In the few years before his December, 1978 arrest, John Wayne Gacy killed at least 33 boys and young men and buried most of them in the crawl space under his home near Chicago, Illinois. Gacy, a building contractor, lured them to his home with prospects of employment and sex, and then tortured them before killing them.
-taken from Four Visits to Serial Killer John Wayne Gacy by Charles Nemo
Friday night: After bowling, I went to dinner with a large group of the bowlers and my friend, who I'll call Steve. We dined at a restaurant appropiately nicknamed "Dirty Diana's". Steve and I went for coffee before I bid him goodbye (he going to his home).
Saturday afternoon, Steve stops by. He decided on Friday night that he wanted to go out to a bar after dropping me off at my place (which he being a recovering alcoholic...not the smartest choice on his part). He met someone, took him back to his place, had sex, and then the guy asked that Steve drive him home. As he was driving this random guy back to the guy's home, the guy pulls a gun on Steve, makes him pull up to a ATM and take out $200. He then steals Steve's cell phone, gets out of the car, and leaves Steve to freak on his own.
This bothers me for so many reasons: Is the economic situation so bad in this country that people are that needy for cash? I wouldn't have had the $200 to give the guy.
Never....EVER...EVER TAKE SOMEONE HOME WITH YOU WITHOUT A FRIEND KNOWING WHAT IS GOING ON !!!! I try to never be judgmental when it comes to my friend's sexual activities (it's not my business, as long as I'm not involved), and I've had my weak moments where I've taken someone home for one night (no judgments please....I'm 33 and single...I take responsibility for my actions, and it is my life). But if I've taken someone home with me, I've learned to make sure that someone I know, anyone, is aware of what I am doing.
But this whole situation brings up the thought that you never really know a person at all. When do you let your guard down and say "This is my address, pick me up at my house"? I never give my address out, and I only give my cell phone number to people as that way you can't use the reverse phone lookup. Do we actually take our lives in our hands every time we meet people, or is it really that the Midwest is just full of crazies?
I tried to get Steve to come with me to a vegan potluck Saturday night and get his mind off the whole preceding night's activities...no go. He did help me make a meal though (since I took him to get a new phone), and since it was a vegan meal, I made pork chops before going (hey...I like meat!).
The potluck was interesting, with way too much food, but what I though was funny was that we started talking about anti-depressants. Nearly 1/2 of the people at the party were on them, and we all started talking about the side effects and how we felt on them. I was the Paxil representative, someone else was on Zoloft, another person was on Welbutrin, several people were on Prozac. So here is the question...why are us 30 something's all depressed? I know where my depression is coming from (gay divorce, best friend abandoning me, oldest friend dying, getting laid off), but are we all depressed or have we never learned how to cope with life's problems? What the hell are these pills doing to our brains and emotions on the long term?
Sunday, tackled Mt. Laundry! 9 loads, and still was able to go to dinner at Brian and Kevin's place. Car made this incredible spaghetti sauce consisting of Sausage and meat balls (the vegan's are all screaming now). Got to spend some time with friends I haven't see a whole lot lately, which was really important to me. I've said it way too many times, but my family is made up of my friends and they are my support system. So when I start cracking into pieces, I can rely on a few of them to provide the glue I need. I was hoping Steve would show up, but he's feeling a need to isolate himself. I told him my phone is on and he can call whenever he needs to.
Now to attack the house cleaning duties...
