When I got up this morning, the first thing I did before getting my coffee was go into the closet to pull Houdini out and put him back in his tank. Again, he didn’t fight me. It’s amazing how he stands still and lets me pick him right up. I don’t put him in the big cage till around 8:00–9:00 and he doesn’t bother trying to escape till after I go to bed because he wants to play with Ratsy during those hours.

Thank God I’m not in Phoenix now! I’ll especially be thankful I’m not there on Monday.

Tom told me that somewhere in the Midwest or the East, a 13-year-old boy was sent home from school for being disruptive. A while later, he returned to school with a gun, said something to his teacher, then shot him in the face. That’s your all-American kid for you. It seems that once we hit the 90s, kids went downhill. That’s because the parents got worse and worse. I asked Tom if the kid was white and he said they didn’t say. Not that white kids aren’t bad enough themselves, but this sounds kind of blackish to me. I think shooting up teachers is a black thing. And the sad thing about it is that this kid’s not gonna be tried as an adult. It’ll be put in a school similar to Valleyhead, although it’ll probably have its windows barred, and it’ll be free by the time it’s 21.

I didn’t bother weighing in this morning or taking measurements like I have been for the last six Saturdays or so, because I know I’m still right about where I usually am. I know I’m 122-124 pounds, and my thighs are 22-23, my hips and tits are about 37, and my waist is 29-30.

Got another doll poster for my office wall yesterday. An Indian girl doll that’s pretty nice. I like having these doll posters. It not only makes for good decoration, but it’s almost like having these extra dolls that I don’t have and I don’t have to dust them or worry about breaking them.

Later…

We haven’t even been here six months and we already have a boom car stereo driving by regularly, just as I predicted. Thanks, God. Thanks a lot. Sure, it’s not nearly as loud as the boom car stereos that’d drive by in Phoenix, and sure, we don’t have to listen to people screaming, balls bouncing, and dogs barking, but the point of the matter still stands – I don’t want to know others exist when I’m in my own home and I don’t want to hear anyone else’s music but my own. This time I saw the car. It was a red car that came up from the front bedroom side of the house and drove up Meadow Green, the bedroom side of the house. As far as I could tell, it passed the renters. Of course the drivers were cocks and of course they just had to be blacks or Mexicans too, from what I could tell. Tom still swears that by the end of June, the stereo will either be broken, or they’ll get sick of driving on these roads if they want to keep it working. But it’s now become rather obvious that they live here. I’ve heard them too many times now for them to be just visitors. They live here and no one who’s into attention-getting stereos like that is going to just give that up, nor can they necessarily just up and move as soon as the thing breaks. Moving takes money and if they just moved into the area, and obviously they did, they’re not going to want to move again so soon, so they’ll just keep fixing the fucking thing. Although, I don’t believe Tom when he says they’re that sensitive. I think they can stand up to these roads just fine and even if they couldn’t and the stereo broke and they didn’t fix it, some other boom car stereo will drive by regularly enough. God will see to it. It’s in my cards. I’m destined to be forever stuck with these stereos and eventually, they’ll get tougher and tougher and louder and louder, so it’ll be as loud as it was in Phoenix without having to drive right up to the house. The good thing about it is that because they have to drive so slow on these bumpy roads (some of them are graded well enough to go 65 MPH on and some aren’t and you have to creep) is that I’ve got a good two minutes or so warning when they’re approaching. I can hear them for a couple of minutes before they get up to the house. Plenty of time to be waiting for them. What’s to say they can’t have a little meeting with me? Hee, hee! I told Tom I wasn’t kissing ass out here and I meant it. I’ll take care of anyone or anything that becomes a problem around here. I lived how others lived in Phoenix, but this time around, we’re gonna do things my way. So, come July 1st, when they’re still banging by like Tom says they won’t be, I’ll arrange a private little get-together with these cocks.

Tomorrow, Tom’s going to meet Mary and Dave at Fry’s Electronics store and pick us out a new TV all the while they get badgered and harassed by salespeople. I opted to stay home since I can’t stand crowds and pesky, pushy sales reps. Mary and Dave are going to waste their time and gas following Tom home to help him carry in the TV. I appreciate their taking the time to be helpful, and I know Mary’s old-fashioned in the sense that she thinks men should do the carrying, but I’m just as capable as any of the guys. I can help my husband myself just fine.

Later…

Our blasting boys haven’t been by again yet. They probably went into the city to do some drug dealing or to get wasted at a friend’s house, but they’ll return at some point today. At least they won’t be in and out every 45 minutes like the Mexicans were. The only thing that makes no sense is that so far I haven’t heard them more than once in a day. Well, wouldn’t I have to hear them at least twice if they went out once; when they left and when they returned? Maybe I was listening to music and missed one of their attention calls.

When I called Tom in to check them out as they were going by the bedroom, he tried to convince me that he couldn’t hear their music, but he had to have heard it. Why does he do these things; try to tell me something is when it really isn’t, or vice versa? He’d have to be deaf not to hear it, even if it wasn’t nearly as loud as in Phoenix. He also tried to tell me a few times he didn’t see or hear the sickos when I knew that couldn’t be.

Later…

I just looked back, and if this is the same car I’ve been hearing, we heard them on April 15th, then again on May 7th, then nearly every day since the 21st. Sounds like someone started visiting someone then moved in with them, or was having a place prepped and now they’re fully moved in. This proves Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about if it truly is the same stereo, but we’ll see for sure over the next few weeks. I think it’ll be an everyday thing until I put a stop to it, and believe me, I’m only too happy to do so!

Later…

I can’t believe this dryer doesn’t buzz when it stops. It’s a pretty good dryer too, that you’d think would have that, but it doesn’t.

Tom’s dozed off on the couch right now. Let me guess – tomorrow evening we’ll get together for a boring, predictable round of sex, huh? And let me guess some more – he’ll either not want to go inside, or he will, but he won’t cum, right?

Life may be full of surprises, but our sex certainly isn’t!

Later…

Haven’t heard anything else, but the long weekend is still young, and the day is still early. If people are gonna blast music, they’re likely not to start till nighttime when the weather’s cooler and they can open their windows and doors to let the sound out.

I can’t wait to finally send these pictures off to Tammy, Doe and Art and to be done with them. I just want to rub this new house and things like that in their faces, and I can’t wait to send off Larry and his associate’s mail, too. Wish I could be there to see his reaction! The last time I said I was sending shit to people he knows, I bluffed him. So, just when he thinks I wouldn’t do that, here he’ll be getting two phone calls all about the mail they received. I just hope they read it to him or at least tell him the contents of the letter in enough detail. And I hope to hell he hears that tape, too. I wonder if he’ll try to do something about it like look up those with my last name in Phoenix and send them mail. Well, if he does, he’ll have an awful lot of mail to send out, cuz there’s a zillion people with my name. He does what he does, but nothing he can do can get to me the way I can get to him. What can he do? Take me to court? Have me thrown in jail? The funny farm? There’s just nothing he can do. This isn’t mail between non-related people where a white person refers to blacks and Mexicans using nasty words, after being harassed by them with noise. The police are gonna give him the same brush-off they gave me if he goes to them as when I tried to call his local police department and bitch about him making prank calls to me. They’re less hesitant to get involved when it’s family, and all they’ll do is tell him what they told me – she’s on the other side of the country. The cop I spoke to did say he’d call him and tell him to knock it off, but I don’t believe for a minute that he really did. Of course, there’s always the chance that Larry recognizes my handwriting on the envelope, although I tried to disguise it, and ditches it right then and there. Who knows? He may even be afraid to bother opening things with no return address. Whatever happens - the ball’s now in my court and I hold the threat over him. He’s completely powerless against me. There’s nothing he can do to ruin me or hurt me in any way, but there’s plenty I could do to him.

Later…

Not surprisingly, Dan’s place is all lit up. If he’s blaring music, I wouldn’t know it, cuz I have my own on right now.

Thank God I’m not in Phoenix!

Later…

Just added Jenny’s father to my mailing list. Yeah, I went online and looked up her last name and of course Jenny wasn’t listed, but her father was. He’s in the same house they’ve been in for nearly 20 years in West Springfield. Her father has got to be really old now. I know her folks were older than mine. He must be in his 70s. Anyway, the idea is to piss both Jenny and Larry off with my sending the letter to him. I not only hope Jenny will read the letter, but I’m sure she will unless her dad gets so disgusted that he tears it to shreds. Anyway, I bet on the odds of her reading it and wrote at the end of the letter: shame on you for reading your dad’s mail, Jenny! The worst thing that could happen to me for this is that they send me a letter about it to our old address which will get forwarded, of course, and which I’ll have returned to sender. I’ll recognize their handwriting, and of course, they wouldn’t put a return address on the thing. God, on the other hand, is gonna get me good for this, but it’ll be worth it.