Thump, thump, thump...oh shit!

So, I promised a Hell House story. Sorry it's late. It's been a bitch of a couple days, and to boot, I lost my blood meter and the insulin I'd been using at school today. Luckily, I have my Humalog extras here, but not Lantus, so I need to go deal with that later. Plus, I had that Regents writing test. Y'all, it's basically an effort to make us look smarter. The test is so easy it's pathetic.

Okay, on with the story. Now it's obvious that my godmom moved, yes? And without her mom, who died in the house. Hey, we weren't kidding when we said the house killed her. Because it killed or maimed just about everyone there. She found a buyer, a woman that had a couple million in the bank and a new younger husband. On top of the world. After my mom reduced the house a hundred grand, just to get rid of the damn thing. This would be the lady whose painters shot up the walls (after painting them a lovely shiny, hard as hell to get rid of enamel paint in primary colors) and her husband liquidated everything, leaving her penniless. Oh, and last time Mama heard about her, was in a state mental hospital.

That means...time to hire a mover. Simple process. Pick one that's from a major company out of the phone book, hope to hell they're reliable, and you're good to go. And that's exactly what my godmom did. So the guy in charge comes over to assess the house and how much it'd cost to move. Of course the ghosts aren't happy because they can scare someone they know here. Or make her angry. Or both.

They're moving along and dealing with the psycho ghosts; she's just saying the resident ghosts are kicking up a storm. The usual thing to hear in the area, actually. Except then the ghosts do something so terrifying (and I've never been clear in understanding, and she's never explained it thoroughly) that he has a heart attack on the 4th floor. Which is three flights of steps. Which means the EMTs have to climb up them and down, or take the elevator. Only the elevator's made for like two people and not a lot. So they have to use the stairs.

Mom's pretty much used to dialing 9-1-1 at this point, so no big deal. And, of course, she's assuming the movers are out. Only, they're not. Totally in for moving her, even if the house did give the dude the heart attack. Now the kicker is that he's reduced the price in half! That's right. To move from Myrtle Beach to Atlanta is now half the price. And she had a house full of furniture that hadn't sold so it had to come with her; along with her clothes, kitchen stuff, usual housewares. Doesn't matter. The guy made it clear that she "had to be out of that house as soon as the last document was signed." And she was. They were out of there that day. Four floors. That's some serious dedication.

So how many houses have you lived in that caused someone to have a massive heart attack that landed him/her in the hospital for quite awhile?

Happy Time!

Time for a happy post!

Augs, I should be telling a Hell House story around Halloween. Not on Halloween since I'll be spending about six hours at my school, but around then. Probably the 30th, if I remember.

Hey, Marie! I meant to say, nice to meetcha earlier.

I joined NaNoWriMo again this year. Oh, yes, because I think I can write 50k words in 30 days. Clearly, I need to have my head examined. But I'm going to try my best. I have the story going in my head, and the leading lady is starting to shape up. I have until Nov. 1st to plan. Her name? Cooper. Her sisters? Harrison and Finley. Their dad sucks, but I find it hilarious that they were given men names, and have boy nick names. Coop, Harri, and Finn. Ah well, it is my twisted mind. But don't expect me to talk much about it. I'm keeping pretty quiet until I get it done. We'll see. So far, it's a paranormal romance. I'm thinking more like MaryJanice Davidson or Gerry Bartlett. Oh, and there's a hellhound descendant. But you know me, I ain't normal.

In December, my godmom and I are going to go to St. Augustine for vacation. Apparently, we're moving from Atlanta to down there, instead of up here. Um, yeah. But I don't mind, really. I think we both need a change. We'll be gone a week or so. I'll let ya know when time comes closer. We won't be moving until late May. Time for me to finish up the school year, and get some things straightened out first.

Okay, that's enough of an update. I need to go character build Cooper more. *grins* Hey, I might as well use the next couple days for not worrying over the Regents test on Halloween. It's a reading/writing comprehension thing.

Ain't Bubbette's Bitch, Yo!

So little updates as I watch Big Brother 8 give money to either asshole or motherfucker choices.

I mentioned this a couple times on other people's blogs, but there's a cute guy in my math class. Of course, he looks twelve, so I assumed he was at most 20. Thus, making me feel like that pedophile Livejournal's determined to call me. Which, ick. Totally.

But turns out? Not so much! He's 26. And apparently might be gay. Well, I'm sorry guys, but y'all are hard as hell to figure out. Stop that. Right now. Your queen demands it, or off with your little head. Doesn't matter if he is gay; ain't like I'd land him anyway if he were straight. But it's fun to flirt regardless.

I went to see my godmom's lender today, to find out what I need to do to gain a condo in the next couple years. I'd love a house, but let's be real. I don't have the chance to get a 250k house in Atlanta, since I don't really wanna reside in the ghetto. Safety first, and I'd stand out. But Nancy, at least your house colors would match my location. ;)

So what I found is that I need to be employed for a year before attempting. I'd have my inheritance and substantial down payment along with paying off my old debt after I pay for a newer car. Now? I just need to find a job. WTF is up having clean credit for a clerking job? Er, they do realize they're in the land of foreclosures because people can't afford jack shit and thusly go into debt more, right? Right? Good to know people have their heads on straight. So hopefully in about 18 months I'll be in my own. I don't even have to rent. Woohoo. Godmom's offer to cosign was a huge help, since she's got impeccable credit. And has for like 50 years.

Other than that? I found out that I might have financial aid for school, and possibly a 90 in my non-credit class. Why can't I get that grade in a credited math class? WTF people. And now I shall frolic into looking at condos for my godmom.

Summer Storms

So, in case anyone missed it: I'm afraid of thunderstorms. Like, I hate them. Not as much as I used to, but still hate them. This morning about 7:45 thunder shook the house, and woke me up from sleep. Disoriented, I managed to unplug my computer and DSL, then unhooked my godmom's laptop.

Why do I hate thunderstorms? Hell House. You have random bolts come all wily-nilly in your house and tell me you wouldn't freak the fuck out. And I had that happen from kindergarten until freshman year of high school. Yeah, and lightning? Blew out all the outlets in the house. Like, Mama had to replace all the televisions, have the wires checked out. Thank god for beachfront insurance policies.

I did fall back asleep, though. I'd only been asleep like 4 hours, so I needed more. Plus, I'm way lazy when that sleepy. I just ignore everything else.

Welcome to summer storms in Atlanta.

Hell House

Pug Mom and Augs Casa requested it, so I'll write about the Haunted House from Hell. No, really, totally one.

My godmom bought what she calls The Beach House at Murrells Inlet, SC. Oh, yes. Right at the edge of Lowcountry and on the beginning of the Grand Strand's haunting area. She was brilliant. Like me.

So, she and her mom (my other godmom) move in. It's a three stories, plus the garage, with a little room off that leads to the back porch. It went: garage, living/dining/kitchen/breakfast room level, two bed/bath level, then the master suite on the top floor. And it was a master. Jacuzzi tub, double vanity, separate shower/tub and toilet. Two long closets. That was just the bathroom. The bedroom was big enough for a queen-sized bed (room to spare) and a sitting area. Entertainment center behind closet doors. Overall, the house had 3.5 baths and 3 bedrooms. There was an elevator to go on all four floors, too.

We realize pretty soon that we're hearing voices, specifically from Nona's room. Nona being my elder godmom. So, we listen. The ghosties sat the end of the bed, talking to each other. Clear as a bell. There was two men and a woman. One of the men's name was Harold. He was the bastard of the bunch. Obviously the woman was awesome. What with having ovaries and all. They were pirates, the men anyway. Not sure about the woman.

You see, that area was the pirate dumping ground. Before they got to Charleston, they dumped their dead along the inlet. One of my godmom's neighbors did a background check on the area. There's a lot of history in Horry County. Actually, my godmom chose a Garden City Beach address, even though they were on the inlet. See, it was right the cut-off point. People could choose. She thought Garden City Beach sounded better. I tend to agree.

At least one person in the town homes died, miscarried, went crazy, nearly had an appendage chopped off. Poor Tommy almost had his dick chopped off when his previously turned off boat motor got him right when the leg meets torso, when it started without the keys in the ignition. He had to be in the hospital for awhile. Gigi miscarried. Bill, the swindling builder, ended up dying of cancer. Those are just the ones I can remember offhand.

I won't go into all the history of the area, but Alice Flagg is one of many stories. One day I'll tell you all about the visit to Alice's grave. Murrell's Inlet official site.

Now, it's been established the house was haunted, what with having non-coropreal men in the room and all. Never mind all the times lightning went in one window and out the other, straight through the house. Or the way it would rain on one side or the other. Strange, strange house.

As for the elevator on fire story.

Oh, yes. It happened. My godmom (I really need to give her a nickname besides Mama don't I?) was coming up from the kitchen to her bedroom (the master). Halfway between the kitchen and next level, the elevator stopped suddenly. She hadn't touched the buttons, or opened the gate or door. Nothing. She smelled the air a little, and hey, it's on fire. Smoke starts coming in under the door. She's freaking out because the doors won't open, at all. As she's trying to figure out what to do, she hears the female ghost's voice go "Harold, they've had enough. Let her out." A couple minutes later, the door buzz (which is what happened when the door into the elevator shift was open), releasing the gate. She pushes and crawls up, like they do in movies with the bellycrawl type thing. Nona's been talking to her for those last few minutes, trying to figure out what was going.

The next morning, the elevator people come to the house. They're like "You couldn't get out of there." Mama's like, "I beg to differ." The bottom of it scorched, still stuck in between the floors. Neither woman uses the elevator for a good week after. Which means the poor 70-year-old lady has to walk up and down three flights of stairs if she's going up to visit Mama. And the ghosts are still talking on her bed. Rather loudly.

That doesn't include the moving man that had a heart attack in there. But that's another story for another time. Along with the flying newborn, painters that shot up the house....oh, yes. This is just one of many, many stories.