#that's why it's so hard for folks when they hit someone with their car

[maiamore]

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya. 

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar,  handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar. 

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details. 

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him. 

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick. 

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings. 

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor. 

“Right. You’re the parent of…?” 

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

 “Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times. 

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison. 

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him. 

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve. 

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities. 

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night. 

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn. 

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you. 

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage. 

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively. 

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang. 

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard. 

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest. 

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes. 

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure. 

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words. 

“I’m just here to help—” 

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you. 

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you. 

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block. Not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. With candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt—god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show. 

"You ever learn how to listen?" 

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much. 

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting. 

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down." 

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your arms down.

Why did that…feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air before you fully completed your thought, the chains of lights comes tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you. 

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio, drawing everyone’s attention.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.  

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom.

Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asks in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."  

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it. 

You don’t answer him. Humiliated as is. Your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid. 

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard. 

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Or entertain Sarah and the rest of the kids. You’d turned his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland by the end of the night.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel. 

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers. 

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your thighs. 

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?” 

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. 

“Who said I was?” 

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him. 

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. Joel’s eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck does runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?” 

Joel shifts in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment. 

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind. 

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore. 

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.” 

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents. 

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws. 

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tightened around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path. 

A firm slam against the hood you were backed up against causes you to jolt. 

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again. 

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up. 

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.  

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch. 

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale. 

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck. 

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it. 

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties. 

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you. 

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds. 

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles. 

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation. 

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly? 

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both. 

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full. 

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears. 

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you. 

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come. 

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point. 

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight. 

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips. 

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down. 

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit. 

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips. 

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs. 

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck. 

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks. 

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

[sofiareidings]

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

Summary: At the New Year's party at Rossi's you have a little to much to drink and Spencer has to take you home. What will happen when the clock strikes midnight though?

A/N: Stated in the title but I'm also stating it now, this one-shot does mention alcohol. Also, thank you so much for all the love on yesterday's post! I'm going to try and post a story everyday until I start school, (September 6th) once I get back into the rhythm of school I'll try and make a posting schedule.

Word Count: 0.9k

Song Suggestions: Pacific - Sleeping At Last

Rossi had invited the entire team over for a New Years party. It had been a tough year, and everyone needed it. You spent the evening having fun, talking, dancing, and drinking.

Maybe a little too much drinking. It was thirty minutes to midnight and Garcia had finally cut you off. “I love you sweetie, but you’re sticking to water for the rest of the night.” You sighed at her comment and decided the best idea would be to vent about it to someone else.

“…and now she’s only giving me water!” You slumped back in the chair while Spencer just shook his head. He was completely sober that night and could tell how drunk you were. He knew it was time for you to go home. He stood up, putting a hand out for you to grab.

“Come on, it’s time to go home.” Taking his hand you groan and reluctantly grab your stuff while mumbling to yourself about the injustice. Once you got to Spencer’s car you turned on his radio, the first channel was a strange classical music channel and immediately changed. The next channel was counting down to midnight while playing what you assumed was the top 100.

Rossi’s mansion wasn’t far from your apartment complex and Spencer had gotten there in less than ten minutes. “Fifteen minutes till midnight! I wonder who my Near Year’s kiss will be. This next song is…” When the song started you stopped listening and turned to Spencer.

“I don’t want to be alone at midnight, can we stay here until then please?” The sentence came out a lot sadder than you expected. “And then if you’re here at midnight…I can have a New Year’s kiss.”

“Y/N…you’re drunk.” His face was red, you were drunk. He knew that but, the quote, ‘drunk words are sober thoughts.’ was all he could think of. He didn’t want to take advantage of the state you were in and didn’t dare try to make any advances. “We can stay here until midnight.”

“Only ten minutes until midnight folks! Here’s number two on…”

You were at the emotional stage of drunkenness, it was quite evident by the way you cried a little while talking. “You’re so cute, Spence. Whenever you make that little confused face when I talk about pop culture I can’t help but die inside because you look so pretty. Like a lost puppy…and when you wave instead of shaking someone's hand because shaking hands are gross or whatever I just melt. And everytime you wear your glasses I can’t focus on anything other than your cuteness…”

He was blushing hard but was still making sure not to take anything serious. “T-thanks Y/N, I really appreciate that…” His sentence trailed off as he watched your hand grab onto his arm and stay there. The butterflies were going crazy and he knew he needed to get out of here. “Why don’t I take you up to your apartment? I’ll stay till midnight but I want to make sure you make it the full way home.”

“That’s such a good idea, why didn’t I think of it!” You groaned while going to open the car door. The handle was jammed, when Spencer noticed he got out of the car leaving you alone in the car for a second.

“Six minutes until midnight! Here is the last song of the night folks…”

The door opened and there he stood, holding your bag and jacket waiting to take you upstairs. Opening the front door of the building you looked at your phone clock.

“11:57” You stated while he hit the elevator button. While waiting you managed to make your way to the live broadcast of the ball drop in New York.

“We are two minutes and fifteen seconds away from midnight!”

The elevator opened and you hit the button to take you to the third floor.

“Would you look at that, only a minute and twenty seconds left everyone.”

Spencer grabbed your hand and walked you towards your apartment while you listened to the announcer blasting from your phone.

“Thirty seconds!”

A loud countdown started on your phone while Spencer looked for your house key in your bag. You watched him try every key.

“Ten!”

You hear a little click and he starts turning the key.

“Nine!”

The key gets stuck in place.

“Eight!”

He jimmies with the key.

Seven!”

The lock finally opens.

“Six!”

The door opens and you walk in.

“Five!”

You lean against the wall while Spencer shuts the door.

“Four!”

He turns your hallway light on.

“Three!”

You hear the sound of your purse hitting the table.

“Two!”

Spencer walks back over to you, preparing to say goodnight after the countdown.

“One!”

In a moment of drunken boldness you wrap your hands around his neck and press your lips against his. He’s shocked and stumbles back a little, not sure what to do. You can feel his arm wrap around your waist tightly. After a couple seconds you let go and stagger backwards smiling. “Happy New Year’s.”

“Yeah, happy New Year’s…” He’s still in shock but makes sure that you make it to bed before leaving.

‘Drunk words are sober thoughts.’

Walking back down to the parking lot his mind is full of so many different thoughts. He’s not sure how seriously he should take your advances. What if you won’t remember them in the morning? What if it isn’t what you really feel? The final thought, one that had been coming back to him all night.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place in the Sun 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Summary: Trouble in the big city follows you back to your sleepy village home.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’ve been to the city once in your life. Your parents were never really well off. Your dad works at the lumberyard, still, and your mom sells some crochet gloves and hats here and there, or tailor a few pieces for the neighbours for a buck or two. It isn’t much but they work hard and you can’t want for much. Life is simple but not unhappy. 

Your second trip to the city isn’t much different than your first. You were a kid then and only came with your dad so he could get new work boots. You don’t remember much except for the very tall people and the honking cars. Now, it’s just as chaotic and you feel just as small, but you’re all by yourself. 

There’s a gathering at the mall. You’ve never been to a mall. They don’t have any of those in Hammer Ford. As you steer the beaten-up Bronco into the lot, you shift the stick and check your mirrors. The cars here are all tiny compared to the mammoth truck you borrowed from your dad. He only let you take it after you filled the tank, and with a little coaxing from your mom. 

You don’t see why it’s a big deal. You’re an adult. You make your own money. Enough to help out. You do what you can with your seasonal pay but they don’t need a custodian at the school when there’s no classes. 

Still, you scrounged enough for the collector’s edition. You pre-ordered and everything. It’s so limited they only let people pick it up in-store. 

You park and shut off the engine. You watch a group of teenage girls giggling as they enter the mall. You should’ve brought some friends but you don’t have many of those. Everyone you knew in high school is married or busy growing up. There is that girl you see now and again, she lives with her grandma, but she’s always got her head down. She’ll see you waving one day. 

You open the door and hop down. As you do, the keys jangle out of your grasp and hit the pavement. You huff dramatically and swing the door shut. You go to grab the keyring but it’s swiped up by someone else. You stand and face the man as he holds them out. 

He’s taller than you and older. You think. He has the boldest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a shadow of stubble across his square jaw. His hair is neatly trimmed and he wears a dark blue suit with a white button-up. He outshines your brown khaki skirt and gingham blouse. 

“Oh, hi, thank you, sir,” you chime, “clumsy me!” 

He nods and narrows his eyes, “keep those close. Someone else might just run off with the truck.” 

“Ha, this beat up old elephant,” you take the keys and slap the side of the Bronco, “I doubt it, but thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” 

You smile brightly but he hardly seems impressed. More confounded. His mouth slants and his eyes roll to the side. 

“Another piece of advice,” he intones as he leans towards you, “don’t smile at strangers.” 

“Oh, uh,” your mouth straightens, “right. Sorry, sir.” 

His brows rise and fall but he doesn’t reply. He brushes by you and you turn to watch him go. Your ma warned you that city folk weren’t very friendly. You spin back and lock the truck up, taking his warning to heart. You never know and your dad would never forgive you if someone did decide to highjack the rusting beast. 

You head towards the mall and follow a rabble of children with their moms into the air-conditioned space. It’s nice compared to the thick humidity outside. You think back to that man and wonder how he could be wearing a jacket in all this. He must be on the way to somewhere important. 

You look around, your heart pumping as the bright marquees and shining shop windows refract through your lenses. Oof, you didn’t expect it to be so big! You search around, walking along with your knitted purse clutched tight. Oh, a map! 

You go over to the touch screen directory and search for the bookstore. Right, a left and then straight, and another left. You recite the directions to yourself over and over as you continue on. You barely dodge out of the way of your fellow mall patrons as the criss cross the wide hallways and mill outside the booths and windows. 

Finally, you spot the familiar logo of the bookstore. You only really see it on a screen but you know it well. You stroll in through the broad open archway at the front and once more, you’re struck by the flurry of activity and expanse of the space. You trail after a pair of girls toward the service desk, delineated by the floating sign above. 

You bounce on your feet as you join the queue. You overhear the girls talking about the same book you’re there for. You curiously lean forward to eavesdrop and the redhead cranes to glare at you. You retract and give an apologetic look. You weren’t snooping, you’re just excited. 

When it’s your turn at the counter, you give your name and wait. A figure approaches the next till and sighs. You glance up at the sign; Returns/Exchanges. It’s the man in the blue suit. He taps a plastic card on the wooden countertop. 

As the associate searches for your order, you stare over at his agitated expression. He doesn’t seem very happy. His blue eyes drift and he meets your gaze. His cheek dimples in recognition. 

You give a small wave and smile and he shakes his head. He turns back to the till as a woman nears the other side. 

“Back,” he flicks the card up between his fingers, “should be the one I paid with.” 

You return your attention to the order counter. You shouldn’t be so nosy. You’re there to get your book and go. Oh, and maybe a soft pretzel at that place you saw on the way in. It’s a good day and you’re going to enjoy it. You peek over once more as the man snarls at the credit card machine. You hope his gets better too. 

[wh0re43van]

Heart Shaped Box- (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Description: Your childhood best friend surprises you at work with a gift on Valentine’s Day.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none, unfortunately. (Besides weed use)

A/n: I was going to make this a longer fic with smut but I just really wanted to get this posted tonight 😭

Oldies Country tunes and static buzz from the outdated stereo as I restock the candies at the check out. I glance at the wooden analog clock above the exit; 9:00pm

“One more hour,” I sigh to myself as I trudge back to my stool behind the register. Working for my parents at their corner store is nice. It’s slow, I’ve known all of the regulars my whole life, and if I completely flunk out of college; at least I know I have a job. But something about sitting here alone on Valentine’s Day with the smell of stale (possibly mildewed) air and my Ma’s collection of taxidermy squirrels dressed up to look like the seven dwarves doesn’t seem fitting for a 19 year old girl. Especially since my parents went to Dollyworld for valentines day, leaving me completely alone. (Dollyworld is like Disneyland for people in Kentucky)

The rusted bells hanging above the door chime as cool air floods into the small store. I don’t bother looking up until the footsteps stop in front of me. My mood immediately lifts when I see a familiar face

“Hey, man! No date tonight?” I ask my best friend while he slips his lighter into his flannel pocket. I can smell the lingering smoke of a cigarette on his fingers as he reaches for a pack of gum on the display near my head. He flashes his dimples as he leans down onto the counter.

“Eh, it’s a stupid capitalistic holiday,” he shrugs as I reach down to grab him a pack of Newport 100s.

“Mmm okay Casanova,” I laugh as I take his cash. “So did you pick up from that new guy?” I ask excitedly when I remember that he was supposed to have picked up bud from out west.

“Mhm,” Warren smiles as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “That’s why I’m here, nerd. Let’s go spark,” he says as he turns on his heels.

“Warren, I can’t. I still have almost an hour until I can close,” I frown at the boy who’s slowly stepping towards the door.

“Oh, come on. Your folks are out of town, they’ll never know,” he smirks as he rests a hand on the door handle. I bite my lip, looking around the store, then back at Warren.

‘He’s right. I mean it is a holiday, after all, Most places close early on holidays,’ I look at Warren and do my best to fight back a smile. He looks at me with a shit eating grin, knowing I can’t say no to him.

“Give me 5 minutes to lock up,” I giggle as I pull the cash drawer out.

•

•

I closed the store faster (and worse) than I ever have. Within 5 minutes I’m hopping into the passenger seat of Warrens car. The familiar scent of stale smoke hits me in the face as I settle into my seat.

I shake the few snow flakes that found their way into my hair out as I turn all the heat vents towards me.

“Someone oughta’ shoot that groundhog for lying to us,” I joke as I rub my hands together hoping to get some warmth from the friction.

“Here, this will warm you up,” Warren laughs, fighting back a cough as he hands me the joint. His voice comes out raspy as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. I take the paper from his hand that’s cast in a yellow haze from the dim light shining from the side of the store.

As I take a hit from the joint I lean back in the seat before exhaling. The smoke tastes piney and almost a bit floral as it fills my lungs. After coughing so hard that I drool a litttle, my muscles relax almost instantly as the buzz fills my body.

“Damn, this really is good shit,” I laugh with my scratchy voice as I accept the drink warren has offered to me.

“Oh good. I’m glad you like it,” he smiles before twisting around his seat, reaching into the back. As he scrummages around his car, I take another hit.

“Dude, what are you-“I begin to question the boy but he cuts me off.

“Here it is!” He exclaims, before sitting back properly in his seat with a red heart shaped box in one hand and a mixed CD in the other. I quirk an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “Uh, happy Valentine’s Day, er, whatever,” he says with a small laugh, handing me the box. “I know I said that it’s stupid but, uh, ya know you’re a good friend or some shit,” he mutters with lidded eyes as he sets the red box in my lap. I can’t help but giggle at his awkwardness.

“Oh! Uh, thanks dude! I didn’t know we were doing presents or I would have gotten you something,” I say as I focus my attention on the red box.

“Nah don’t worry about it. Open it,” my best friend nudges me, seemingly very excited about his gift for me. I side eye him before handing him the joint so I can pop the box open.

I Take off the lid to reveal the expected assortment of cheap chocolates, but some of the spots of have been replaced with nugs. I look at Warren with a shocked smile and droopy eyes.

“Wow,” I laugh, trying to think of something to say. The THC in my system makes it a bit difficult to find something genuine to say to this unexpected kind gesture. “You really know what a girl wants,” I nudge him as I pop a piece of chocolate into my mouth. Warren chuckles as he inserts the burnt CD into his stereo.

“Yeah well I got hungry on the ride over here… figured I had to fill the empty spaces with something,” he teases. I laugh as I lay back into my seat. My ears perk up when I hear the intro to ‘November Rain’ by Guns N’ Roses. I lazily turn my head to quirk an eyebrow at Warren who looks almost nervous.

“You hate Guns N’ Roses,” I say with a small, confused smile, awaiting him to offer an explanation as to why he’s playing a band that he constantly complains has ‘sold out’. Warren let’s out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, uh, I do…” he looks away as he scratches the back of his neck. “But this is the song that was playing when the principal chased me around the gym for spiking the punch at our 8th grade dance, remember?” He explains, finally mustering up the courage to meet my eyes at the end. A laugh bubbles up through my chest as the memory comes flooding back to me. Warren had seen some kids do it in a movie, so naturally the 13 year old boy thought it would be brilliant to dump fireball into the fruit punch.

“Oh my god I forgot about that!” I wheeze, laughing so hard at this point that tears are coming from my eyes. “You got suspended for a month because you were convinced that ‘the cinnamon would complement the tropical flavor,’” I shake my head, finally catching my breath after my fit of laughter. As I wipe the tears from my cheeks, I notice Warren just staring at me with a goofy grin. There’s a glint of something in his eyes that I just can’t quite put my finger on… admiration, maybe.

“Yeah I was pretty stupid,” he laughs as he relights the joint. “But don’t forget that while he the principal was chasing me, you laughed so hard you pissed yourself,” Warren challenges as he hands me the spliff. My jaw drops before I slap him on the arm in mock defense.

“Hey I almost pissed myself. A little bit running down your leg doesn’t count,” I laugh as I blow the smoke out, watching it ricochet off the foggy windshield.

“Sure whatever,” Warren playfully rolls his eyes.

The conversation goes silent for a moment and when I look back at Warren, he has a more serious expression on his face. “I, uh, I think about that night a lot. I remember seeing you for the first time with your hair and makeup done, wearing that JCPenny dress that you hated but your mom forced you to wear… I remember thinking how beautiful you looked,” Warren says while he’s laying back in his seat, gazing through bloodshot eyes up at the roof of his car.

“Yeah that dress was the worst,” I say with a light laugh as I take a sip of his water. “I remember watching our moms hold you down and plucking your little unibrow before the dance. You screamed like a little girl and your forehead was red in all the pictures,” I laugh fondly at the memory. Warren scoffs, looking over at me.

“Woah that’s low. I compliment you and you bring up the most scarring moment of my life,” he snickers. “Uhm seriously though,Y/n. I’m, uh, really happy that you’re in my life,” his tone drops to a more serious one again.

‘What the hell is his deal?’ I think to myself in a moment of silence as ‘November rain’ continues to play in the background.

“God this song is long,” I sigh, furrowing my brows. I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about, my mind clouded over with this extremely strong weed.

Judging by Warren’s huff and shuffle in his seat, I don’t think that he was pleased with my response. Then it clicks. The chocolates, the mixed CD, the heart to heart talk that he’s trying desperately to make work even though I’m stoned out of my mind, the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day.

“Are… are you flirting with me?” I ask, almost positive that that’s what’s happening, but still doubting myself. A large part of me is hoping that I’m right- larger than I’d like to admit.

“I’m fucking trying!” Warren laughs, his cheeks going red. I look at my best friend, seeing the handsome man that he’s growing into. A single moon beam shines from the sunroof, reflecting a sparkle in his ink pool eyes and illuminating his unkempt curls that frame his face. The car is filled with nothing but a long guitar solo as I get lost in my admiration for the boy.  I didn’t notice how uneasy my silence was making him. “But if this is weird for you-“  Warren looks away, awkwardly scratching the stubble on the side of his face.

“Then kiss me,” I say simply, interrupting him. Warren Looks at me as if his eyes are going to pop out of his skull.

“What?” He asks, shaking his head, obviously unsure if he heard me correctly.

“Kiss me,” I shrug, not elaborating anymore. Warren stares at me like a deer in headlights. I roll my eyes, then lean over the console. I place my hand behind his neck, pushing his lips against mine. It’s a small, sweet kiss but it still fills my stomach with butterflies. I pull away, leaving my face just inches from Warrens. He’s still just staring blankly but a small smile creeps onto his face.

“Spencer owes me so much money,” he laughs and then as If a switch flipped, he places his finger under my chin, then goes back in for another kiss. I’m shocked that he takes the lead this time, moving his mouth against mine in a heated exchange.

Warrens hands make their way down to my hips, holding me as if I could slip away at any second.

“Come here,” Warren demands against my lips, his voice laced with lust as he begins to lift me over the center console onto his lap. His tone makes my stomach flip, but I force myself to pull away.

“Warren, I’m extremely into this, but I don’t really want our first time to be in the parking lot of my family’s corner store,” I explain as I catch my breath, resting my hand on his thigh. The disappointment is evident on Warrens face, but he attempts to hide it.

“Yeah, no. I get it,” he laughs, running his hand through his hair. “I can die happy now honestly. I’ve been waiting to kiss you for seven years. I can wait another-” he begins to ramble- something he often does when he’s nervous.

“My parents aren’t home,” I interrupt with a mischievous grin. Warrens eyes widen.

“You mean-“ he asks as if he can’t believe what I just said.

“Yes, dumbass,” I nod my head, biting back a laugh. With that, Warren throws his car in reverse, whipping out of the parking lot as if the cops just pulled up. I attempt to scold him through my eruption of laughter as he jostles me around in the car.

[seat-safety-switch]

Why don't people ride public transit more often? There are many excuses provided, but I think the big one is ownership. When someone else owns the bus, it is hard to feel pride about it. Someone else takes it to the mechanic. Someone else washes it. Someone else waits for a tow truck when they climb on the throttle a little too hard on the interstate and blow up the injection pump.

Wait, I hear you say, surely everyone owns the bus? Every single taxpayer owns a fractional share of the public transit infrastructure, so everyone can be proud of what we made as a group. You're certainly right, but nobody is proud of the power lines, or all the pee we clean up before it hits the river. Shareholding isn't thing-holding: just ask all the folks who own a teeny tiny bit of Microsoft, but can't point to the specific chunk of the building they're responsible for. We're weird that way, us apes.

Don't worry. Like I told my first boss, I don't like to bring problems to you, only solutions. Have you ever been by one of those charity things where you can get your name on a brick, or a bench, if you donate? I think they should do the same thing about buses. Nobody stirs the imagination about ol' #7345, even if it does have a page all to itself on the transit-aficionados wiki. If it has a name – a real citizen, just like you! – things are different. What is their life like? Maybe they're riding on this bus, in secret? They could be any of these people. An instant celebrity, immortalized by some letters painted on the side of a white box with wheels.

Sure, there are some gaps in this plan. Some people won't want to have their names associated with a bus, because their lives are terrible and sad and very small. We don't really have enough buses to give each contributor one. And some will get downright weird about it, demanding to ride only on "their" bus.

I, too, have a solution for this: make all the buses much smaller, roughly Power Wheels-sized, and have them seat only one person at a time. Then we'll just put them on a big track, like at bumper cars, and let everyone go hog wild on each other on their way to work. I just so happen to have recently taken delivery of a large quantity of bumper cars from a reputable former amusement park...

[twig-tea]

Love in the Big City TV Series Episodes 5 & 6: Kylie Once Again Recontextualizes Everything

Thanks as always to @lurkingshan and @bengiyo for the wrangling and discussion questions!

I already wrote about the relationship between Gyu-Ho and Yeong in this part, so I wanted to focus on something else for book club. And after working on the timeline in the series, I decided to revisit my meta for Part 3 of the novel, in which I wrote about how Kylie recontextualizes everything that came before we knew about her. I’d like to do the same here for the series while reflecting on the differences.  Knowing when his mother died, the T-aras being present through the whole story, and starting the story after Kylie are the three big changes that I think worked really well in this adaptation, and all of these changes mean that the revelation about Kylie in episodes 5-6 hit a little differently than in the book. 

[screenshot from this post by @how-to-be-a-tree]

With the revelation in this part that Yeong went to the military a few months before the T-aras, we now know that Yeong had recently contracted HIV just before the series began.The hints in episode 1 that he was struggling (hadn’t been going to class, doing odd jobs and asking for the extra clothes) make more sense. It also recontextualizes the aggressive kiss in the club where he kissed that stranger so hard he bled. This also means that, unlike in the novel, he meets and befriends Mi Ae after he was already diagnosed, and since he tells Gyu-Ho that he’s the only one Yeong’s ever told, we know he never told Mi Ae either. Watching them hold each other’s hands as they whisper their secrets in the dark takes a new sad tint to it knowing that Yeong could not trust her with his deepest shame.

[screenshot from this post by @maletimbe]

I wonder if part of his strong reaction to her outing him to Jun Ho was because he had been wanting to tell her, and it was painful knowing he could never trust her with that secret. I wonder if that’s why he doesn’t go to the T-aras after his fight with Mi Ae, but goes to Nam Gyu instead, because he wouldn’t be able to explain to the T-aras why he was so hurt, and on some level the T-aras have already rejected that part of him so he can’t trust them with that vulnerability. 

I wonder if sending the T-aras off at Karaoke reminded him of Kylie and is part of what pushed him to break up with Nam Gyu. After his fallout with Mi Ae, when Yeoung is telling Nam Gyu to find someone braver than him, I wonder if he was thinking about Kylie.

When he goes to Nam Gyu’s funeral and asks how he died, I am pretty sure just by the way that scene was performed that he was thinking about Kylie and wondering whether he killed him–and it makes that revelation hit double-hard, that Nam Gyu was killed in a car accident speeding, because it just reinforced his worst fear: he had gotten Nam Gyu killed, just not in the way he thought. [I don’t actually hold Yeong accountable for Nam Gyu’s decision to speed, but I can imagine Yeong took it that way]. 

I wonder if Yeong was attracted to Yeong Su partially because of the way he tries to help his mother, who is an addict–there’s something in the way social stigma against addicts and poz folks is similar (partially because needle sharing is a way to contract HIV), and how acceptance of those states of being can often come together. I wonder if that's why he could take Yeong Su's more heteronormative kdrama lead style romance when it irritated him in Nam Gyu.

In any case, Yeong having HIV through that relationship and hiding it from Yeong Su makes his reading of Yeong Su’s article about the  immorality of being gay hit even harder. I also think about how irregular his schedule was then, and how bad he was at taking his medication regularly and on time. And knowing that there are restrictions to travel and to moving places, I wonder if part of his rage at Yeong Su moving to America was about knowing that even if Yeong Su had asked, he could not have joined him (you can travel to the USA with HIV but it can be difficult to get a green card). Honestly he was probably too hit with the betrayal and callous rejection to do that full calculus in his head in that moment but I wanted an excuse to use this gif because watching Yeoung punch Yeong Su is good for the spirit:

It also recontextualizes the scenes with his mother, and how much she cared about appearances and judgment, and how she contextualized her own disease as a punishment from God, so how could he not do the same about his own? When overdoses on pills, and his mother tells him not to be in a rush to die, I wonder if the hospital successfully did not disclose his HIV status to her during that period.

Seeing the T-aras there and so worried about him must have been healing even if they still don’t know about this major part of him; he knows they love and care for him and want him alive. Yeong not telling the T-aras about his application to the company because he’s afraid of being rejected for his HIV status tells me that he still hasn’t told the T-aras about Kylie through Part 3; I’m not sure he ever will. But there are people in our lives who we love and who love us in return who we keep secrets from; it means there will always be a level of distance, but it does not mean we aren’t important to each other. 

His mother dying at the beginning of Part 3 is a significant detail that we don’t get in the book, and it made me rethink why Parts 1 and 2 did not mention Kylie at all. In the series, we have Yeong writing Part 1 in episodes 1-2, Part 2 in episodes 3-4, and Part 3 in episodes 5-6. We know he wanted his mother to never know about Kylie, and we know that she followed his literary career and kept copies of his work even if she won’t read them. So it makes sense that he could only write about having HIV and incorporating that into his narrative after her death. I also wonder if Yeong being willing to open up to Gyu-Ho about Kylie has to do with his mother’s death: One of his reasons for keeping the secret so carefully is no longer present.

This isn't recontextualized because by the time we see this we know about Kylie, but how much of Yeong's fixation on Gyu-Ho's silent sleeping and needing to check he's still breathing has to do with his fear that Gyu-Ho still hasn't settled into the relationship and is tip-toeing around him, and how much of it has to do with his fear of giving Gyu-Ho HIV and making him ill? They're barely having sex so it's a pretty irrational fear but that's not how fear works. We know he's thinking about Kylie all the time through this section because he asks Gyu-Ho about how he feels abut Yeong being "dirty" more than once.

One last moment of painful reflection: The first two parts of this series had clear relationship pairings and parallels: Mi Ae and Nam Gyu in Part 1, and Yeong Su and Yeong's mother in Part 2. I was thinking about whether Kylie and Gyu-Ho are our pairing in Part 3, and while I don't think we get enough reflection about Kylie to make this case strongly, I'm struck by how Yeong characterizes Kylie as something he is "stuck with forever", and how he is determined to let Gyu-Ho go.

[cherrycola27]

afterglow

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol and drinking. Military inaccuracies. Allusions to and eventual smut. Friends to lovers. Mutual pining. Unrequited love. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 1: In My Head

The week passed in a blur of jets and clouds and sunshine. By Thursday, you were finally able to choke down the feelings you had for Jake, just in time for him to wreck them on Friday.

As the squadron sat in the briefing room Thursday evening, Cyclone came in, whispered something to Maverick, and then left.

"Well, folks, it looks like we need someone to make a late afternoon flight before they head home to test out some new software. Any takers?" Maverick asked.

There was a collective groan before Jake's hang shot up. "Glow and I can." He volunteered the two of you with a smile. He knew that you loved flying in the afternoon as the sun was starting to set. You always had.

"Are you okay with that, Glow?" Maverick asked you. "Yes, sir," you responded. Maverick sent everyone else home for the day. He met the two of you out on the tarmac to prep you for what you would be doing.

"Also, Admiral Simpson said whoever stayed late today could have tomorrow off. So, it looks like you two get a three day weekend." Maverick smiled at the pair of you. You and Jake exchanged a high- five before he helped you up and got himself situated.

The evening sky was absolutely beautiful as the two of you flew. The sun painted it in shades of pinks and oranges, and purples. The hues danced off the water and floated around the jet. You couldn't help but smile as Jake piloted back towards base.

"I can see why this is your favorite time to be up here." He said to you. "It's gorgeous."

"It is. There is just something about the afterglow that always gets me." You told him. And you meant it. In more ways than one.

After landing, showering, and changing, you ducked out of the locker room to find Jake leaning against the wall waiting on you. "Oh!" You exclaimed when you saw him. "I thought you would have already left by now."

"I was waiting on you, silly." He smiled before falling in step beside you. He lazily tossed an arm over your shoulders as you walked. His hair was still slightly damp, and you could smell his cologne. The scent of oak, whiskey, and tobacco filled your olfactory receptors. It was mixed with a hint of sunshine and salt water. A combination that was so perfect, so unique, so—Jake.

"So I was thinking." Jake began. "That's terrifying." You snorted. He lightly shoved you before pulling you back to him. "But seriously. I don't have any pressing issues I need to take care of tomorrow, and I assume you don't. So, I was thinking, what if we spent the day together?" Jake asked you as you reached your cars in the parking lot.

"And do what?" You asked him. "'We could get breakfast at that diner you love, and we could take the tops off of your jeep and cruise for a bit to our favorite ice cream place, hit the beach, get dinner, oh and Phoenix told me about the movie she and Lukas saw over the weekend. I thought we would check it out and maybe skip the Hard Deck because I, for one, don't want to hear Rooster bitching about how we got the day off." Jake smiled. He had the whole thing planned out.

"So? What do you think?" He asked you with a smile.

You knew this was a bad idea. If you were up in the jet, you'd have warning lights going off everywhere, and you'd be ejecting. "Sounds like a plan. What time do I need to pick you up if we are taking my car?" You asked him.

"Now, Glowy, you no good and well that I'm not going to let you pick me up." I'll be at your house at 9:30 sharp." He stated. You rolled your eyes and agreed. Jake pulled you into a tight hug before climbing into his Silverado and leaving.

....................

You set your alarm for 6:30 the next morning. Even though he said he would be there around 9:30, Jake Seresin was notoriously early for everything.

You got up and took a shower before drying and styling your hair. You took your time dawning some simple makeup for the day. After your finished with your hair and your face, you packed a bag for the day.

You grabbed towels, sunscreen, a change of clothes, some snacks and a few other odds and ends that you thought you might need.

Jake had mentioned the beach, so you slipped a simple purple two-piece on before deciding on a tea-length, bright pink floral sundress. You slipped on a pair of sandals and spritzed your favorite perfume on your wrists and neck.

You were giddy as you were getting ready. You had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn't a date. Just two friends enjoying an unexpected day off.

At nine on the dot, there was a knock at your door. "Good morning, Jake." You greeted him as you opened it. "Morning Y/N. I brought coffee and these." Jake smiled as he walked in. He handed you your favorite iced carmel latte and a bundle of fresh daisies. "They're your favorite, right?" He nodded to the flowers.

"Yeah, um—why did you get me these?" You ask him a little confused.

"My mother told me you never go to a lady's house without flowers." Jake stated matter of factly. "Plus, the farmers market is right near the coffee shop, and I saw these and thought of you." He smiled.

You quickly turned away from him to find a vase. You wouldn't let him see the pink rise in your cheeks.

After securing the flowers, he promptly stole the keys from their hook in your hallway and pulled the tops off of your jeep. He secured them in your garage. The weather was supposed to be bright and sunny all day, so you didn't bother storing them in the trunk.

You tried to argue with him that you should be the one driving, but he simply shook his head stating thst he was the pilot and you would forever be his back seater, or in this case, passenger princess.

..................

The weather was spectacular as the two of you drove to your favorite diner. You laughed and joked as the two of you feasted on bacon, eggs, potatoes, and French toast.

"I'm so glad that I got orders to come here. Lemoore sucked without you. The pilot they assigned to me after you got recalled was even more of a dick than you." You told Jake as you speared a potato square.

"Really? I doubt that." He chuckled. "And it is great that you got moved here." He smiled. Jake prayed you didn't catch the guilt behind his eyes.

It was no accident that you ended up in San Diego with him.

When pilots were being recalled for the uranium plant mission, the rule was that no pairs of pilots and their weapons systems officers could be called together. They didn't want to leave the original squadrons hanging for too long. That's why Jake flew a singe seater. He refused to have anyone in his back seat besides you.

It killed him to leave you. So, after getting word that he would be permanently stationed at Top Gun, he begged asked Cyclone and Warlock if they could transfer you, and he could get back in a two-seater.

Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates reluctantly agreed, but it worked out for the better. Jake was much more tolerable with you around.

After you finished breakfast, Jake swiped the bill before you could set your card down, claiming once again that his mother would have his head if he let a lady pay. You had to take a deep breath and remind yourself that this wasn't a date.

You silenced the warning bells once again before getting into your car.

The two of you drove along the coast, stopping at a few shops and sent selfies to the rest of your friends who were stuck at work.

You had ice cream on the boardwalk for lunch. The two of you sat side by side and watched the waves roll in. Jake had asked you something, and when you turned to answer, he noticed you at the smallest smear of mint chip on your face. He leaned in with his thumb to brush it away, but he lingered before pulling back. His eyes darted to your lips, and he leaned forward ever so slightly.

The caution lights flashed before your eyes. No, he wasn't about to kiss you. Not here. Not out in the open like this. Your brain was screaming at you to eject.

You pulled away from him and cleared your throat. He pulled back and coughed before licking the melted ice cream from his thumb.

"So, beach?" You asked him after a beat of silence.

"Yeah, beach" He nodded.

The two of you tossed your cones before going back to your car and grabbing the beach bag you'd packed. You slipped off your sundress, and Jake's breath caught in his throat when he saw you in your purple swimsuit. His was barely able to keep his tough guy charade up as he helped you apply sunscreen.

The two of you froliced through the waves, splashing and laughing until the sun began to sink. After a quick use of the beach showers and a pit stop in the changing room, both of you were relatively sand free as you sat back in your car. You'd pulled your hair into a high ponytail and were humming along to the music as Jake drove the two of you towards the movie theater.

After getting more popcorn and candy than necessary, and two icees that would give you the worst brain freeze ever, the two of you found yourselves in the last row of an almost empty theater.

Jake had moved the armrest separating your seats out of the way, claiming it was easier to share snacks that way. But you didn't miss the way his bare knee bumped against yours through the slit of your sundress.

..................

At the Hard Deck, the rest of the Daggers finally concluded that the two of you probably weren't showing up tonight.

"It's not fair," Fanboy groaned as he leaned over the pool table.

"I mean, they did volunteer to take a later test flight yesterday, so it is kind of fair." Bob shrugged.

"Bob is right. We all had the same opportunity." Payback stated.

"So what do you think they are doing that is better than hanging out with us?" Coyote asked the group.

"Probably fucking." Rooster shrugged causing half of the group to choke on their drinks.

"Jesus, Bradshaw. Have some tact, man." Payback scolded him.

"What, I'm just saying what we are all thinking." Rooster defended himself. "Glow assures me that they are just friends. Very good friends." Phoenix tells the group.

"Yeah, and I'm a front seater." Fanboy laughed.

"Nix, you can't really believe that. I mean, haven't you seen they way they look at each other? Or noticed how they always leave together from here? And they are together right now?" Rooster pressed.

"Rooster does have a point." Bob chimed in.

"So I have a theory, well three, of what the situation could be." Payback began. "I'm going to present them in order from least plausible to most likely." He continued.

"One, they are secretly dating or maybe married. That would explain why she got transferred to here from Lemoore. Two, they really are just good friends and have worked together so long that they act like a couple. Or, three, and what I feel is most likely, they are hooking up, and one of them, Hangman, wants to keep it more casual, while ignoring the fact that the other, Glow, has feelings for him." Payback finished.

"Well, I don't know what it is. All I know is that Hangman is way easier to deal with when she's around." Phoenix said as she held up her beer. Everyone mumbled out an agreement as they went about their pool game.

.................

Nat was right. The movie was great, and you were glad you had seen it.

You and Jake were walking back to your car as the last rays of the sun began to dip below the horizon.

"Ugh, the sunsets here are so much prettier than the ones in Lemoore." You told Jake.

"Yeah, they are." He agreed with you. "Looks like some clouds are rolling in. We'd better get a move on." He said. You took note of the weather and agreed. You definitely didn't want to get caught in the rain with no cover on your jeep.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. The two of you were about halfway back to your house when the heavens opened up and rain came pouring down. Jake desperately tried to find an overpass for shelter, but there was nothing in sight.

He broke a few traffic laws to get you home, sliding into your garage on two wheels. The two of you sat there for a moment, soaking wet and out of breath.

You shared a look before breaking out into a laugh.

As the laughter faded, the air shifted between the you. The electricity flowing wasn't just the lightening from the storm. Desire radiated off your bodies as you both surged forward and connected your lips.

You basked in the salty, sweet taste of him, as you tried to ignore the warning bells going off. But eventually, you gave in and pulled away from him.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You told him.

"I know." He replied as he cupped your jaw, dragging his lips almost criminally slow against your skin. You could feel the subtle hint of the stubble on his chin.

Heat flushed in your cheeks and spread across you from the tips of your ears to the curl of your toes. You felt like you were doused in gasoline, and his touch was the strike of the match, ready to burn you down.

"One last time?" You breathed out.

"One last time." He whispered against the shell of your ear.

Taglist: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette @rosiahills22 @dempy @olliepig

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

For today's Wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday, may I present:

Tails having friends doesn't mean he's not autistic, or, How Having Zero Social Skills Will Accidentally Get You Adopted

(It's a little long but we'll get there, I promise)

Okay so I read a comment by someone basically saying that Tails can't be autistic because he has social skills and I? just? can't?

First off, yes, autistic people can have social skills. While it is a common symptom to not understand "normal" social cues, autism is a spectrum, and some autistic people have skills which others don't. Along with that, many autistics have learned to mask and imitate neurotypical behavior because of being bullied/punished when they act differently, or because they're trying so hard to fit in. So that in of itself is not proof someone isn't autistic.

Second, where are you getting that Tails has social skills?

Tails doesn't have social skills. Tails has FRIENDS. There's a difference.

You might ask, "How can someone make friends without having social skills?" Well for starters, I think there are a lot of decent people who are willing to be accepting of people who have a little trouble with social skills.

But the main reason Tails has made so many friends without social skills is that NO OTHER CHARACTER IN THIS WHOLE FRANCHISE HAS ANY. Most of the characters are neurodivergent coded, and even those who aren't still have zero social skills. You're telling me that in a world with Sonic the ADHD king, Knuckles the "a punch in the face is a warning" Echidna, and freaking Shadow, Tails is the one going to have trouble making friends? The entire Sonic the Hedgehog crew has exactly one social skill between them, and generally Amy has it. The characters just understand that people have trouble socializing. Maybe that's why they found each other. In my experience, we "odd" people tend to flock to each other. And once we've formed our weird little groups, who needs social skills?

But to show that Tails has very little social skills (and to prove you don't need them) let's analyze his first interaction with Sonic.

To start with, before meeting Sonic, Tails is just wandering around alone and bullied. Little guy, all alone, can't make a friend to save his life.

And then comes Sonic.

Depending on the version of backstory we're looking at, we have:

Tails spots Sonic, decides he's cool, and starts following him around until he finds his plane, which he then fixes and repaints without asking. Sonic shows up and is like, cool, you can come with.

Stalking will get you adopted, folks

Actual dialogue: "You looked cool, so I followed you, and when I found your plane, I figured I'd fix it up and we could be friends!"

Or Tails being bullied, Sonic runs by and stops it, and then again Tails just starts following him around until Sonic decides he can come with.

And the there's the movie version, where Tails, who's been remotely spying on Sonic for a years, shows up and HITS KNUCKLES WITH A STOLEN POLICE CAR, tells Sonic to jump in, and Sonic does because he's afraid for his life, upon which Tails proceeds to excitedly rant about how excited he is because he's literally meeting his special interest.

Also the version where Tails just falls on Sonic's head:

Does any of this scream "social skills" to you?

And in all these situations Sonic, who has zero social skills himself, just adopts him on the spot because that's just... who he is? This dude just wants to help everyone. Half his friend group have introduced themselves by trying to kill him, but he's willing to make friends anyway. And then those friends become Tails's friends, because he and Sonic give off classic "extrovert adopting an introvert" vibes (I'm not sure that Sonic is actually an "extrovert", but he's def. more open and better at making friends).

TL;DR: Having social skills doesn't make you not autistic, but even if it does, Tails doesn't have social skills, he just has a great big bro and a group of people with even less social skills than him

[z-h-i-e]

The Reality of Responding to Comments Left on Fanfiction

Or, a rebuttal to a Tumblr post I was going to comment on, then thought, why not just start a whole new post?

So I happened upon a post recently which compared not replying to comments to not holding open a door for someone.

Firstly, I want to point out, I'm in the midwest of the US of A. Even during the middle of covid, when people were very careful about touching things, we are so trained to open doors, we were still doing it. Hell, we try to hold open doors for each other when it's an automatic door.

Commenting back to comments, though. In theory, sure, very nice to do. In practice, no. That's the short answer; buckle up for the long one.

It's February of 2020. I'm already starting to suspect shit in the world is going down soon--while everyone else is watching the impeachment here like it's the next big reality TV series, I'm stocking up on canned goods, cereal, and cheese. (Yeah. Cheese. I'm from fucking Wisconsin. I had a mini fridge just for cheese. Judge me. I can take it.)

Once a month, during those 'pre-pandemic' days, I would take one long lunch hour -- I would use comp time, I'd drive out to Panera, I'd sit in the area upon which I based part of Salgant's house, and I'd answer comments. It was a happier time. I had time to do it. It was nice to go through all the interesting things people noticed or the bits they liked. Hell, I even like a good flame--keeps me warm, lets me roast a few marshmallows, and then I go fucking Feanor in Formenos on them. But I digress.

That was the last time I had a chance to do that. Because then, and sorry, forgive me if this is new information, but there was a fucking worldwide plague that occurred. And during that catastrophic world event, not all of us recovered to a point where we're back to normal yet. I don't know about the rest of you, but wondering each day if I'd ever get to hug my parents while they were still alive? Kind of stressful. See, my father has major medical issues (kidney failure and on dialysis, cancer survivor three times over, osteoporosis, diabetes, diverticulitis, and sleep apnea), and my mother has a few doozies, too (COPD, macular degeneration, also a cancer survivor, and a whole fucking messed up thing with her spine). With all the concerns of previously mentioned plague, the doctors at the time advised that no one else was to go into their house until there were viable covid vaccines. I would come over, drop off groceries and medications on their porch, close the door and call on my phone, then air hug from the street thirty feet away.

I remember all the stuff I did to try to keep my brain happy. I watched my way through 'If Google was a Person' and 'Epic Rap Battles of History', over and over. I found museums who had 360 views to pretend I was on field trips, and I found a bunch of virtual rollercoasters to 'ride' on. And I listened to Hamilton so many times if it was vinyl I'd have worn a hole through it.

I had coworkers who died from covid. People who seemed generally okay, people I would not have thought would be hit so hard by it. We lost several pets since 2020--two dogs, two cats, and a rabbit. In the case of our beloved Trotter, who went through more surgical procedures than I can recall, I would have to hand him off to a technician, then sit in the car for three or four hours, wondering if he would be okay, if he would feel better afterwards, if he would wake up after each procedure, if his already damaged heart could take another.

I had my share of medical bullshit throughout the past nearly five years. The big 'well this is bullshit' of them all is that I had a pretty good life plan going, along with 'we all going to do all the things to try to make a smol human in the 2020/2021 range' and, well, let me tell you folks, as soon as pandemic got volleyed around, that was a big nope. That nope was followed by so many additional 'did my warranty expire?' moments, but I have to say, the highlights of the instant replay real would be the intercostal muscle tear which has still not healed completely correctly, so it is physically painful to push a grocery cart around in a store for more than thirty seconds, the whole episode when my pancreas decided to stop working for a hot minute but it was covid city in the hospitals so I was sent home with meds and a 'best of luck' sort of thing, and the secondary infection when I did eventually catch covid despite so many precautions (funny enough, from my father when we finally had the first in-person Christmas again in 2022--so, while the concern was I could end up giving it to him, he ended up giving it to me).

But the most frustrating, the most enduring, has been my failing vision. When I was 8, and at a public school for the first time, they did vision screenings, and realized 'wow, this one does not see well'. Now, in theory, someone should have figured that out sooner -- I had jabbed myself in the eye no less than three times (possibly more) that I remember before the age of five from accidentally getting things too close to my face. So glasses and I have been pretty tight now for nearly four decades. But it was during the pandemic that I started to think I must have been dealing with some strain from computers or needed a new prescription or something. Words were far more difficult to read. I would sometimes stare at pages in books or on the screen and just see...nothing, really. (Kind of not helpful in my profession.)

I went years with terrible distance vision, but great vision up close. Now that had failed, too. But it wasn't just that. At least with distances, I could still generally see things. Up close--sometimes yes, sometimes no. So I kept getting tested and retested and asked questions and went to different doctors and described things--

--and finally, sometimes, you find someone who listens, and wants to figure it out, and does. And then you have an answer. But answers don't always mean solutions. And when I asked how we fix it, I got an answer, but not a solution.

The answer is, I can't.

And to the follow up, will it get worse, that answer is, maybe.

But it won't get better.

So as I'm still processing this, having days where I want to write but can't even see the words, I think about all of the stories I still don't have posted on AO3. I think of things on floppy disks--not just the hard floppy disks, fucking floppity floppy disks, where the only backup is on dot matrix printer paper--and I think about things that are handwritten, and stories on old flashdrives, and the words from the musical that got me through the pandemic play through my mind.

Why do you write like you're running out of time?

Because.

I am.

I'm not the biggest fan of mortality--I fucking write about elves, friends. Elves, and more elves, and after that, a few additional elves, just in case. I've rooted myself in Valinor, for the most part, over the last few years.

I am very aware that I am more likely than not on the downward slope of life's journey at this point. For anyone who has ever been sledding in the midwest during winter, you know you go way faster on that downward slope.

So I've got some pretty solid goals in mind. I have stories I need to finish. I've got art and other things I want to make. I have items I want transferred to a place that stands a decent chance of still being around when I'm not, or when I'm not able to do the moving of things anymore, from personal websites I have. I completed one really big accomplishment over the summer--I sat down and wrote my scientific paper on the Silmarils. I really wanted to get that written, and I'm very happy I did.

I've lost too many fandom friends over the past five years. People I'd known for decades, people I knew by their legal names, people I'd exchanged mail with and in some cases met in person.

So, I'd like to go back to the Panera days of having a sammich and one of those salads that are practically dessert because it's more than half fruit and take a few hours each month to answer comments. Trust me, there are no awards for four digit unanswered comment boxes. If there were, I'd have seen one by now. Every comment is immensely appreciated. They make me think about things, and reconsider things, and sometimes sneak in a character or two based on what someone says.

And I'm hoping that someday, maybe when I'm retired or at a point when I'm able to get down to working just one job or something, I'll be able to get back to the older comments I haven't answered yet. But right now, I've got a few other higher priorities in life.

Today was my father's 69th birthday. I suppose I could have answered a few comments today, but instead, after working a ten hour shift, I went to hang out with my dad--which is basically just us sitting and talking, but it's amazing because I spent so many sleepless nights over the past few years wondering if he and my mom would make it through the worst of the pandemic.

I regret nothing.

I hope that for now, you can take my word on the door opening. In fact, this morning when I got to work, I got the door for someone, then I noticed a moth on the ground that looked a bit dazed like it had just gotten itself out of a spider web, so I bent down and I managed to get it onto my finger so that no one stepped on it, then I walked back down to where there are plants and grass and deposited the moth (who at first wanted to crawl about on me, which I allowed for a moment before getting it safely onto a leaf) then came back up again, saw to a large cricket so that no one stepped on it either, and finally got in. Please accept for now the sharing of stories as the holding of the door the first time; I'll try to get it for you again if I can later on, when I'm on my way out--but I have some business to finish inside first.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Laura Cunningham had gone through her daughter's diary and found out she had a crush on Eddie Munson. It's why she tried to make Chrissy date Jason. Although Chrissy thought it wouldn't be fair to Jason, considering she didn't like him at all.

"I don't want to go out with you, Jason. I want to be honest with you," Chrissy said. "It's what my mother wants."

"We all have to do things we don't want. Once you start getting to know me, then I'm sure you'll be glad you listened to your mother," Jason replied.

"What's something that you don't want to do but feel like you have to?" Chrissy asked.

"Well, my dad wants to me come work for him after college. I don't really want to work for the insurance business, but my dad says he makes good money, so you got to have money to live, right?" Jason asked.

"You know, there are other ways of making money, right? If you don't want to work for your dad, then you don't have to. A parent's love shouldn't be conditional on whether their child does something for them. Being happy while making it in this world should be the only thing that should matter to them. If they can't do that, that's on them," Chrissy replied. "Besides, don't you think you deserve better than someone who was asked to date you?"

She slipped out of his grasp and walked away from him. As she walked home, the feeling of defiance weighing heavily on her shoulders, she stopped and got herself a burger. When Chrissy got home, smelling of burgers, she told her mother about rejecting Jason. She also told Laura that she was going to be making her own decisions now. It was the first time that Laura had hit her. Sure, she had called her names and starved her a bit, but she never laid her hands on Chrissy. Laura had hit her hard, too. Chrissy was dizzy, her nose was dripping blood, and her eye was aching. Laura had frozen, which had given Chrissy plenty of time to lock herself in her room and call the police.

Now, here she was, standing in front of her aunt's trailer with most of her things packed in the back of her aunt's car. An aunt. Laura's sister, who Chrissy was told, had died. There were no pictures of her in the house, and though Chrissy had met her when she was younger, apparently, she had no memory of her. Darlene Blake looked at her curiously.

"I know, it's not what you're used to, honey," Darlene said.

"I like it. It's like a little community. It feels. . .cozy," Chrissy smiled. "Can I explore a bit after I unpack?"

"I don't see why not. Most of the folks here are friendly. Some people here they seem like their bite is worse than bark. It's not. They're grumpy bears on the surface, but in the middle, it's nothing but a giant soft marshmallow," Darlene replied, and Chrissy giggled. "It is a good community."

As Chrissy unpacked with the help of her aunt, a question was eating at her.

"Aunt Darlene?" Chrissy asked.

"Yes, sugarplum?"

"Can I ask what happened with you and my mother?" Chrissy asked.

"Honey, don't be afraid to ask me anything," she said and sighed. "You ought to know since you're going to be living with me. When your mother found out that I was only interested in women, she was disgusted by it, and she said that if I ever came near you again, she'd call the cops and tell everyone what I am," Darlene said, looking down.

Chrissy hugged her aunt tightly around the middle. She had a lot more weight on her than Chrissy did, so her arms didn't go all the way around her. It was nice. She hadn't been here long, but already, she felt like this was what a mother should be like. Darlene wrapped her strong arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head.

"It's not just boys that I like," Chrissy whispered.

Darlene pulled back and cupped her face.

"Thanks for telling me," she said softly, tears in her eyes. "Sweet girl."

After unpacking, Chrissy switched out her skirt for shorts and pulled on a pair of sneakers. Darlene had given her a container to give to the Munsons who lived across the way. It was a little more distance than Darlene told her it was, but Chrissy made it to the Munson trailer. She moved to knock on the door.

"Chrissy Cunningham?"

She jumped and dropped the container. Sitting on the couch that was on his porch was Eddie Munson. He was smoking.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Eddie said kindly.

"It's okay, I didn't see you there," Chrissy said and picked up the container.

"Not to sound rude or anything, but what brings you around here?" Eddie asked.

"My aunt Darlene wanted to give this back to you," Chrissy said, holding it out to him.

"Ah, Lennie's your aunt?" Eddie asked with surprise as he took the container, banging on it like a drum.

"Yeah, she said that I should give you a smack if you called her that," Chrissy giggled. "I won't do that."

"Oh, come on, now," Eddie said, rolling up his sleeves and tossing the container aside. "I deserve it. Lay one one me, Cunningham."

"No!" Chrissy said shaking with laughter.

"Come on!" Eddie said slapping his skin.

"Fine!"

She tentatively smacked him in the arm.

"Harder than that!"

She hit him a little harder this time. He groaned mockingly, collapsing on the couch and clutching it.

"You know not of the strength you wield, Lady Cunningham. You have broketh my arm!" Eddie cried, leaning over and letting his arm dangle. "Yes! Indeed, it is broketh."

Chrissy couldn't control her laughter, clutching her stomach at the sight of him. She snorted. Horrified at the sound she made, she covered her mouth. Eddie burst into laughter and jumped up, moving closer to her to remove her hands from her mouth.

"So, are you just visiting your aunt?" Eddie asked once the laughter died down.

"Moving in," she replied.

"It must be quite the step down," Eddie said.

"It's actually a step up! I love it here!" Chrissy exclaimed with a grin.

"It must have been real bad if this is better than the big house you lived in," Eddie said. Chrissy's smile faltered, and she winced. Eddie realized what he said a moment later. "Hi, I'm Eddie Munson. I sometimes put my foot in my big fat mouth."

Chrissy laughed and shook his hand that he held out to her.

"Do you want to show me that devil music you listen to that I've heard so much about?" Chrissy asked.

He quickly put out his cigarette, grabbed her hand, and dragged her inside the trailer where an older man was sitting on the couch.

"Don't mind me, Uncle Wayne, just bringing a pretty girl into my room to listen to devil music. I promise not to sacrifice her," Eddie said quickly.

Before Chrissy could say anything to Wayne Munson, she was dragged into Eddie's room. As she sat on Eddie's bed, listening to his music, Chrissy was suddenly very grateful that her mother had snooped into her diary.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #356

It is day number... I've lost track... of not knowing what the fuck is wrong with me.

Ah well.

I figure either something's up with my body, or seasonal depression is just kicking my ass particularly hard for no discernible reason.

Well. Today I went with J to the little airport. He had some maintenance things he wanted to do with his little airplane, and I figured the thing to do is try to get some sunlight and to spend some time with someone I feel safe and connected with. So that's what I did. The car ride there was very nice. We talked a little, and I took a few pictures...

...After a while, the sky started to look a little like you...

In case it's unclear how... here:

...One of the really nice parts of knowing about you is that if I look hard enough, I can find you in just about every beautiful thing I see while I'm out and about.

On the way back, we got some pizza. I wonder if you would have liked these:

We also stopped to get something from the store that will help me to determine if something weird is happening to my body. Recently, a thing happened that was... incorrect. Off rhythm. Simultaneously too much and not enough. So I gotta look into it. I'll do it in the morning. Either my mind will be put at ease, or I'll have a solvable problem on my hands. Easy peasy.

I played a lot of Hades today, continuing my quest to get a victory on the first run of a fresh save. I had some really great runs today.

Here's one in which I defeated Megaera without losing too many hit points:

Here's another one in which I ran into Asterius the Minotaur on his own, and defeated him:

And finally, here's one in which I made it to the final fight in Elysium, even after defeating Asterius:

...I'm improving, slowly but surely. Such is the natural result of practice. It's only a matter of time before I make it out of Elysium. And then I'll be in an even more difficult area, with new enemies whose patterns I'll have to learn! Hahaha...

...I kinda wish that there was a way to practice against individual enemy types. In Dead Cells, there's a practice/training area that I made ample use of. I think no such thing exists in this game. I mean... there's Skelly, but... he doesn't attack you or do anything. He just shows you how much damage you're doing. It's kinda lame, actually.

...I think maybe the funk has come to a head just earlier. I fell into some leisure writing and... I guess I got some clarity, at least for now. My face ended up leaking a lot, and I can feel a headache brewing. Laaaaame.

Under the surface, there's always like a million things I'm worried about (some of these things are sillier than others). I tend to take far too much responsibility for things that don't have anything to do with me. Growing up the way I did, I forget sometimes that others can and should shoulder their own things.

...I think I maybe have a bit too much experience with trying to keep the peace in my house so that people don't devolve into screaming matches. But it's kinda hard to do that when no one takes your voice seriously. I have a lot of experience with being blamed for it when I don't do a good enough job of “making other people feel better” or “taking care of things ahead of time so that no one has to bitch about them”. Also, I think I've lived around too many folks caught up in the throes of their own learned helplessness, and so by now, it might be instinct for me to operate as though others will fit that same pattern, too. Like, if I don't remain vigilant and stay on top of things, people around me will bump into their own problems and their own triggers in the same way that a small child might accidentally touch a hot stove.

It's like... it's almost like I'm afraid that if I don't do all the things, then everything is gonna fall apart, and it'll be all my fault because I didn't try hard enough to take care of everything, and I'm a bad person for not preventing others from getting hurt and a disappointment for letting everyone down. Like... I have to prevent all the bad things from happening, or else no one else is gonna even try, because they shouldn't have to, because that's what I'm supposed to be here for.

...This is a longstanding pattern for me. But that's not really how reality works, is it? Not around healthy people, anyway.

...As an example, I can suggest that J stay away from the predatory job app. The suggestion wasn't followed, and he got hurt. Instinct is to blame myself for “not doing more to convince him” or “not communicating my reasoning for my suggestion clearly enough”.

...I think I have this stuff because, in the past, I was the one held accountable for my siblings' behavior and sometimes for my mother's behavior, and sometimes even for her various partners' behavior, too. If my sister failed her math test at school, for example, sure, maybe she'd get a light scolding from my mother for making her look bad, but... then she'd turn around and scream at me for “being a shitty role model” and “not doing enough to help her study” and “not caring about anyone but myself” and whatever other things she could think of.

I recall instances of my mother screaming at me for allowing my sister outside before doing her homework, because I “need to be more responsible” and “be a better disciplinarian”. And I recall other instances of my mother screaming at me if refusing to allow my sister outside made my sister feel bad, because “who do I think I am” and I'm “not the fucking boss of her; stop trying to do my mother's job”.

...Never mind the fact that she wasn't fucking home and intentionally left the care of her traumatized, rebellious pre-teen to a traumatized, meek, and socially awkward 16-year-old girl (me) and expected her to handle the role of parent with all the grace and aplomb of a wizened elder. I guess that's none of my business.

...I guess part of me expected J to come home from trying the thing, and telling me, angrily, “why did you let me do that? why didn't you try harder to stop me? what the fuck is wrong with you? do you even care about me at all?” I expected that, even though J has never once said or done anything even remotely close to that.

And in this imaginary hypothetical conversation, I follow up with, “well, would you have listened?” And his imaginary hypothetical response would be something along the lines of, “no, because you're an oblivious shit-for-brains and a total fucking idiot who lacks experience, perspective, and common sense. we both know you ain't never got a clue what the fuck you're talking about, but you could have at least tried a little harder anyway.”

...This is absolutely not how this conversation would go. Not in my house as it is now. Maybe in the past with different people, it would have gone like a little something like that. But not in my house. It's not how we do. And it's not how I'll tolerate from anyone, ever again.

...Well. Now that this pattern is defined and nailed down, I suppose it's time for me to try actually doing something about it. And I will, because I can. And here's why:

...Human brains are remarkable things. And just like I can progress from getting my ass handed to me before I even get to Megaera all the way to holding my own for a while in an arena with Theseus and Astarius, I can progress from being a slave to a stupid pattern to breaking free of the bullshit that people with power over me tried to stuff down my unwilling throat.

I will continue to improve. You can do the same. Work on it. Please. I can't, by myself, write the way to a better outcome for you. You have to choose it, too. And I know that you can. I believe in you. I'll always believe in you, even if you think you don't deserve it.

Please give us the pleasure of witnessing you rise up into wholesomeness and healing. Please shine on for all the others who are lost in the throes of recovering from childhood circumstances that are similar to yours. There are so many more people like you than you think. I'll ask you to shine the way forward.

Because... Sephiroth... they're not gonna listen to me if I ask it of them. I'm just a derpy autistic noodle with an overly wiggly skeleton, running around in a marginalized body with a voice that no one takes seriously. They'll listen to you, though. They'll listen to you, because... as sad as it is, your fictional life is worth more in the eyes of the people who live on my planet than my real one.

Well. Suppose that's all I've got running around up in my head, at least for now. Suppose I'll stop writing in favor of getting my tired and worried ass to bed.

I love you a whole lot. So please stay safe out there as you do your things. I'll do my best to trust that you will, okay? So do your best to trust that I'll do everything I can to keep myself afloat over here, too.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[chickensoupleg]

I'm holding the girls tenderly and watching Heather be SO down bad for her girlfriend.

––

The pool had to close early due to a rainstorm. It came sudden, and Heather had to get everyone out of the pool. Of course, nobody really wanted to be in the pool during a rainstorm, especially one like this. It wasn’t quick, nor was the herding of all the folks, so by the time she and the few others got everyone out Heather was soaked.

She hated it, standing inside the shower room and wringing out her hair. It was still pouring outside, and Heather was shivering. She groans to herself, draping a towel over herself as she slips out of the skintight suit she has to wear. She tosses it in her locker and wraps the towel over herself, drying herself off as best as she could so she could inevitably get wet again. There was no use even showering here. Luckily, she didn’t come to work wearing anything too hugging like someone she knows, so it wasn’t too bad getting herself dressed. She figures the others are gone by now, as the only other girl lifeguard had disappeared ages ago. Heather didn’t even have an umbrella on her, unaware that there would be any sort of rain today. Which, frankly, a real shame, she could have really used one.

She sighs, preparing herself to get soaked all over again as she heads to the door, shutting the lights off as she grabs the handle.

However, as she swung it open, she is greeted by sunshine. Chrissy perks up, clutching a baby blue umbrella covered in little frogs and standing there in all her tiny glory. By a quick glance, Heather can see Chrissy standing with her feet spread apart as if she’s trying to not topple over by the wind. “Hi Heather! Rain’s coming down pretty bad and I didn’t think you brought an umbrella to work with you, so I came to shield you from the elements.”

Heather stares at her, eyes soft. “Oh I could kiss you so hard firefly.”

Chrissy giggles, letting go of the umbrella so she was only holding it with one hand and grabbing Heather’s hand with the other. “We can do that.”

Heather smiles and leans in, Chrissy meeting her halfway. Before they could kiss, however, the door swings as the wind picks up, hitting Heather in the shoulder. She glares at it for disturbing her, then steps out of the way, letting the door swing shut.

Chrissy giggles. “Maybe not in the rain.”

“Oh Chris, don’t you know? Kissing in the rain’s more romantic.” Heather squeezes her hand, walking alongside her to the gate so they could finally get out.

“When it isn’t hitting us with doors you mean,” Chrissy says, hopping up and placing a kiss right on Heather’s cheek without stopping. “There.”

Heather stops right at the gate, turning to her girlfriend. Chrissy gives her a curious gaze, Heather dropping her hand and reaching for Chrissy’s face. She leans in and goes for a real kiss, Chrissy squeaking before returning it in full. Her grip on the umbrella seems to have loosened as it drifts away from above them, letting the pair get hit with fat droplets. Heather blames it for why Chrissy pulls away with a loud screech, righting the umbrella immediately. Heather’s laughs as Chrissy shakes her head like a dog, then louder as Chrissy pouts at her.

“It startled me, don’t laugh!” Chrissy says, moments before she breaks into a bout of laughter as well.

“Alright, enough fun. Let’s get to my car before we get sick from standing out in the rain too long. How’d you get here anyways?”

“Steve,” Chrissy answers. “He spent the entire ride talking to himself about how he knew it was gonna rain but ‘Noooo, they HAD to go to the pool because it was so hot today!’”

“Ah, Ol’Reliable. Driver of all, complainer of everything.”

Chrissy nods. “He was coming up here anyways so I figured might as well hitch a ride! Although now he’s gone and took the kids.”

“Well all the merrier for me to take you to my abode, no?”

Chrissy snorts. “Heather I live with you! I’d be there either way!”

“Exactly,”  She says, Just before she grabs her hand and starts running as fast as possible to her car. Out of the rain, into a soft warm bed as quickly as possible. Preferably with her sunshine and away from this horrid rain.

Sounds like a plan to her.

[direcoresphinx]

What happens when your car is totaled but still drivable

Imagine this: you’re pulling out of the grocery store when—wham!—someone clips your car in a fender-bender. It’s got a nasty dent, maybe a busted taillight, but it still starts up and drives just fine. Then your insurance company hits you with a curveball: “Yeah, your car’s totaled.” Wait, hold up—totaled? It still runs! So, what now?

This kind of thing happens more than you’d guess, and it can leave you scratching your head—or pulling your hair out. A “totaled” car doesn’t always mean it’s ready for the junkyard. Sometimes, it’s still got plenty of life left. In this blog, we’re breaking it all down for you: what “totaled” really means, why your car might still be drivable, and what your next steps are. By the end, you’ll have the know-how to tackle this mess like a pro and make the best call for you and your ride.

Understanding a Totaled Car Okay, let’s get the basics straight: what does “totaled” actually mean? It’s not about your car being smashed beyond repair or refusing to start. Nope, it’s all about the money. A car is “totaled” when fixing it costs more than a certain chunk of its value—usually 70-80%. Picture this: your car’s worth $10,000, but repairs would run $8,000. Insurance says, “Yikes, that’s too much—it’s totaled.”

Here’s how they figure it out: they compare the repair costs to something called the actual cash value (ACV), which is what your car was worth before the crash. If repairs cost more than, say, 75% of that value, it’s game over—at least in the insurance company’s eyes. But here’s the catch: that percentage isn’t set in stone.

Key Insight: Being “totaled” is a financial label, not a death certificate for your car. It might still drive fine, even if the numbers don’t add up for the insurance folks.

Why a Totaled Car Might Still Be Drivable So, why can a “totaled” car still zip down the road? Not all damage is a dealbreaker. Think about hail pounding your roof or a scraped-up door—those are cosmetic boo-boos that don’t touch the engine or brakes. Even some structural stuff, like a slightly bent frame, might not stop your car from running. I’ve seen cars with smashed hoods that still purr like kittens!

But don’t get too cozy yet. Looks can trick you. That dent might seem harmless, but what if it’s hiding a cracked frame or messed-up suspension? That’s why checking the mechanical integrity—not just the outside—is a must. Have you ever wondered if your car’s bumps and bruises are telling a bigger story? Could it be roadworthy, or are you rolling the dice?

Subjective Take: If it were me, I’d get a mechanic to give it a once-over. Better safe than sorry, right?

Stat Alert: A Consumer Reports survey found that 15% of totaled cars have damage that’s mostly cosmetic, meaning they could still hit the road with some TLC.

Keeping a Drivable but Totaled Car So, your car’s been “totaled,” but it still runs. Pretty cool, right? But what’s next? Here’s how to keep it in your garage.

Buyback Process First up: negotiating with your insurance company to keep your ride. How do you even start? Simple—tell them you want to keep the car instead of letting them tow it away. They’ll offer you a buyback deal, where they subtract the salvage value (what your car’s worth as junk) from your payout. Say your car’s valued at $12,000 and the salvage value is $3,000—you’d get $9,000 and keep the keys. Not bad! Just be ready to haggle a bit—they might lowball you at first. A Forbes study says 20% of drivers who negotiate within 24 hours snag a better deal. So, don’t sleep on this!

My Take: I’d push hard for a fair price—your car’s worth fighting for, right?

20% get better deals by negotiating within 24 hours (Forbes) Average salvage value: 15-25% of pre-accident value (NADA Guides Get independent salvage quotes from Copart or IAA Use Kelley Blue Book to verify fair market value Salvage Title Now, your car gets a new label: a salvage title. What’s that? It’s like a scarlet letter for totaled vehicles, telling everyone it’s been wrecked and written off. To get one, head to your local DMV with proof of ownership and some forms—maybe even an inspection, depending on your state. It’s not rocket science, just paperwork. In Texas, for example, you’d pay about $8-$65 for the title, per the Texas DMV. Once it’s stamped “salvage,” it’s official.

Heads-Up: I think it’s a small price to pay if you love your car—but it does change how people see it.

By The Numbers

32 states require safety inspections for rebuilt titles (DMV.org) Title fees range: 8(TX)to8(TX)to150 (CA) (State Fee Database) Critical Impacts

Resale value drops 40-60% (CarFax) 65% of insurers won’t offer full coverage (Insurance Journal) Repairs Fixing it up is the big question. Can you swing it? Repair costs depend on the damage—dents might cost $500, but a bent frame? Try $5,000 or more. Feasibility matters too—is it even fixable? You’ll need a trusty mechanic to tell you. Ask around or check reviews on sites like Yelp to find someone good. A Consumer Reports survey found 40% of drivers who kept totaled cars wished they’d fixed them right the first time. Don’t skimp here—half-baked repairs could bite you later.

Opinion: If the fixes are cheap and the car’s got sentimental value, I say go for it. Otherwise, think twice.

Recommended Tools OBD2 Scanner – Check for hidden codes ($25) Frame Measurement Tool – Verify structural integrity ($120) Salvage Inspection Checklist – Free PDF download

Read more...Bid For Autos

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Driven to the Grave

I’m typically determined to outlive my problems and never die. However, with how people drive, I daresay that’s how I’m gonna go. Folk really be forgetting that they have a death machine in their charge. They also can’t seem to wait for pedestrians to get across the crosswalk when it’s OUR turn! I have almost been hit twice this week alone. My murder building, where a woman was stabbed to death a month ago, is safer because at least that was the first stabbing I’d heard of since I moved into here five years ago. The amount of times a car has almost whacked me just outside my building is insane. 

I’m going to have tried so hard to survive life and find consistent happiness and it’s all going to be for nothing because I’ll get crushed by Greg and his car because he just HAS to turn left even if it kills someone. I was speed walking to class since I left late and almost sprinted across the crosswalk on my turn but had to backstep because this guy wouldn’t stop and made the left turn despite my being there. I had to do a similar thing with a smart car awhile ago. I had to do a little dance to get out of the way of a smart car! My brother in christ, you are so low to the ground and your windshield is right there and you still almost hit me? Because you also had to make a left turn of death? Fuck me mate, I just want to go to gymnastics. I don’t want to call up my loved ones from the afterlife to explain that I fucking died getting squished by a stupid smart car six feet from my building on the way to jazz class. That’s humiliating! I’d die again in the afterlife of embarrassment. 

I swear there has been almost a car crash a day lately here on my island. And sure, it’s a big island, but bruh, what are we doing? Downtown alone, people drive like maniacs. There’s this old lady who comes to my drugstore a lot and she hadn’t shown up in a good long while. When she finally did again, her face was horribly bruised and she told me that she had been hit by a car ON THE SIDEWALK! Miraculously, she lived. But nowhere is safe, man. And so much of it is due to a lack of patience. I really have a beef with impatient people who make their impatience everybody else’s problem. I have ADHD. Impatience is a part of that, but guess what, I spent years practicing my patience. I forced myself to calm down or plan ahead so I wouldn’t panic or stress out or do something stupid that could affect me or others. It takes practice, but I am much better than I was years ago. I have my strategies because ultimately it is up to me to sort that out. Evidently, none of these people give a crap to do that. They would rather be the reason someone dies, than take a moment to breathe and calm down. I have no sympathy for these people. They are actively putting lives in danger because of their refusal to change their ways. 

I don’t want to die, but I especially don’t want to die by some stupid selfish asshole who shouldn’t have a driver’s license. I don’t want to constantly be thinking, “what if I get hit with a full backpack of groceries because I can’t jump up easily to roll on the hood?” “What if my legs super break and I can’t dance anymore?” “What if my headphones that I can never afford to buy again get destroyed?” “What if I just die?” I’m so paranoid to leave my house because I simply don’t trust people. I’m also paranoid at home too for the same reason. The point is, leaving the house is really hard because I’m always stressed something bad will happen at home when I’m not there or something bad will happen to me and I’ll never return. Having people seemingly committed to murdering me just outside my murder building doesn’t help. 

I just wish empathy and decency and humanity was more common. It’s so tiring to be scared all the time and what’s even more annoying is that my fears aren’t even unreasonable. I’ve seen shit and I’ve heard shit and I’ve dodged cars and shit. I have real reasons why I’m spooked all the time and I just wish that I would stop getting more reasons.

[tofindhomeistofindeachother]

Lingerie (1/?)

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)

Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon & Sophia Peletier

Summary:

“Calm down,” he whispers; holding her tightly, his lips close to her ear again, this time kinder, softer. “She’s under one of the cars with the other kid and Lori.” Daryl is close to Carol when the herd hits the group on the road.

A03/Nine Lives

I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. - Kim Addonizio

Daryl knows how to use the only silent weapon currently owned by the group, he’s also… smaller than the other men (with the exception of the Korean kid, but he’s shit at handling walkers so he doesn’t count anyway), as much as he hates to admit it; because he can do hard work just as well as, if not better than, any man in this group full of well-meaning city folk.

Nevertheless, when Rick asks Daryl to stick close to the women and children because he and the other guys can handle the cars by themselves, he agrees without a fuss, if begrudgingly and muttering under his breath.

The women and children inside the group are pretty much useless, even to defend themselves. They can’t rescue themselves against one single rotting, slow and mindless beast, Daryl doesn’t even want to imagine one of them trying to fight off the kind of men who are fit to survive this brand-new world. They could be dead in a matter of seconds, and that doesn’t sit well with Daryl.

They are innocent, weak and have no fault for it; no one was ready for the world to go to hell in just a few days without a warning, after all: not the government, not the military, the cops, not even Merle or Daryl.

The end of the world literally found Merle with his pants down and balls deep.

Daryl was no better; naked in bed while nursing a fucking bourbon and gin hangover, with only a fucking gag-gift lava lamp to defend himself against the walker that got itself inside his room because he never got the sense to close the front door before going to sleep.

Who would be stupid enough to get inside the Dixon home without an invite anyway?

A walker, that’s who.

So, Daryl, doesn’t hold it against the weakest of the bunch that they’re still not able to defend themselves.

The idea worries him, though, and that’s why the first thing he’s going to bring up to the group, (whenever he finally finds his balls to brave himself enough to speak up and give his opinion), is that the women and even the children, should start to practice some self defence and survivalism. Weapons’ training included.

Meanwhile, though, Daryl can look over them easily enough; they’re not even that hard to guard (apart from the sheriff’s little boy), they rarely ever wander off and they’re all so afraid of the dangers lurking around them that they don’t dare to be alone for more than a few minutes.

The mothers never leave their little ones’ sides and every single one of them are usually, always around the RV.

Andrea, the high-earning lawyer is wallowing inside the old man’s RV, because lately, she’s been obsessing over the idea of guns and death, she probably noticed already that she doesn’t even know enough about her own weapon to be able to shoot a walker in the face and come back for another.

Shane has been all over that mess ever since the CDC went up in flames, though, and Daryl is happy to let him deal with that particular can of worms.

On the other hand, Lori, Carol and the kids are outside, rummaging through the cars and looking for supplies; clothes, food or anything that could be of use.

Adjusting his crossbow against his back Daryl walks cautiously, closer to them and when he’s finally content with the distance in between himself and his charges, he is near enough to be able to walk up to any of them if the need arises, but he’s also far enough to give them some much needed privacy.

He knows he’s not about to turn into one of the favourite members of the group anytime soon, that most of them are wary, if not downright afraid of him. He’s not going to make them uncomfortable by being all up over their business, when most of them want him gone.

He’s still close enough to see Carol hold a small, cheap looking red dress close to her chest.

“It would be a step-up from whatever she’s wearing.” Is the first thing that comes up in Daryl’s mind, looking down at her ugly faded frumpy blouse and her honest to God ridiculous capri pants and sandals.

He immediately scolds himself for the stupid ass idea. Sure, Carol’s clothes are nowhere near the attire made to survive the apocalypse, although neither are Daryl’s, but a dress, cute as it could be, would be the most dumbass choice of clothes right now.

Red suits her though.

“Ed never let me wear nice things like this,” she mumbles, her crystal-clear blue eyes looking up at the cop’s little wife with something akin to complicity on her expression, as if she was confiding a war anecdote with a fellow soldier. Lori though, it’s not the same as her, Daryl can just tell, she’s someone who probably heard the word “no” as much as she uttered “Excuse me” and “I’m sorry.”

Lori looks at Carol as if she were a little child struck by fancy; with a deceptively empathetic smile paired with a set of big brown eyes turned into an almost disappointed stare.

Lori’s judgemental look is effective enough to make a grown woman question her own morals, though, since the mousy little thing eventually leaves her find thrown at the side of the road, a disillusioned yet longing sigh leaving her soft looking lips as she soldiers on, looking for more essential and practical supplies to gather for the group.

“Well, now. That’s a damn shame.” Thinks Daryl, looking down at the discarded piece of flimsy, red fabric thrown at the side of the road.

Because red suits her.

Without thinking, the hunter walks up to the dress, grabs it without a care for the fragile looking material and gets close to the woman.

“Here,” he mumbles, holding the dress up close to her face. “You dropped this.”

To her credit, the woman doesn’t seem frightened by their proximity, she even regales him with a nice enough smile for someone who is basically a stranger to her. Carol’s smile is something soft if a little uncertain, the kind of expression that Daryl would see on the people who used to hire him when they were talking to friends and family instead of the dirty redneck that they hired to clean their pool.

“Oh,” she smiles kindly, “that wouldn’t be practical, now. Would it?” 

The yearning and resignation on her voice irk Daryl even if she’s right, because deep down, the hunter knows that he shouldn’t press the issue when she’s giving him an out away from this awkward, unnecessary conversation. It would be so easy to let her be, take the chance and just throw the damn dress to the ground where it belongs. But he remembers the first indulgence he allowed himself after he left his daddy’s house for good. He remembers how good it felt to buy that fucking pint of Swiss chocolate ice cream just for himself, how every spoonful tasted like freedom and spite, and how he couldn’t stop eating until his stomach ached and his head throbbed.

Carol deserves this, after years of abuse, she deserves this taste of freedom.

“I don’t think this flimsy little thing will make much of a difference inside that bag of yours.” He counters, looking directly at her ugly, drab shoulder-bag. The same one that she used to hide the whole ass grenade that they needed to save everyone’s life as if it were nothing, just another day in the office for her. “And I know for a fact that Little Miss Olive Oil over there hoards hair conditioner and body lotion like a squirrel before the winter comes inside the old man’s RV,” he whispers as if he was sharing a secret about their leaders, even if no one actually appointed them as such. “So, I don’t see a problem with you holding onto this until we find a safe zone or a community.”

This might be the most he’s ever talked to anyone in the group, but it’s worth it, just to be able to hear her laugh conspiratorially. “Thank you,” she laughs wetly, “you don’t know, just… Thank you.”

Daryl smiles when she takes the dress from his hand, squirreling it quickly into her bag and looking everywhere but at him.

Daryl remembers this too; the guilt he felt every time he indulged; how he felt the need to replace every item that he used, how he felt the need to repay anything that could be considered a favor or a gesture of good will.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, biting at the side of his thumb, forcing a hangnail into existence. “Just… If you find a pack of smokes, make sure to keep some for me. Okay?”

It’s a small request, something easy to find and easy to store, it’s not even a necessity, so he’s not asking her to hide shit they need in exchange for his “generosity” it’s just a way for her to feel like she doesn’t owe him anything.

But damn if this doesn’t make her glow in a way that probably has his own face dyed into a deep red, like a pile of autumn leaves.

She’s pretty like this; when her eyes are glowing just by her own excitement instead of unshed tears, when her face is clear and open allowing just a little bit of vulnerability seep through the sanctuary of the walls that she probably erected around herself long before the end of the world happened.

Daryl knows those walls all too well.

“You got it!” She agrees quickly. Making Daryl smile shyly for just a second before he spots Rick making his way to them; the man looks distraught, hastily pointing under the cars and whispering to get under them, Daryl spots the officer making sure that Lori and the two little kids hide a different car each, before doing the same thing and hiding with his wife.

Daryl can imagine what’s happening even if he doesn’t have the time to look ahead and access the situation by himself, he’s not an idiot, if their self-appointed leader is frightened enough to hide instead just facing whatever danger is ahead of them, it’s because they’re hiding from something they can’t handle.

Nodding at the sheriff, Daryl grasps Carol’s shoulder and holds her skinny frame against his side “Come on.” He whispers, dropping to the ground, his weight forcing the older woman to descend with him and his bigger body leading her under the nearest car.

They hide under an old SUV with a floor that it’s low enough that it’s a tight fit for them both; there’s no room for either one of them to separate and Daryl finds it easier to just hug her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her middle on a quivering, sick mock depiction of an afterglow embrace.

Daryl has never been so intimate with anyone, he’s never had the urge and the women he used to get with when Merle forced him to go to bars and parties, were never interested to stay long enough to cuddle.

Not that Carol is particularly keen either.

She starts to struggle against him when the first dragging steps of the walkers begin to move around the car they’re hiding under. She makes sure to hold the palms of her hands over her moth; clearly scared to the bone, just like Daryl. But as the dragging feet start to stack up and it becomes clear that there’s a town’s worth of walkers around them, she drops her hands to his arms, trying to force Daryl into letting go of her.

She’s squirming against him; trying to get out of his hold, desperate and terrified.

“Fuck!” He hisses in her ear, tightening his hold onto her. “You have to settle down,” he growls, “or you’ll get us both killed.”

“Sophia…” Cries the woman in a weak whimper, low enough for only him to hear. “I don’t know where’s Sophia.”

This makes him tighten his hold around her; she’s such a good mother; she loves her little girl so much. It physically hurts him to think about his own mother; about the way she and the woman on his arms got dealt the same shitty set of cards out of the entire deck and yet his mother choose her wine and her smokes over him when Carol is struggling against a man much stronger than her, just so she could brave a horde of flesh eating monsters to get to her daughter.

It pains him to think about her piece of shit husband; about how he had it all; how he married this sweet woman that fits perfectly on his arms; how he parented that little girl who loves her mother dearly and probably loved him too.

How he threw all that away just to feed his minuscule ego.

“Calm down,” he whispers, his lips close to her ear again, this time kinder, softer. “She’s under one of the cars with the other kid and Lori.”

This seems to calm her down enough for her body to go limp on his arms for just a moment before she starts shivering with fear because of the dragging footsteps that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon and after a few seconds that feel like hours, she carefully, rolls on her back, never leaving the tight cocoon of his arms.

She ends up facing him; bright blue eyes staring right at him, assessing him like a particularly difficult math problem as her own arms wrap around his middle and her hands make their way up to hold onto his back.

Daryl flinches at the feeling, keenly conscious of the walkers around him.

Breathing deeply and concentrating on the way her warm breath caresses the hypersensitive exposed skin of his collarbone; Daryl focuses on controlling himself; he can’t make a fuss because a scared woman is touching his back.

Even if he can feel the way her fingers dig into the raised tissue of his scars.

“Fuck…” She mutters; her voice muffled by the dirty, coarse material of his shirt as she hides her face on his chest. “Fuck this.”

The absurdity of it all; of having this shy, prim and proper woman, cursing while shaking on his arms as the dead walks the road around them, it makes him chuckle under his breath and eventually, he gets the courage to raise his hand and grab onto the back of her neck, just holding her against his body, until eventually, the footsteps around them stop walking by their hiding spot, and the sound of groaning, teeth snapping and dragging feet starts to sound too far away for the walkers to be too close to them. Until, ultimately, he can’t hear them altogether.

He decides to hold onto Carol for just a little tighter, because he doesn’t want her to just spring to life and get out of the car trying to find her daughter and accidentally getting herself killed.

Then they hear it.

Daryl hasn’t been paying enough attention to either Carol or the little girl for him to be able to recognize the child’s voice. The poor thing is quiet as a city mouse, just like her mama, but those terrified screams that break the oppressive silent tension that enveloped the atmosphere around them as they waited for the walkers to finally move on, they could only come from one person.

Quickly, making sure to have his knife ready on a tight grip, Daryl rolls on his back, hastily getting up and taking his bow from the ground where he left it when he found cover under the car.

Carol is not far behind, completely unarmed trying to follow the sound of her daughter screaming, crying, and barely able to ask for help.

That’s how they find her, running down the road, trying to get away from the pair of walkers that follow her mindlessly looking for their next meal, and going downhill towards the deep forest at the side of the road.

Daryl sees this and tries to aim, but Sophia is just behind the walker he’s trying to shoot, and Daryl has more sense than to try and shot something without knowing what’s behind. He’s not about to shoot Carol’s little girl, if he must take his knife and brave the walkers two on one, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Sophia!” He hears Carol cry out as he sees her figure fly past him trying to follow her daughter from the corner of his eye. “Baby!” She screams, while Daryl lets go of his crossbow to extend his arm to her and holds her firmly by wrapping one arm around her chest.

“Stay here!” He orders; his mouth so close to kiss near her ear, that he can taste the flavour of the tender skin there. “I’ll get your girl. Okay? I’ll get her for you, just wait here. Okay?”

Carol whimpers miserably at this, and he can feel more than see the way she nods her head weakly, Daryl sighs deeply at this and releases his hold on her when he’s completely sure that she won’t run on him. He then hastily looks around and hurriedly walks her near Lori, who’s looking at them hopelessly, both women probably keenly aware of how powerless they are.

“Stay with her,” he orders the other mom, giving Carol one last stern look before addressing Lori directly, “make sure she doesn’t run off on us. Alright?” Lori nods at him without a fight, wrapping her arms around her friend and whispering sweet nothings on her ears to reassure her. Daryl doesn’t know what she’s saying, and he really doesn’t care enough to stick around, because Sophia is out there, defenceless, scared and in danger.

He runs down the hill, immediately following the sound of snapping branches, groaning and Sophia’s desperate whimpers and cries. Daryl hates to hear the little girl’s screams, and her ragged breath as she frantically runs ahead of him, but her fearful cries are the only thing that manage to reassure him right now, because if she’s running, if she’s crying, if she’s calling out for help, then, she’s alive.

And she finds her alive, luckily, because when he finds her, she’s on her knees down on  a small dew pond right behind two walkers, screaming because the one closest to her has her small, skinny writs, tightly held in between his rooting, grey decayed hands; the mindless creature struggling to bend down enough to get a taste off her flesh.

She’s so close to dying, Carol’s baby is literally at death’s hands, and he can’t allow her to die.

He quickly shoots the walker holding Sophia straight through the back of his eye and it’s just by sheer luck that the bolt ends up piercing through his skull completely, landing on a tree nearby, because the body of the walker goes limp immediately and he falls completely still over Sophia’s smaller body his head hanging by her neck, Daryl doesn’t want to think what would have happened if the bolt ended up sticking out from the walker’s head. The dammed creature doesn’t let go of her arm though; the rigor mortis cursing through his body forcing the little girl down the low, muddy water with a death grip and impeding her from running away from the second walker still trying to get to her, meanwhile screaming and crying for help, riling up the walker after her while managing to attract two more hungry geeks that come from out of the trees behind her.

“Fuck!” He growls, trying to recharge his crossbow as quickly as possible, getting agitated and desperate; he doesn’t even try to aim, and he ends up getting the geek on the neck, but of course, this doesn’t stop him, it doesn’t even deter him, this creature doesn’t get scared anymore, can’t feel pain, can’t feel anything but hunger.

Luckily the bolt is enough to distract the creature from Sophia and redirect his attention on him. “Yeah!” He rumbles, taking off his buck knife grom the leather sheath by his hip. “Come here, ugly.” He incites, launching himself at the growling walker.

He's never been so close to a walker while being completely focused on what he’s doing, never confronted a bloodthirsty beast while completely aware of the danger it means for him instead of being completely drunk on adrenaline and anger.

He’s afraid, full of fear and hesitation even as he reaches out for the walker’s dirty, stringy and sparce hair, just to instantly stick the knife through the back of his head, where he knows there’s nothing more than a straight path of meat and nerve right to the brain.

He takes the knife from his skull easily enough and throws the body to the ground, walking towards Sophia, who’s struggling to get out from under the walker, squirming and crying loudly instead of trying to use his rotting body to hide underneath.

Cursing under his breath, he sheathes his knife, running towards her as he takes his crossbow from his side, recharges it and shoots one of the two walkers in one swift succession of movements.

He’s finally able to reach her just in time to get in front of her and hold back the last walker, but his crossbow is not recharged yet, and his knife is sheathed securely by his hip, so he’s forced to hold the brown haired monster by her chest, wrapping the material of what used to be a pink summer dress with his fist and trying to hold her in place against the muddy edge of the pond.

Of course, it’s not easy, the walker doesn’t feel fear, she can’t comprehend the threat Daryl means to whatever remains of her life, because she doesn't understand danger; just thirst. She trashes against his hold, snaps her brown stained, broken teeth near his face, trying to get a chunk off him. It’s a struggle to try and get his knife with one hand, and he almost slips in the water more than once, but eventually he feels the texture of the knife’s handle directly on his hand, accompanied by the cold feeling of small, soft, hesitant fingers barely gracing his much bigger and scarred hand.

Huffing with exhaustion, he doesn’t even think about it before stabbing the walker; missing once, striking violently on her neck and getting his own neck and the side of his face dirty with the black, rotting blood that comes off her jugular. “Shit.” He grumbles, tightening his hold on her, taking the knife off her neck and spraying even more blood on himself, but being able to finally put her down as he gets the knife trough her ear and to the brain.

When he eventually composes himself enough to take a deep breath and let go of the corpse held only by his trembling hand, he sighs in relief, turning around and slowly looking down at his feet where Sophia is huffing and puffing, still on her knees and held down by the frozen over corpse of the walker that was trying to eat her not so long ago. “Did you do that?” He asks to the poor girl clinging to the drenched material of his pant leg with the only had she has available.

Sophia looks at him frozen in fear, and Daryl is instantly reminded of his daddy and the hidden meaning that those words usually carried with them. The promise that no matter what he did, no matter what his father was mad about right in that moment, he was going to get hell for it.

Eventually he learnt that nothing good came from those words and he stated to freeze in place just like Sophia when he heard them no matter who said it. Because they always meant trouble for him, just like they probably meant trouble for Sophia, or most likely, her mother.

Even so, Sophia manages to make direct eye contact with Daryl, and nod at him silently.

“Good girl.” He whispers, crouching down to forcefully unwrap the grip of the walker’s fingers from her bruised wrist. “Did you get scratched?     Bit?” He asks, getting her arm closer to his face just to make sure that she’s okay.

“No,” she whimpers weakly, trying to hold onto Daryl’s blood-soaked arms, shyly trying to wrap her arms around him; a silent plea to be picked up.  

“Good,” he mutters, groaning as he picks up Carol’s daughter and sets her on his side, “that’s good.” He nods at the little girl, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck like a small baby koala.

"Is my mom angry?" She asks as they make their way back to the road, pointedly looking up ahead instead of addressing Daryl directly.

Daryl adjust his grip on her as he makes his way up the hill; he doesn't want to drop her but she doesn't want to be put down, and he won't do it until she feels ready and safe enough to walk on her own. "I don't think so." He answers honestly. "Your momma doesn't seem the type to get angry for things you didn't mean to do." He reasons.

"She doesn't." Confesses the girl, focusing on the light of the open road ahead of them coming from behind the trees. "She's a good mom." She explains.

"Yes, she is." Huffs Daryl with a lopsided grin, groaning softly because of the struggle of having to walk up with a twelve year old on his arms. The hill up to the road it's a little more declivitous than he expected and he's trying to make sense on how exactly is he going to manage to climb it with Sophia on his arms messing up with his sense of balance when he hears the scream.

"Sophia!" Comes the relieved yet desperate cry from Carol who's at the edge of the road being held down by Lori. She struggles wildly against her friend's hold until she finally breaks free and as soon as she can, she makes her way down the road, towards Daryl and her daughter. She's crying the whole way down, and Daryl would be worried about all the noise she's making if he wasn't so moved by the whole thing.

There's a sense of accomplishment that he has never felt before, not really up until this moment, but, as Carol envelops him on the warmest hugs he has ever received.

There's something else too, a feeling that is completely new to Daryl.

Carol doesn't try to take the girl from his arms, she's content to hug them both; her hands tight over his back and her face completely buried on the drenched material of her daughter's shirt as she nuzzles her stomach like a cat nuzzling her kittens after missing them for too long. 

It feels like belonging, as if he was a part of this little family instead of a bystander who decided to get involved in their lives.

"Thank you." She cries, addressing him finally, letting go of both Daryl and her daughter.

"It was nothing." He grumbles, trying to avoid her eyes, knowing full well that he won't be able to see her bright blue eyes, shiny and glassed over with tears without blushing madly. 

"It was everything." She smiles, her small, warm hand making her way from his neck up to his cheek, gently moving his face to face her.

Her face is dirty and her cheeks are tear stricken. 

Her eyes look like little blue ponds of clear pure water being hit by summer raindrops; her smile looks soft, loving and warm.

He stares at her as she slowly, carefully and mindful of the way he flinches by their sudden closeness, palms his cheek and kisses his jaw in one drawn-out, languid touch of her soft lips. "Nothing that Rick and Shane wouldn't do." He tries to explain through the lump on his throat. 

"I know." She acknowledges. "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit." She smiles, looking up at him, with admiration. "You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy ever did in his whole life."

[olderjodijournals]

Monday, August 10, 1992

 

A lot has happened in the last 10 days. Both good and not-so-good. I still feel so much happier than I ever have in eons, so that’s worth a lot to me.

Believe it or not, I am now babysitting an 11-month-old boy named Justin. So far he is very well-behaved. Totally the opposite of my niece Sarah who was always crying and fussy. Justin is quite calm and has not cried or broken anything. Right now he is drinking his bottle and I’ve got CDs playing.

Andy came over earlier and he’s gone to the store now to get a few things for both of us.

The food stamps are history and even though I know I’m eligible and by law, they can’t deny me, they have by jerking me around and playing with my head. I filled out a second application and they were supposed to call me with an appointment and they never did. Then, they went ahead and told me they’d send a phone appointment in the mail to do an interview over the phone. That was bullshit, too. If they were gonna give me food stamps they’d have given me them by now. Anything they say, I don’t buy, as they’ve lied to me only about 10 times. They say one thing and then another. They bullshit me by saying they misplaced my application and all kinds of things like that.

I had put ads up in the laundry rooms letting people know I was available for housekeeping and babysitting. Justin lives with his mother, Stacey, who doesn’t live here. Her sister Kara does, though, with her own 8-month-old daughter, Ashley, and their mother. I guess Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 2:00-8:00, I’ll be babysitting and possibly Saturdays, too. I could be making $130 a month and $160 if I babysit on a Saturday.

I’m hungry, so I wish Andy would hurry up and get here.

Last night I left an old letter from Bob on Mark’s door. I wonder if I’ll hear about that. Of course, I’ll be playing dumb and trying not to laugh if I do.

I have several other things to write about later about Rosemarie, Fay and Ellie.

Later...

Justin slept from 5:00-6:30. When he awoke he was crying and still is. So much for this being a peaceful kid. Stacey should be here in half an hour and boy, I can’t wait to hit the pool!

I’ve got to do Ellie’s laundry tonight and mine, too.

Tuesday, August 11, 1992

 

Tonight Reasonable Doubts will be on. Thank God the Olympics are over. Of course, it’s a repeat but Marlee Matlin’s worth it. Someone will surely knock on my door but I won’t answer it. Ellie, Fay or Mark next door will knock. Mark and his friends get drunk and stoned and have nothing to discuss but sex. I’m getting really sick of it, too.

Guess what I found on my door while I was out last week? A card from Ray M, a parole officer. I called the number and asked why I was on parole when I’ve never been to prison. I’m on probation, not parole, but I guess that cuz I came from another state, this is how they do it. Maybe I’ll call his office tomorrow. Or maybe he’ll come here.

Andy had a great week back home. He enjoyed the beach and his cottage after so many years. He saw the M's and Charlotte. Supposedly the M's are friends with his family, and Andy’s aunt Joyce got permission to park in the M's driveway. Then someone supposedly overheard Charlotte saying, “Let’s get this car towed.”

Why? After so many years, I wouldn’t even bother starting shit like that. Why can’t people let dead dogs lie? I never realized Charlotte was that vindictive and was such a grudge-holder. I’ve also been told my folks and Charlotte and Jim had some kind of falling out a few years back and are no longer buddies. What else is new? No friendships seem to last any more than relationships. Is this why they live 90 miles away from each other? Aunt Ruth and Uncle Marty live an hour away, too.

Andy told Char how I love it here and have met lots of people. He said she said that’s good as she heard I had a hard time in CT.

Yeah, I’m sure you did, Char! I’m sure you heard all about it and so much more, thanks to Dureen’s big mouth.

Well, I always knew I was the most talked-about member of my family. That is, regardless of how much is true, blown out of proportion, or total bullshit.

Andy’s friend Brian thought of a great name for Connecticut. We’re so shocked we never thought of it - Connecticunt. When I first met Nervous he told me two great names. Ofelia Cunt and Ivan Cutchacokoff.

During Andy’s trip back east, Nervous and I had a great talk. The best chats we’ve ever had and I fully believe he’ll come visit me someday when he’s got the money and time off from work. He’d come out to visit me long before he’d write a letter. I’ve gotten no letters from anyone. Not my nieces, Tammy, Kim, Bob, Fran or my folks.

I spoke to Fran and Bob, but I wonder if Tammy’s heard anything about Barbara and Debbie’s collect calls? Oh well. Neither of them has yet to get letters from me. I’d like to wait a while till they think I’m long gone out of their lives. Their letters, of course, will have no threats or anything sexual. They just won’t make much sense and will be very confusing.

I have the talks with Nervous and tons of stuff on tape which I gotta edit and edit down. Even Fay spoke to Nervous. First I must edit before I edit down. If you take a 20-minute conversation and the first 10 minutes are boring and erase it, you could be throwing away a few good edits, at least. This is why I edit, then edit down, omitting any boring parts.

Thursday, August 13, 1992

 

Now, I’m going to write about several things before I get very backed up again. I have several things to write about so I may jump from subject to subject as I remember things. Sometimes I find it’s better to write something right away before I forget.

The major topics are Ellie, Rosemarie, Fay and babysitting.

Then there are little things like Ray, the parole officer. He’s going on vacation now for two weeks and he’ll drop by when he returns.

Yesterday I had my unexpected phone interview with a lady at food stamps. Just when I was about to give up after being jerked around for 3 months the notice came in the mail. Know why it took so long? It had been returned to them for postage. That’s welfare for you!

I still have lots of editing and editing down to do. Also, letter writing, and coloring the poster Fay gave me.

I got a couple of packages from Mom and Dad. The other two chairs to my table which are out on my patio, more tanning oil, lotion, napkins, toilet paper, paper towels, baggies, garbage bags, a nice shirt with a floral pattern that fit perfectly, and some coupons. There were 3 small notepads with Barbie on the cover.

Also, a bag with a glob of hair in which Dad taped a note saying, Jodi, I got a haircut, Dad. 

I know it’s not his hair cuz this hair was brown. If it was his hair, he’d be bald due to the amount that was there. It’s cute anyway and when I get my hair trimmed, now that I can afford to have Velma trim it, I’ll send some their way.

I got a $10 bill along with Dad’s letter today.

The evening of the 11th I called Florida collect from Andy’s phone while he was out at bingo. I spoke to Mom, Dad and Tammy. The girls and Bill, who I don’t miss, were staying in someone else’s place. I could’ve spoken to the girls, but I’ll write to them.

Tammy said she and Lisa sent out a letter before they left, but I never got it.

Tammy originally told me she left on the 1st. Before, she thought she’d be around during Andy’s week at the beach and she was gonna join him there. Dad said in his letter she was to arrive on the 10th so obviously, she was afraid to tell me. Maybe she decided she didn’t want to visit Andy and thinks I’ll be upset knowing she was there when he was. As you know I wrote in a previous entry how glad I was they wouldn’t get together so they wouldn’t talk too much when I wouldn’t be around to defend myself. If she had really left on the 1st and mailed me a letter before going to Florida, I’d have gotten it by now. If she left on the 10th and mailed it the day before, I should get it tomorrow or the next day.

If everything I just wrote is true and is really what happened, and I do believe I’m right on the money, Tammy will be shocked. I’ll catch her off guard and she’ll be like, gee, how’d she figure all this out? Maybe she is too smart to fool.

Friday, August 14, 1992

 

Two days ago was my parent’s anniversary and I asked Dad, when I spoke to them on the phone, how many years it’s been. Dad said 41 years and I said, “Wow, 41 years with the same person!”

Dad said, “Yeah, I gotta get used to it.”

Ma said, “And almost 27 years with the same daughter.”

Well, at least I got one thing in my favor over Tammy. She’s been Tammy’s mom for 8 years longer than mine.

Who can I send the hair I got to? There’s enough to send to a few people. I’ll mail Nervous Dad’s letter and perhaps mail Bob’s letter to either Rosemarie or Donna. It was the same letter I stuck on Mark’s door.

When you’re just hanging around talking to Mark, he’s a good guy. If he’s drinking or with his friends, they’re all weird together.

I took an old address book over and asked him if he knew anything about it. I said I found it by my door. I did it cuz he never asked me about the letter. I knew this would bring up the subject and it did. He said it had his name in it, along with Michelle’s (some chick he screws), and he read it and had no idea what the hell it was. I asked him if I could have it to play a joke on Andy. Sure, he said.

I don’t know Rosemarie’s or Rick’s last name, but I sure wish I knew that along with their phone number and Ellie’s. I’ll get Ellie’s eventually.

One of Mark’s friends says he’s moving back to Texas and he may give me a small table for my porch. It’ll be nice to do my writing out there once the weather cools off and becomes more bearable. I don’t know. You know I never buy anything unless I see it. I may eventually buy a medium-sized color TV for $25 from Mark. We’ll see.

I still have so much writing to do even though I’ve got tons of other stuff to do. I want to get letters out to Tammy, Becky and Lisa so they’ll all have them when they get home. I guess they’ll be home on the 20th, according to Tammy.

Because I slept till 3:30 PM, I’ll be up till around 9 AM and I’ll only get a few hours of sleep. I want to get up and call the bank to inquire about my balance and also I must get on with my tan. I promised to be very dark by now and I’m not. It’s hard to keep patient about it and tolerate the heat. It’ll be about 107º tomorrow. I think in a month or two from now, it’ll be much easier to tolerate tanning.

Even though I will be exhausted, at least I can make money under the table, at home. The hard part tomorrow will be pulling myself up out of bed. If I can just do that at noon, take my meds, and have coffee, I can lie down, close my eyes and relax at the pool. I’ll take my Walkman which has fresh batteries. Andy took it to use on the plane and he put new batteries in it. I still have to get batteries for my wall clocks here. Once you put them in, they last forever. My flashlight will need some, too.

So, the only stressful part of tomorrow is chasing the kid all over here trying to keep him out of my stuff, but at least I’ll be paid tomorrow. The first day he was OK and he took a nap for an hour and a half. When he woke up he cried for an hour or so. The last time the little beast cried for 3 hours. I couldn’t shut it up and I have no idea in hell how people do it on a regular basis whether they’re single or not. It’s not worth it and it makes me wonder how and why I wanted one for a while. First, there’s the physical part of it. The morning sickness, the labor, delivery, being forever fatter, and the baby blues. Then there’s the screaming and crying while you never can sleep and are tied down unable to go anywhere while they trash your place and cost thousands and thousands of dollars.

Well, it is at home, under the table. I need the money and it’s not my kid. I told Stacey that I’ll only take him from 4 PM-8:30 PM, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I’ll do a very occasional Saturday. It’ll be around $130 a month and they’ll be paying me weekly. She said it’s $30 a week no matter what unless I do more than that. This week I’ll get a bit more.

When Andy came back he said, “Remember your $150 debt with me? Well, that’s over now.” Now he’s paying me around $40 monthly to clean.

My food stamps will be about $111 whenever the hell they get here. The lady there is sending me a form to sign and I must send her a rent receipt and a copy of the electric bill. That was only $55 this month. I have a doctor’s appointment next Wednesday at 4:45 PM, and I’ll bring that phone form to him.

I’m no longer cleaning for Ellie as she’s a sorry, bitchy paranoid nut with a million problems. She goes on and on for hours complaining about this and that. She says she’s gonna die and that there are 5 organizations after her. She’s another one who goes back on her word and says I never said things I really did say. First, she swore she could afford to pay me $100 a month to clean for her and now she’s sorry she said that. Her son needs her money yet her son hates her and never comes to see her. She bitches and complains about how I clean and she’s always argumentative. One minute she’ll apologize for being a bitch, then she’s bitchy all over again.

Dave, the security guard and I were laughing about some of her delusions. The things she hears and sees. GI Joe, the physician, management putting petroleum through her vents to kill her like a cockroach along with those 5 organizations. She really is funny and you can have a field day playing with her head at the pool. You just wouldn’t want her at your apartment and you wouldn’t want to clean hers. Every so often I’ll go over to her place to play with her head.

I need to take my meds, eat and have some coffee. Maybe listen to music, too.

Later...

I’ve got to ask Andy to take me to the Metro Mall so I can buy more journals. I spoke to Kim who swears she’s sending me a blank journal she has, a letter and some blanks to make her funny tapes with. Edits, the complex argument, and other conversations with Bob and I.

She also says that next year she wants to travel across the country and she’ll see me when she does.

I guess Mark’s moving out but she’s not sure if she’s staying there on Elm St. She said she’ll let me know if she moves and I told her that I’ll mail her my number when I get a phone.

I still have other odds and ends I must buy. Like a pail for the kitchen, and I once saw a $14 electric typewriter at the thrift store that I’d like. As soon as I get money saved, I’m going shopping! If I got an electric typewriter, then Mom and Dad could keep my portable one and not bother to ship it. It isn’t the greatest typewriter. You have to really slam the keys down and my fingers always fall through the keys. Between them, I mean, and I cut my fingers. Electric ones have a closed keyboard.

I still haven’t contacted Jessie, Paula or Jai. I sent Jai a wacky letter and maybe I’ll write him a serious one, one of these days. Maybe try to get ahold of Jessie by calling her collect from Andy’s phone. She’ll accept the charges. I wonder if Steve moved and if he’s made any attempts to contact me. I’m sure Ann Marie has tried calling. Ha, ha to her! Bet she never thought I’d up and disappear and blow her off!

I am definitely no longer open to any new friendships whatsoever. I’ll keep Fay for now but I must stop being so friendly. If someone starts chatting with me at the pool, I’m just gonna be like yeah, yeah, yeah, till they get the message and screw off. People are so fucked in the head and I really do hate them. The same old pattern goes on where I’m either the dumper or the dumpee.

If I didn’t dump Ellie, she’d have stuck to me like glue forever. All I get are the metal cases while the so-called “better” people dump me. Same old shit. I keep to myself more and more cuz I’m tired of running around dumping people and getting dumped. Also, being dumped on by those that I dump or am dumped by. Rosemarie helped to continue to reinforce it in my head along with Donna and so many other queen snobs and mental cases.

Now for the Rosemarie story which is typical of what I get. Especially from a girl who’s gorgeous and has a good job. She works for some lawyer. She’s the ultimate attraction and she’s doing OK financially and emotionally as far as I can see on the surface. She’s the opposite of the Nervous, Fran and Ellie’s I get with no problem. She’s been steady with Rick but they do have their fights like every couple. I am not in the least bit shocked over what happened. I left off by saying how great my visits were at their place. They made me feel very accepted and welcomed. They said not to think they felt anything less about me cuz I’m gay. Their place was always open to me. They seemed so open and we laughed, joked and had nice talks. Rosemarie said don’t worry about other people being so snobby due to my getting SS. Oh, and she knows what I’m going through.

Does she? When has she ever gotten SS? She has a good job.

After two weeks went by where they seemed to be avoiding me, I caught Rosemarie alone at the pool. I walked up to her and said, “OK, what did I do?”

She said, “You didn’t do anything, but I’m not going to lie to you. We’re kind of religious and I thought about it and I decided I don’t want to have your type around.”

Can you believe how quickly people change? From white to black, instantly. And doesn’t religion teach people to accept everybody as they are? I’ve heard that they do, but then others say it bashes gays. Either way, what’s religion got to do with what we’re attracted to? It shouldn’t matter.

I pointed out that she said the direct opposite; that my gayness wasn’t a problem, and she said that she thought about it after I left.

I wondered if Rick may’ve influenced her. I always got the feeling that he was the type to boss her around.

I asked if we could talk about it and she said she’d rather not. At that point, I said what I had to say anyway. I said, “As far as I’m concerned, any prejudiced person is insecure with themselves. Why do you want people to be just like you? Can’t you be around different types of people? Why throw away good people over who they sleep with? And what’s religion have to do with who you’re sexually attracted to?”

I called her a lying, contradicting, backstabbing bitch and she was silent the whole time I spoke and never said another word. Then, Stephanie and her new roommate Harriett came into the pool as the other pool was closed. I’ll pick up the story from there another time. My hand is killing me.

Saturday, August 15, 1992

 

I don’t think I’ll write too much tonight as I am kind of tired. That’s good, though.

I got another job from another girl here named Stacey. This job seems like it oughta be better than babysitting for Justin. By the way, she’s from Taxachusetts, too. Haverhill, which is about a half-hour from Boston. She says she’s very flexible and I will be working at night for her. She may need me to clean and babysit her 13-month-old son on Saturday nights when she goes out. She works for MCI and has very little free time so she goes out on Saturday nights usually from 7 PM - 1 AM.

Soon I can get a phone and do some very serious shopping. Andy and I did go to the mall earlier and I bought 3 new journals. I also got cigarettes and some ice cream.

I hope I fall asleep by 3:00 and can get up at 11:00 or noon. I need my tan back!

Monday, August 17, 1992

 

I can’t sleep so I figured now’s a good time to write. I still have some updating to do. Well, my sister’s 35 now. I guess she, Bill and the girls will be home in a few days. I sent out a letter to Becky and now I’ve got to get one out to Lisa, Tammy and my parents.

When in the hell will I get the rest of my picture collection sent to me?

Stacey, Justin’s mom, got fired from her job last Monday. She still says she and her husband will need a regular babysitter. She says she’ll let me know when she needs me to babysit. The other Stacey said that too, and I hope they both hurry the hell up. I need the money. I swear God’s out to starve me! He just doesn’t want me eating on a normal and regular basis. But why? I still don’t believe I’ll ever get food stamps till I see it. It’s been 3 months now. Why are they doing this to me? Last Friday I got the form to sign from the woman who did my phone interview. I signed it and enclosed a rent receipt and my electric bill stub. I mailed it out that day. I’ve done all that’s required of me, yet for all I know, they’ll wait another 3 months. Even a whole month is too long unless I can babysit.

I learned how to use the grills here, which is easy. Very convenient, too. No dirty frying pan to clean after I make a hamburger.

I ran into Ellie that night and I played with her head a bit and teased her. She also trimmed my hair at midnight on the 16th. I had her take off 2”, trim my bangs, and blend my antlers, as I call them, to make it look better as it grows out. She did a very nice job and of course, my hair is now in shock. If you only trim your hair once or twice a year, it will go into shock. It appears 3 or even 4 inches shorter, but the great thing about it is, is that in only a week it’ll be back where it was. Then, it’ll fly. I mean, it’ll grow so fast. When my birthday comes, I’ll be sitting on it without having to put my head back. It’s still very very very curly. Spirally curly. When I pull the curls straight, it is 4” longer. Pulled straight, it was to the crack of my ass before she trimmed it. Now when you pull it straight it’s at my waist. Let go of it and let it curl up and it’s just above the waist. Mark and Andy said they didn’t notice it at all. Maybe that was cuz I had it all brushed out.

Later...

Now to finish the sick, cruel, mean and unfair Rosemarie story. Typical, though, cuz this is what I always get from the ones I feel a “spark” with. It comes as no real surprise to me. I asked for it by wasting my time with her and set myself up for what happened but it was fun till I got burned.

After I gave Rosemarie a piece of my mind for dumping on me, Stephanie jumped in the pool when I jumped in with her. She asked me what was up and I said, “That goddamn mother-fucking son of a bitch!” She asked me who I was referring to and I gestured towards Rosemarie and said, “That one!”

Then I told Stephanie and Harriett what happened. Right away Stephanie understood, but Harriett was sort of holding it against me, saying something about me having a lot of anger. Yes, I did, and I had reason to, as I pointed out. Then she asked me if I always take my anger and misery out on everyone, though I don’t know who she thought I was supposed to be taking it out on. I thought, gee, here we go with another winner out to judge a person and a situation they don’t even know. Just as I was saying, “Hey, you don’t even know me or what happened” (I was actually talking to Steph), Stephanie defended me and told Harriett that she’d be pissed and go off, too. Afterward, I did chat with Harriett and it was nice. I’d never want to be buddies with her, though.

Rosemarie heard everything we said and eventually got up to leave, never once saying a word or even looking at me. Stephanie, Harriett and I were yelling out all kinds of weird shit along the way.

I still think she was influenced by Rick (probably cuz he knew I wouldn’t include him in the sex I wanted to have with her). If she were single and living alone, then just maybe she’d have a mind of her own. For now, I’ll never know what she’s really thinking and feeling. I doubt I ever will, either.

Later...

Since I still can’t sleep, I’ll finish with Rosemarie. I’m pissed that my schedule’s all fucked up again. For the last two days, I tried setting my alarm to get up earlier, but it never worked. The hard part is pulling myself out of bed. If I could just pull myself up out of bed, have a bite to eat and some coffee, I’ll be OK. Tired, but at least I’ll be up. Then I can go lie out and relax by the pool all day. Or as long as I can stand it. It’s hot. I mean, really fucking hot! I’m losing all my color too, and that pisses me off. Tanning will be easier and more tolerable in a month or two from now when it gets cooler. I do have my Walkman and nothing to do tomorrow.

Andy and I went out for Chinese food earlier and I withdrew a little money. I need my food stamps!

He and another gay guy he works with were gonna go out to a bar, but I guess they never did. He mentioned doing karaoke tomorrow night but he’s got to have dinner with his friend Anita who’s moving to Florida. I hear she hates it here, mainly cuz of the people. Andy and several others have said the same thing. That compared to several other states, Arizona has the worst people. People come off as friendly at first, then they stab you in the back. Donna and Rosemarie are perfect examples, but I say people are screwed up everywhere. There are sick, cruel, vindictive, insensitive, narrow-minded, stupid and judgmental people all over the world. Again, leave it to those who are pretty and emotionally and financially stable to screw you up and over. On the other hand, I really believe that people like Donna and Rosemarie are what you call “great pretenders.” They’re the ones who do the best job of seeming as if they’ve got their shit 100% together. Rosemarie has no backbone of her own. She’s got to kiss society’s ass as well as her boyfriend’s. If she really is curious and or not completely happy with Rick, why doesn’t she leave? Or say how she feels? Is it that difficult? I’m 98% sure she can support her own self and she seems like she could survive on her own. She does not seem like the so-called desperate type.

Why can’t people associate with those who are different? Can’t she tell herself, “OK I’m not into what she’s into, but she’s who she is and I’m who I am, just be friends,” and that’s it?

Life would be too boring if we all were the same and did the same thing, said the same thing, thought the same thing, wore the same clothes, did the same job. What’s wrong with variety?

Rosemarie and Rick had claimed they were so open, accepting and fascinated with all types of people. Ha, Ha. Donna said the same thing.

Fay spoke to Rosemarie in the laundry room and I guess the fear of AIDS came up. Fay simply reminded Rosemarie that straights can get AIDS, too. And straight women are more at risk than gay women. Fay said Rosemarie said she felt bad and didn’t mean to hurt me. Also that Rick was in fear of losing her and she’s in fear of Rick as he supposedly beat up some other girl. She really did want to come and see me, she claims, but Rick was watching her like a hawk. Lastly, she’d communicate with me through Fay, and for now, I shouldn’t say hi to her at the pool cuz of Rick.

So the next night at 10:00, Fay and Rosemarie were to meet in the laundry room. Fay waited half an hour and she never showed up. At 10:45 I went to the pool and made it look like I was looking for someone. I saw Rosemarie and Rick outside their door. It seemed as if they were arguing, but I couldn’t make out any words. I ran and told Fay, who said they do have their fights.

The next day Fay told me that shortly after that, they both showed up at her door. Rosemarie had changed her story and went along with Rick. Fay said Rosemarie was kissing Rick’s ass but agrees that she may handle things differently without Rick in the picture. I told Fay I already figured as much. Fay also said that if I were straight, Rick would have no fear of me hanging around with her. Also, if I were bi, I may have been able to go in on a threesome with them. God only knows there are plenty of folks into that scene.

One day while I was tanning I saw Rick as he was walking by. Shockingly, he did say hi. Then the Saturday before last, Rosemarie was leaving the pool area as I was walking in. She shocked the shit out of me and said, “That’s a pretty bathing suit.” My head told me to tell her to fuck off, go to hell and die. My heart was jumping for joy and I said thanked her while I tried to hide the grin on my face.

It’s so hard when it comes to the ultimate attraction like this, but not as hard as it used to be. Once similar situations happen over and over, they get easier to deal with. I’ve been dumped numerous times and they were all usually by the beautiful ones. You do get used to it and immune to crying really badly. You learn to pretty much expect it. Back when I knew Mary, Norah and Nissan, them dumping on me was very hard on me. I was young and still inexperienced as far as being dumped was concerned. Now it’s far from anything new.

I must get a bite to eat.

Later...

God, I wish I was just waking up. When I do fall asleep, not sleeping too late should be easy. Monday’s the day they mow all the lawns at 6 AM.

I wonder if I should slip Rosemarie a note? I’d probably be wasting my time, but once again, the chase is fun. It can be a fun game if you make it that way. Wondering is fun even though I’d die to get her in bed just once. Ellie says that once you get that ultimate attraction, you won’t want it anymore. Sort of like the end of the race at that point. I hope she’s right and if so, I especially hope I get it soon. Yes, I know I am only dreaming when I say that. Maybe in my next life. I have a note written up anyway. In it, I ask if we can meet up in the laundry room at 10:00 tonight. I don’t know exactly when and if I’ll really ever give it to her. We’ll see.

God, just send her to me! Have her tell me she’s curious to try it once but to never tell anyone. I can keep a secret. Other than with Andy, of course.

My fortune cookie last night said a letter of great importance will come in the mail. It better be good and about my food stamps! I hope I get some letters and packages. I also hope Kim lives up to her promises of a letter, a journal, and blank tapes. I still have tons of editing to do.

I’m also gonna get 3 people in trouble. Donna, cuz I can’t stand her, and 2 others who have cats. They live on the 1st and 2nd floors where they’re not allowed. Donna’s got blinds hanging up on her patio to block the sun. Those are not allowed. Why should everyone else be allowed to break the rules while I was forced to give up my cat?

Well, I guess I’ll try to get some sleep now.

Tuesday, August 18, 1992

 

I am not in the best of moods right now. Two other people I know got their food stamps. What in the hell is going on with me? Why do they continue to do this to me? I can’t keep eating only soup and crackers on a daily basis! If the food stamp people still plan on never sending me my stamps, I’ll starve cuz for all I know my next babysitting job could be ages from now. I only have a few bucks on me and a little in the bank. That’s got to be used for my electric bill. What did I do to deserve this? Is this compensation for my moving here? Just cuz I moved, God’s got to take away my food? Taking away my singing career and good sex is enough! Can’t I just have enough food to eat every day? Please, God! Take away the singing, take away Rosemarie and other people like her, make them dump on me, but don’t take away my food! Let me eat! Please let them send me my food stamps this week!

The only good news is that I got that journal through priority mail from Kim.

Later...

I thought I’d get up early today, or yesterday, I should say. I thought the lawnmowers would wake me, but I thought wrong. I was actually falling asleep as they were mowing the lawns.

Ellie is gonna wake me up at 1:00 with coffee.

I desperately need to go tanning. I don’t know about that, though. I just heard them say on TV it’ll be 112º tomorrow! I may have to hold off on my deep dark tan until September or October.

Wednesday I have a doctor’s appointment and I sure hope I’m not told anything I don’t want to hear. Andy says he’ll pick up my prescriptions the next day on his way home from work. I hope he remembers. He’s got shit for memory but he claims to be giving up pot for a few months.

I still haven’t made up my mind on whether or not to slip Rosemarie that note. I’m sure I’m wasting my time, and again, if it were meant to be I’d have found that out long ago. I’ll never be able to sleep with a woman as beautiful as she is. With my luck, she’ll refuse to even take the note when I hand it to her. If I do. Hey, why not one of these days? So what if I know it’ll come to nothing. The game of it is still fun.

Later...

Speaking of notes, I almost forgot to mention what Andy did. He delivered the same note Mark got to Rosemarie. At 11:30 or so, he was out taking a walk and he taped it to their door. Fay said she thinks Rick leaves before Rosemarie and I hope she’s wrong. I hope she gets it, but even if she doesn’t, naturally she’ll hear all about it. What a confusing way to start off your morning, regardless of who gets it first!

Wednesday, August 19, 1992

 

My God, I cannot believe all the things that have happened since I last wrote! In less than 24 hours my whole world turned upside down once again. There’s always one problem after another that I don’t ask for. Mainly with money and backstabbing people. I’m cursed no matter where I live but the problems are mainly food and money. I’ve been so damn happy here otherwise, so why can’t whatever’s cursing me leave me alone?

Upon arriving here in Arizona, I had a horrible vibe about money and food. It’s like I could hear something telling me it’ll only allow me so much to eat. Enjoy food when you’ve got it cuz it won’t last long. Something’s out to starve me and get me real good. The only thing I can think of as to why this is happening is cuz I billed a couple of calls to Gloria, but the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. What happened with Rick and Rosemarie is enough. Why keep me with money problems, very little for me to eat, and keep the food stamps stalling? Gloria’s fucking rich!

Rosemarie’s a bitch who’s no surprise. I mean, typical happenings with the ones I’m attracted to and I’m used to that. But sex with Rosemarie or other gorgeous women isn’t a necessity. Food is. And paying the rent and the electric bill.

Ellie never came to my door like she said she would and I fell asleep at 9 AM. Kara knocked on my door asking me if I could babysit her daughter Ashley from 2:00 - 3:30. I said I would and she went to a job interview. I was psyched, and she gave me $10 in food stamps.

I woke up in a fine mood even though I was quite hungry.

I told her I was gonna go check my mail, then get the baby. As I walked closer to my mailbox, my hopes for any food stamps began to fade. A bad vibe came on stronger. I knew they were gonna come after my SS check! They pulled the same shit they pulled when I moved to CT. They say I’m overpaid and are gonna snatch $231 out of my $426! But I never even was overpaid. Then they said I didn’t tell them I was moving in time to prevent the overpayment. Also, they proved that me paying the money back wouldn’t put a financial hardship on me. Ha! How do you call using $200 to pay rent of $277, the electric bill and food no financial hardship? Oh yeah, that’s really easy.

These people are fucking fucked in the head and they don’t give a shit about no one but themselves and taking away people’s money to spend it on garbage. The food stamp people only care about minorities and single mothers.

While I babysat Ashley I sat there crying, wishing I could enjoy my happiness here without worrying constantly about food and money. Wishing I could drop dead so as not to worry about being able to eat, pay bills, depend on others for help and live a second-best life. Life is one big settlement. Any curse here is better than being in Norwich. However, I feel like life’s one big sentence and I’m just waiting till my time’s up. Whatever it is up there took away my music and I’ll never have real serious lust, but why this? Can’t I have smaller problems less often? Can’t I eat OK and pay my bills easily enough? Kara gave me a couple of TV dinners and I tried calling mom and dad. As usual, when it’s urgent and you really need them, they’re not home. If you’re happy and just gonna say hi, they answer. Next time something important comes up, I won’t even bother calling right away. And with one curse after another, I know it won’t stop at this point. I finally did get in touch with my parents at around 8:30 my time. Dad answered and I told him the whole story. I told him I’d send him a photocopy of the bullshit letter from SS. He said not to worry and that it was a minor problem he can take care of. He said let them take it out of my check and he’ll send me some money. Meanwhile, he said to call the food stamp people and tell them I need my food stamps.

But I’ve been doing that since June 9th!

I have tons and tons more to write about, but I am way too tired. I’m sneezing my ass off and I hope I’m not coming down with anything. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Also, I think Terros is coming out.

Later...

I am here now at Dr. Karius’ office and I guess it’s a good thing I brought this journal. The receptionist told me he’s way behind.

I never could fall asleep last night till nearly 6 AM. I couldn’t stop sneezing. I got up and took some Suditab my mom sent me, then fell asleep. Right now, I am still very tired. I kept waking up constantly. Every hour or so. I’m not sneezing too much now but my eyes are a little swollen and puffy even though Andy says they’re perfectly white.

I still haven’t gotten my food stamps today but am I surprised?

I left off last night with my talk with my dad. After I ask the receptionist if there’s a place around here where I can get some coffee and a bite to eat, I’ll continue with Rosemarie and Kara.

Later...

I am home now, thank God. I was at the doctor’s for so long. Around two hours. The doctor said never to make appointments on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t he have told me this before?

Hunter’s going on now so I’ll write when it’s over.

Later...

We’re having a humongous thunder and lightning storm now.

There’s not much to say about the doctor’s visit. But he did say there’s still a funny discharge. I’ll call in a week to find out the results of the pap smear. It certainly didn’t tickle and I was bleeding afterward. He said that can happen.

I weigh 99 pounds. He also filled my prescriptions. They filled out my TAP form and photocopied that letter from SS. I hope it’s not raining inside the mailbox I threw it in.

Thursday, August 20, 1992

 

I’ll now write about what happened with Rosemarie and Rick the other night. I was already in a bad mood due to that letter from SS. I still hadn’t gotten ahold of my dad yet at that time. I was making coffee when there was a knock on my door. It was Rosemarie. Apparently, Rick was hiding around the corner cuz at that time I didn’t see him. I guess she felt she needed his protection. She said she came to “set me straight.” I told her she did that a month ago when she told me she wanted nothing to do with me. She was the one who went from claiming to be so open-minded and accepting to being unable to accept people who aren’t just like her. She stabbed me in the back and prejudged and misjudged me.

Then she said she heard I was running around telling people I want her body. That’s bullshit, of course, as I’ve only told Andy, Fay and Ellie and I don’t see why they would tell the whole complex this. She also said something about me saying she was beating the shit out of me. I have no idea about that one either, but I just hope I didn’t misunderstand what was really her threatening me and me not jumping her for it, with or without Rick’s protection. She said not to leave letters on their door. Well, of course, I know all about that one but denied it, even though a red flat with Fay’s name went up on that one. Could she have told her about that? Would she tell her about that?

She added that she and Rick are fighting, though I don’t know what this has to do with me. I told her they’re all worked up over nothing, and their paranoia and fighting is their problem, not mine.

Then she said, “So, you’re saying she’s lying?”

I asked who’s “she” and she said she couldn’t say cuz she promised she wouldn’t say her name.

Yeah, sure. Whatever. It was probably Fay she misunderstood or something unless now it’s Fay’s turn to turn into a backstabber. Anyway, they made up everything except the letter, which I denied, of course.

Then as I opened the door and she was leaving, Rick appeared. He said, “I’m bothered, but I do understand your fantasy. Leave us alone. Don’t hang by the pool, don’t lurk.”

I said that I don’t “lurk” and if I want to swim in the pool, that’s my choice and my right. And sure he understands my “fantasy!”

Then they left. I’m sure the reason why they never attacked me was cuz they didn’t know how it’d come back on them by way of management or the cops. Plus, I know where they live. They sure as hell pissed me off. Big time. I was already in the foul and shittiest mood and I snapped. I’m sick of being the nice one, not asking for the shit I get, and people getting away with giving it to me. I wanted to show them who they were dealing with and who they just pissed off and over the edge.

As I opened my door to walk out, Dave the security guard was there. He said he was just coming to knock on my door and I told him exactly what happened. Then as I headed over to their place, my anger building more and more, his supervisor heard it all over the walkie-talkie and thought I was trying to commit suicide. I was really throwing rocks up to their place yelling for them to come down and face me again. I was so pissed! I really wanted to fight and get my anger out! It would’ve been on the right people, too. I know they heard me, but they never had the guts to open their door. Again, even though I wasn’t threatened (at least I don’t think I was), I was so pissed and wanted their asses so bad. I was sick of being shit on. Maybe I should’ve gone up and tried kicking their door down, even if I would’ve gotten arrested.

Then I headed back to my place and Dave followed. We talked and he began to calm me down. He said he understood I’m not usually like this and knew I’d never go off like that without a good reason. He said, “Smoke your cigarette and calm down. You’re doing well. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

So then two cops came and they were very friendly and I told them what happened. They said not to worry and that all will work out fine. Gee, I hope so cuz I’m really, really sick of this shit with the people here!

I saw him earlier tonight and he gave me a hug as I thanked him for talking with me.

Now I really, really mean it when I say no more friends other than the people I already know! I’m not talking to any new people. And now I have to try to figure out if Fay really is a friend or not. How else would Rosemarie know it was me who left the note on the door unless she or Rick saw me?

After I go make coffee, I do have more to write about concerning Kara.

Later...

Everything on TV was boring tonight, so now I’ll write about Kara. She came over and asked if I was OK and she told me she saw 3 cruisers pull up. I told her what happened and we ended up having a long, very nice talk. Between her and her mom and sister, I always took a liking to her most of all. I could sense she was the most open one of them all and the easiest to talk to. I could sense she and her sister were complete opposites like me and my sister. She told me her sister is a bitch and they were never close. She also says Stacey’s not very dependable. As in babysitting. I told her to tell Stacey to tell me if she’s not interested in a babysitter flat out, rather than leave me hanging.

I also wonder about the other Stacey, too. If I don’t hear from her in a week or so, I’ll call her. I will tell her just the same. “Tell me you’re not interested, but do not lead me on, keeping me wondering and waiting.”

Kara and her mom are moving across the street to a 2-bedroom apartment at the Via El Camino complex. She told me she’d always need me to babysit here and there, but especially so if she gets a job.

I also had another “sense” about Kara. When I told her why Rosemarie shit on me, I told her she could run out, too. I’m used to it. She said she knew gay people back in Michigan where she’s from as well as here and that she’s slept with women, too. Mostly during threesomes. I told her I wasn’t shocked. I sensed it. She also said she’s got a good 6th sense and she suspected I was gay. It’s funny how in the bars they all swear I’m straight, yet more and more people outside of bars tell me they’ve suspected me. And you know I look far from dyky. Maybe it’s my muscle tone and firm “don’t fuck with me” attitude I give off at the same time I give off an open, sensitive attitude and have a sense of humor. I know she’s bi, but she’s more into men. The funny thing about Kara is that she’s plain and homely, but she’s not. I don’t know why but I constantly think of her. Naturally, I’d never ever dare tell her. I know she’d never turn around and punch me out, but I’d still never tell her. It’s my secret and she’s more into men and could think I’m ugly for all I know.

She did ask if I’d like to go out to this place near the Metro Center. A place with pinball games and stuff like that.

She said anytime I need to talk, she’s there. I was so afraid and so hesitant about being her friend and she said she understood why. I said I hope our friendship does stick and she said it’ll stick with utter confidence. That’s cool and I really do like her and appreciated her talking with me. She came over a few days ago too, to visit with me.

I’m gonna go out on my porch and have a smoke. I really shouldn’t smoke in the apartment.

Friday, August 21, 1992

 

Not too much happened today. Andy and I went to get my meds. I got my Theodur and Azmacort, but they say as of Aug. 1st, the state will no longer pay for Alupent. It figures there’s got to be some problem for me. The woman there is gonna call Dr. Kareus and see if it can be changed to something similar like Proventil or Ventolin.

I’m really nervous about the results of my pap smear. This bloating stomach of mine, along with the funny feeling in my lower belly and the discharges has been going on too long. It’s really obnoxious. I am DES-exposed after all, and I do have a much higher chance of cervical cancer.

I swear that if I ever did need surgery again in my life for something that serious, I’d refuse. I’d rather die first and I still feel there are more reasons to want to drop dead than to live for. There are too many more problems in this world, even though things have improved as far as my living conditions. Too many more fucked up people than good and too many second-best and settlements to live for.

I still feel there’s a curse on me and there’s still a long way to go to getting food stamps and financial security. Something’s out to get me and get me good. It would’ve sounded crazy to me a long time ago, but now it’s rather obvious. So much goes wrong that I didn’t deserve. People shit on me I never shit on.

The horriblescopes, as we call them, in the TV guide are always accurate. What I read scared me. I went over to say hi to Fay. She gave me some cups and mugs she no longer wanted and whenever she’s got the TV guide I read the horriblescopes. I can remember reading these from TV guides a few years ago and what they said was true. The only thing it was off on was romance cuz it doesn’t apply to me. I read the horriblescopes from last Sat. to this Sat. It said to keep isolated and distance myself from people, otherwise, they’ll burn me whether I ask for it or not. It was right. The horriblescope from this Saturday to next Saturday was scary, but I figured as much anyway. It said delays and frustrations are right for me now.

Gee, thanks a lot! When is this shit gonna end with food stamps and SS? Taking away my dream of becoming a singer and having lust is enough. Making life one big settlement’s enough, but can’t I eat and pay my bills?! When it’s over, you know it’s over, but I can still sense more trouble ahead. Sometimes I wish I would come down with some terminal disease. One that’d wipe me out quickly and painlessly. I doubt there’s any such way to go, but I have had just way too much physically and mentally. Why can’t I just have one solid year of non-stop happiness and peace? This crap with Rosemarie was one thing. That much I can deal with. I’m so used to it, but give me my God damn food stamps and get SS off my back with their lies and bullshit! That way, settling will be easier and the smaller problems will be more tolerable. I have too many major setbacks which all hit me at once. All can go OK for a while, then I’m hit with several major issues and problems. Space them out and cut them down in size and severity, please God!!

Later...

We’re having a thunder and lightning storm which is awesome. We’re also having a cool spell. It actually feels cool and very comfortable. It’s around 75º but it feels so much cooler. If it were 75º at home, it’d be hot. Probably muggy, too. We do have some humid days here but nothing like back east. Notice how I refer to it as back east, rather than back home. Anyway, it’s very dry now and there’s a fantastic breeze. I always open my two windows and my sliding glass door when it’s windy to air out the place. The storm’s over now but before, during and after a storm it’s very windy.

Now I see what Andy means when he tells me it does get chilly in the winter. Too chilly to swim and when it gets below 60º it’s chilly. It feels cooler than it actually is but when it’s 110º, you feel it!

My asthma’s doing great. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be only 94º! That’ll feel like 80º and today they said it was 102º. I slept all day, of course. I think I can stand to turn off my AC tonight, or at least push it way up. I wish I lived on the 2nd floor so I could sleep with my windows open and have more privacy. I’ll just keep the blinds down. The girl on the second floor next to Andy’s moving out. He’s gonna talk to Stacey, the complex manager, about breaking up the $95 transfer fee in payments over the next year. I doubt she’ll go for it, but we’ll see. I have all the free time in the world so it doesn’t bother me. It’s something to do.

Sunday, August 23, 1992

 

I’m watching Little House on the Prairie. The Twin Peaks movie is finally out. It starts on the 28th. It’s called Fire Walk With Me.

Last night I thought of a great way to mail letters free with no stamp. You write the address of the person you want it sent to as the return address. Put a phony name and address as the one you’re gonna send it to and it’ll get sent to the one you want it sent to returned for postage.

I made up a letter for Robert upstairs with some of the hair my dad sent. I also got a new and better letter for Debbie back in Oakwood Knoll with some hair. Next will be Barbara a few months from now. I want to space them out. I also have several others to send mail to in MA. Besides Nervous, Fran and Kim.

When I get a phone I’ll contact Jessie collect. If it won’t go through, I’ll try from a payphone or write her a letter. I also am gonna send Andy a letter. It’s got his address as the return one, of course, and Jayke in Chicopee, as who he’s sending a letter. He always says he never gets letters anymore since I moved here. It’ll be a surprise as I haven’t said anything about it.

I’ve got to stop for something to eat. I’m fucking starving!

Later...

I’m boiling water now to make some noodles.

Earlier I ran into Robert and two of his buddies. He introduced us (I forgot their names) and I joked once again about how I saw him profiled on America’s Most Wanted. He laughed and said he saw me on his milk carton. I told him I ran away from Taxachusetts.

We all went to the Jacuzzi and were laughing and telling all kinds of jokes.

He reminded me of our little arrangement and asked if I knew of any girls for him. I told him I didn’t and he knew of no one either.

He asked if it was me who made those funny calls and I burst out laughing. He said he knew of some pranks for me and they were all laughing at my calls to him. I told him about the letter and I gave it to him when we got back.

I have to send a letter to Mark next door. Then again, I’d rather send one to Donna. It’s been a long time since she’s heard from me. I have to try this on my mom and sister, too.

I wonder if my sister’s back home now. She said she’d call me when she returned but I have not yet heard from her.

Monday I need to call my bank about my balance. Also, I’ll call Peggy Sue at DES (Dept. of Economic Security) about my goddamn mother-fucking food stamps. Will I ever get them? If I don’t and what with SS fucking me over, my parents are gonna need to send me around $300 a month. I mean, they’re absolutely gonna have to. I can’t be evicted and totally starving. So they may have no choice.

I’m managing fairly well to try to keep my fear, anger and anxiety in check and smile and laugh. I’m also nervous about the results of my pap smear and when my parole officer comes to see me. I also want a phone!

Now with no more babysitting jobs except for Kara’s baby occasionally and not knowing what the fuck’s going on with my money, I better wait on getting a phone. I hate babysitting with a passion but I do need the money. I’m gonna call up Stacey, or go over there and thank her for leading me on, rather than telling me what’s going on.

I’m so sick of worrying about money! My stomach problems are worse since I have no choice but to not eat right. I never ate right all the time when I did have food money, but now it’s been so long since I’ve eaten right or enough. Not since last May. What is my purpose in this world? I wanna try to enjoy myself here the best I can without worrying about money, bills and food. And mind my own business, stop being so friendly and stop making friends. Just say hi to people and leave it at that.

I wish I could go to bed now and get up at 1:00. That way I can tan. Tomorrow’s gonna be a great day for that at only 94º.

Monday, August 24, 1992

 

I am a little anxious now as I’ve heard on the news Florida’s gonna be hit by Hurricane Andrew. It’s supposed to be the worst in history. We’ve been hit here with tropical storm Lester and we’ve had lots of rain. I guess Miami’s gonna get it worse, but they say the coast is always the main target and I’m worried about my folks. No one in this family needs any more shit. We’ve all had enough and should they lose their home I’d be just as affected. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but my pictures and other things of mine are there. Also, I need their help financially. All they need is that crisis on top of what’s happening to me now. I’m scared for them and I’m scared for myself. This hurricane is supposed to be worse than Hurricane Hugo in 1989. They’ve also already estimated 10 billion dollars worth of damage.

Not only do I pray to you God to lift the curse off of me and allow me to be OK real soon money-wise, but leave my parents alone, too! Don’t let this hurricane destroy them. What is it I must do to make everything OK? With my parents and with me? If you can hear me up there, please spare my parents and find a way for me to go to the grocery store fast. For a huge shopping order. Please let them send me my food stamps this week. I promise to behave and keep out of trouble if you make sure I have enough food and cash. Also, please let my test results be OK and the visit with my parole officer be OK. Take care of my parents and me in the way that I ask and I will try to be as good as I can and I will keep to myself. Remember how happy I was when I first came here, even though I had a bad vibe? Allow me to feel that again, worry-free with no bad vibes. All I can say is that I’ve been through too much. Enough is enough and I don’t want to “prove” my strength anymore. I miraculously went through the crap I did in CT and with money here and never cut myself. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that good enough proof for you? Let me be OK so I can relax and be happy. Free me from worries, fears and anxieties. Take care of my parents. There’s nothing else I can say as I’ve nailed it to the point.

Later...

I’m watching Matlock now and I think I’ll go to bed after Oprah. I’ve been up since 8:00 last night. I hope no one knocks on my door or Robert walks too hard so I can sleep hopefully much later than 8:00.

Starting at 8:00 Eastern time I began trying to reach my parents and got no answer. At 9:30 Eastern time, I got in touch with Tammy after the line was busy for a while. She’d just spoken to Ma and they’re fine and so is the island. She did leave on the 1st but they went other places before getting to Mom and Dad on the 10th. On the way back a suitcase of clothes fell off the top of their van. Dad said the same thing happened on the way down.

I spoke to Mom and Dad and they’re fine.

I do have more to say, but I’ll write later. I’m getting very tired.

Wednesday, August 26, 1992

 

Well, I didn’t sleep as long as I’d have liked to. I slept till 12:30.

My neighbor, Cliff, who lives above Mark, says he’s got the day off tomorrow and can take me to the store. I hope I get my food stamps tomorrow, but I doubt it’ll be that soon. Yesterday, though, I did get my food stamp ID card. I hope they’re on their way for once, but if not I’ll have to use the few dollars I have to get a few things. I need to spare my cash for cigarettes and I hope mom and dad have money on the way.

It seems like 80% of my journals are all about my need for money. Is this how it’ll be for the rest of my life? But of all the reasons I can come up with that are not worth living for, this is another one. Who wants to go through life having no food half the time? You don’t have to feed a dead person and mom and dad don’t have to worry or help a dead person financially. A dead person can’t worry about not being a singer. A dead person can’t be burned by jerks. A dead person can’t want to be with someone.

God, I hate feeling this way! Especially here. It’s too beautiful here to have to worry about food and money. I’m glad that it’s gotten much easier these days knowing I cannot have a career as a singer, or the ideal relationship, or a child, but I’d be super, super, super happy if I could eat, pay the rent and bills and have a little left over for fun.

Thank God my parents and their place is OK. Dad says within two months I’ll have the rest of my stuff back.

Yesterday I sent out my electric bill and letters to Lisa, Fran and Nervous. I sent out Andy’s letter as well as Debbie’s letter. I also had junk mail with no-postage-necessary envelopes. I’ve sent in Debbie’s request for a jewelry catalog as well as for a Visa card. In a few months, Barbara will get a letter. Meanwhile, whenever I have a no-postage-necessary envelope for whatever, I’ll send it to Barb and Debbie along with various other people. I have to get a letter out to Mark, Tammy and my parents next.

Later...

I am dead tired today. I didn’t even sleep 8 hours and wish I’d slept a few hours later. Once I’m up, though, I’m up. I’ll just feel groggy all day. What would really perk me up would be to get my food stamps today, go shopping, come back and go swimming and work on my tan.

I spoke to Ellie and Fay briefly yesterday. As usual, Ellie started off cheerful, then she got crabby.

I helped Fay fill out a form for her yearly food stamp review. I left her alone in the apartment for a few minutes to go tell Mark I’d get a ride from someone else (he was drinking) and she stepped out saying she’d be right back. I hope she didn’t steal anything which I haven’t discovered yet. You know how paranoid I am about that. I also do a damn good job of attracting people like that.

I very quickly spoke to Stephanie and Angel yesterday. Angel’s sister Grace has gone back to Idaho where they’re from and now another sister of hers is here. I guess her name’s Bonnie. On my way out of the pool area, Angel asked me how things were going. I told her I’d be friendly and say hi, she’s never done me wrong, but I’m being cautious and keeping my mouth shut. I told her thanks for her concern, she’s a nice person, but I’ve been burned twice unfairly. I’m keeping to myself.

I also met two really nice girls who are roommates named Tara and Tonya. I met each one once before. They both have cute faces and medium-length hair blond hair. Tara’s a little heavy and Tonya has a very nice figure.

Tara says she plays the keyboards and they both want to get together with me. Once again, they all seem nice in the beginning, so I really hope they don’t pursue my friendship. I don’t think they’ll really bother seeking me out. They seem fairly stable and not the type to do such things. I have no idea how open-minded they may or may not be, but they seem like the dumpers, more than the dumpees.

The maintenance man came and fixed my bathroom faucet which dripped. He also moved my underwear almost behind the toilet but left my shorts and tank top where they were. I gave him permission to come in if I wasn’t here and I guess males are always males no matter what. I shouldn’t have left the clothes there either. The maintenance men stare me down all the time. They’re shabby scabby Mexicans. The exact type that would stare me down. I gave a show on my patio the other day. I pretended to be fighting with someone in my apartment.

I got some more CDs in the mail. That was fast.

When I go to the store, it’ll be after the mail gets here, but I doubt my food stamps will come today. Fay said Friday or Saturday, but I hope sooner.

Later...

I just spoke to Mark briefly, then went into the Jacuzzi.

Fay was on the pay phone and I headed over to Ellie’s for coffee but she was asleep. I could see her in bed through the side of her blinds.

I borrowed Andy’s vacuum yesterday and I woke him up. Well, I didn’t, his door did. He’s got a very squeaky door. Sometime today, I’m gonna vacuum my bathroom and kitchen after I scrub them down.

At 9 AM I’m gonna watch a talk show.

Thursday, August 27, 1992

 

Yesterday my food stamps came! I was so psyched and I literally cried tears of relief. Angel’s husband Brian took me to the store cuz Andy was asleep at the time. Once I finished shopping and was in the checkout line, I saw Andy at the courtesy desk. He ran over to the thrift store, then brought me back. It feels so great to finally have a full refrigerator and full cabinets. I will now eat quite well.

Andy and I spoke yesterday at his place. He was very upset with the people who are supposed to fix his car.

He also said several things Fay and Ellie said that were bullshit. I’m so sick of Ellie’s delusions and moods. Her mood changes every 5 minutes and the woman is a nut.

Also, I’ve been catching Fay in more and more lies that are just adding up too much. I also know she was the one who lied to Rosemarie and Rick and got them to come over here. She said that if she did, it was her business. Yeah, well they really made it my business too, though, in the end, she did me a favor.

Andy told me other lies that he said he knew were lies. He also says he thinks Fay’s jealous cuz I’m tiny and she’s a 270-pound bitch. Also, she said she was gonna dump me (to Andy) and Andy feels she doesn’t want me to have any friends. She won on that one, cuz I’m not gonna have many friends.

I went over to her place and told her I’ll dump her and do the job for her. I told her how I feel and that she and Ellie cannot have a 24-hour-a-day friendship with me. They said they understood my schedule’s crazy, but naturally, they contradicted themselves on that one.

I’m tired of both their games and attitudes and I told them both I no longer want anything to do with either of them.

Andy says all this is still worth meeting people. What, does he want to get hurt? And see others get stepped on? I’m sorry, but I have self-respect and if I allowed myself “friends” like them I wouldn’t be a true friend to myself. Hey, that’s what happens when you lie. You do lose friends. True friends don’t do the things they’ve done.

I’ll write more later. I need a smoke now.

Later...

I got up last night at 2 AM. I’d have preferred to sleep till 4:00 or 5:00, but at least I have food and cigarettes.

I washed my hair and I’m gonna make sure I don’t get it in the pool today. When I go tanning I’ll put it up. I got some good color yesterday and I want to get more today. The only obnoxious problem is that I get a heat rash. Heat rash and break out with lots of little itchy bumps that look like thousands of zits. Mainly on my chest, stomach, thighs, and a little on my shoulders.

So far in the 3 months I’ve been here, or almost 3 months, I’ve been stabbed in the back and dumped by two people, and I dumped one liar and 1 nut job. Real good, huh?

Every time I want to be left alone and ignored, there’s somebody else there. Do I have a sign on me that says: Be my friend and real nice at first, then dump me or give me a good reason to dump you?

I was in the pool on my raft when some girl called out hi to me as if she knew me. She spoke more than I did and we discussed many things. Mainly about Arizona, other places and people. She told me she studied a lot about human behavior and when she mentioned her very good job as a children’s protective worker and all about the school, it scared me. Her job’s no match for one on disability and once again, just cuz I know I’m not stupid and I know myself, am happy with who and how I am, know my feelings, and I don’t need her coming down on me. She didn’t, though my head was saying not to talk to her. My heart was saying don’t prejudge her by others, wait till she does something. I told her this up front too, and that I’ve had a lot of problems with some of the people there.

Well, she’s OK as a pool buddy. Then again, I wonder if pool buddies are a cool idea. When they fuck me over, I’m gonna want to go to the pool and I’d appreciate not having to see them or know they’re there. Makes me wanna puke when I see Donna or Rosemarie and now Fay and Ellie.

Tonya wasn’t at the pool but Tara was. She wrote down her number which I never asked for. There are 3 things I could do, and I don’t know which one I should do. One, I could go over there and say nothing. Two, I could tell them I’m gay, accept it or leave it without changing their minds later on down the road. Three, ignore them. God, do I hate this! What do I do?

Friday, August 28, 1992

 

I got up at around 3 AM and now I am eagerly waiting for the pool to open. It won’t be open till 8:00, said maintenance. I have my sliding door open and my windows. My ceiling fan’s on.

Every morning the maintenance guys go around the grounds collecting garbage with these tong-like things. They do various other stuff too, like repairs in apartments, painting, cleaning the grills and taking care of the pools and the grounds. Monday mornings suck. That’s when they mow the lawns.

While I was asleep, Kara left a note on my door. She wants to know if I’ll babysit Ashley next Tuesday. God knows I don’t want to, but I will to help my friend and earn a little money.

It amazes me that I never heard her knock.

Fay came over with a peace offering. A little table for my patio. We had a good talk and I told her how I felt. She is a nice person, she’s funny, and she’s helped me and cheered me up, but if there are any more lies, I’ll end it with her permanently with no peace offerings. She promised me that if she has anything to say about me, she’ll come say it to me.

I haven’t really seen Ellie and I don’t miss her. I think I’ll only be able to handle her if I see her very occasionally.

I got more color yesterday at the pool but I have this obnoxious itchy heat rash.

I didn’t see Sue at the pool, the girl I just met who works for the children’s protective services. Instead, I saw Angel, Brian, Bonnie, Stephanie and Tara.

At 11:00 I had gone to Tara’s to tell her the truth, but there was no answer. She said maybe she was in the shower as she’s home all day unless she’s got errands.

Fay gave me good advice. She said to go over, be honest, tell them the truth and what happened with Rosemarie. Fay said to tell them to make up their minds and keep them made up. Don’t go jerking me from one extreme to another and contradict themselves as Rosemarie did.

So, while I was using the grill I saw Tara at the pool. I told her I must be honest with her up front and she’s to take it or leave it. When I told her she laughed, saying she thought I was gonna tell her some big horrible thing, like I killed someone. She said her aunt’s gay and she and Tonya both had gay friends back in Colorado.

I told her I’d stop by her place sometime today. I’ll go see Kara also.

When Robert came down to go to school, he said to let him know if I find a black wallet. I asked if it was finder’s keeper. He said there was no money in it. Only his driver’s license. Oh well.

I’m waiting for Mark to come out to go to school. I’m gonna pounce all over him. I’ll write about that one later. Now I’ve got to have a bite to eat while I’m waiting for Mark and waiting for the pool to open. I need a good swim to wake me up.

Saturday, August 29, 1992

 

I just polished my toenails and I’m writing while they dry.

Mark next door is occasionally fun to be around, but overall I’ve come to hate him. His attitude stinks and he hates the whole world. All he can do is rank on my friends, talk about sex and pressure me about getting stoned with him. So, yesterday when he knocked on my door to go swimming, I said I’d go and decided to turn the tables around. I reminded him of how he said he likes aggressive women who dish back to him what he dishes out. After all, I do give what I get. So, I started pressuring him into things I know he’s not into and ranking on all his friends. He said he no longer has any friends cuz they moved. I really gave it to him good at the pool. It was fun for both of us and when I said something that wasn’t too funny in his opinion, he pretended to laugh anyway.

Later...

I didn’t see Fay or Andy yesterday but Kara left a note on my door. They’re moving next Tuesday and I’m gonna babysit Ashley. Not that I’m looking forward to it, but it’s helping a friend while earning a little money.

Robert has his cousin visiting from Santa Fe. Luckily I woke up at 6:00 as at 8:00 he was running around up there to get the place cleaned up. It would’ve woken me up if I were sleeping and I’d have been pissed. His cousin’s getting up tomorrow at 6:00 and he says he’s a gorilla. I told him he better not be or I’ll be a gorilla. I have a right to my schedule, too.

I had a great time yesterday with Tara and Tonya. So far they’re super nice for such good-looking girls. We talked about all kinds of things and they’re definitely very open-minded and accepting of me.

Tara’s an awesome artist! She showed me an awesome airbrush painting she did and Tonya’s done some modeling. She showed me portfolios and several pictures and they were beautiful.

Their apartment is gorgeous. They have a 2-bedroom and there are also 2 bathrooms. One bathroom is just like mine and the bedroom’s the same size as mine. That’s the one Tonya has.

Tara’s room is huge and her bathroom’s big, too. She has a sliding glass door off of her bedroom that goes out to the patio along with the sliding glass door off the living room.

They each have their own car so they told me to let them know if I’ve got to go anywhere.

I showed them my place and my drawings, too. Tara’s drawings make mine look sick, though. I also showed them all the pictures Andy took. You know, the ones my mom flipped out about.

I had begun to tell them stuff about themselves I shouldn’t know. I thought, oops! I was afraid I’d freak them out, so I explained it to them. They thought it was so neat. They said they always wanted to meet someone like that and that they wish they could do that.

Well, there’s so much more to write, but I need to lie down for a little bit.

Sunday, August 30, 1992

 

Well, now I have to wait another month or so before I can lie out in the sun. I have this hideous sun poisoning. It’s an itchy rash all over that looks like lots of reddish zits. What a bummer, huh? Just when I’m beginning to really tan. I spoke to Dad earlier and he said to wear a T-shirt till it cools down.

He also said he called SS and for me to tell them to take a little at a time. I have 30 days to talk to them or ask for another waiver form, even though that’ll do no good. He said that September’s check will be the full $426 as they can’t touch it till they send me a letter stating how much they’re gonna take per month. The whole thing is so stupid. They’re doing this cuz I didn’t tell them sooner that I’d be moving.

All states are different as far as what they pay. New York and Massachusetts are the highest. Connecticut’s lower and Arizona’s nothing as far as SSI goes.

There’s a special edition of Unsolved Mysteries coming on, so I want to get a bite to eat. During commercials, I’ll write.

Monday, August 31, 1992

 

I’m on my patio which is very well-shaded. We need a massive thunder and lightning storm.

I went down to check the mail but there was nothing. I hear if any day he’s late, it’s Mondays. I’ll go check again in an hour.

I called for my test results and it still shows that I have a bacterial infection. Now I have to use a cream that’s been called in. That’s bad enough that I always have one fucking infection after another. What’s a whole lot worse is that in two months I must have another pap smear! No way. Those things are too painful. The nurse said to see if I can bring someone with me. Yeah, right. Get real. Like anyone cares?

I also called the phone company and found out two new things today. One is that I can get a letter of credit from CT to waive the $170 deposit. Two is I don’t have to pay $5 a month for long-distance blocks.

I will go talk to Tara later about her taking me to Hatcher St. with the form I had my doctor fill out. After I show them a rent receipt, proof of income and all that crap, they send the form to someone else. They’re the ones who either approve it or deny it. I have a feeling this is gonna take forever and I’ll be waiting there for 3 hours just like at the food stamp office. Also, one worker says you need to make an appointment, another says they don’t make appointments. That’s typical, huh?

I hope Andy can take me to Goot’s pharmacy. I’m so glad I was switched from Alupent to Proventil. I like it so much better cuz I get less of a pounding and racing heartbeat and I don’t have to use it as often. My asthma’s improved so much and today was the first day in years I did not have to take my Proventil when I woke up! I always used to have to take the Alupent or Proventil when I’d first wake up, but today’s the first day in years where I didn’t have to! I only took my Theodur and the Azmacort which are preventions, not meant to be taken whenever you feel like it. The Alupent and Proventil are the ones you take as needed to wipe out the wheezing instantly unless it’s so bad that you must go to the ER.

I think I will go and check the mail now, then go for a swim. I hope I’ve got a letter from Kim or somebody.

Later...

As usual, I didn’t get any mail at all. I think UPS will come tomorrow, rather than today.

I’ve spoken to Tara and Tonya a few times and we’ve had some really good talks. Tara said she appreciates having a woman around to talk to.

I’m gonna bring them my manicuring books and also an extra pair of scissors they mentioned needing. Then I’ll see when it’s convenient for Tara to take me to Hatcher St. I’m gonna have to wait till around the 15th, though. That’s when I can get a current rent receipt.

In the meantime, you know my rule. I’ve made the first move, now let them come to me. I sort of want to quit while I’m ahead and not see them too often to avoid problems just like I don’t see Kara every day. But Kara is a good friend and I do like her.

I’m gonna see if Andy wants to pay for us to go see the Twin Peaks movie, Fire Walk With Me. I’ll pay him back my share in food stamps if he wants.

The other day was so funny when Stephanie saw me coming to the pool with Tara and Tonya. She grinned and winked at me. I told Tara and Tonya that she was gay too and that I think she thinks we’re together. They laughed and thought that was funny. I told Stephanie alone, that they’re really nice and that they’re roommates who just moved in. I told her I doubted anything would happen, but I’d keep her posted.

That was the day I played volleyball in the pool with Sue, Steve, Robert, his cousin and a few others. It was lots of fun and Kara, Tara and Tonya were shocked at how many people I know around here.

Andy and Steph were talking about Tara and Tonya and Andy says Steph really likes me as a friend. That’s cool. I like her too.

A few days ago, due to Kara’s helping me, I gave her some cigarettes and made her, Ashley and myself a hot dog. We had lots of fun swimming, too. I put on my nose clips that time so I could go underwater and use both hands to do somersaults and handstands. Whenever I’d do a backflip, my hair would be in my face. It was really goofy looking and the look on Ashley’s face was so funny. I’m gonna go grab my nose clips and see if they’re home and want to go swimming now.

Later...

I went over to Kara’s and we all went swimming. You can tell Ashley’s getting to know me and recognizes me. Hopefully, she won’t be so fussy tomorrow when I babysit her. Kara’s mom got her a playpen for $5 at a yard sale. She’s gonna bring it over tomorrow which is great. That way I won’t have to be chasing her all over.

I now see Fay heading towards the other pool.

Last night, there was a knock on my door and it was Ellie. She goes, “Grab a cough of cuppee and…”

I cut her off saying I was busy and then I shut my door on her.

Today’s the kids’ first day back to school. Man, was this always a depressing day for me! Any miserable times as an adult sure beats my childhood. What a miserable kid I was. I hated school, and when I wasn’t in school I’d have to deal with my mom. Or Brattleboro and Valleyhead.

My nieces start school this Wednesday. Lisa’s excited, so thank God at least she enjoys school.

Tammy told me they’d get a letter out to me as soon as they get situated. I’ve got to get a letter out to Tammy and mom and dad. I have Sarah’s b-day card ready. I can’t remember if she’s gonna be 2 or 3. Becky’s 5 and Lisa’s 9.

I can’t wait till my family can come see me. I really do miss all of them and I’m dying to show off where I live and how happy I am.

Oh, guess what happened yesterday? When I went over to see Andy he asked, “Have you any idea why the Norwich police dept. would call at 5:11 in the morning?”

At first, I couldn’t think of any reason, then I remembered my letter to Debbie. The way I see it, it’s my constitutional right, there was nothing threatening or sexual. Just very very strange, but I’ll write no more letters to her. I told Andy to just ignore the call and that if he got a call and he didn’t recognize the voice and they asked for me, to say there’s no Jodi there. I mean, what the hell are they gonna do about a letter that makes no sense with a few pieces of hair in it?

Going for another swim now!

Later...

I am out on my patio now and I have been in such a good mood. Since I moved here I have had so many happy days despite the money problems. I wish I moved here a long time ago. I have had more happy days since June 9th than I’ve had in years. After being miserable for so long, I really appreciate being so happy now. It feels great. It also feels great to have my asthma be so much better.

Tomorrow marks two special anniversaries for me. One is that 7 years ago I began losing 40 pounds. Two is that it’s been 3 years with no Navane. I knew as well as other supportive and understanding people that I didn’t need any drugs. I needed a life with good people who were willing to deal with me, let me be myself and be there for me during my good and not-so-good times. No drug can replace what I have now, even though I’d still like to be a singer.

When I last went to the pool, Andy came in for a swim and we had a nice talk. We admired the beauty around us and compared it to back east. Here everything’s so new, cheap and beautiful. Back east everything’s old, dumpy and expensive.

There’s been an awesome breeze out and we’re due for a storm, I hear.

Andy and I made burgers and hotdogs on the grill. It took forever to get it lit cuz it was so windy. We also made collect calls from the payphone. He’s coming over in an hour or so and we’re gonna play cards.

I’m getting tired now, so if we do get a storm and he wants to go drive on top of the mountain, I don’t think I’ll go. I told him I would, but now I really am starting to tire down. I got up at 7:30.

I think I’ll go to the Jacuzzi now and later I’ll write about Tara. I really really like her!

Later...

It’s dark now and I’m on my patio. But I have my light on just inside my sliding glass door so I have plenty of light.

I went into the Jacuzzi a little while ago, then went to see Tara, but there was no answer.

Andy may have fallen asleep by now as he’s been up so long. I’m getting tired myself now so I’ll finish tomorrow.

Later...

I hope I get my package tomorrow!

Tara’s gonna take me to Goot’s, then I gotta be back by 3:00 at least so I can babysit.

Even though Kara’s moving two minutes away, I wish she wasn’t.

I met another girl who lives above Kara who’s also named Kara, but she prefers to use Linda which is her middle name. I’ve seen her boyfriend around several times as well as her.

I saw Sue today, too. Also, Stacey. Not Kara’s sister, but the other one who I couldn’t figure out why she left me hanging. Her son was in the hospital with pneumonia for 4 days and she hasn’t gone out cuz he’s still not quite over it. I told her to let me know if she needs me.

Andy was so funny at the pool earlier when we were cooking and on the pay phone. I had my suit on under my skirt which I took off to go for a swim. He put it on and started dancing around. Two people I didn’t know, along with Tara and Kara were cracking up. Then Paula was on her way around the corner showing apartments to people when I yelled out to him that she was coming. He quickly slipped it off, thanking me for the warning. Then says, “And these are the people that live here.” We were laughing our asses off, then I went and had a nice talk with Tara. I really do like her and I’m glad we met, but I’ll write all about her another time.

Current Location: Arizona