Darkplace

I love this "music video". makes me laugh every time! highly recommend the actual show, Garth Marenghi's Darkplace if you enjoy this video. Wikipeidia says [Garth Marenghi's Darkplace is a comedy series, released in 2004, that lampoons 1980s' television drama, particularly horror, sci-fi, and "the rampant egotism of self-appointed 'mastermind' authors." The show presents Garth Marenghi's Darkplace as though it were a real, budget television series, produced in the 1980s, and now getting its first screening; this hoax is the basis of the show's fictional frame. Darkplace's fictional show-within-a-show includes deliberately poor production and special effects, sub-par acting, and storylines that are "severely flawed and open-ended", this is interspersed with 'present-day interviews' with the 'cast'.]
here are some links to episodes... it's meant to look/sound bad and captures classic 80's/70's TV quite well. enjoy and have a great weekend! *d

The Stripper Tales part 3 - Sweet Cherry Pie

**Part 3**

(You will find Part 1 & 2 of The Stripper Tales here, a collection of memoirs from a job I had as a front desk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

(please listen while reading for full effect)

[music] Sheeeeee's my cherry pie,
Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise!
Tastes so good, make a grown man cry,
Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!

My eyes adjusted to the dim of the club and standing at the dancers entranceway I took in the room. The typical 5pm crowd was peppered throughout the club, maybe 10 of them in total – all chairs facing the same direction, all eyes fixed lazily on the star attraction. Warrants “Cherry Pie” screamed from the sound system and I painfully accepted that the song would be stuck in my head for the next 2 days.

[music] Wellllllllll swinging on the front porch!
Swinging on the lawn!
Swinging where we want
Cause there ain't nobody home!

High above her head Electra gripped the pole with her right hand. She walked two slow sultry steps, lifted her right leg up to hook itself around the pole. The other leg followed as she softly twirled her body to the ground. Now on her knees she locked eyes with a patron in gyno-row. Falling to her ass her hand let go and leaning back she brought her legs up parallel to the pole. He slipped a thick French fry into his greasy mouth, eyes fixed at the bottom of the V as she spread her legs into the splits.

[music] I scream, you scream,
We all scream for her!
Don't even try
Cause you can't ignore herrrrr!

He said something to his buddy, who in turn said something to Electra. She slithered over to catch what he said, and her sexy grin was replaced with the kind of disgust only a dancers face shows. Up and off the ground, perching in sky-high red heels, she swung her long blonde hair in a circular motion to the music, stopping on the beat for a slow removal of her denim "cut-offs”. The two men in the front row no longer existed to her. Looking up and across the room she caught my eye and I became her new victim. Uncomfortable, I smiled shyly, broke the stare and slid into the DJ booth.

Terry’s lips were pulled into a tight pucker, his brow furrowed from squinting eyes. His face disappeared for a second behind a thick cloud of smoke, sinking back into his chair by the end of the exhale. Licking his yellowed fingers he extinguished the roach and playfully flicked it at my chest. I liked Terry yet he repulsed me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many dancers this guy had been with in his 12 years of DJing for strip clubs. Hundred’s? A blowjob was more of a pain in the ass now than a pleasure and “… these bitches think I owe them something after I let them suck my cock!” as he so eloquently put it.

Years of club life had taken a toll on his fashion sense if he’d had any to begin with. Up top he wore his signature black v-neck t-shirt and black leather bomber jacket. On the bottom - as usual, he sported a pair of MC Hammer pants with the gaudy print; in the black light they looked especially loud and obnoxious. The daily dousing of Calvin Klein’s Eternity had permeated the walls of the booth to the point where he no longer needed to apply it. An inch of poker straight hair at the scalp morphed into the foot long cascade of a spiral perm – that of which he thoroughly denied ever getting.

“What’s up little lady? How’s my favorite girl?” He said this to all the girls, yet it sounded so different when he said it to me. There was a mild hint of respect, something he had lost for any and all of the dancers he dealt with daily. He tolerated some of them and downright loathed others. It didn’t matter if you were new to the business or a pro on the pole – at the end of the day you were just another vagina to him. The female mystique was lost years ago…

His hand went to the CD player, and holding the side he wiggled it back and forth.

[music] She-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e's-ss-ss-ss my cherry pi-i-i-i-i-ii-i-i-i-e
Put a smile on your face
Ten miles wide!
Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Looks so go-o-o-o-o—o-o-o-ood Lo-o-o-o-o------
Bring a tea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-ea-r to your eye
Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!
Yeah Saweet cherrrraaaaay paaa-eye!
Yeah!

Terry had a pretty good racket going on up in that booth. If a girl didn’t give him a cut of her tips she had a rapidly skipping CD the next time she was up on stage. Electra had failed to do so and was now paying the consequences.

“Delilah needs you to play track 2 first when she comes down, OK?” I handed him her CD.

“What does she think this is? Request hour? Tell her she can lick-my-ball-sack.” He rolled his eyes and took the CD. The last skipping chorus for “Cherry Pie” now finished, he stood up, peering out at the stage. Electra glared evilly at him. Cupping the microphone he boomed into it, “Letttttttt’s give it up for Eeee-lectraaaaa!!!! Don’t move gentlemen, in 5 minutes the lovely Danni Delish will be gracing the stage. If she can’t get your rocks off, noooobody caaaannnnn…”

On her way down from the stage Electra caught the last crude comment she was going to take from the duo in the front row. Turning on her heel she spun around and flew off the handle in a rage.

“NO!! - FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Still in a state of undress she grabbed the edge of his plate and launched the remaining French fries into the air. The empty dish landed in his lap and standing up it fell loudly to the floor – a streak of ketchup near his crotch. The bouncer was behind him as he lifted his hand to grab at her hair, and kicking and screaming obscenities he was dragged out to the street. Naked and annoyed Electra stormed up to the DJ booth ready to give Terry the rest of the fight. Hoping off my stool I was out of the booth and back to my front desk station within the minute. Replaying the scene in my mind it bothered me that the situation didn’t bother me… a scary thought, as I knew I was becoming numb…

The Stripper Tales part 2 - Free For A Day

**Part 2**
(see Part 1 of The Stripper Tales here, a collection of memoirs from a job i had as a frontdesk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

Arriving at work that afternoon Luna filled me in on the present hotel guests as she always did. She was looking particularly haggard today. Luna’s look could be best described as “Death”. Not quite commited to the being a Goth, her appearance leaned more towards the genderless witch. She wore black clothing from head to toe that was always baggy enough to conceal the fact that she was indeed a girl. Her hair was dyed black as well… about 2 months ago. Her 3-inch roots said she was naturally a blond, but from a few feet away it just looked like an out of control case of psoriasis. Her complexion had the colour and consistency of soured milk and aside from the large patch of acne on her chin, her face was caked in a foundation that was several shades too light; eyebrows, eyelashes and lips hidden with uneven, chunky smears of Cover Girl. Her face was devoid of all feeling and features – aside from the zits of course. Between her appearance and bad attitude, Luna's overall aura must have made Satan proud. I gathered she was a follower due to the stack of occult literature she brought to work daily and the pentagram tattooed at the nape of her neck.

“Something’s up with room 317. He’s called down twice to try and get me to give him an advance on the credit card he’s used for the damage deposit. It’s his mother’s card and she called it in. I told him no way – we don’t do that but he still keeps trying. I’m sure he’ll give you a go as well." She paused to nibble on an inflamed hangnail. "Brandy’s got a stalker AGAIN and he keeps calling saying he’s her boyfriend. She’s not taking anymore calls without the code word “LICK IT”.”
“LICK IT? Seriously? Is that all she could come up with? Jesus.”
“Tell the rest of the girls checking in that it’s Jell-O Wrestling week and if they don’t show up for a Jell-O show they WILL be fined.”
“Gotcha… I’m on it.” Luna collected her books, slid into her floor length leather trench and without a goodbye sulked out the front door.

317 was blinking on the callboard 20 minutes later.

“Front desk…?” A disturbed voice on the other end did it’s best to convince me that I should do the right thing and give him a $200 cash advance on the credit card. His mother said it would be fine. He was in desperate need. “Well how about this? You’re mother sends you a money order and you go pick it up across the street, because you’re not getting any cash from me.” I hung up. 20 minutes later, same guy, same phone call, same response.

41 across… Hmmm… Five letter word for “This might be the end of the line”. I was staring into space, pondering the newspaper crossword when I heard what sounded like a box of books being thrown from the top of the 1st floor staircase. I waited and heard further movement just behind the stairwell door. All of the sudden the door exploded open, smashing into the wall behind it. Expecting to see the person that had caused the commotion, I was surprised to see nobody. They were hiding behind the high counter of the check-in desk. In ANY other circumstance I would have gotten up to help/see what had happened, but I had learned to put all humanitarian urges aside when on shift at the Plaza. Then, straight out of a B horror movie a swollen hand grasped the top edge of the counter, slowly followed by its mate. They gripped tight and pulled up a mans body – the sight of which sent me reeling back in my chair and fumbling for my steak knife.

His eyes were manic wild and glassy and something resembling blood was caked around his mouth. I’m not sure that he was aware of my presence, as no eye contact with me was made. His body swung up and around and zoombie-like he careened toward the front door. Stabling himself on the door handle, he regained his composure for about 5 seconds before lurching out onto the sidewalk and disappearing around the corner. A tad disturbed, I called over to the Pub and had the bouncer come over to give me advice on how I should handle this guy. He told me to call him or the police if the situation escalated. In my head I tried to picture the "escalated" situation that would have me dailing 911...

I looked out the big glass windows and spotted our guest in the park across the street stumbling from tourist to tourist, accosting them for money. 15 minutes later he was back in the hotel lobby and stumbling up to his room. 317 was blinking on the callboard again and this time I didn’t answer. Soon after he was back down the stairs and tripping through the lobby. He’d removed his button-down shirt and was sporting only an undershirt; the entire front of which was covered in what appeared to be blood. He flew out the front door and in the process of trying to walk neglected to lift one of his legs. A nearby planter broke his fall, which he in turn used as a receptacle for his vomit. Hoooooly shit this guy was wasted! And what the hell was that all over his shirt?? I waited a few minutes until I saw him back over in the park and grabbing the master key, I sprinted up to room 317. Worried that he had cut himself up badly (or somebody else?), I just had to see inside his room!

There was no answer to my banging on 317’s door but Delilah popped her head out of 320.
“What the hell are they doing in that room?” she said, her naked torso leaning out of her doorway.
“It’s only one guy!” I replied as I slowly pushed the door open… “What the…?” A crime scene appeared before me. The comforter, walls and carpet were all splattered in a blood bath of brick red liquid; the air thick and nauseating. Hopping from one unstained piece of carpet to the next I began to poke around. There was no luggage or personal effects to be seen, just the blood-like stains. Due to the sheer amount them, I decided that if they were in fact actual blood, there had to be a dead body somewhere in that room. I finally found the donor behind the bed. In lieu of a dead body there were seven empty 1.5 liter bottles of the cheapest port wine money could buy! Beside them, two crumpled pieces of paper - photocopies of a Johnny Newark’s ID and prison release forms. OOOKaaay!…Time to call the police!

Two officers arrived within minutes to arrest a surprised Johnny. A mess of an escape attempt ended with a vigorus handcuffing, his face smashed down on the lobby floor. Apparently the officers knew him well. Earlier that day they’d picked him up from his first meeting with a parole officer and then dropped him off downtown at his request. That morning Johnny had been released from a two-year stint in prison and would now be heading back for another extended visit. Sliding him up from the cold tiles, the two cops steadied him at arms length, keeping their crisp uniforms clear of the fresh vomit.

"Free for a day... I sure as hell hope it was worth it Johnny!" said the cop. Johnny turned and looked at me for the first time, his shifty eyes fixing on my own for but a few seconds. It hadn't registered that I was the reason his hands were now secured behind his back.

After seeing his head ducked down into the squad car, all was then quiet at the Plaza. I sucked back the last of my watery soda and lit a celebratory cigarette in the back room. 41 across… Five letter word for “This might be the end of the line” hmmm...
The callboard rings. “Brandy in room 112 please.”
“Password?”
“LICK IT”
“Hold on, I’ll put you through…”

The Stripper Tales part 1 - Check In Time

**Part 1**
(The Stripper Tales, a collection of memoirs from a job i had as a frontdesk clerk in a very seedy hotel...)

I looked up to see an oversized set of breasts smothered in purple velour resting on the check-in counter. The zipper of the hoodie was pulled down to accentuate the 6-inch crack above it, a fleshy double D cavern.
“Hey Delilha… long time no see! Where’ve you been?”
“fucking Edmonton. I hate that hole. You should see my god dam legs! Ill show you later… you get my room sweets? Or is Mani being a bitch again?”
“a bitch… but I’ll see what I can do. You’ll have to stay on the 1st floor tonight though. The 2nd floor is booked”
“then put me on the 3rd floor. I AM NOT shacking up with the rest of those crack-ass 1st floor ho’s!” understandable… the 1st floor was scary. I had a hard time even sitting on the edge of one of the beds in those rooms - having to sleep in one would be out of the question.

I was at work. Front desk clerk at the Vic Plaza Hotel, right in the heart of downtown. The hotel was adjacent to a well know strip club called Monty’s. The building was turn of the century old, with the last renovation completed in the 80’s. The carpets were stained with gum, vomit, red wine and hair dye. The walls reeked of cigarette smoke, dust and something else you could never put your finger on. There was a baseball bat behind the counter. A seedy hotel at its finest. My 4pm to 12 midnight shifts required little effort on my part. The hours were spent chatting with the dancers, refilling my root beer in the pub and finding available rooms at other hotels for nice families that had unknowingly booked with ours.

Each week a there was a new line-up of dancers for Monty’s and they were put up on the 1st floor for their stay. Jessica Belle, Karma Sutra, Luv Tyler and Tori Tame… the names always made me snicker. Food and drink tabs, phone calls, damages and the daily $40 for their room were taken off their final paycheck at the end of the week. More often then not the girls actually owed the hotel money. Thank god I never had to deal with that end of things cause those girls could get nasty! Around 4 mediocre girls were booked along with the “headliner”. She was paid $10 more per show and had to have huge fake tits, decent promo posters, themed “outfits” and rockin’ tan lines. Delilah was this week’s headliner, and she expected to be treated like one.
A hand flicked over processed hair away from her face. Deep in thought she contemplated the situation, slowly licking her highly glossed lips. They had the plump, puckered texture that only multiple injections could procure. I wondered if she could feel her tongue slide across their meatiness. She was pretty – at one point in her life.

“Ok where’s Mani? I want to talk with him. I so sick of this bullshit.”
“now’s not a good time to talk with Mani. Jenny and him are fighting in the office.”
“hmph… she catch another dancer with his dick down her throat?”
“yaaaah, something to that effect.” Upon arriving at work that day I was elated to find an open parking spot right beside the hotel. I screeched my car to a halt upon pulling into it… massive shards of glass covered the entire area. Looking out my window and up at the 3rd floor I saw that the office window had found its new home down here in the alleyway. I could only guess what had happened, certainly nothing new. Mani the manager would often pop down to the front desk and tell me to clear $20 to $50 off a dancers debt to the hotel. His wife did the books, and they didn’t balance very often if you get my drift?

I booked Delilah into a 3rd floor room and handed her the key.
“you’re the best dalyn. Hey, can you come up and hang for a bit after I get settled? I’ll cut up a little afternoon “snack” for yoooou…? I’ll show you the new scars on my legs as well! Fucker’s in Edmonton were heating up coins with their lighters and then flicking them at me on stage! One even got me in the cunt! Can you believe that shit?!”
“kind of… I’ll come up in a bit. Extra towels and a diet coke to go with your coke?”
“I wish every job had one of you.” She left a haze of expensive perfume in the room and I listened as her suitcase bump bump bumped up to the 3rd floor. Room 322 was home for a week and I was her new best friend. (more to come later…) *d

Tag! You're IT! - 5 Things...

I was 'tagged' by SleekPelt. this is my first tagging and im totally into it, so here goes...

Five Things About Myself:
1. i am highly highly annoyed and mentally aggravated A.) by music that i can't STAND or HATE and B.) being forced to listen to it, like say in an elevator, supermarket, mall, house party, club or my parents car. i can think of nothing else than how much it is driving me NUTS - and my mind becomes further consumed with it when my companion says, "why don't you just tune it out?".
2. i have had probably over 30 women that i have either just met (like in the bathroom at a club) or barely know tell me about their having an abortion and how it has affected their lives. not weird messed up girls (ok some were) but mostly normal women that must have seen something in me that made them comfortable enough to share something so very private. i feel honoured every time this happens.
3. the most interesting (though boring) job ive ever had was working the front desk of a seedy hotel that was attached to the local strip joint. the hotel put up the dancers for their week of 'exotic' work. my shift was 4pm till 12am (morning time for the strippers) most of the girls befriended me and i saw the very seedy and sad way of life lived by many women - along with enough lumpy silicone filled tits to last a lifetime! there were crazy coked out, hair pulling cat fights over cheating meathead boyfriends. there were holes punched in walls, needles in the hallways and the odd overdose on a quiet Sunday night. the job gave me a level of compassion for people i dont think i had before.
4. i have made many many mistakes as a human being in my life. i can honestly say i do not regret even ONE of them. the people close to me in this life? ummm, not so much...
5. though i am agnostic now, i spent 5 straight years of my life working and living at a food mission where i believed i was "servin' jesus" with all of my heart and soul. well what do ya know? - turns out i was in a CULT. i have considered writing about it on my blog, but i am wary of scaring away my small yet faith readership...

FARMER meets FURTHER

so as i have mentioned before my husband has a little bit of problem with toyota chin vans. just last week he bought ANOTHER one. this will be van number 5. at this particular point in time we own 3 of them. im starting to agree with my friends, and im considering calling in INTERVENTION. surely theres a facility somewhere in new mexico that deals with this type of addiction...? but anyways! whatever...

so this post is a tad long, but has to be to even touch on the subject. i could go into far more detail, but ill try to keep it to the point. perhaps you remember further the van? she was a beauty - and so was the person we sold it to. his name was FARMER. let me fill you in on how we met him... we came out to Further one morning last fall to find on the van a florescent tag with an email address on it along with a circular metal cutout of a stickman. 5 seconds of looking at the circle thing and i realized it was a 'burning man' emblem. no note... no name... no reason for leaving both items wedged into the window frame, so we carried on with our day. a few hours later we came back, and as we were hopping out of the van we saw a guy quickly getting out of a trashed white car behind us to start walking toward us. let me describe what he looks like so you can get a visual 'feel' for what type of guy he is...
Clothing: 'navy blue' T-shirt (at least a good 10 years of wear/tear, sunfade and the odd bleach spot) with a spiral tye-dye circle on the front. denim jeans that are AT LEAST 3 sizes too big for him held up with a belt that is also far too big. he doesn't feed the extra long length of belt through the loops, so it flops back and forth and all around like a foot long loose penis... (i HATE when guys do this with their belts...ew.) don't remember the shoes but there was definitely no underwear.
Body/Face: you've seen him before im sure. if you've ever attended ANY outdoor festival or party - he was there. you know, white guy, slight build, 5 6" and whacked on magic mushrooms? thin weasel like face with an out of control "soul patch". given 5 years, his mousy hair will be seriously receding but he'll still keep it shoulder length as it is now. it has that crunchy quality that curly hair has after it dries. his favorite stance is legs spread wide, hands resting on his head after running his fingers through his hair. this of course lifts the t-shirt up to mid-stomach giving all a great view of of the pubes poking out above the swinging penis belt. yup, a real stunner. a players brand cigarette is burning at ALL TIMES.

"DUDES! that is one SWEET VAN! did you get my business card? im Farmer!" hmmmm ok... it was his 'business card'. we say yes and i tell him i recognize the burning man emblem. BIG mistake. he somehow thinks ive said that ive attended burning man and am im going again this year because HE is and this van would be perfect for the trip! we say no, not this year... i can tell zoltan is getting annoyed and wants to leave. we say something about selling it for $1500 and we really need to get inside now... after a few more minutes of verbal bla bla blahing from Farmer he finally leaves. we roll our eyes as he screeches away - his little white car vibrating with some sort of horrible electronica.

the few days later im driving home from a friends house... its 11pm and im at a red light. all of the sudden a man jumps out of the car in front of me and runs up to my window. i barely have the time to roll up my window and hes standing there banging his chest yelling "ITS ME!!! ITS FARMER!!! can you pull over? its about the van!!" the light turns green and feeling ok about the situation i pull in behind his beater of a car. i wont even get into the conversation here. it revolved around his love of the van and Psytrance - - cue sound of screeching record! TRANCE let alone PSYTRANCE has got to be my all time most loathed type of music. it makes me cringe inside even writing the words. i just hate it. now dont get me wrong - i love plenty of electronica, but trance KILLS ME. please listen to this track at least until the 46 second mark to get what im talking about...

before i knew it he had me over by his car where he started playing me clips of these horrible tracks! WTF? how did i get here? there was also a super creepy 'shrine' to burning man covering his WHOLE dashboard! i told him i really had to get home as it was late. he then offered me $1000 and 2 evenings of his 'DJing services' for the van. i told him id tell my husband and give him a call tomorrow.

zol decided we sell for $1100 and big NO THANK YOU on the DJing offer. we didn't need to call Farmer because he was camped out on our street waiting for us the next day. creepy... he agreed on the price but needed a ride to the bank machine after we dropped off his other car at his house. okkkk... this should maybe take 30 mins max? NOPE! 2 hours! see, this is were we made the mistake of letting him 'test drive' the van with us in it. perched in the back (no seat, just the bench) with his huge smelly dog i held on as he skidded around town - 1st to the bank machine, then the insurance place, then back to his house to introduce us to his brother? then on his way to dropping us back at home he picked up two of his buddies! all 3 of us now in the back with the dog slamming up against each other as Farmer four-by-foured through bumpy alleyways... i was ready to KILL THIS GUY by now. we finally got home where he gave us both hugs that were WAY too long and told us how cool we were- he even tried to cop a feel of my ass! we thought we were saying goodbye for the last time... turns out we weren't.

i guess in the minds of some people, if you force others to 'hang out' with you for a few hours, they become your new best friends. the next few months were peppered with Farmer showing up at our backdoor asking for help with things on the van. the 1st time was the scariest. our backdoor was open and i was in my office. there was a loud rapping on the door and all of the sudden he was in the house, smoking a cigarette with a "HEY BABE! WHERES THE BATHROOM??". BABE?? im not the type to be called 'BABE' at ALL! after coming out his hair was soaking wet...? he talked my ear off for 10 minutes and then proceeded to knock an entire bowl of freshly shucked peas out of my hands and all over my kitchen floor. he left after he saw my face... i was pissed about my peas and my soaking wet bathroom when i saw that. three more times he came to the door and this last time i FINALLY didn't answer. (why did it take me that long? who knows?) didnt he GET IT? every time hed asked for help zol hadn't gotten back to him!? after hearing the last knock on the backdoor, i looked out our bedroom window. i saw him running across our yard and back to further the van where he stood doing something in the van doorway for 20 minutes. another bang on the backdoor. finally he left. i opened the door. there was an little army figure with his 'card' attached to it STUCK TO THE DOOR WITH CHEWING GUM!!! seriously! GUM??? who does that?? see picture to see what it said....

Horn not working?? seriously? dinner?/cash!?? oh could we pleeeease??? i insisted that zol email him this time and tell him to leave us the hell alone. he got a good deal on the van and it wasn't our problem that he rode the shit out of the poor thing and needed help fixing it on a regular basis. for gods sake GET A F@%KING MECHANIC. zol did email him and sensing that we may have a crazy stalker on our hands nicely said the above. we haven't heard from him since thank god. sometimes i feel like im a tad judgmental of people, but in the case of Farmer i think im pretty spot on - this guy was whacked! and this post didn't even come close to sharing how truly annoying this guy was. my question is, how do people get like this? total disregard for the time and personal space of others? opinions? *d

Dancing Dogs

this made me smile... although i wonder what happens when the dog loses eye cntact with the owner behind closed doors? still pretty cute!

LOCAL ROBERY ATTEMPT!!!

BANG BANG BANG BANG! i look up from my computer, startled and peek out the semi-closed blinds. a man is standing at my door. BANG BANG BANG BANG! DING DONG!! i slowly back away from the window still staring at the man. hes white, 40 to 45 years old. dark skin and an unkempt unshaven face. slight build, wearing all black. hes holding something over his shoulder... a jacket? a backpack? he bangs one more time and then slowly walks down the staircase. he doesn't appear at the front gate so i know hes gone around the back of our house.

JESUS JESUS SHIT SHIT!! WHAT THE HELL DO I DO??

i live on a super busy street so i can't crank the radio or start pretending to yell at somebody in the house. i run to the kitchen and close the curtains... then i peek into our bedroom. the back staircase is right below the window. creeping up low to the window i peer out nd see a head start bobing up the stairs.

JESUS SHIT SHIT!! SHIT!!!

i look through the bathroom window and see the outline of a head. hes now at the backdoor. i hear rustling and boxes moving... hes going through our stuff on the porch! back into the bedroom and to the window i see him start to make his way to the kitchen window. BANG BANG BANG on the window and a very loud "WHAT THE FUUUCK DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING????" he spins around and sees me, ive startled him. "uh uh... (he looks around the yard) i was knocking at your front door. i was wondering if that van is for sale?" "NO! ITS NOOOT! GET OFF OF OUR PROPERTY" he took off quickly out the front and down the road. my heart was beating in my throat. i called my husband who told me to call 911. the police where at my house in 3 minutes. they already had 2 other squad cars out looking for him in the area from my phone description. the officer came into our house as i gave him the senario... he liked the baseball bat my husband keeps by the backdoor. "ah ha... i see you play baseball??" "no, not realllly." "good idea" he said back. he was nice and told me to warn my neighbours. "he'll never come back to your place, but he'll be trying the others, mark my words..."
pretty scary stuff. im just glad i was HOME. my computer (my whole livelyhood) might not have been home when i came back.
i can imagine the robbers dismay upon seeing all of the 'old shit' in our house upon breaking in... heres a little sample of recent Thrift Store finds we've aquired! try reselling this stuff at the pawn shop asshole!! *d