Duuuuhhhhh....

I was typing. And then I stopped.

Dolly Rockers Blog Is Awesome, So Check It Out!

http://dollyrockergirl.blogspot.com
Above is the link. It is really a cool site, for vintage lovers, old icon lovers, rock lovers, etc. I love old clothes, old icons, old movies, old books, old music, and so much more. This site is really great, and I am not trying to be commercial about it, it is just so cool, I thought I'd share it.

One Of My Favourite Shows

American Pickers! You can't really tell, but that's Frank Fritz and Mike Wolfe under the weird head mask things.

Have you, ever heard of, Christopher Walken?

Then, you know, cheer the hell, up.

Some Things Are So Bittersweet

I was listening to this song Paul Westerberg does, "Mr. Rabbit." (It was written by Burl Ives.) That song was the anthem of this past Spring for me. I was singing that song, listening to it, all of that. Now, when I listen to it, it makes me feel better about the future, but at the same time, there is this longing for the past. For the past week or so, things have really been in turmoil in my life. No, the past week is when all the turmoil that has built up over the past years exploded and it was terrible. But, I now know (er, hope [please Jesus]) that things will straighten up sooner than what I originally thought. I just hope they do. I have been worrying myself into a blur over this. Anyway, here is a link for that song.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=409DBKlLsLo

I just miss my Caleb.

YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! ALL IS NOT LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, Dear Jesus. I thought I was going to never see someone I care about more than anyone or anything else anymore. Thank God. It might be a while, but at least there is hope that it will eventually happen, after all. Thank God.

Model

1965: Yes, 2011, there were once models who weren't six-and-a-half feet tall and Russian, and, no, they weren't amateurs.

Hmmm....

Hmmmm.....

A very tough decision. Might have to call Mum about this one.

Here is the other one...

And this is how long I wanted my hair.... Only if Caleb likes it, though.

To Caleb Again

This is also October 2010. Well, sorry it is sideways. And the reason I am not putting them all together is because it messes it up.

Another To Caleb

Here is one from October 2010, when I was staying with Mom.

To Caleb......

Here is one from eary 2010.

Edie

Edie Sedgwick was a shooting star. I feel like we could have been friends. It is a shame that she died so young, though.

??? lalalala

This is to Caleb:
The picture is on the right. It says "Here you go, Caleb :)." I don't want to put the other pictures on here because they are really ugly anyway, and I look like a man.
This is also to Caleb:
I love you!!!

Flowers

Well, I have been testing out my green-thumb potential for the past week or so.
I hope it proves to be high.

Last Saturday, my aunt and I cleaned out an old flower bed, and planted some daisies in it. I obsessed over it for the past week, pulling weeds and putting up a wire fence around it.
Then, yesterday, she came over with a bunch of plants (presumably from a grocery or hardware store greenhouse), potting soil, and Appalachian brown mulch. We made two other flower beds in front of the house, on either side of the front door. We planted purple and red verbenas, red dianthus, and some violets in those. Then, she planted lamb's ear and violets in an old flowerbed. In the old one we "renovated last week, I planted one orange gazania and one purple verbena, along with three lavender plants.

Today, I planted a bunch of gazanias in an "extension" of the flowerbeds we made yesterday. I also planted some verbena and gazanias in with the lamb's ear, and a strawflower plant. I put a mixture of red and brown mulch in the flowerbeds by the porch, red in the one behind the house and red in the old one. It really looks nice.

Sometime later I am planning on planting some marigolds, too. And hopefully sometime this week, I will plant some cosmos near the house. I can't wait to get started on another little project. It really is fun, now that I actually have a place outside to plant things at.

Mister, Sir

The man said nothing when he came in, just walked over to the jukebox, threw in a quarter and punched some numbers in.

Then he walked over to the bar.

Then "Southbound Suarez" by Led Zeppelin began to play. A younger girl sitting close to the door groaned. Fritz had forgotten that record was even in the juke.

The man sat down.

"Well, Mister, what'll you have tonight?"

"A cup of coffee, two shots of bourbon and a spoonful of brown sugar."

The man's voice was surprisingly pleasant to the ears, with a slight southern accent.
Fritz fetched the man's odd order and then went to see about another patron.

Jordan watched the man in the purple hat, sitting at the bar with his head bent over a coffee. He lifted a shot glass to his mouth, paused then picked up a spoon of what appeared to be brown sugar. He licked it and then tossed back the bourbon. He then took a swig of piping hot coffee.
Jordan had seen the man before.
He had a bad feeling about that man.
He walked over to that man.

"Hiya, sir. I just wanted to meetcha, since this is a small town and an unfamiliar face rarely goes unnoticed," Jordan said in as friendly a voice as he could muster.

"Mm-hm."

"Well, where are you from?" Jordan could not see the man's face very well. He didn't know what he made of his earlier greeting.

"Are you not even going to introduce yourself, Jordan?" Jordan recoiled a bit and the man smiled. "You know, I'm not as unfamiliar to this town as you seem to think."

"Well, I never saw you before but once," Jordan said.

"Oh, I've been around more than once. I just might have looked a little different."
Jordan was growing increasingly uneasy.

"Well, Mister, I best get going. I gotta get home or the wife'll have my ass."

"Oh, no she won't. You are just being evasive because I make you uncomfortable. It's okay.
That's how many of your kind react to many of my kind. You just go on ahead and leave."

Jordan planned to do exactly that. He walked out to his truck and tried to start it. It just made a nice, raspy coughing sound. He waited. It was old; sometimes this happened.

The man in the bar finished his bourbon, coffee, and sugar. He headed to the bathroom. No one made much of it.

Jordan still sat outside in the truck, trying to get it to start. He climbed out to look under the hood.

The man walked out of the bathroom, toward the outside door, opened it. The groaning girl by the door noticed that he looked a little different. Less human.

Jordan was still outside, but he had just hopped back into the truck and gotten it started.

An old man with fiery, sunken eyes and hands that looked like claws stepped out of the bar, a terrible, blood-curdling grin on his mummy-face.

Jordan shoved the truck into reverse and sped out of the parking lot and down the road. When he looked into the rear view mirror, he saw the bar explode. The old man was nowhere to be seen.

Something Nice

Have you ever had someone in your life that you know you just can't live without? It doesn't have to be Mother or anyone in particular. Just someone who brightens your day the second you see them, or hear their voice.

I'll tell you a little about my "someone." He is so sweet and cute, and does these things that he thinks are just run-of-the-mill, but which are really quite endearing. He thinks so little of himself, but I think so much of him. We might fight and we might fuss sometimes, but we both know it's not a reflection of how we really feel about one another. I hope he is reading this, and I hope it makes him feel better, because he's been having a rough go of it lately. :) Hopefully he will get the message-I love, love, LOVE him!!!

The Underworld

The light was dim, as it always was. They heard a grinding, awful noise coming from above. The Dagdols ran. Parts of the Roof fell. They crumbled and landed in Mattie Dagdol's grey hair. She did not panic. Things like this had happened before, although not very often. Once, when she was a child, it had happened. She had panicked, as the others were now. The second time she saw something like this was when she was a bit older, newly married, and had just given birth to her first child. Even if she had wanted to panic then, she would have been much too tired.

Janina Dagdol cried, reaching for her grandmother. Mattie picked her up gently and rocked her, murmuring forgettable words of comfort all the while. The Roof continued to crumble. Children continued to cry. Most of the people in the Tunnel had never seen anything like this before. Mattie was of a rare group. She was the oldest in her Tunnel, but word had spread from other communities within the World that there was a man in Rogadoff that was twixt her age.

Jorga held her children close to her. They were very unnerved by the bizarre happenings around them. Her husband, Harve, had left to ask Mattie Dagdol, the Tunnel's oldest and wisest inhabitant, what was going on. Shortly, he returned, with a small grain of comfort for his wife and children.

"Mrs. Dagdol says that she has seen things of this kind two times past. She says that both those times, the Crumbling did not last as long as this, but that it was just as frightening. She said not to worry, as long as it stops shortly, but that if it keeps up doing this, then we should get a hold of the Overworlder Patrol immediately to find out what is happening Above." Harve was out of breath from his report. Jorga looked at him frightenedly.

"Harve, what exactly does the Overworlder Patrol do? No one ever speaks of it."

Harve gave it some thought. "I don't rightly know, love. Would you like me to go ask Miss Mattie?"

"No. We need to find something for the kids to do, though, to get their minds off of this for at least a while."

Jorga and Harve took their children inside, where they could hear the sounds of the Roof falling on the roof of their dwelling. Jorga prepared a meagre supper for Harve and the kids, while he entertained them with a story about a troll.

Mattie was still holding her orphaned granddaughter, sitting on the porch of her dwelling when a huge stone fell from the Roof. Janina whimpered.

"Shh... It'll be alright Janina. It will stop soon and everything will be okay."
Janina looked up at her and a tear escaped her eye; her look of sadness was quickly replaced with one of innocent inquisitiveness which seemingly only children, the extremely old, and the dumb can so perfectly display.

"Gramma, what did Mister Harve Griswell want? What did you mean when you were talking about the Overworld Patrol and the Crumbling and all?"

"Janina,please don't worry about all that now."

"Please just tell me. I won't ever ask you about adult matters again until five years hence."

Mattie chuckled softly. "Why five years hence?"

"That's when Wellie Griswell told me I would be a grown-up. He says that that is when his daddy was a grown-up."

"I'm sure his daddy was indeed a grown-up when he was only fifteen, but times have changed and now you, my dear, have about seven years before you are a grown-up. Wellie is a silly boy, now isn't he?"

"Yeah. He is.Once, at the gymnasium, he ate a worm. Then, he threw one into his sister Jellie's hair. Jellie is such a good name for her. She is fat and everyone calls her Jellie Belly." Janina laughed.

"That isn't very nice, now. I hope you weren't one of the kids that called her that. She can't help it that she is a bit heavy. She has a condition. She will hopefully lose the weight as she gets older."

"I know what you are trying to do. I am not a stupid child. You are trying to change the subject, so that I quit asking about the Overworld and the Crumbling. Please explain about that now, Gram. If you don't mind."

"Janina, I do mind. You needn't ask about things like that just yet. It is none of your concern." Mattie wished for a split second that her granddaughter wouldn't be so perceptive of adults' evasiveness and their ways.

Jorga lay awake. Harve was sleeping soundly next to her, and the kids were doing the same in their room. She wondered how they could sleep with something so strange going on just above their heads. Harve had tired himself out worrying, though, and the kids had all cried themselves to sleep, while Jorga ran round the room trying to give them all a bit of comfort, and succeeding minimally. She was half-tempted to wake Harve to talk to him. She needed to talk to someone. Or to just be held for a while, perhaps. She snuggled closer to him and tried to sleep.




Mattie awoke to knocking at her door. She rolled over and looked at the clock on her nightstand. Only 4:38. Who could be visiting at this hour? It must be an emergency, she thought, climbing out of bed and slipping into her robe and slippers.

Opening the door, she said, "Good morning, what is going on at this early hour?"
A hand, cold as ice, slipped around her arm, in a vise-like grip, jerking her outside onto the porch. Suddenly something was slipped over her face and she was pushed forward.

"Now what is this all about?" Mattie demanded, angrily, as her wrists were bound behind her. There was no answer, and all she could hear were the sounds of the Crumbling and Janina's loud snoring from her open bedroom window. She was forced into some kind of compartment.

"I need to see my granddaughter! I can't just leave her alone!"

A screaming whisper of a voice, not quite human, and not quite animal replied, "Would you like us to take her with you?"

"I would like for you to let me go, or at least tell me why this is happening."

"You do not need to know just yet. Now be quiet, or I shall make you quiet."

"Make me, then!!" Mattie hollered, and then she knew no more.





Jorga woke up, and saw that Harve was no longer at her side. She panicked. She went into the kitchen and called his name. No answer. She went into the children's room and saw that they were all still sound asleep. She went outside and called for Harve again. No answer. She walked all round the house and still saw no sign of him.

"Maybe he went back to Miss Mattie's," she said to herself, rather doubtfully. She hurriedly ran down the road and round the corner to Mattie's and saw Harve holding Janina Dagdol, who was crying.

"Miss Mattie is gone. Janina said that she woke up at about six this morning and there was no sign of Miss Mattie. She said that the front door was ajar and that there was just this laying on the porch steps," Harve said, holding up a strange emblem. Jorga examined it.

"OWP.... Overworld Patrol?" Jorga said.

"I assume so," Harve replied. "Janina, it will be fine. She will come back. Maybe the OWP just came to ask her a few questions and took her to their headquarters for more information. She'll be okay." He looked at Jorga, and she saw and immense mixture of doubt and dread in his eyes. Everyone knew that when the OWP took someone, they were rarely seen again.

"Janina, come on. You can come to our house and play with Jellie and Wellie for a while," Jorga said, taking Janina's small hand in her own. She smiled down at the sad child.

"Miss Jorga, what is the Overworld Patrol?" Janina inquired.

"I honestly don't know, honey. That is a good question to ask your grandma when she comes back."

"I already asked her and she said that it was none of my concern."

"Well, your grandma knows best. I do not even know about the Patrol. Maybe it is only the wisest of the village that can have knowledge of such things. Best not to worry yourself with it now."





Mattie still was blindfolded. She arrived at whatever destination the people had taken her to. Finally, one spoke, giving a reason for her being captured.

"We have heard that you have been disclosing information about us to a Mister Harve Griswell about our operations. This is unacceptable. Anyone who has too much knowledge of what we do must be properly disposed of." A chill ran down Mattie's spine. What was to become of Janina?

"Is there any way that I can contact my granddaughter? She was alone and asleep when we left."

"No. You will never be contacting anyone in your village again." She was then pulled from the compartment, which she now knew was a waggon, and a sharp, cold instrument was thrust into the crook of her elbow. She winced, and before she could speak, a darkness deeper than that caused by the blindfold descended upon her.




The Crumbling continued. Jorga, Harve, Jellie, Wellie, and Janina continued to worry about it. They all stayed inside, looking out the windows. Others came to their home to ask if they knew what was going on. They did not, so everyone just tried to comfort one another. They fell asleep after a while, some in chairs, some in the floor, and some even standing up.

Jorga woke up, surrounded by neighbours and friends. She woke Harve up and they went outside. The Crumbling had stopped. They looked up, and they saw stars. They saw the moon, and they saw trees. They did not know the names for these things at that time, but this did not take away from their amazement whatsoever. A face, a person, appeared at the edge of the crevice through which they could see these things.

"What are you doing down there?" The person looked down at them curiously. "Come on up here where you belong. Hang on and I'll give you a hand!"

Just Great

It is so hard to try and be a good person whenever everything in your life just seems to get screwed up on a daily basis. I was doing really well, but when you are screwed up to begin with and then just little things can send your castle crashing down, well... it's just dandy. Wonderful. Then, all the cuss words you quit saying, all the meanness you quit showing and feeling, all the despair that was pushed away by optimism-it all comes out and it's really ugly.
It's hard to smell like a rose when you are standing in sewage.

Etc. II (I think)

Well, it has been a while. I have read a book that makes me mad and I am reading one that I actually like now. I'll tell you about the one that makes me mad. Everyone seems to find it more Intriguing and Interesting and Deliciously Scandalous! if you accentuate the negative and then give a very hodge-podge attempt to accentuate the positive afterward just so that you feel this much ----------- better about yourself, when in reality you have made yourself this much - better.

Now, about the book.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry.

Very aggravating to read. You want to seize the characters from their comfortable, little compressed and dried tree pulp and ink homes and SHAKE them. They are so stupidly satisfied with their pathetic lives which are supposed to be "perfect" that it is absolutely MADDENING. They kill babies. They kill old people. They kill people who break a few petty rules. They look the same. They dress the same. They eat the same food. The "couples" do not actually kiss or engage in any physically intimate relations whatsoever. They do not actually have their own kids. Their hormones are stifled out at an early age so that they become virtually asexual. There is more, but I am running short on time, so I can't write it. Not to say that it is a bad book, though. It has a good ending, at least. And that's what matters, right? If you have a good journey, only to end it by falling in a pit of fire with evil dragons and all that, then it just sucks. If you have a bad journey, then end it by meeting that special someone, winning a million dollars and all that, then good, very, very good. Awesome, even.

Well, that's about it. Yay. Have a nice day. :) Get all seventies on that, man. haha
*If you don't get that, then look up on Google the origin of the "Have a nice day [insert smiley face]" thing.

Hello

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah meow.

Well, Wonderful

Don't you just love the attitude some people have? They are angered by others' happiness and try to ruin it simply because they can. How great. I hate it when people are two-faced. There are people in my life who should have the guts to tell me what they think of me to my face instead of being nice and waiting until I am gone to say mean things about me.

As much as I try to be nice to people, you would think they could at least return the favour. But, of course, they can't. I hate it when they are so controlling. That is something that really makes me mad. Everyone has a life. Their very own life. It is theirs, not to be subject to harsh dogma from merely another person. Of course, the government is a controlling factor that is reasonable. They don't control every aspect of your life, though, at least, not in America.

Whenever a person, like your mom, spouse, friends, or siblings, etc. tries to dictate in a Hitler-like fashion every detail of your life, that gets to be a bit much. So, if you would like to have your children, spouse, family, friends and everyone else in your life hate you with a passion, then try to control them completely. It's the soap-bar reaction. The tighter the grip you have, the more it slips away, whereas, if you just gently hold it, it will stay right nice, there in the palm of your hand.

Field of Daisies

(A Short Story)
NOTE: This is not the exact same as the way I originally wrote it, because I do not have the original copy with me. I am just going to paraphrase it, and stick to the original plot, but it may differ some from the original version, just for anyone who has read it and who reads this newer version. I hope you like it.


She was the sweetest girl in the world, Daisy, I mean. She could make you smile just with a "hello." I was lucky, quite blessed, to have her in my life, even for eleven short years. She stayed joyful, and strong, right up to the end, making even her much older brother (me) look like a baby. And here is the story I wish to tell as a tribute to her, and as a recollection of something that, in my opinion, was a miracle.
When she was diagnosed with leukemia, it was just three months before her eleventh birthday. She cried that day, after it was explained to her what "leukemia" meant. That was one of two times she cried during this struggle. Mom and I cried more. Mom said that maybe the reason she didn't get so upset was because she didn't understand, but I think it was just the opposite. Daisy knew that she could die. She accepted it and understood it fully. She was just braver than most. She knew that everyone had to die someday, and knew that if her time was nigh, then it was just the way that things were to play out. She knew God had a reason for it and she trusted in Him.
Whenever she cried the second time, it was in the hospital. The first chemotherapy treatment she had. She vomited and she was just really sick. She cried because she felt so bad.
When she lost her hair, I waited for a day when she was well enough to get out of the hospital for a while and I took her shopping. I know, a brother taking his little sister shopping. Spare me.
Anyway, she bought wigs. I spent nearly all of that week's pay check on wigs, but I didn't mind. She bought blue ones, green ones, blonde, brunette, red, pink, purple and even a multi-coloured one. And she actually wore them at the hospital. She entertained the nurses and her doctors during her entire stay.
On Halloween of that year, Daisy was extremely ill. She wanted to go trick-or-treating, though, so she dressed up as a scarecrow, saying "It's perfect, look how skinny I am now!" This statement amused her, but I hid my sadness. I pushed her around to all the nurses' stations and they gave her candy, which was often cough drops and such, considering it was a hospital. She had a lot of fun, though, and shared her treats with Mom and me.
On her birthday, we had a party and a few aunts, uncles, and cousins even showed up to celebrate with us. She had a cake and everything.
The day after her birthday, we got very grim news. She didn't seem to be getting any better. Her white count hadn't improved and the doctors estimated that she had six months to live. They said they would keep her in the hospital, to keep trying, unless we had any objections. We decided to keep trying.

One day, a few months after her birthday, I was at work, in the mechanic shop my cousin owned. The phone rang and somehow I knew it would be for me. I always expected this call while I was at work.
"David! It's for you!" Vinny, the cashier, yelled. I got out from under the car and slumped off into his "department." I picked up the phone.
"Hello? This is David."
A nurse was on the other end. "Umm....you need to come to the hospital. It's not good. Just hurry."
And I did hurry. I was just a few minutes too late, however. Mom was in hysterics, so the nurses sedated her. Daisy was still in the room. I bent and kissed her forehead. They came to take her out.

The next days were a blur. I had to make arrangements for the memorial service and the cremation. She wanted her ashes spread in the field behind the house.
At the memorial service, my aunt Linda read a poem she had written:
"Now that I am gone
From this world alone
Do not weep for me
For someday you shall see
Me again in a field of daisies."


Five years later.....

She hugs my leg as I brush my teeth. Then she yanks my shirt.
"Daddy, when are we going to go seen Granny?"
"In a few minutes, Gracelyn Daisy, just calm down," I laugh and swoop her up into my arms. "Off we go!" Leah, my wife, follows us to the car.
When we get to Mom's house, she pushes us away from the door, and toward the back of the house.
"You have to see it! You must see it!" Mom is ecstatic about something not yet apparent to me, Gracelyn, or Leah. When we get to the side of the house, Mom pushes us even faster toward the field, and she breaks into a run.
"Look David! Look Leah! Look Gracelyn! It's just like in Linda's poem!" I gasp. So do Leah and Gracelyn. There, in the field where Daisies ashes were spread, are the most beautiful, perfect daisies I had ever-and have yet-to see. A whole field of them.


AFTERNOTE: This is a work of fiction. The characters, plot, and even setting are not based upon anyone dead or living. This is an original work of fiction by the author, me, and if you copy it you will be in trouble with the law. So read and enjoy, but do not plagiarise or steal this story. Thank you.

The Black Dahlia, Elizabeth "Betty" Short

She was born on 29 July, 1924, to Cleo and Phoebe Short. They lived in Massachusetts, in the Boston area, until the stock market crash of 1929, which resulted in Cleo's disappearance. He had built miniature golf courses, but in 1929, lost his job. He abandoned his car on a bridge in 1930, and was believed to have committed suicide. Later, Betty would catch up with him.
In 1930, Betty's mother, Phoebe, relocated her five daughters to an apartment in Medford, Massachusetts, where Phoebe worked as a bookkeeper.
Due to Betty's asthma and a bout of bronchitis, she went to stay with relatives in Florida for the winter of 1940. She continued to spend the colder months there and the warmer ones at home in Medford for three years, until she was nineteen. Then, she moved to Vallejo, California to live with her dad, who was alive and well, working at the Mare Island Shipyard in the San Francisco Bay.
In later 1943, the two moved to Los Angeles, but fighting resulted in Betty's move to Camp Cooke (present-day Vandenberg Air Force Base), near Lompoc California, where she worked at the post exchange. She was arrested 23 September 1943 for underage drinking and the juvenile authorities sent her back to Medford, Massachusetts. She didn't stay in Medford, however, but went back to Florida and visited Medford occasionally.
In Florida, she met Major Matthew Michael Gordon, Jr., a decorated U.S. Army Air Corps officer who was assigned to 2nd Air Commando Group and was training for deployment to China Burma India Theatre of Operations. She told her friends that Gordon had proposed marriage via a letter while he was recovering from airplane crash injuries in India. She accepted his proposal, but unfortunately, he perished in an airplane crash on 10 August, 1943, before he could come home.
In July of 1946, Betty returned to Los Angeles to visit Army Air Corps Lieutenant Joseph Gordon Fickling, an old boyfriend she had met in Florida during the war. Fickling was stationed at NARB, Long Beach.
For six months prior to her death, Betty remained in southern California, mostly in the Los Angeles area. She lived in temporary homes, like hotels, apartments, and rooming houses, never staying more than two weeks.
Her body was found in the Leimant Park area of LA on 15 January, 1947, by local resident Betty Bersinger, who was taking her child for a walk. It was in a vacant lot on the west side of South Norton Avenue, between Coliseum Street and West 39th Street. Her body was severely mutilated, severed at the waist and drained of blood. Her face was slashed in a Glasgow grin, cut from the corners of her mouth toward her ears. Her body had been washed, cleaned, and "posed."
The autopsy stated that she was 5'5" tall and 115 pounds (In life she probably weighed more, the lower weight is likely due to her body being drained of blood.), had light blue eyes, brown hair, and badly decayed teeth. There were marks on her ankles and wrists from rope, suggesting that she was either tied up, spread-eagled or hung upside down. Evidence shows she could have been forced to eat feces.
Her skull had not been fractured, but there was bruising on the front and right side of her scalp with a small amount of bleeding, which points to blows to the head. She had a concussion.
The cause of death was blood loss from the lacerations on her face and from shock due to concussion of the brain.
On 23 January, 1947, the killer called the editor of the Los Angeles Examiner, worried that the newspaper coverage of the murder was tapering off. He offered to mail personal belongings of Betty's to the Examiner editor. The next day, a packet arrived at the newspaper office, containing Betty's birth certificate, business cards, photographs, names written on pieces of paper, and an address book with the name Mark Hansen on the cover. Hansen, who was the last person to see Betty alive on 9 January, became the prime suspect.
The killer wrote more letters to the Examiner, calling himself "The Black Dahlia Avenger."
On 25 January Betty's purse and one shoe were found in a trash bin near Norton Avenue.
More than 50 men and women have confessed to the murder. There were originally around 200 suspects, but it has been narrowed down. Every time an article, television program, movie, or book about Betty Short comes out, the LAPD gets more "tips" and confessions to the murder. None have showed promising.
Elizabeth Short was buried in Mountain View Cemetery, in Oakland, California. Her murder remains unsolved.


NOTE: This was written because I am very disturbed by Betty Short's story, and I thought that writing it out might help to get some of the horrible images this case conjures up out of my head. In consideration of the reader, I decided not to post any of the various gory pictures of her body on this blog. If you wish to see those, then just go to any search engine, type in her name, click "images" and they will likely be the first to appear. But, as a forewarning, once you see this images, they may not easily get out of your mind. They aren't very gentle to the eyes, or the spirit.
I am not trying to be mushy or anything, but this is just a crime that truly chills me. The thought of someone being tortured as this girl was is very upsetting. Haunting. To think that things like this happen every day, all over the world is just.... troubling, for lack of a better word. Deeply troubling.

References: Wikipedia, E! channel 20 Most Horrifying Celebrity Murders

Acai Berry Scam

Has anyone seen the ads that say "1 Trick Of A Tiny Belly weird old tip" or the like? Well, they are a scam. I just found out from www.searchfactions.com that if you click on the ad, then read it, click try it out and do all that, then they will completely gyp you. They will send you the useless acai juice FOREVER and charge you EIGHTY DOLLARS A MONTH! They make it really hard to unsubscribe, too. So, don't click on those things! Save yourself the trouble. Just do this if you want to lose weight- eat less, exercise more.