been a damn good cyber friend, so he could pick his nose or kill people for a living for all I care, LOL.

I really admire Marie’s efforts to better herself. She’s not proud of the way she’s handled relationships and drinking in the past, but hey, we all make mistakes. It’s how well we recognize and move on from those mistakes that count.

Eileen has been busy, but let me know I’m in her thoughts.

Saveonscents, the place I get my perfume roll-ons from, tweeted that they’re going to be making a particular fragrance I’ve been wanting for a while now (Black Orchid), and they’re following me now, too. I let them know I was psyched to learn that it’s in production, and Elliot said he’d make sure I got a sample to test for accuracy. He rocks!

Anyway, other possibilities have crossed my mind as to who could be asking these lovely “questions.” There’s Donna, there’s Maliheh, and even Ellen M is a possibility. Her parents owned Valleyhead, something I didn’t have nice things to say about. It could be anyone, but right now I’m going with family or the black bitch. It’s obviously someone I’ve written extensively enough about. Like Miss Perfect. If she didn’t already know about the journal, then Evie certainly told her about it. And if she bothered to read it, the part about her selfish mother would have pissed her off.

Still no one from CT visiting me on MyOpera. Although I know I shouldn’t, I feel a tinge of guilt for leaving the drama queen the bad review if she’s not behind the “questions.” I hope she doesn’t suspect me because then she’ll make trouble for me somehow. And of course she’ll drag Mom and Dad into it.

MONDAY, JUNE 7, 2010 Forgot all about my Formspring account till a fellow tweeter reminded me of it.

So I spoke to my folks yesterday and wished Mom a happy 78th birthday. I called at around 10am their time and left a message, figuring they were at the store. Then I called later, got their machine again and hung up. I finally caught them around 4pm their time. They sounded well, and we talked about the usual things. It was a whopping 105º there and Mom was glad to hear about the extra money I’m making at the job site and how much it helps keep our heads above water.

They asked if there was an IHOP around here, and yes, there are a few in Sacramento and one in Roseville. They have a gift card they want to send. I assume it may be an anniversary present since our 16th anniversary is on the 15th.

When I asked about Charlotte, the reaction was a little weird, suggesting they may no longer be friends, but didn’t want to get into what may’ve been a painful fallout. I didn’t push it, though. I don’t like to make people talk about things they’d rather not talk about.

When I asked how she was Dad said he didn’t know and that Mom talked to her more. But wouldn’t Mom keep him updated? When I asked if she still had the cottage in Connecticut, he said he didn’t know. That pretty much told me something right there, so I dropped it. It’s too bad, too. They were such good friends for so long. But things do change. Tammy and I were kind of close despite being opposites, then look what happened. How dare I give her abusive ex a piece of my mind! Well, at least it taught me never to defend anyone.

I briefly chatted on Facebook with Jessie and am still thinking of shutting down on MySpace, but haven’t decided yet. I’m getting hit on and harassed by both men and women. Half the people that friend me want me to buy something from them.

Marie and I still swap messages, of course, and it was sweet of her to let me know I could go to her with anything. Yeah, but if I want to bitch about the economy, I remember when she snapped at me by saying I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach yet still wasn’t happy. So I don’t want to come off as ungrateful or anything like that. It’s not that I fail to keep in mind the good things in life. It’s just that sometimes I only want to bitch about the bad things. No matter how much I may complain, though, it doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate the good things.

SUNDAY, JUNE 6, 2010 As I’ve been trying to do for over a year now, I’m trying to keep a positive, hopeful attitude about surviving this economic crisis, but as far as I can see, our fate is still basically going to come down to a toss of a coin. We’re going to either sink or swim. Tom’s oh so sure we’ll swim, but until I see any real change, I have no reason to believe we won’t be sinking in just a few months.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t been dieting or exercising too seriously and am now up to 130 pounds. I just don’t want to end up working so hard for nothing. If our days are truly numbered, why deprive myself of the good things I can still have in the meantime? And I do like to eat, LOL. I have been both stuck and retaining water, so that could be a factor in why my weight is up as well. All I know is that if we’re at the end of our rope here, my weight is the last thing I want to be worrying about.

While many wonderful things have happened to us since moving to California, it’s been such a bust at the same time. First something up there didn’t want us to have a home. Now it doesn’t want us to have money. And soon it may not want us to have either which would basically mean that it didn’t want us to have a life.

Some have said God’s testing us. Well, if that’s true then we’re obviously not doing a very good job of passing since He won’t allow us to move on. What, am I not a good enough poor-ass bum or something? Have I just not gotten “good enough” at living poorly and accepting the fact that we’ll always be poor? Is that what it’s all about? Are we not going to be allowed to get on with our lives until I stop bitching about how broke we usually are? And when I say “broke” I don’t mean that we’re starving or having any kind of a crisis at the moment. I just mean that we don’t have much extra money. We’ve only got so much we can save, though I suppose a part of that is our fault because we still tend to shop more than we should. I’m not nearly as bad as I used to be, but we just spent a couple hundred on shit we don’t absolutely have to have and next week I’ll be buying myself new shoes that I also don’t need, but would like to have since I’ve been wearing the same few pairs of shoes for years. Shoes were never a high priority for me, but now I think it would be nice to finally have a new pair unlike anything else I have which basically only consists of two pairs of sneakers, a pair of flat sandals, and a pair of flat pink canvas shoes my folks sent centuries ago. Still, if this is about me being frustrated with us being held back like this month after month, then I’m sorry I’m not a “good enough” bum. I’ll be a better bum, God, and try to accept this cruel and unfair fate in which you’re so obviously determined to sic upon us no matter how much we may not deserve it and are willing to try to get ahead in life. Really, I’ll be a good little bum and quit complaining about being forever cramped in someone else’s old trailer with no more than 500 square feet of space, and no opportunity to get ahead in life. Will you care about us then?

I rearranged the bedroom a little, but being what can’t be more than a 10x10 room, the possibilities aren’t exactly endless. I simply swapped the dresser and the mannequin. This way I can now walk right up to the dresser.

I can see where this mannequin would freak out anyone who’s spooked by realistic-looking dolls. I myself still can’t believe how realistic-looking this thing is! She looks like she’s going to start moving any second and step out of the corner she’s in. A lot of the older mannequins have dead-looking, even cartoonish eyes, but not this one. Her eyes look wet like real eyes and incredibly realistic. Same with the eyelashes and the rest of her face. When you look into her face you almost expect her eyes to shift into focus on your own and for her lips to part and for her to say something. Yet I was never one to find such realistic dolls creepy. As a kid, I’m sure I would have, but instead of being spooked when I look at her, I just see a very lovely mannequin that looks very lifelike.

I re-read Marie’s sex clip and it hit me that she never got off. Does anyone ever want to have sex with me and not just for me? Well, other than Ron, Al Casey and Brenda.

Well, it’s 4am and 80º in here. I think I’ll crack a window and go take my shower. Then when the sun comes up I’ll go out for a run if only to keep my joints from acting up. Better do my ab crunches to keep my back in shape, too.

SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 2010 Tom ran into Maryann as he was going out yesterday, saying he thought that maybe Jesse was out of town. I doubted this because then the dogs would be going off all through the night. Sure enough, just minutes later, Jesse came down in the truck to fetch a wheelbarrow from his shit pile. I thought he would be obnoxious and start with the engine gunning, but instead he took off on the motorcycle not long afterward.

I edited and submitted a short clip Marie wrote for the erotica site. She did a better job than I expected. She asked me to submit it under my pen name since I’m already known there.

Wish I had more to say, but that’s really all that’s going on other than that Tom woke up with an upset stomach for eating too many of the mashed potatoes I made yesterday. He took some Rolaids and went back to sleep.

As for me – I’m just going to enjoy the peaceful wee hours of the night, then go out running when there’s enough light out.

FRIDAY, JUNE 4, 2010 So I set up house at MyOpera, another cool blogging site, for this blogaholic to have fun at. Seriously, I’m totally addicted to blogging! I love the various features all the different sites have to offer, though I’m pretty much posting the same things at all the sites.

What’s cool about MyOpera, which is where I got yesterday’s Fast Facts from, is the stats it gives you. It has a world map on which dots are placed to represent areas that have accessed your page. I’ve gotten a surprising 369 views so far. I’m amazed no one’s contacted me, but that’s ok. I hate it when people get carried away with the email. I still have to work and do other things, and if I take too much time out to answer emails, I’ll never get anything done. Anyway, they seem to really like me in Europe and southern Asia, LOL. It tells me unique visitors from repeat visitors, along with their city, state, country, IP, and the time and date of their visit.

Toward the right of the screen, it also shuffles through photos as they view your page, and yes, those creepy dolls are in the mix, just to warn you, LOL! But there are also plenty of people and pet pics, too.

There is a work section in the About Me section that other sites don’t have which I wrote: I have done a variety of things on and off throughout my life starting with housekeeping and babysitting, then moving on to singing and dancing, then finally to writing, entering sweepstakes/contests, and artificial intelligence work.

You can set it up so that the first thing people see is either your blog, your blog archive, your About Me section, or your photo albums.

I don’t expect anyone I know to sign up and use this site unless they really want to but do feel free to check out my profile, pics and blog over there.

Why do so many bands friend me on MySpace and why has that site turned into such a pervert’s haven? I might shut down my account there. I only opened one in the first place to enter contests.

I inserted a username poll on Thoughts, but am unable to see the results. The very kind people there checked into the matter for me and were able to duplicate the error themselves to see what I was talking about since they could see the results while I couldn’t. I hope that Marie, if she gets the chance, can check the poll and tell me the results.

Speaking of Marie, she has written her own juicy story for the erotica site that she wants me to edit for her, but I was unable to open the attachment she sent me. So she’ll get it from Word when she gets home and drops it into the body of an email which is how I prefer to get documents anyway. It’s easier than having to open files.

Left another voice post on LJ yesterday after accidentally deleting one when disabling the auto-transcriber since the thing often fucks up. Besides, if I wanted it written out I would just write it and not speak it. I have 3 more posts for this month. When will I make them? You’ll just have to be surprised!

So right now I’m blogging at 5 sites: MD, LJ, Thoughts, Opera and Blogger.

Got my first wrong number on my new phone yesterday. I checked the area code. It was from North Carolina. The first time they asked for so and so, then they called back twice more and didn’t say anything.

THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 2010 Someone let me know that Tammy’s been complaining about her town officials, and as I told them, I really don’t give a damn. What’s going on in her town is her business and problem, not mine. Guess they’re setting up house for perverts that she feels is too close for comfort. She’s also in trouble again, but that’s for her to deal with. I stopped them before they could go on to explain the details to me because I simply don’t care.

My mom will be 78 on the 6th and I should be on days enough by then to call her. Only problem is the 6th is a Sunday and she may be at her store at the flea market. If so I’ll just leave a message.

Going out next week hunting for those wedge sandals I’ve been wanting. :) The higher the heel the better. I may be thinner, but I ain’t taller, LOL.

My brain says, “Work out, you lazy bitch.” My body says, “Screw you. Leave me alone. Just let me sit here in my nice comfy chair and leave me alone.”

I know I better get my brain in charge one of these days soon enough, though, if I don’t want to gain back all the weight I slaved so hard to get off.

For the last two days, I had this persistent hunger that just wouldn’t quit no matter what I ate. I was even woken up by hunger pangs. I can’t for the life of me begin to figure out what causes them, but there is a definite connection between hunger and weight loss. After days when I’m so hungry that nothing fills me up, I tend to be down a pound or two the next day.

Fast facts about me:

At the movies I like to see: Horror, suspense, thrillers Last movie seen: Coffy Music I listen to: All kinds, mostly 70s Best album right now: Not sure Favorite author: Dean Koontz Last book read: Can’t remember Best game right now: Mah Jong Favorite sports team: Don’t have one I’m passionate about: Equality and free speech I wish I could: Get rich Favorite travel destination: Anyplace warm On my vacation I: Like to shop, eat and relax If I won 1 million dollars, I would: Buy a house If I were a superhero I would: Fly Fashion I rather not see again: Bell Bottoms My worst purchase ever: Too many to list I want my coffee: With milk and sugar Food I like: Seafood and Chinese I don’t like: Reverse discrimination and gay-bashing Software I use: Whatever works best Hardware I use: Whatever I need to use

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 2, 2010 There was a pair of panties waiting for me at the mail place which is nice. Hey, I love free stuff. But where did they come from? Did I win them or did they come from the free sample site? It’s got to have been one of those since I highly doubt any aliens sent them to me. I searched “Warner’s Challenge” on the sweeps site and came up empty in both the current and expired sweeps section. No matches at the same site either, but I guess it’s a win because you don’t usually “sample” panties, LOL.

Marie left a voice post of her own. I was surprised because she had said she changed plans and no longer had free long distance. She sounded great, though, and did a fine job with the Spanish sentence she spoke. I still haven’t used any of my 5 posts for June. I will when I get in the mood to say something.

Nothing from Ann Marie, who hasn’t been on MySpace since 5/29. I went and made sure I didn’t say anything about her in any of my blogs that may offend her on the off chance she actually checks them out (like how I wouldn’t be attracted to her today, and how she seemed bothered by my lack of a car/job back when I knew her), and had to laugh to myself when I described her as oh so good in bed. Why? Because she made me cum? I’m sorry, but she was horrible in bed! Yeah, she made me cum and those 20 seconds were fun, but it was the same thing with Tom where she didn’t participate. We had sex for me and not for us. The whole idea from start to finish was for her to get me off, and that would be ok every now and then, but seeing how that’s the way it was both times we got together, I’m not sure that qualifies as “good in bed.”

Nickolena changed her profile picture to one of just herself standing outside what was probably her house. All I saw was a brick wall and a lovely bed of colorful flowers bordering it. She was dressed in all black with red heels and lipstick. She had her hands on her hips and her hair dyed brown. Not only has she turned out to be a gorgeous kid from what I can see, but another round of doubt has been cast upon me as far as that kid from her previous profile picture being hers. A, she’s skinny as a rail. B, if it was her kid, would she really want to post a picture without it? C, she stated she was bored in her last status update. Somehow I doubt there’s ever a boring moment with a kid to care for. I would think that whenever it was napping you’d scramble to do things you don’t normally get to do anymore.

She never replied to my message asking her to give my journal link to Evie, and she couldn’t have anyway, not that I’d have expected one. My profile is set up so that no one under 18 can access it.

TUESDAY, JUNE 1, 2010 I didn’t realize, until Marie told me, that you have to register for your own account on LiveJournal in order to hear my voice posts. Oh well, LOL!

I wasn’t sure if I was going to do the 5 posts a month thing because there isn’t really anything I can say that I’m not writing about, and if I won’t write it, I won’t say it. Maybe I can read some of my stories that aren’t online. Or maybe bitch about some things/people I don’t exactly care for. Or maybe I’ll have good things to say. I guess you’ll just have to wait and see! Even though I have my account set for the Pacific time zone and it’s only just after 11pm here, my two remaining voice posts for May have already expired. So it’s really on ET no matter what I tell it.

So I was thinking of creating a website and selling whatever, only A, I’m not really a retail kinda person, and B, most people prefer to buy from big-name sites like eBay, Walmart, Amazon, etc., so you don’t usually make much money this way as opposed to a brick and mortar store. Not sure what I would sell either. We had an eBay store for a while way back when, got sick of that, then moved on to other things. So I either have to think of something unique to sell that you won’t find in most other places or create a site where I don’t sell anything at all. Besides, I don’t want to buy merchandise that might not sell and end up stuck with it like I hear so many people end up doing. As I said, they want to buy from big-name stores, and I don’t blame them with all the scams that are out there these days. When I shop online I don’t buy from individuals unless they’re some kind of power seller on eBay or someone I know.

[cartoonyappreciation]

On Growing Up:

I’ve recently graduated from college and for the first time I’m moving out of state. In a couple weeks I’ll be moving the furthest away from all my friends, siblings and parents. I’ve packed everything in boxes, gathered them all into the garage, in preparation for the Uhaul we’re renting to start this new chapter of my life.

For the past five years, I’ve prided myself on being independent, getting shit done and making every choice to put myself in the best position I can to succeed. For most of my undergrad career, I figured I would go into industry like the rest of my peers, make money as soon as possible and get on with my life. Then just over a year and a half ago, I decided to go to grad school instead.

I think it’s actually a pretty common fear for people who go to medical school and graduate school; the fear of life passing you by. Your friends settling down, having families, going on vacations, while you spend another half a decade prolonging finding your actual job. And while most of us (I assume) know that we’re doing this for a better future, having that longterm mindset can be really difficult.

I guess I don’t really know how many people actually have that fear. Maybe people who achieved a better school/work-life balance don’t feel that way. While I was doing my best to enjoy undergrad, I think I still had this underlying mindset that it was just an intermission, a countdown until the time I could get on with my life. A main factor I kept in mind while choosing which grad school to go to was that I couldn’t think like that anymore. If I’m going to spend all my 20s in college, I can’t spend it miserably. If I ended up going to a school that made me hate my future then what would be the point?

Anyway, this isn’t the reason I started making this post 😅. I actually wanted to talk about the now, this transition to what is essentially a full time job away from my family. No longer can I drive two hours just to visit my parents for the weekend. This new chapter almost feels like the end of my childhood, even though I guess there are lots of phases of childhood. It’s made me feel extra emotional lately. I feel like I’m mourning, as dramatic as that may sound.

My mom is pretty sick right now. As I walked into the kitchen to grab some water, I could hear her coughing and it sparked this memory I had from when I was much younger when I was sick. My throat really hurt and I felt terrible so I was walking downstairs. Turned out, my dad was still awake and watching something on TV while he was folding laundry or something. We both sat there eating popsicles and watching whatever was on the TV until I was ready to go back to sleep. For some reason, upon recalling this memory, tears started pouring down my cheeks. There I was, the kitchen illuminated only by the light of my refrigerator, as I stood there silently crying. While I feel pretty stupid and I can’t be completely sure why that set me off, I’m guessing I kinda miss these simpler times. My dad’s still alive, it’s not like I can’t sit on the couch and eat a popsicle with him now. Ugh, I feel like the girl from Inside Out, when all the yellow core memories turn blue. Sad that another chapter is complete, too uncertain of what the future holds to be truly excited about it. And I know I’ll be fine; I literally chose this for myself. But I also know that nothing stays the same and it’s okay to mourn the changes in your life while still looking forward to the future.

So here’s to growing up. It might be scary, but it’s all gonna turn out okay.

[galaxy98]

You ever look at a situation and just go, “If I even make one judgement call, I’m gonna later regret it for the rest of my life” ?

Because I can think of the few times—even recently—where this is applicable.

And I wouldn’t be so hung up about it if I didn’t considered it from a moral standpoint. You can’t go through life being a fence sitter or else you’ll end up like Boogie2988. You can’t always depend on your gut just because the truth is inconvenient to you.

I get that we’re only human, but I should know better by this point.

I’d LIKE to think that I’ve gain some wisdom over the years based on how this keeps happening time and time again. But there’s always that situation where I can never be so sure of what’s true or not.

And we’re not talking about minor stuff here. This stuff that involves things like people getting hurt or some form of enabling or misconduct.

To give you an example, take Michael Jackson for instance. For the past few decades and post-mortem, we’ve been trying to uncover any truth to whether or not he was a pedophile. And we’ve thought we had an answer with the Leaving Neverland documentary. But then this other stuff started coming about the muddled details regarding its existence that now it feels like we’re back to square one.

That’s when I threw up my hands and said, “Fuck it! I’m going to die not knowing whether he did it or not!”

And that’s what tears me up inside.

Yeah yeah i know “LiFe IsN’t FuLl oF EaSy AnSwErS” and all that crap but sometimes I wish it was. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to constantly live with that guilt.

Maybe I am beating myself up over nothing.

But I’ve been betrayed so much that I no longer have any faith in my own judgement anymore.

It’s been like that since 2016. And if you lived through that year, you will know what I mean.

[the1975attheirverybest]

As a member of Gen Z I don’t think it’s fair to place all the blame on our shoulders. It’s not our fault that we inherited a world that was full of racism, homophobia and climate change. Can you really fault us for wanting to make that better?

I agree that at times the actions of our generation haven’t been the right ones but isn’t it better that we make mistakes and learn from them rather than do nothing at all. Ghandi said “be the change that you wish to see in the world” and he was right. You can’t have change without action.

As a member of Gen Z I frown upon cancel culture I think it’s awful and it ruins peoples lives but I don’t frown upon respectfully calling someone out if they are in the wrong.

And on the topic of mental health, I don’t think it’s out generations fault that we have chemical dispositions in our brains. To be frank my parents are at fault for my eating disorder. I didn’t decide that I wanted to make myself sick or be depressed. It doesn’t work that way. It was never cool to be sick. It was never fun.

Anyway sorry for this rant but I had to get it off my chest while we’re on the topic

-♥️

Yeah, I agree with you!! Your starting point as a generation is NOT the same as past generations, so it wouldn’t be fair to hold you responsible for these things. Like, when people complain about gen z having different priorities or whatever, it’s like….what do you want them to do? Work hard, save up to buy a house, etc? LITERALLY HOW?! jobs don’t pay like they used to. The housing economy is INSANELY different than it used to be, most kids are going into debt trying to get an education, so when they leave school and go into low paying jobs and high interest housing situations, they’re also carrying that burden on top of it all. And if they, god forbid, should have a medical condition? Fuckin forget about it, bro.

all while the economy is collapsing, the climate is slowly killing life on earth, politics is leaning conservative. The progress we have made for women’s rights, civil liberties, LGBTQ+ rights are regressing….even if this generation were somehow made of superheroes….where are they meant to start?

While not all of mental illness is environmental, I mean, who WOULDN’T be depressed in a world like this?

Also, I think older generations gotta take responsibility for their part in this too. Gen z just got here, relatively speaking. The world we are living in is a result of decades worth of problems accumulating. Why are we suddenly blaming it all on the young people? No society is ever gonna move forward productively if it’s incapable of looking back and acknowledge and learning from its mistakes. The past isn’t nearly as rosy and sweet as we like to think of it. We got here for a reason. Kids can only do so much with the hand that they’re dealt.

Doesn’t mean they don’t have their flaws. Not all aspects of culture are going to continually move in the right direction. We have to make mistakes to learn what to do and not to do. Some mistakes are bigger than others. Some could have been prevented and some are just necessary or inevitable. The only way this happens is if you take the long view of history and wait it out. Things start to filter themselves through. Every generation fucks up. Every single one. No exception. So, it’s a bit unfair to me to act like gen z is a class of lazy, toxic, misguided, fragile people. Like….anyone who says that seems to have forgotten what it was like to be young, lol.

[mysaldate]

Why Leona and Vil get treated differently – and why not everything is always about race

Yeah yeah, it’s been a long time since this discourse happened... not. Because apparently we’re beating this horse even after it’s deader than Cater’s clones. Somehow this stupid conversation keeps getting rekindled over and over and over and over again, and I’m just so tired so I’m just gonna put my thoughts down so that the next time I get caught up in it, I’ll have this post at the ready. Read at your own risk, this may trigger some people, especially those who claim the only reason anyone would ever dislike Leona is his skin color and not, you know, everything he does.

Leona’s murder attempt was pre-meditated. Unlike Vil, Leona spent quite a long time planning out everything he did in episode 2. He made sure the injuries happened in a way that couldn’t be linked back to him and that nobody could see Ruggie while he was using his unique magic. When it came to the actual murder, he even made a deal with Azul to ensure the event venue was set up in a certain way and that Ruggie got a potion to boost his magic before the whole thing started. Vil, on the other hand, snapped under momentary pressure, and didn’t spend weeks planning how to murder a rival over a competition.

Leona was ready to go through with it. I see a lot of people conveniently ignoring this but someone actually did die during Leona’s murder attempt – Cater’s clones did. Now, whether or not clone lives count as actual lives is irrelevant at the moment because all that matters is that Leona didn’t stop until there were bodies on the ground. Remember he watched the whole thing. He knew what was going on and when to stop. On the other hand, Vil immediately stopped the second a new element was introduced that snapped him out of whatever he was going on. Which brings me to my next point.

Leona acted with full clarity. Unlike Vil, Leona was fully in control the whole time. Vil was in a haze of reliving his past trauma, a haze that he snapped out of the second someone other than his target spoke to him. Leona, while motivated by past trauma, was fully in control of his actions.

Leona never showed any growth. This may be a controversial point for some people. And I understand that Leona is older than most of the other characters, however that does not make him stubbornly refusing to admit he did anything wrong any less jarring. Everyone showed tangible visible growth after their overblot, except Leona.

We are clear on what Leona wanted. With Vil, we never got a clear-cut confirmation that he was out for blood. We know something unsavory would’ve happened to Neige if he drank the apple juice, but truth is, it was never explicitly stated that he would die (if it was in EN, then just chuck that on the pile of things EN ruined). People just jumped to assuming murder because that’s what we’ve seen before and because Vil is associated with poinsons.

And when it comes to how their attempts were handled in-universe, let’s take a look at that.

Leona got called out by Lilia. It was vicious and rude, yes. Was it racist of Lilia to tear into Leona? No. No part of Lilia’s insults had to do with Leona’s race. He compared Leona with Malleus and evaluated which one of them has a personality more suited for a leader – the answer should be clear if you consider which one of them committed murder over a sports contest. This was also after Leona attempted to murder Lilia’s son, his son’s best friend, and a person he’s been taking care of for decades, or possibly even longer. Leona is lucky Lilia is no longer in his general days otherwise he’d likely be made into a throwrug, how handsome is up to your personal tastes. However, Leona’s call-out ended there with no further consequences other than being disqualified from the contest.

Vil got called out by nearly the entirety of the VDC group. Granted, it wasn’t that vicious or rude, but that’s because it didn’t get personal with anyone. Had he killed Neige, it wouldn’t personally affect any of the VDC group members. While Rook is a huge fan of Neige’s, that’s as far as it goes. However, Vil had lasting consequences from this lapse of judgement. You can find my full analysis of that mess here. That alone makes fans less eager to harp on him, since it at least feels like he got what he deserved – or possibly even more – while Leona gets to walk free with one verbal scolding.

Lastly, if you’re here to tell me to kms or harass me, do us both a favor and just click block and hide. I’ve got enough of that to the point where I just roll my eyes and block you back without it really affecting me. You’re just wasting your time as well as mine. You can think Lilia calling out Leona for murder was racist but at that point, you’re just willing to use skin color as a free get out of consequences card, and I have no desire to talk to people like that.

If you agree, feel free to share, if you’d like to respectfully debate, I’m 100% down for that too, just know that I tend to be pretty stubborn😅

Edit: If you are here to talk about wider fandom treatment of dark-skinned characters, that isn't what this post is about so please just make your own. This post is about a specific situation. Of course, there will always be bad people who judge people and characters based on skin color, but let's not act like everyone who dislikes Leona does so for those reasons. There's plenty of differences between his and Vil's situation that can make people like one and dislike the other without being racially charged. THAT is the point of this post.

[ronearoundblindly]

Autumn Is Healing (Oct 21st)

Flufftober Day Twenty-One--Kiss for Good Luck

drabble for steve rogers x super soldier!reader (see previous or series)

No warnings, just floof (ok, technically a few curse words). WC 670

It was a total accident.

Since you are restricted around the compound without a chaperone, Bucky and Steve always come to your room to tell you they are leaving on a mission. It’s a courtesy but also a calming reassurance.

You give cheek kisses.

Those were always a big thing in your childhood, and once you woke back up, once you felt a little more secure in yourself and these people around you, you fell right back into the habit.

Someone brings you food. Kiss. They do you a favor or explain something new. Kiss. Drop you back off after your outdoor time. Kiss. It’s always on the cheek though.

Steve uses an outrageous amount of concentration to not start blushing before they even get to your door because he knows what’s coming. He gets his kiss.

Sure, it’s just the cheek, and sure, Bucky’s gonna get one, too. Still a kiss though. It’s still from you.

“Hey, doll, we’re heading out,” Bucky drawls nonchalantly as you open the door. “Just came for our bit'a luck.”

You bounce forward and plant one on Bucky’s left cheek. Steve stares a little too intensely at the way your lips fold in a pout once they hit his skin. He commits things about how your body moves to memory often; he just doesn’t admit it to anyone.

Except something is different. You take one look at Steve and run back into your room.

“Wait, I almost forgot. I made you something. It’s…it’s right…shit,” you whisper, rummaging through a pile of things on your dresser.

Bucky’s eyes are down on his screen. They got a ping of fresh intel, so Steve steps inside to let you know.

“We gotta go. Don’t worry if you can’t—“

“Here!” Two little sachets are clutched in your hand. “Dried the lavender myself for ya—“ you tuck them into the nearest pouch on his utility belt “—so you boys can wind down if you get a chance.”

“That’s very sweet. Thank you,” Steve says absently. He’s looking back to Bucky who is grunting, annoyed by some development, and he knows now that you were aiming for his turned cheek.

Instead, Steve tries to refocus on you and bumps your nose before your lips—those soft things that press that very particular way he can vividly recall with his eidetic memory—land on his.

Your eyes are closed, but his aren’t. He expects a faster correction. You’re a super soldier, too, so you have quick reflexes like him. You must know what’s happened.

There’s no flicker across your features, no hesitation, just the normal firm yet gentle pucker of your lips to his skin but it’s his lips. Of course, Steve’s reflex is to kiss back, simple, quick. It’s basically a peck, but all that concentration on not blushing went out the window about three seconds ago and his unkissed cheeks are on fire now.

You haven’t even pulled away by the time he repeats, “thank you.” The words make his bottom lip brush against yours.

Bucky clears his throat in the doorway, muttering, “anytime now, punk.”

And then you’re resting back on your heels and smiling.

“Be safe, boys.”

Steve twitches a bit to gather himself. “Thank you—“ can he think of nothing else at this point? “—we’ll be back soon, Rosie.”

He pats the pouch on his hip and almost—almost—says thank you a fourth time but stops himself, and Steve ducks out of your room with eyes to the floor.

While waiting for the elevator, Bucky snorts.

“Looking a bit rosy yourself there, Stevie. Everything ok?”

Buck knows. He’s been his best friend for decades, and Steve doesn’t know why he insists on attempting to hide any of this from him but he tries. He tries to tamp down the flutter in his gut and the wild urge to grin. The flush of his neck and face are a lost cause but no matter. Steve’s happy.

“Never better,” Steve mutters. “Feeling lucky.”

challenge details @flufftober

[Day Twenty; Day Twenty-Two]

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