Using cuss words the way they were meant to be used

I rode Adelaide tonight. She's a Thoroughbred mare at the PRA (the place in which I ride-, Gerard's place) that I have been lucky enough to take lessons on and so I wanted to write about my ride while it was still fresh in my mind.
That's why I
walked into my computer room to turn on my monitor and found ANOTHER cockroach. I then ran outside to get the DEMON. People, this is a sprint because in a blink of an eye these FUCKERRRRRRRS can run to South Africa and back.
"GRRHhhh!"

See, I found out last night when I went to spray the one on the living room wall that the DEMON was getting low, so I grabbed the spray too. This time I took the spray AND the DEMON as my weapons. I'm so sick of this I can't even tell you. I sprayed the shit out of my freshly painted wall with the nozzle spurting and burping from the small amount of liquid left then, as the botherment was running down the wall toward the floor I hit it with a few blasts of the spray...until...the spray wouldn't spray anymore. THERE'S STILL HALF A CAN LEFT AND NO SPRAY POWER! "That's alright" I thought, because I had already got this one good and I have three more applications of DEMON left. I'll just make some more....

So now, I'm still wanting to write about my great ride tonight but I'm derailed. I just wanted to turn on my computer and go pee, and now I'm mixing up another DEMON concoction in the twenty dollar sprayer to again arm the parameter of the house, inside and out. Immediately. Needless to say I'm a little agitated and using cuss words the way they were meant to be used.

I throw the self-dissolving packet of poison into the sprayer and fill it with water, screwed the cap on and shook.

"ok then. I'll just WAIT to write about my great ride on Adeliade."

I go to grab the twenty dollar sprayer to lift it out of the sink and THE. TOP. BROKE. OFF. Yep, I am now at this moment defenseless. No spray. No DEMON. Looking around this room every two seconds for a blur of brown scurrying through the light. Because now, with the state of things; that's what I do. I can't help it, they made me this way. I know, that they know, that I'm pretty much helpless. They're plotting to spend the night under a glass so that they can stare at me while I'm writing. Hah. They must be Catholic because guilt seems to be their only offense.

I questioned myself as if i should run to the other demon, WalFart and retrieve a sprayer and some new spray but those stinking cockroaches aren't going to make me go to WallFart. I mean, just how much of myself do I have to sacrifice for these jagoff bugs?

--I even hate spraying them. It kills me to see them turned over moments before their death legs all frailing and gasping for air. I have to leave the room when this is happening. REALLY. Now I know what my parents meant when they said "This hurts me as much as it hurts you." right before I got my ass beat. (**looking-around**).

I am the Commander Girl

Dear Mr. Periplaneta americana, aka: Cockroach, Water Bug, American Cockroach, Palmetto Bug.
I am writing you today in reference to your lack of obeying zones prohibited of your roaming of my quarters via our agreed contract.

I believe it was about three months ago that I spoke with your initial representative, I met him, one fine day while entering my bathroom. He commanded my attention with the swiftness of a Jedi master. His followers were not so lucky. I am enclosing these photos as proof of the anguish you have brought upon your kind.





I must commend you. You have trained your officers well. They are nearing the optimal size for bedroom seizure. I am aware of this.

You failed to abide by our initial verbal agreement to stay out of my habitat. The question is, who ought to make that decision? Me or the commanders? And as you know, my position is clear -- I'm a commander girl. This means war.

Your soldiers are very dedicated and willing, knowing that by entering my territory, many times it leads to certain DEATH. I am sorry that I have to retort to such strong and harsh acts upon your kind. I must let you know however, that death by sprayed toxic poisons will continue. At least until you grow a softer epidermis so that your hard outer shell will not CRUNCH when death by shoe-sole is administered.

Your agile metamorphose is astounding. Although I am complimenting your professional abilities, I am here to tell you that you will not win this battle. I am larger and this is how the west was won, my friend.

In retort to your sniper invasions I will let you know that I have applied a shield of defense to every inch of our agreed parameters. A toxin to your kind that is so incredible it goes by the name of "DEMON". Scared, hah? If you can get by that, then try and get passed Meow, the Siamese Sargent of Stabbings & Disembodiment's.

Either I will succeed, or I won't succeed. And the definition of success as I described is first person violence down. Success is not no violence."
Thank You.

Spring Break 1991

In High School, my friends and I passed "the notebooks" around. Spiral bound, large size, school notebooks. We collectively decided that we were spending way more money on college ruled notebook paper for the purpose of writing notes than to do homework on. We would write notes in them and pass them along to each other between classes. There were usually a total of about 5 of them being traded at a time between four or five girls. There were definately four of us, but then we had guests, like one girl that wrote really funny poems about whatever was going on that day, I particularrly liked the ones about her car whom she named "Burfene". Burfene was bright yellow and old. It was one of those old cars that still kept running even after you switched the key off? "GRrrRMmMmMP.GREUUuuUuUmmP.GHAAaaaHAah.MvMFMFfff...". That old bitty of a car would get so damn mad when you got to where you were going that she just try to restart herself and drive back home. I swear that each seiszure ended up lasting for about 10 minutes at a time. Try and picture yourself as a High school girl having to drive that to school. school, a place where you park in the STUDENT parking lots.

Ok. Back to the notebooks. Some of them were intended for academic use, however one of us might have doodled something really good on our Algebra notebook, so it got thrown into rotation too with the first note being: "DUDES!LOOK at my cool doodle on the cover!". Once I remember that one of "the notebooks" had disappeared and we thought for sure that our secrets were going to be all over the school by homeroom. We were frantically passing notes about how frantic we were about our notes missing. I mean, everyone would find out how often we fought about who was taking who home from school. As it's put on one of loose notes used in "the notebooks" absence, a remaining note that I still have "...Christine, everything was in there EVERYTHING!! -Me & ***** (tongue!), me goin threw ****'s locker!- you goin threw **'s locker-!! your PARTY! EVERYTHING!!...". So. yah. We were all pretty alarmed.

How Ironic.
I have been looking for these notebooks. I thought they were in one of my chests but I can't find them. Everytime I think in my head where they are, I'm seeing exactly where they are, except it's happening at my house in Ohio.

I did find some old photos that are perfectly acceptable for the internet.

We went on Spring Break in Myrtle Beach. The year was 1991. My Senior year of High School. It was my maiden voyage, on an airplane and on VACATION without parents. I was 18.


At the airport waiting to go to Myrtle Beach! Jen, Jaymi, and Deana

I dunno where I gained the knowledge of how Spring Break is "supposed to be" due to the fact that my mom had the cable company come and put some sort of right wing christian HI, Higher and DOUBLE HIGH security block on my Mtv, but I KNEW, because the second night we were there Jaymi and I split the others and went to a KEG PARTY.

Jaymi and I after arriving in Myrtle Beach

The rest of girls came for a while, but then decided that going back to the hotel to sleep was way better an option than getting to college one step ahead by already knowing how to play "Three-Man". I kinda had another college up: I found out here, that I CAN NOT do a beer bong. That I SHOULD not ever try that again.

We had to walk home. FAR. Jaymi and I had to walk almost sixteen miles back to our hotel after the party. We might've been two Eighteen year olds so innocently on the verge of being involved in any sort of bad situation before we knew it, but the two of us like adventure, and we were after all walking instead of taking a ride from an intoxicated person that we barely even knew. You know how I remember this? I found some photos of it:


My first playing of "Three-Man".


I guess these were all the rides back to the hotel that we turned down...



Pictures of me with random guys just materializing before my eyes. Makes me wonder if we had some sort of "whoever comes home with the most pictures-with-guys wins." bet going on. Weird. Did we just walk up to boys and ask to take their picture? What's weirder than that is why is THIS dude in mostly every photo I have of the party? THAT BEER IS BUD DRY! Do they even make it anymore?
God. I loved that Green and Black windbreaker.

Libby is telling dusty to stay away from her baby- 2 hours old!

Ashley's mare finally had her baby! A lil colt without a name yet. She had it in the pasture and I will spare you the photos of her situation at the time. I will also spare you the photos of the vet with his arm up in her pulling out the after birth because it was still attached. See how nice I am?

Thank you John and Ann for getting me the book on how to photograph horses, it makes a huge difference. Now all I need is a new camera...