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Description
"A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ..."

... I lived out on Dean Forest Road in a trailer park known as Nassau Woods. A relatively nice place that went down hill rather fast after the original owner died. While I was there in my days of going to SCAD, I was rather happy and dealing with what came my way. I had friends and happiness. Until they graduated and moved on ... and Ase, my best friend, died. It was a few months after that I became a raging alcoholic and a rather bitter, maladjusted fucking piece of white trash.

It would be about a year or so after that the roommate from hell came into my life. My first mistake was meeting this person on-line ... this person worked on being my friend, told me who she was, and becoming close. I was pathetically disparate for attention ... which changed to love later. Pictures were exchanged and I took what she said at face value. No phone calls at this time.

As you can see, my second mistake was believing the lies told to me by this person. I traveled to see them in a time when this person was debating suicide, hoping to help ... perhaps more. $300 and a misspent weekend taught me the errors of my ways ... and I went home fucked up and angry. I found out that she was a he and a rather ugly bastard to boot. I had been liked to, used like a tissue, and laughingly tossed aside.

Pretty pathetic eh?

Well, it gets worse. I got a phone call from this person ... back when I used to give out my phone number to people I trusted. This person had gone and joined the Peace Corp to get away from the folks. He begged me to help him ... when I asked him why I should. He said because he loved me.

My heart broke.

This was the start to the third and worst mistake ... I allowed him to move in. Lies grew into bigger lies after he showed up. He was distant, angry, and spoiled. He smoked inside, dumped ashes down into the air conditioner vents, played his music ultra-loud when I needed to sleep, tried to use my car which was damaged and rolled it out into the street, busted my one and only computer (my only link to any form of sanity), and did nothing to help out. I told him that if he was to stay, he'd better get a job.

That was the final straw ... he lied to me about getting a job and was stealing money from me (I barely had enough to pay for my own bills) and was going out clubbing. I even tried to help him get a job at the place I worked at and he stole from the boss and even told my friends there lies and other stuff. No one believed him.

It would be a few weeks later that I discovered even more stuff about him. An old friend of mine was hit on and he accidentally spilled where he was staying. On a whim, my friend called me and asked if I knew this guy. Now, here's the sad part ... that same day, he had told me he was off to work and would be bringing home a huge check. I kissed him goodbye and off he went. Later, I would check the mail and he got a package from his parents. I called his work place, the Waffle House, down the street and they said they had never heard of him. I called the liquor store and asked my boss ... to which I was told he wasn't there. I got concerned. Hours after being at work is when I got the call from my old friend. A bad way to get reacquainted, eh?

He got in at 4 am to a very angry mouse-haired bitch. I asked him about what happened and he staggered into the bed room and flopped onto the bed. I about lost it.

It would be 10 am (and no sleep for me) when I would savagely kick the door in. When I started yelling, I couldn't stop ... and all he did was sit there and look pathetic. I told him to leave. He got up and started packing ... that's when I slapped him. "No, you leave your shit here and go. I want to go through it and find out what you might have stolen from me," I cried out through my tears and anger.

That's when he slapped me. In a blind rage, I hit him three times ... balls, face, and chest, just like Kait taught me. He went down like a sack of wet shit. Grabbing his belt, I dragged him twenty feet to the door and tossed him out and locked the door. He said nothing as I watched him. He got up and left.

I haven't seen him since ... and that's when I got the restraining order.

His folks wrote me and asked for forgiveness. I told them to go fuck themselves and be ready for a lawsuit. They called me and informed me (on the answering machine) that he owed them over $50 thousand and I would not get my paltry sum.

I turned my back on people that day. And went deeper into drinking.

Now, why you might ask that I tell this nasty story? For only one reason ... I started the back up on my studio work this morning. All three laptops (only two are shown) and the studio internet computer are in the process of backing up all the work, especially for this past year.

"So? Any intelligent person would do that!" you might say. Well, sure ... but I know people. Let's pick an artist. Busy as hell with drawing, chatting online, and other jobs ... backing up is something easily forgotten. Now, if you have roommates, but you are lucky to have ones who respect your things, then you will not have the problem I had with my last boyfriend ... gawd, I loath calling him that! ... My last bitch ... no, that doesn't work. How about the bastard? Naw ... that insults bastards. Oh well. This waste of space screwed up my only computer so badly with his "I'm going to make it mine" shit that I lost about a third of my work, including some irreplaceable SCAD stuff and stuff from my days working at Country Hearth Inn on St. Simons Island.

So, my good friends ... please, please, please. Back up your stuff. And learn from my mistakes.

Description
"A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ..."

... I lived out on Dean Forest Road in a trailer park known as Nassau Woods. A relatively nice place that went down hill rather fast after the original owner died. While I was there in my days of going to SCAD, I was rather happy and dealing with what came my way. I had friends and happiness. Until they graduated and moved on ... and Ase, my best friend, died. It was a few months after that I became a raging alcoholic and a rather bitter, maladjusted fucking piece of white trash.

It would be about a year or so after that the roommate from hell came into my life. My first mistake was meeting this person on-line ... this person worked on being my friend, told me who she was, and becoming close. I was pathetically disparate for attention ... which changed to love later. Pictures were exchanged and I took what she said at face value. No phone calls at this time.

As you can see, my second mistake was believing the lies told to me by this person. I traveled to see them in a time when this person was debating suicide, hoping to help ... perhaps more. $300 and a misspent weekend taught me the errors of my ways ... and I went home fucked up and angry. I found out that she was a he and a rather ugly bastard to boot. I had been liked to, used like a tissue, and laughingly tossed aside.

Pretty pathetic eh?

Well, it gets worse. I got a phone call from this person ... back when I used to give out my phone number to people I trusted. This person had gone and joined the Peace Corp to get away from the folks. He begged me to help him ... when I asked him why I should. He said because he loved me.

My heart broke.

This was the start to the third and worst mistake ... I allowed him to move in. Lies grew into bigger lies after he showed up. He was distant, angry, and spoiled. He smoked inside, dumped ashes down into the air conditioner vents, played his music ultra-loud when I needed to sleep, tried to use my car which was damaged and rolled it out into the street, busted my one and only computer (my only link to any form of sanity), and did nothing to help out. I told him that if he was to stay, he'd better get a job.

That was the final straw ... he lied to me about getting a job and was stealing money from me (I barely had enough to pay for my own bills) and was going out clubbing. I even tried to help him get a job at the place I worked at and he stole from the boss and even told my friends there lies and other stuff. No one believed him.

It would be a few weeks later that I discovered even more stuff about him. An old friend of mine was hit on and he accidentally spilled where he was staying. On a whim, my friend called me and asked if I knew this guy. Now, here's the sad part ... that same day, he had told me he was off to work and would be bringing home a huge check. I kissed him goodbye and off he went. Later, I would check the mail and he got a package from his parents. I called his work place, the Waffle House, down the street and they said they had never heard of him. I called the liquor store and asked my boss ... to which I was told he wasn't there. I got concerned. Hours after being at work is when I got the call from my old friend. A bad way to get reacquainted, eh?

He got in at 4 am to a very angry mouse-haired bitch. I asked him about what happened and he staggered into the bed room and flopped onto the bed. I about lost it.

It would be 10 am (and no sleep for me) when I would savagely kick the door in. When I started yelling, I couldn't stop ... and all he did was sit there and look pathetic. I told him to leave. He got up and started packing ... that's when I slapped him. "No, you leave your shit here and go. I want to go through it and find out what you might have stolen from me," I cried out through my tears and anger.

That's when he slapped me. In a blind rage, I hit him three times ... balls, face, and chest, just like Kait taught me. He went down like a sack of wet shit. Grabbing his belt, I dragged him twenty feet to the door and tossed him out and locked the door. He said nothing as I watched him. He got up and left.

I haven't seen him since ... and that's when I got the restraining order.

His folks wrote me and asked for forgiveness. I told them to go fuck themselves and be ready for a lawsuit. They called me and informed me (on the answering machine) that he owed them over $50 thousand and I would not get my paltry sum.

I turned my back on people that day. And went deeper into drinking.

Now, why you might ask that I tell this nasty story? For only one reason ... I started the back up on my studio work this morning. All three laptops (only two are shown) and the studio internet computer are in the process of backing up all the work, especially for this past year.

"So? Any intelligent person would do that!" you might say. Well, sure ... but I know people. Let's pick an artist. Busy as hell with drawing, chatting online, and other jobs ... backing up is something easily forgotten. Now, if you have roommates, but you are lucky to have ones who respect your things, then you will not have the problem I had with my last boyfriend ... gawd, I loath calling him that! ... My last bitch ... no, that doesn't work. How about the bastard? Naw ... that insults bastards. Oh well. This waste of space screwed up my only computer so badly with his "I'm going to make it mine" shit that I lost about a third of my work, including some irreplaceable SCAD stuff and stuff from my days working at Country Hearth Inn on St. Simons Island.

So, my good friends ... please, please, please. Back up your stuff. And learn from my mistakes.