Yesterday was a fun day, but let me get our city moochers out of the way first. They’re getting their lawn mowed now by those people in the blue pickup. If the bitch is paying for this herself, no wonder her rent’s late. Not to mention the fact that most of the money she gets, no doubt, is going up her nose. This truck doesn’t have any city emblem on it and my guess is that yes, the bitch, cock, or someone associated with them, is paying for this. I’m sure the city would say, “Hey, we give you a house for practically free so you maintain its lawn.”

Tom said that they have skipped weeks of putting out their recycle bin, so it’s nothing new.

Yesterday evening, that dark blue car was there for a while. The one that left with the cock in the U-Haul. If the cock’s back yet, I don’t know, but I guess seeing that car was a sign saying it’s well on its way back if it isn’t back yet.

They’re done now. At least they work fast and park on the street.

Later… 

Damn! I shit 3 times today, so you know what that means - no shitting for a day or two now. I thought walking was supposed to up your metabolism; not stop it. Something’s stopped it again, cuz I went to bed at 123 pounds, got up at 123 pounds, shit 3 times, and still weighed 123 pounds. What’s keeping all this weight on me and where’s my period that’s due?! God, you really want me to pay for better lungs, huh?

Anyway, yesterday we went out to a paper store where we spent nearly $100. I got 4 single sheets of stationery. One was a light purple that darkened down towards the other end of the sheet which Tammy got. Since I owed Becky and Sarah letters, Becky got a purple flower design and Sarah got a pink and yellow flower design. Larry got a wooden wall with rope on a nail and cowboy boots on the ground.

We picked up some wire binding combs and 5 different colors of paper. Got two different shades of pink, two different shades of purple, and bright lime green. The green and purples are thicker sheets of paper than the pinks.

I printed out my first journal using the grape paper. I used black text and a plain font, and purple text for the cover. I put the wrong zip code on the address, though. We have black and white wires. I used the white for this cuz the blacks we have are too big for the binder.

Then we went to Red Lobster and it was closed. So we drove out to where Melanie works and found one in that area. The lobster, which seemed smaller than the last one I had, was good. It was the company nearby that wasn’t. We were seated in between tables with kids. One had a boy and a girl of about 8 years of age. The other had a boy of about 3, its mother, and what was probably its grandmother, too. The 8-year-olds weren’t bad and they left shortly after we were seated, but the little boy, on the other hand, was what your average child is all about today. No manners, no discipline, no respect, no nothing. It threw a piece of food on the table. My back was facing them, so I didn’t see it, but Tom did and said, “Hey, that’s not nice.” Then Granny apologized for the kid. Then I muttered something about them watching and controlling their kid and teaching it to behave in public. Granny said it agreed with me, then Mommy went on and on about how we shouldn’t have said this and that, and something else I can’t remember. All I know was that I had had it and I stood up and yelled something. Mommy told me to sit down, in her southern drawl, or else she’d call the law on me. I told her to call them, saw how terrified she and the others looked, saw that she really didn’t want to fight and that she was someone I believed I could badly hurt (she was close to my height, but very motherly in weight and weighed 20-50 more pounds than me) so although I sat down, I was so fucking close to mauling her. I wanted soooooo bad to dog her. I was so pissed that my heart was thumping and I was shaking. Tom asked if I wanted to move to another table. I said loud enough for Mommy to hear, “No, I want to break its neck.” So after a few more gripes and “No one tells me to hush” from mommy, and with granny telling her to drop it, I did too, since she didn’t threaten me (or else I’d have dogged her without caring about the consequences or that the boy saw me do it). After the fact, though, it was pretty funny and I still joke about it to Tom and giggle to myself when I remember how terrified she was of me when I stood up. And maybe the boy’s learned a little lesson and mommy and granny will remember this and learn from it too.

That’s the closest I’ve been in years to a fight. Even closer than when that bitch came to this door. That bitch would be dead if it came to the door again, and I think it knew it and left while it was ahead and didn’t want to push its luck. Like I said, my days of kissing up to or turning my cheek the other way from the Rosemaries, Scotts, Mary Ds, Staceys, project assholes, neighbors, etc., are long gone. If you swing at me or if you threaten me bodily harm - you’re dead. Period. And if you don’t want to be, you better be a better fighter than me and knock me on my ass, cuz if you don’t knock me off my feet and keep me off my feet, you’re history! I won’t hesitate to severely maim or kill the next butch, bitch, Barbara, Bonnie, or anyone, male or female, that fucks with me.

I don’t know how I know this, but I do. I just know that no matter what my size/weight, if I ever get into another fight again, and I guess it’s bound to be sooner or later, I’m gonna do some serious damage. I’m going to cripple that person or kill them without even being able to help myself. After all those people I decided to get out of fighting with, and that I let cower me down from, that’s a lot of lost fighting to make up for.

Later…

White Paws was in the house today and fortunately, mama bitch hasn’t been around hardly at all. White Paws is still not as brave and as friendly as Blackie, but if I keep being nice, I’m sure she will be too. It’s nice to be able to feed them inside the house (not that we could keep Blackie from darting in and out when we open the door, anyway) so that ants don’t get the food and so mama bitch doesn’t come back.

That’s the second hang-up I just got that says unavailable on our Caller ID box. For the thousandth time, it’s someone we know. I just know it is. I’d say that Fran wouldn’t have the brains to be this consistent and that he’d have spoken up a long time ago, so my guess is that it’s Wendy or Jenny C. Probably Jenny. Hell, it could be Larry for all I know, making up for all the times I bugged Jenny. Maybe he’s calling from his business and knows that no info will show up on a Caller ID box.

Anyway, we went swimming yesterday and the water was too warm, so we didn’t recover the pool yesterday. Today it’s cooled down to a pleasant and refreshing temp. I wonder - can we for once and for all leave our pool uncovered till September?

Buying that colored paper got me in a creative mood yesterday, so I scanned several different sheets of colored paper that overlapped each other, to make colored striped paper. I also scanned in a journal cover and printed that out, too. I folded it in half to make it card-like.

Got a couple of phone messages from Andy reading me those favorite notes, and then a couple of happy anniversary emails from Kim.

I called Lisa to see what was up with her, and she is one stressed-out, depressed, frustrated, angry girl! I feel so bad for her. Tammy’s being typical Tammy. The way she’d be towards me when Mom and Dad weren’t around. Yelling, screaming, and using me as a slave and personal housekeeper. Now Tammy’s using her as a built-in housekeeper and babysitter, all the while screaming at Lisa and making her feel like nothing she does is ever good enough. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Tammy’s name was really Bill or Dureen. She spends most of her time with Mark.

Lisa says she doesn’t mind helping out, she wants her mother to be happy and be with Mark, but she doesn’t want all the housework and babysitting dumped on her. She wants her mother around more. She wants to be a teenager and get out and do things. Not be a slave to a house and kids. It’s not her time yet for that. When and if she has kids, then she can be tied down. She should be living now.

Lisa wanted to get a job at a convenience store to show she can be responsible, but Tammy won’t let her work there cuz she needs Lisa at the house to work for her.

She knows not to tell her therapist that I said this or that, cuz that could get back to Tammy, but I suggested she tell her therapist and Tammy together, exactly what’s going on and exactly how she feels, cuz she has the legal right to file a complaint of neglect on Tammy. It may not do her any good, but she should at least do everything she can to speak out.

She then thanked me wholeheartedly for being there for her and said she was gonna call her therapist.

Later…

I was just sitting here realizing I’m late for my period, haven’t one symptom of PMS, my tits are only slightly sore, then it hit me. It’s time. It’s time for something wacky to occur with my plumbing. Remember two summers ago? That’s when I had that two-week spotting attack, and when that happened, I had the feeling that another screwy event would occur two years later. I wish I could say that it’s now in the cards for me to have a hysterectomy and that’s what this is leading up to, but I don’t know.

I spoke to Jen earlier. God, she and Lisa sound so different! Jen sounded like this perky, happy-go-lucky kid, while Lisa sounded so miserable. Jen’s now 5’ 6” at 105 pounds. God! Now it’s the other way around. I’m shorter, she’s skinnier. She’s working at a restaurant and babysitting. Sandy and Larry were at work. Larry’s been busy, she says, with out-of-state businesspeople. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called. I left a message with his secretary for him to call when he can, nothing important, just wanted to say hi. From here on out, he either calls or he doesn’t.

Jen says she and a friend of hers who lives on her street, is going to Florida to stay at my folk’s place. Are my folks physically and mentally up to having two teenagers stay with them? Can they handle it?

Later…

I went for a quick dip in the pool, then I was gonna do some walking till I said, fuck it. I’m 32, I don’t smoke, fat is me and me is fat. I’m not gonna spend my life fighting for a body that can never be again, regardless of whether it’s a curse from God, or something’s wrong, or just cuz I am middle-aged and not taking any drugs that up the heart rate. I will watch what I eat, but I’m not gonna live hopelessly doing this or that to achieve something I could never achieve.

Later…

Oh, that fucking husband of mine! You know, I really hate it when he insults me with the sex games and denies what really is the case here. The last time we screwed, he wasn’t in the mood. Yet he’s trying to pin the blame on me by saying I got impatient and sidetracked and all this bullshit that never happened. Why is it always my fault he can’t perform sexually? No wonder I desire him sexually less and less and just prefer to take care of myself more and more. I love him in every other way, but I’ve had close to half a decade of this sex shit and I’m sick of it so if God insists I be cursed sexually, it won’t work, cuz I’m not gonna give in like I used to. I don’t deserve this shit.