Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Moving On (Coming Very Soon To A Theater Near You)

Well, I think I'm okay.

I thought I really might have an STD and was very upset, but I'm about 99% sure I don't. It was most likely the nicks from shaving because it's gone overnight. So there was nothing but nicks, where I'd shaved, and then nothing.

I don't think it was nuts to think I might have an STD though, because I thought, who knows, and blisters do supposedly break and look like cuts or whatever. So I was worried. I've always been negative and haven't had much cause for concern, being celibate most of my life, number 1, and then "safe", number 2, but was still worried.

Now, I think I can rely on the previous testing, that I'm fine, but I"m still going to double check. Should be fine.

If anything, thinking and believing I really did have something, put me right into the shoes of those who do. I can say, now, that if I met someone and fell in love, and they had something, I wouldn't be so quick to hold it against them. Things happen, and it doesn't make someone less of a person in any way. I was thinking about Romeo & Juliet and how some couples choose to be together even when one of them has AIDS. Not that this is what I'm looking for, obviously, not looking at all, but I can understand now.

I've always tested fine, and my blood has been donated well, and never had problems.

But who knows, maybe yesterday I had it and then I was cured by a miracle. Who knows. I just feel relieved but sobered up too.

I had a glass of wine last night, and I also had a last hurrah of sorts. I don't want it to be the last hurrah, but I really think I could try out a little abstinece and celibacy starting today. Also, for the sake of being "legal" I'm not going to smoke pot, but that means I will end up in ER next time around. I don't have anything else to either prevent or treat my migraines. It will also affect my work. I may have to find something that could do a halfway job, but I don't have insurance and don't really care to try state insurance again.

The celibacy and abstinence really works out well, this revelation, in the timeline of getting my son back. I have a handful of TTSOMLs to write, and then I'll be good to go. Then, I will even suddenly "realize" I must have just had a "nervous breakdown" . Yes, I'll even become hopeful about staying in the U.S. and going to law school, and "moving on" because, of course, the only thing to move on from, is my own "delusion", which I will necessarily accept as gospel. I foresee a lot of forgiveness coming down the pipe, too, in the form of kind apologetic letters and notes of thank you to all the good CPS people in Wenatchee who were only trying to look out for me and my son. I think I may even buy a large box of thank you notes today.
For some reason, I think the blog posts will become a little drier, and happier, and closer to one a day. No more poetry either. I foresee domestic goddess on the horizon, lending me her sceptor and crown. I think I may just end up having a full-on revelation that everybody was right and I was wrong, or even if they were wrong, I forgive everyone!

Oh MY GOSH. I am having a sudden urge to quit swearing too. SHIT. WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME???????!!!!!!!!!!!!! I, em, have been thinking about going to church too. Egads. I may even join the choir.

I foresee a lot of poetry, if I still write poetry, about the dark going to light, and forgiveness (don henley style), and rebirth.

My motto: "Moving On"

Moving ON Baby. Choo-choooooo! GET on the TRAIN!

Which church should I go to? Can I take an informal poll? Would going to the Catholic church show full "moving on" capabilities? or would it be in better keeping to go to a Protestant church?

Now listening to "Forgiveness" by Don Henley

Wow. Very inspiring. Hmmm. Listening to this song, I find myself composing my thank you notes already. These are going to be the best thank you notes ever--something people can put in their file, along with their other stuff, to show what a good job they've been doing. I'm starting to think, too, that I've been the problem all along. I mean, really. Come on. How could I have that many problems with that many people unless it was just all about me and my own issues. Yes, I see acceptance on the horizon. Wow. I'm starting to think I really seduced all those men, besides. Yeah, they never did me any harm. I just wanted to blame them because maybe I wanted them to be my BOYfriend. Huh. Never thought of that before. Could be the root of the problem here. Ohmigosh, I'm even starting to realize, my son must have stopped talking because...this one will be tougher. Maybe because he suddenly realized, at age 1, that his mother was not like everyone else. I think this shocked him into silence.

I think I must have rendered my son speechless.

I think the Bairds are really great people too. Man, a hug is a hug. No one ever prevented me from leaving a room or an argument. I just didn't know how to handle a hug. Oh yeah, and no one is greedy either, and they all really love me so much. That spit was a love spat. I think the pushing must have been friendly jostling, which I misinterpreted.

Oh, and all that police profiling? Well, actually, it must just be that I turned into a crazy maniac driver one day and I needed constant surveillance, just to keep the rest of the public safe. By the way, those Wenatchee public defenders, and that Judge, well, they're really just doing their job. They're Greeeeaaaat. I need to write them apology notes too, and thank you notes, right after I finish reporting them to the Bar. But the point is, I feel the love train coming around the tracks. I'll let it pass me by a couple of times, but soon and very soon, I'm jumping on board.

Peace man.

You see, this is just the somewhat sarcastic phase that comes right before true and total acceptance. It's just the last brick before the wall comes down. I've been resisting this and just need to let it go, man. I can tell it's coming! I can see it! It's almost here!

I'm getting ready. I am definitely buying that box of thank you notes today. Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

You know, it must have something to do with the STD scare. It was a wake up call. Wake up to a new chance, a new life of love, tolerance, and again, forgiveness.

Moving On. Yes, it was all about me. I was wrong and I had a breakdown. Those days are almost at an end. A bright future is ahead! I am MOVING ON!

Now listening to "People Get Ready, There's A Train A-Coming" by Eva Cassidy.

Monday, September 29, 2008

TTSOML #93: Litigation Harassment By Abbey Attorneys

It would be difficult, without having my papers and dates before me, to explain all of the harassment I got from the Abbey attorneys.

Aside from having people stalk me in their cars, which literally happened, John Kaempf would linger around me, especially after hearings, one I remember in particular, just to unnerve me and be a presence. He would do something completely dishonest, and hand things over to the judges, and not tell me about it, or copy me on it, and then after knowing I'd found out and was angry, he'd try to get close.

He wanted a reaction. This guy wanted to get some kind of physical or verbal reaction from me. Through everything he did, although I wrote about things, I have never been physically confrontational and I never was.

Once, I was waiting to speak to the clerk outside of chambers. I sat on a bench outside. John Kaempf sat next to me, on an opposite bench. He didn't have any questions. He just sat there and stared at me. I ignored him, but I was aware of what he was pulling. He then walked out after staring me down for a half hour, or trying to. After he had walked out of the courthouse, I then walked out. He was outside, at the foot of the steps I had to go down. He just stood there and looked at me. I walked right by him and past him, not looking him in the eye. One block away, I looked back. He was still staring at me. I will remember the exact date, but I do not recall it now.

I never reacted. I didn't yell at him, I didn't shout, I didn't make any comment. I never approached him. I simply walked right by, with my head held high. He wasn't going to get what he wanted. And on that count, he never did. Not once, even though he tried so hard.

The other thing they did, for over a year, was to bombard me with paper. I've heard of that before. Being snowed with paper. But they took it up a notch with me. They claimed I had broken into my own mailbox and that this was why I hadn't received service of one of their motions (not true) so they got permission from the Judge to serve me in three different ways.

They served me at my house, by courier knocking at my door; served me by U.S. mail; and served me by giving documents to my apartment manager. These were not small documents. They were sometimes letters, and they had a new letter to give me every couple of days, and then they had huge packets of information and motions. They also sent me the same thing twice, the exact same thing, but instead of service 3 times, by sending it twice, they sent it to me 6 times. I asked them not to serve my apartment manager with my legal things, as it wasn't her business or concern, but they continued, which caused problems with my apartment manager, whom I'd gotten along with previously.

It was after this that I saw John Kaempf at my apartment manager's place, up on her deck, talking with her, which was the same day I was yelled at by her assistant, and had my car egged. Badly egged, and I believe it was by them. When Kaempf saw me he didn't flinch, and made his presence known, until the police came, because I called them about the egging. Suddenly, Kaempf was in hiding. I'm not saying he threw the eggs. But he caused problems with my apartment manager to the extent that he convinced her to do some things which were not even legal.

Which I'll write more about later.

I had mountains and mountains of papers. I asked the judge to put a stop to it and she refused. She did whatever they wanted. At the same time, the Abbey had their lawyers send a courier to my apartment, to knock on my door and deliver papers at least 3 times a week, at all hours of the night.

That's not to mention the fax harassment. They did some other things as well, which I'll try to write about later tonight.

Transparency & STDs

I am getting worried that maybe it's something besides nicks.

I debated, briefly, about whether to write about this. It will only make my enemies happy to hear there may be something wrong. On the other hand, if I am to be transparent about my life, and allow whatever remote light there is within me, any glimmer of truth, to shine, why hide it?

I am going to die.

We are all going to die.

My reputation now will be of no use to me in death.

So, I think, all things considered, what good can I bring to others, who may be those who need encouragement most, by hiding my flaws and disappointments? We are all human, and we all have trials. Everyone knows I'm not all good, but I'm not all bad either. If someone should think any bad thing happening to me is my "just deserts" how do they explain that to a child who has contracted AIDS?

There are no just deserts. There are consequences for our actions, and sometimes, not for decisions we've made on our own, but because of the decisions of others. And that's it


I posted this, and then I burst into tears. My first reaction was to be proud of myself. For doing something brave. And then my second reaction was sadness, that another bad thing may be happening to me, and that I knowingly open myself up to more mockery and ridicule. I chose this though. I have a choice to keep it to myself, or to tell others.

I could choose not to get tested again, and live in denial, not wanting to admit to anyone I have contracted something, and using not getting a confirmation as an excuse for not "knowing" the truth. Or, I could be tested, and if positive, keep it to myself. Finally, I could be tested, or even before being tested, speak up about another private trial simply because I know I can be an example and that by sharing with others, I am also holding myself accountable.

I did not have any STDs. Until maybe now. Which would mean, if it is herpes, that it was contracted between 2-14 days ago, with the chance of being contracted up to 26 days ago. I haven't been with a lot of people. There are only 2. One was a rebound and the other one I really liked, for various reasons, and have known longer and this is the only one I've had a couple times of not using protection. The rebound one was from another country, and washed his hands a lot. I thought OCD, but maybe he was doing this because he carried a virus and didn't tell me. He wanted to do something without protection and I refused.

Life if full of firsts.

My first STD? I'd like a badge to go with that.

I suppose, since there is nothing I can do about it, if this is the truth, at least it is true millions of people have this. Sometimes it's not even their fault. People get things that are not their fault all the time. It could be true that whoever my soulmate is, if there is such a thing, has the same thing and I wouldn't have considered him before, until it happened to me. Or, maybe it is simply a thing which denigrates my character and speaks to bad choices, but at least serves as a warning to others.

I have done the best I could do, under all circumstances, to make good decisions. Sometimes, it's not enough. I always asked if they "had anything" and had been tested and the answer was always yes. Perhaps I trusted too much. I was very safe, almost 99% of the time. But that 1% was enough, perhaps. I haven't been with many, and most of those I was with, were with me while I was totally drunk and they were not (still using protection).

I know, the first thing I think is that none of this would have happened, if it's happened, if my son had not been taken from me. I have done things, since CPS improperly removed my son, that have been a response to trauma. I have not always acted characteristically and I've tried to find shelter and done things to try to forget the pain of having my son torn from me, knowing he has also suffered and needs me.

It makes no difference to me, as a mother, whether I have an STD or not. It has no bearing on my relationship with my son. It may have bearing on my future romantic relationships, but if I am ever to be with someone seriously anyway, that man is going to be something else, something different from the get-go. I don't know who would want me, really, and then too, I have to also want him. But if it happens, I know he will already know what he's getting into. That I show my bad side first and that my good side is sometimes kept to myself.

I just figure, if I'm going to "out" other people, I can afford to "out" myself too. Why should I hide under a cloak of perfection and righteousness? I deserve to give myself the same that I give others. Which now, by the way, may be the gift that keeps on giving...

At any rate, I am very clean. And I am unclean. I appreciate knowing all sides of the fence. How can I ever relate or write about something without experiencing it? I want people, for whatever reason, even if they don't like me, to believe me. I know some of my worst enemies believed me because they KNEW I told the truth and that I wouldn't exaggerate, even about them. If this is part of my story and journey, so be it.

So, I will be getting tested again. This time, I think, I may be positive for something. For the first time in my life.

I hope there will be some good "firsts" to write about one day.

I guess this calls for a round of "Strong Enough" by Sheryl Crow. And, I just might postpone my decision not to drink, for just one more day. I think this day, I can have a drink. But I am still committed to what I wrote before anyway. I don't need anything else, if this is what I've got already anyway. Don't know, but will find out.

Back To Celibacy & Alcohol Abstinence

I have decided, today, to commit back to celibacy until or unless I am in a very serious relationship, and only after the guy is tested for STDs first.

I guess some people have their scares. I've never had an STD in my life, and have been tested. I was tested recently too, but had a total scare when I felt stinging.

I didn't know what it was and looked, and freaked out because it looked like a little cut or something and I started thinking the worst, that some blister had burst, and then I realized, Oh! I had shaved. I had nicked myself.

So I was tested and fine and yet it makes me think--"Hmmm. Is it worth a lifetime?"

Hell no.

So, next time is with maybe the person I marry, if that is ever in the cards at any time.

Too bad, because I like sex, but I guess there are ways of getting around that. Will have to find a store. First time for everything.

Sort of woke me up today. Even with safety precautions, I don't want to take chances, and though I can still count them all on my fingers, I think I'm done now. Not that half of the time I even wanted it to begin with. But now, I'm done.

God give me the grace I need. Um, er, strength. Maybe that means I no longer drink too. Just to be on the safe side, given the vulnerable position it's put me in, in the past. Darn. I was starting to like white wine.

Maybe I'll just have a glass now and then, with dinner, in the safety of my house, or only when I'm with an old friend I know I can trust to look out for me.

Anyway, it's not like I can't do it. I've been celibate most of my life. I went to 24 and then had 3 years of celibacy, and then a couple of engagements, and assaults, and then I was celibate after I got pregnant, for another 2 1/2 years until I met someone in Washington after my son was taken from me. So, it's not like I don't know how to have self control. I didn't drink at all when I was with my son, contrary to CPS claims. I had a half glass of wine now and then, with some OTCs, to control pain, in my own house, and that was it. I didn't get drunk, and I didn't even drink when my son was awake, but only had a glass after he was in bed.

So, basically, fuck Wenatchee CPS and their absurd and slanderous claims. I think they were telling people I was a whore too, when I wasn't with anyone at all. Not to mention their claim I was drug seeking when I only took narcotics for migraine and for the severe pain I had after childbirth. I didn't abuse the narcotics, and I didn't use them for recreation. I had also never smoked pot in my life, but the hospital claimed to have a record that I did, when it was false.

International Afterall & Bail Out Ideas

I think I may be more into international affairs afterall. I won't be able to do anything for my own country directly, but maybe I can do something for people in general. And people are people, all over the world. God didn't make any one nationality more important than another, for the sake of hierarchy.

People who are writing history, too, from the U.S., are not always being honest with themselves and with everyone else. The U.S. writes about all kinds of "human rights" violations from other countries, but cannot seem to admit their own failures. There are human rights issues every single day, with the justice system in America. The black community has known this for years, as more of their people get thrown into prison than any other race, and they know what public defense is like and how fair the trials really are.

There are also corporate excesses and abuses.

I was thinking there had to be a bail out for the quickest recovery. Not the best recovery, but the quickest. Giving common people a share in the responsibility and making decisions isn't the same thing as turning it over to them. People are probably too tired and overworked to want to figure out details for themselves when they don't feel they really have the control here anyway. But if the 70 billion bail out had gone directly to the PEOPLE, instead of the corporations, with the corporations directed to give reasonable suggestions and instructions, this could have been a huge thing. The corporations and their executives should have received, in the bail out, exactly the same amount any other person affected by this receives. And then they should be instructed to assist in fixing the problem.

This bail out is going to set the stage for future bail outs. If this happens again, we will again resort to the quick fix, which may be the fastest way to get things going, but may not be the best decision in the long run.

Higher Than A Kite & Decision To Divorce

I have no idea what I had the other day. It was, I guess, just marijuana, but it was through a very large glass bong and it knocked me for a loop with only 2 inhales. I realized I had never been really "high" before until then. And it was different. Normally, I barely get "buzzed" because I just take a little bit. But this wasn't just silly high, this was where my thoughts were flying into eachother and the audio was magnified.

I was a little nervous and could only lie down on my back with my eyes closed. I didn't see colors or shapes or anything. It was a huge collage of words that I could see visually, and voices and memories from the past. And then there was this one thing that was said, which wasn't a part of my memories, that came to the forefront. It was a man's voice and it said, "You are the subject of an investigation".

It was sort of strange. It was said in a calm tone, and it was like I was the subject OF an investigation, not IN an investigation. Like, I wasn't someone who was suspected or anything, I was the topic or subject of an actual investigation of some kind.

I wondered the next day if the MK-ULTRA experiments are still ongoing. Lol.

I felt like I couldn't stand but I could. I didn't have an appetite or get hungry like I usually do with pot. Music was magnified. And I thought it was frickin' hilarious too, and then after I laughed, I would feel like crying, but didn't. People were going to get together in a group afterwards, but I was a little nervous. I trusted them pretty much, but in my state I felt I didn't trust myself, so I went home and went to bed. Where I was still awake for an hour, seeing and hearing comments and thoughts. I can't remember any of it now, any of the thoughts, except for the one comment which I repeated to some people when I got out of the bathroom. And I remember having to use the restroom a couple of times.

Someone said later it was probably marijuana with the seeds and that's 20 times more potent than the regular kind. I looked up LSD last night, out of curiousity and some of the effects I experienced seemed to match. I didn't see really creative things though, as I would imagine with LSD, which I've never tried, so I don't know. Then, when I fell asleep, I was out like the dead until I woke up, and when I woke, I was fully awake. If there is a Sleeping Beauty drug, that's it. I think that's what she took.

In a way, this comment about my being a subject made me feel relaxed, like something was being taken care of behind the scenes. It was a reassuring voice, but not a pandering one.

But then you wake up and go about life the next day, and I still have to come to terms with reality NOW and from the past. I felt very somber yesterday. I kept thinking about my future and how I had made a decision the day before, to not be a part of this country any longer, when it is possible.

It was difficult, because people would ask me what I was doing in this town, if I liked it, and what my plans were, and I found myself repeating things I've said in the past, that I like D.C., I planned to stay, and was looking into law school. Then, at some point, I caught myself and added I was interested in maybe living outside of the country. To say it out loud.

On the way home, in the cab, I was talking with the driver, and told him how I was planning to live somewhere else, and how disappointed I am with things here. I said it was the hypocrisy that bothered me most and how much more corrupt the system is than I had known. I told him I believed other people could still fight and do great things, but that I had already had my voice discredited and my reputation trashed. There is nothing that I can do, personally, for this country and it's delusion to believe otherwise. I told him I'm not going to give my stamp of approval or acceptance on this country, by STAYING in a place where I was abused and this was allowed to happen and continue without accountability. It would be wrong and it would be like saying, "Oh, yeah, I'm okay with all of that. No problem. Let me WORK for YOU now."

Then, I almost started to cry when I told him it made me very sad because I actually loved my country but I couldn't be a part of it any longer.

It feels like a divorce.

I don't know what actual divorce feels like, but this must be a little bit what it's like. People from other countries who have had to leave, who love their country, maybe more than a lot of others who stay, must know what I mean and how I feel. You love it, but you can't stay in an abusive relationship. It doesn't make sense.

I don't know where we're going yet.

I had told Christa, long ago, before all the things happened with my son, that I was planning to leave the country. This was after the FBI stuff. She wanted to know exactly where. I told her we were going to move somewhere else and be sucessful and everyone would see how I wasn't mentally ill, and it would discredit all the wrongs that had been done to me in this country. She wanted to know EXACTLY where I was going.

No one, that I've reported, wants me to get out. They buried me alive and want to keep me there. I like the part in Kill Bill or Kill Bill 2, where Uma is trapped in the box under the earth.

I figure I'll find a way to get out, but it's quite clear no one is going to assist from this corner of the earth.

Running Progress

I tried running this morning and was able to go some distance. About 2 track laps. My knee feels a little better but it started to hurt and feel unstable so I quit. I think it's not mechanical at least, but probably more cartilage damage under my kneecap. I am hoping it heals itself with rest and that I can try to run after that.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Another Catholic Fanatic

I had someone try to oust me out a living situation again. I'm quite sure I know who it was too. And he just so happens to be Catholic. I suspected it was him, because he acted so weird after I moved in and then he was trying to hit on me and basically jump my bones, coming into the room at night once, when my roommate wasn't there (awhile ago) and I had to say, flatly: "I'm NOT interested."

Well, I figured it was him and I guess there was some big problem all of a sudden. Then, he opens the door to my room, the other night, in the middle of the frickin' night, and my roommate was in the bed with me and suddenly, the next day, everything is fine.

Then I hear someone outside my door, in the kitchen, saying something about how is he going to spend the night here with me? I don't know, maybe the guy is freaking out that he's not "safe" or something unless I have a chaperone, or that I'll be reporting HIS ASS next.

As long as he keeps his ass out of proximity when I'm trying to sleep, he will be just fine.

But like I said, if it's not one thing it's another. How ironic that I'm not the one freaking out about how he is opening the door on me, and whatever. If anyone has a right to be concerned...but like I said, it's always someone like HIM who gets totally fucked up about shit and makes huge drama over things, which only feeds my concern about agendas and motives to begin with.

I don't start shit. But I sure have to take a lot of it, it seems, or I'm expected to. Anyway, the guy came in and then left, so it appears he's sleeping elsewhere.

Obviously, another one who reads my blog. Sign up for the newsletter asshole. I'm going to start charging access to my blog. I think I seriously need to find a way to do that

And you know what? don't get me wrong...I work with Catholics and we know eachother, and one of them wears this huge medallion of Maria, which I complimented sincerely the other day. I don't have problems with the normals. There are a lot of normal Catholic people. Whom I like. But there are also the weirdos, and weirdos plus government job is just a stretch for me.

Give me the normal, hard working sincere Catholic people who just want to live and let live, and we're fine. I would go to bat for anyone wearing a Maria medallion. Or Mary medallion or whatever. I would fight my ass off, if I were a lawyer, for their rights. For economic equality and opportunity. It's really a narrower, weirder, group I'm concerned about. Every religion has them, I KNOW. And I KNOW the Protestants have them. So I'm not disputing that. But the ones who seem to absolutely HATE me, seem to come from Catholic sects.

This guy, who wanted to have me kicked out, I complimented his obviously Catholic tattoos and stuff. He said what he was, and that was cool with me. He came in, tonight, wearing an "Italia" shirt. Who knows. Maybe the Vatican sent him. If not the FBI or CIA. But I was cool with him until he freaked out over me. And that's how it goes.

Could I fairly preside over a trial involving a priest? or clergy? I sort of think I could, because I met this priest at the bar and didn't judge him. However, even if I think I could keep negative emotions out, for the sake of objectivity, I would be too emotional. I would probably think about the wrongs that happened to me, and if anything, feel sad and cry, and maybe give too MUCH leeway to the Catholic party, just out of an attempt to be fair. If it's regular laypeople, they're good to me, in general, the ones who aren't weird fanatics. But people in government positions or clerical positions who are Catholic, these are the ones I've seen abuse their power and try to exert it over me and to influence others.

That's how I draw my line.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Shake It Off

I guess I just made it through one of the stages. Which one did I just walk through? Did I pass through "Negotiation" or did I actually make it to "Acceptance"?

I've been deluding myself, thinking, after all of this, and everything I know, that something is going to change or get better. I gave my all and I gave everything. I don't have anything else to give here, and nothing I do here is worth the investment of my time.

I guess the U.S. just wants me to take it all, and be okay with zero intervention from their end, and zero accountability, and then I'm supposed to take the diagnosis and "treatment" and lay low to make them seem more in control of the whole situation than they are. I will tell you one thing, one thing for the good ones in government, and the good people I'll leave behind, you have some SICK mutherfuckers here.

What makes it worse for me, is the facade. Hypocrisy has never agreed with me. We have never been able to agree to disagree.

After sobbing my eyes out for about 10 minutes, the song "Shake It Off" by Mariah Carey came to mind.

I don't think I've ever allowed myself to be resolved to just cutting my losses here. I oscillated. Had my temper tantrums, and then went back to false hope. My only "delusion" has been to believe people are better than they are, that some of them were better than they are. That anything can change when there is zero sign of change. Maybe there's some great change ahead for everybody else, but obviously, I've done what I need to do here and we'll go where we can get better protection and where people will not try to cover things up.

I sort of wonder if that's what some people here wanted. Me to just take it all, and then complacently go to college, get a degree and work for the country as if I have no further concerns about my safety and my son's safety, as if, "Oh, that was then, and I was having one of those...whaddyacallem?...breakdowns" as if nothing really happened and the U.S. can claim they have a wonderful civil rights program and a justice system that works. Works for whom, I would ask?

I think the U.S. just doesn't want a U.S. citizen actually making a fucking refugee claim.

The Day The Music Died

My fortune cookie for the evening says:

"You should be able to undertake and complete anything."

I swear to God I am not living in this country after I get my son back, and if there is a way to revoke citizenship, after the lack of help and only harm that's been done to me and my son, this is what we will do.

I start feeling sorry for the U.S., and feel like I want to do something to help, and see all the good things I could accomplish here, with a law degree perhaps, or something to fight for. I see all these people I want to fight for, who I can relate to, and who need a fair shake.

But after this, unless something turns around in a major way, I do not believe it is safe for me and my son to live anywhere in the U.S. because no matter where I try to go with my son, and what I try to do now, all doors are closed. It's not my fault that they're closed, but it is because I chose to speak up.

If I have to speak up from another country, that's what I'll have to do. It is probably easier to be a critic of one country while living in another country anyway. And believe me, we won't be going to a country where there is a majority Catholic rule.

God forbid.

It was funny, just two days ago, the juke box at work broke down. Allegedly after hitting a Madonna song. I wanted to know which one, because I'd been playing "Material Girl" at home all day. No one knew. It just stopped. So someone quipped about the music dying. It was so quiet without music. So I broke into song, following this guys comment about how the music died. I sang, "The day, the music died...

and they were singing...

and then the best part, which I won't forget, was that people started singing WITH me. We all sang out, in lusty voices, "

"Bye, bye, Miss American Pie/drove my chevy to the levy but the levy was dry/them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye/ singing this will be the day that I die...this will be the day that I die..."

The whole bar full of people was singing together, a capella. It sounded GREAT. And then I thought later, how fitting. That song, for me.

Well, you know. I personalize things sometimes. I laughed the other day with a woman at the bar and said this music was so depressing...the song was "Baby You're A Lost Cause". I said to the woman, "I don't know about you, but I am internalizing this song and taking it personally!" and she started to laugh out loud and said yeah, really. She was too.

That's music for ya.

I'm taking my music overseas. Somewhere. Or just somewhere else. Not here. Everyone says stay here and make money, but since when have I ever been motivated by money, and since when has anyone ever given me hope about a future here? I have some foreign attache guy who probably doesn't know me at all, passing out "Footprints in the Sand" laminated cards, and telling me to look forward to a future in diplomacy. Then I have someone else telling me about Angelina Jolie and how she did great things when she got direction and pulled her act together. Like, I'm wondering, is that what everyone thinks should happen?

I'M the ONE who should FUCKING GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER? after what's been done? If you don't believe me NOW and help me and my son NOW, and have faith in me NOW, why in the fucking world would I ever be stupid enough to believe you're on our side "later". What, later, after I've already been slandered? Later, after you hope my audacious voice can be quieted with meds?

You FUCKING CLEAN UP YOUR OWN FUCKING MESSES. You people can't even handle the small reports I give you--and you allow hoodlums within the government to run things, and run over people who may not be as stupidly brazen as I've become, but who are in similiar positions, who don't dare speak up or out, because of what they see happening to someone like me.

You really think I have a future in diplomacy or anything else here, when you've already allowed my very good name to be dragged through the mud and are waiting on accountability from MY END and NOT YOURS.

What would I like to see? I"d like to see someone come forward and offer to dig up whatever kind of diagnostic they can to prove this happen. To step in and say they'd like to help me file an appeal. To step up and admit there is no sign of illness, that it's a bunch of people who are sicker than me who are the ones to worry about. I'd like to see a judge who is a real man and can be fair. I'd like to see the FBI come forward with my FOIA requests and an apology for the crap they put me through. The same FBI I should be able to SUE the pants off of for what they've tried to conceal and how they sat by idly as I warned them worse things were in store for me and my son.

And you think, as I go through all of this ALONE, without ANYONE coming forward, that I am going to just skip along through services I don't need and should have never been defaulted on for, when my son has been traumatized to hell and back, and you THINK, I'm just going to take up the knitting needles and smile and proclaim myself a reformed woman who wants to do some good for the same country that has maybe not fucked me directly, but ALLOWED me and MY SON to be fucked over?

If you care so much, and it seems an awful LOT of people have been reading my blog, for one thing...if you really care, then why didn't you do something?

What this tells me, is that you're taking the "Ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country stance". Only thing is, it doesn't add up. I've done a lot, already, out of concern for the public interest in this country. Speaking up WAS my way of doing something. Like I said, I know I can't expect to receive a reward for doing the right thing. But this where I draw the line.

You allow me to fake my way through agreeing I've come to see the light and that it's all about me, and my son and I are out of here.

My song, for the mobsters and mafia within the government, who keep people down on a regular basis, is to listen to the song, "Baby You're A Lost Cause". That song is for you. It's for the cowards who dared to harm a baby. For the cowards that had to use deceit and harassment to get their way, who couldn't play fair with a woman because they were beneath her and too far down to get anywhere the honest way. And it's for those who just stand on the sidelines and "hope for the best" thinking they feel sorry about everything but don't want to get involved.

The line of that song, that comes to mind now, goes like this: "I'm tired of fighting/tired of fighting. I'm tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause."

I think I pretty much made up my mind tonight.

So, the faster I finish writing about the crap that happened, the faster I'll be able to fake my way out of this hellhole. You'll get your mental illness diagnostic, but you're not going to get unending denial from me and refusal to admit "there's a problem". That's the only way you would win at this point, is to have me continue fighting this, when I have no way of winning. So I will give up, for your sake, so you can have your little piece of paper, but it will be a very empty victory for you.
Next time I fight, it is from the other side, and you will not be able to touch me or my son.

And there will be worse things to think about then.

Funny, how a cab driver spoke to me recently about the story of Ishmael.

Sudden Mail Delivery By CPS and Wenatchee AG

I've enclosed a redacted copy of my email correspondence with a former roommate from Blaine, Washington. It sounds to me like it's something from Wenatchee CPS or AG, and I make strong NOTE, that I did not receive ANY MAIL from these people, until after they won all their hearings and I lost the deadline for appeal. Not ONE piece of discovery was sent to me, and I requested it, and all of a sudden, NOW there's no problem with mail delivery.

Re: C
Sent: Thu 9/25/08 9:16 AM
To: cam

It's from Wenatchee, WA.

----- Original Message -----
To: "
Sent: Thursday, September 25, 2008 4:56 AM
Subject: RE:

Hi Cyndi,

Is there a post mark or anything that at least says which state or town it
came from? I'm trying to figure it out.

> From:
> Subject: Re
> Date: Wed, 24 Sep 2008 08:11:55 -0700
> Hi Cam
> No return address so I don't know who it's from.
> Cyndi
> ----- Original Message -----

> Sent: Tuesday, September 23, 2008 2:39 PM
> Subject: RE: Camp Horizon
> Hi!
> Who is it from?
> Cam
> -
>> Subject: Re: Camp Horizon
>> Date: Thu, 18 Sep 2008 11:19:11 -0700
>> hope you are doing well.
>> Hey there was a box delivered to you at this address....what you want me
>> to
>> do with it?
>> Cyndi
>> ----- O

Every Effort To Call My Son & The Agenda Of The Bairds

I waited all day, and was trying to call my son, at almost every hour today, to no avail. FIrst, the first 5 hours of the morning and afternoon, all I got was a busy signal. While I got the busy signal at my aunt's house, I called Granny to see if she knew what was going on, and she said my aunt and her daughter had stopped by to see her, but had not had my son with them. If someone was babysitting my son at my aunt's house, they did a lousy job, if that's who was on the phone for four-five fucking hours.

Then, I finally reached someone late in the afternoon, who told me they couldn't give out the phone number of where my son was, and they refused to TELL me where my son was, and only said he would be home between 8-9 p.m. their time, which is supposedly now past his bedtime.

I said I wanted to speak with him and that this was important for maintaining our bond, and they said to call back. So I called, before and after 8 p.m. their time, and all I got was an answering machine. THEN, I call again and it's BUSY again.

Since when do they not have call waiting?

I am completely sick of this crap. I can't imagine anyone in my family really believes my son will appreciate this when he's older. They think I don't document, if not here, elsewhere, everything they do? They think my son is going to THANK them in the future? for isolating his mother and trying to alienate her from him, for backing out on promises because of self-interest and greed, and fanaticism?

I think about my son every minute of the day. Today I bought him a "My Real Digital Camera" to send him by mail. Since he cannot speak, TO THIS DAY, like he used to, I figure at least he can point and click and enjoy taking photos of his adopted animals.

What's truly bizarre, is how my mother's side of the family has taken such an interest in my son NOW, after he was taken from me, when they showed zero interest in being a part of his life before, even when invited to be. They had to be persuaded to go to his first birthday party, and not ONE person has every sent my son a card or note, or present of ANY KIND except for a couple of things when he was first born. By a few relatives, and only a few. After that, they could care less about my son. Now, there is an almost fanatic interest in him. I question why and then I realize what it comes down to is guilt. They think they can make up for what they've done by abandoning me and my son, and helping his mother financially, with a lawyer, KNOWING the outcome would have been different, by spending time with my son to ease their own guilty consciences. At least a few hours here and there is certaintly CHEAPER than the cost of a lawyer.

My mother's side of the family is a bunch of wackos and everyone knows it. CPS uses them against me only for the purpose of having allegiance to cover their gross misconduct and mishandling of this entire matter. My mother's side of the family would be more than happy to have someone diagnose me as nuts or try to put me on medication, simply to excuse their own problems. One being, they threatened me to never tell police about my uncle Loren Baird assaulting me, physically. I never had anyone assault me physically, which legally constituted "assault" on the books, except for the time the one priest doused me with water purposefully. That was just with water though, when he tried using his "blessing stick" as a weapon of "mass disruption". The other times, were with my mother's family, who, after years of practicing corporal punishment on all the children, feel free to take it out on adults they don't like too. Two of my aunt's kids did things--one spit in my face and the other one shoved me around while I did nothing in return. The other time, the only other time, Loren physically assaulted me and held me without letting me go as I tried to leave the kitchen when he was trying to continue an argument I didn't want to continue. I tried walking out and he blocked the doorway and grabbed me and kept arguing, refusing to let me leave. He tried to reconstruct things with my grandjmother, who has alzheimers, as a witness: "Oh I was just givihg you a hug". No he wasn't, and I don't accept unwanted "hugs" either, that last for 5-10 minutes against my shouts to let me go. He only let me go after I said if he did not, I would go to police about it. So he tells my grandfather, who threatens me to never go to police. What good would that have done anyway, since the police were already all over my ass ever since I reported the monks and then especailly after reporting the FBI.

Everyone is claiming Loren wasn't trying to go after me or keep me from leaving, and yet, both my grandfather and grandmother watched, as on another occasion I was high on a hill, and he was yelling at me and I said something back, and he lunged forward and began to race up the hill towards me. At which point, noting his angry expression and imaging he was feeling a compulsion to give me another "hug", I turned around and began to run, and run I did, to their next door neighbor's house. The Bakens. Where another retired FBI guy lives, who moved there sometime after I first met the Abbey monks, which I remember, noting the date. He works as a P.I., partly retired and used to uncover mobsters, supposedly, in Las Vegas.

I used their phone to make a call because I needed to go someplace else that day...someplace where the family isn't nuttier than the trees in the orchard.

It is now 1:20 a.m., my time, and the phone is still ringing "busy". They had no intention of allowing me to speak with my son today. At all.

Not only that, they are not supervising him well because he lost the keys to the animal hospital I sent to him, and he wouldn't lose those keys in my care, because I would have been playing with him, or had him in the corner of my eye, and would have known where they went. They were lost for over a week. I almost had to buy new ones for him. He never lost his toys when he was with me.

I lost my own stuff, but not important things, and my son's toys and belongings were important to him and are important, and are therefore important to me.

Needless to say, after I threatened to go to police about my uncle, and tried, to no avail, and also told my aunt to be sure her kids kept their hands to themselves and their tempers in check or I would do the same there...well, between that and my mother's concealed hatred and jealousy of me, which she's always had, even when I was a little girl (it was no secret, even to my grandmother), they would like to blame my expose of THEM, on ME. So they will do whatever they can to make themselves sound better.

My mother has always been a bitch and I just never dared to call her as she is. She made no secret of the fact that she wished I'd been born a boy, after their firstborn was a boy and died, and I've been told how my birth helped "a little" but getting that BOY "helped a lot". Because boys are "sons" one should have their quiver full with. My father actually loved me, and paid attention to me, bringing home books for me to read, and presents, and being more moderate. Actually showing affection and reading bedtime stories and telling stories and listening. My mother got jealous. She cried when my father wrote a song for me and was jealous over that, complaining no one had ever written a song about HER. When she and my father almost divorced (his desire not hers) a few years ago, my mother was overheard by officers, yelling at me (it was their cell phone I was using, not mine) and being abusive, when I did nothing but try to placate her, and then she shot off a letter to me, an email, about how she didn't want to have contact anymore and didn't love me, but still cared about me "in a general way". THen she lied to heaven and hell about ever writing it to begin with, and I was threatening to expose her and show my father. SHe KNEW my Dad would freak out if he saw that email from her. At that time, I was the only one holding them together as I withdrew my support for my Dad leaving her, to his surprise, and said they should try to work things out. He listened to me, and did what he didn't want to do--stay with HER.

Later, I realize they're two peas in a pod anyway. Both of them are obsessed with money and are selfish. I am absolutely against horrid stereotypes, but my mother has been accused of being both "Jewish" and "Scottish" for her renowned "thrift". Yes, it's a bad stereotype, but when it comes to my mother, those images, I guess, from a lesser sort, arise. My mother was the type to eat a bag of M&M's in front of her kids and dole out 2 pieces to the kids, after they begged for a few, and then continued to eat the rest of the bag herself. The type that told her 11 year old daughter to get a job on a bike route, delivering newspapers, in the pouring rain, even, to a 70 person route, and going inside stranger's houses to collect money as they tell me what "pretty eyes" I have and I'm starting to get whistles when approached by cars from behind. Why have a paper route? Not because they couldn't afford to buy me clothing, but I guess every penny counts, because it was more money to spend on herself, and I was instructed, I was to pay for all my own things from that point on. It would have continued if my father hadn't intervened.

I remember going through their underwear drawers, wondering who the fuck I got my red hair from, and if I was adopted. My mother showed extreme favoritism to my brother, after making it known her first love was herself and her Harlequin Romance novels, which she shoved under the sofa in a vain attempt to hide her "quality" reading material. I may have been a virgin until I was 24, but I learned about heaving bosoms and "his manhood" at quite an early age, from my mother's reading materials.

I never found adoption documents. Just an old black and white photo of the firstborn son who died before I was born.

It's now 1:47 and the phone is still ringing busy.

They make absolutely zero effort at keeping my son connected to me. What they will find out, is that I will get my son back, through whatever artificial means necessary, and there is no one who will be able to keep me from making my own decisions about the best interests of my son, and we will be leaving them behind.

My son is not happy with them--he only puts on a show because he's worried someone will just disappear on him again. He was forced to "bond" with them, according to a former CPS worker who got refugee status in Canada, by his traumatic separation from me.

I am getting my son out of this country. I think for a split second that maybe someone will help, but they only want me to put on a show of helping myself, to make it easy on everybody else. No one is looking into anything that happened, or offering diagnostics which would prove what I've claimed is true. I have offended too many people to get anywhere, ever, in this country. Honestly, at this point, I'm open to talking to people from other countries.

If you think you have room in your hearts for me and my son, let me know. We will be wiling and able to travel.

TTSOML #92: Litigation

Honestly, to do the litigation part of the TTSOMLs justice, I would have to have some of my documents together so I can make sure I have dates right.

Basically, I had the first judge and then another, and at the same time, I had a concurrent defamation case which I filed in Multnomah County, which is in Portland, Oregon. The defamation suit was against the Abbey officials and lawyers who lied about me, in addition to the newspaper The Willamette Week.

The other one, for Section 1983 and other things, I filed in Salem, Oregon. I sort of think it would have been better if I'd filed that one in Multnomah as well, but I believe I could have made at least partial gains through the last judge I had, whom I would have kept and wasn't doing anything eggregious,...however, it wasn't up to me. That case got cut off midway, and thrown into the Portland Archdiocese Bankruptcy process.

The lawyer who paid me for copies of my research about vicarious liability of the Archdiocese to clergy working in religious schools, monasteries, and the like, or in positions where doctrine or morals was taught or disposed, was Greg Smith. Smith knew enough about me to know I was smarter than I was usually expected to be, and that I could do excellent research. So he paid for copies of this research. Before any of the cases were brought into bankruptcy court.

The day after I handed over binders full of this research, and filed one in Salem as well, it was within a few days that the Archdiocese filed for bankruptcy. The other plaintiffs attorneys claimed it was to block their cases from getting media exposure. I also think they knew I had something on them. The Archdiocese had had many claims against them dismissed improperly, because, I believe, some lawyers didn't care to do their homework.

What was confusing to me, was that most of the lawyers were versed in secular law, but they didn't bother to look into the RCCs interpretations of things, which is important, because how a corporation defines themself can be determined in more than one way. It went against the whole idea of "know your enemy". Not to say they were an "enemy" but more of an adversary to be held accountable. The whole point is, they were the opponent, and to fight for their client, they should have done better research. Either they did, and didn't care, or didn't, and didn't care. I don't know which it was.

Before these cases were filed, Christa was calling me, and over time, she managed to find out the names and occupations of everyone I knew, had ever been friends with, was still in touch with, and about my family. She wanted to know about all of my contacts and what religious affiliation they were as well. There was one other person who started asking a lot of questions like this too, and his name, his last name escapes me, but his first name was Jonathan, the guy I dated before I met the FBI guys.

There was also another guy I forgot to mention in my little "line up", who was very out of place, and whom I was even warned about by the bartender. I should have listened to the bartender. This guy, it turned out, also had connections to Bullivant, and did a few things to try to psych me out, after he slept with me, while I was obviously, to him, intoxicated.

Basically, they got me when they were sober and I was drunk. And it never happened when I was sober, which is how I know it wasn't full consent. I mean, it's one think to be buzzed, and another think to be drunk. And, because I very rarely drank, I sometimes ended up in bad situations because I didn't realize my tolerance or how different drinks affected me and that they can vary in strength. I didn't even know there were different "proofs" for different liquors, until I had already moved to Washington state. And that was in 2004-2005.

When this sort of thing happens, though, and women cannot speak up about it, and blame themselves, or when it happens to men as well (but more often women) that's when you know there is still a desperate need for feminism. There is plenty to fight for, and some of the worst things have replaced the old battles which have been won (at least in part).

As for the binder I filed in Marion County, I had people go there to check it out and they never received it. So I would go and someone would hand me part of the file but not include this. They always left it out. It was a part of the file though, and I asked that they keep it all together when it was requested. I have no idea if they've done this. Basically, it reads like nothing is there, and sort of sounds like it agrees with what was said by the Archdiocese, but then you get further into it, halfway through and towards the end, and the shift pops out and you can see what changed.

impromtu images coming to mind

When I close my eyes, I see an arm stretching up and forward
and I see a fire from the hand, more than a flame, and it's a real arm
and then I see it firm up and it's suddenly the arm of the statue of Liberty.

The arm becomes flesh again and hurls the fire to the left, in a sweeping motion,
underneath the water is rippled by the wind. The fire is compact, like a baseball.

A fir tree where the arm was raised, the arm is gone.
back table

one with a pale suit on, short blond hair
her hand gently touched her hand and was away
as my head was still turning

a red violet flower with fine and light petals
brightly, with rain asleep as gnats are swimming
sliding off the bloom in a stream of consciousness
knows they are falling and nods
they are caught in the grass, clinging to the blade
he is 10

snow in a great plain, a pond covered in ice
trees large and full with leaves
leaves in the winter. geese fly by in v,
daffodils rise from the earth
yellow and dark green
he was fishing there, all by himself,,
last summer. with his straw
hat and long pants rolled
up to the knee.
the sun sparkles and his eyes are blue.
christopher robin

mosquito bites here look like boils

a ring coming in and then moving back
looking through the ring,
it is gold, then silver, then
it is a scope.
and she is walking by in a skirt
a-line, the wind is slowing the folds
her hair is the color
of the dirt you rub between your fingers
long straight hair and you follow her
into the deli grocery with the bars on the doors
star 69
midnight blue skirt
peeling a banana
she left her ring at home

zippers zippers and more zippers
zippers on canvas bags, in piles
on the floor, silver zippers
no one does the sewing anymore
zippers lock in the smell better
ziplocked blue lips
kisses pink lips
purple seal

silk yellow bumble bee swirling
around like a DQ ice cream cone
flashes out into a bedsheet Queen size
shining off of the white walls
cypress leaves against the door
clear glass vase
one held up to be smashed
against the desk and floor
marbles rolling across
the floor and into
the cracks of the tile
lining up
like the players
all of her players
lined up
to square off
she likes the one with the white and blue
with the black and yellow
the green and clear blue with bubbles
the cats eye
she picks them up as the rest close in on eachother

a projector light on a stone wall
grey cream white blurry
a face with a red shirt moves into the spotlight
no one asked him to
no one told him to step forward or to move a little to the left
he looks like a woman
at first i thought he was
and then i saw, i realized,
he is a man
something changed
first blood wasn't meant to be baby's blood

there is a mountain of diamonds
we are looking down on it, and see its circumference
she fell against them,
without any clothing on, she fell against the rocks
her hair fanned out
blond, beautiful, angel against the snow
she didn't know what was coming
arms out to the side,
fell like she had been pushed into a pool
free falling onto a large bed
as the snow falls to melt upon the ice
her head to the right
fell right into the middle and pushed them out
from her weight, scattering fortunes
shattering faith
shooting rainbows from their prism.

tulips poppies roses red
smoke rising from the stem
wet feet muddy
running through the field
six or seven
bright dress clinging
soaked by rain
smoke rising like an indian spirit
this is your spear, this stick
this is your crown, this wreath
your life will be one of sorrow

where is your strength? this arm
where is your heart? this storm

frog skipping wet from the fern
sashaying against my calves
i laugh and chase this toad
perchance he is my prince

bubbles float to the ground
i blew them high
i am everywhere
in the crystal balls that fly
and come down to break
so gently,
no cuts
lots of wet kisses

fuck me now and fuck me hard
scroll down for more...


more retard...

i am just waking you up
through the element of surprise.

this one right here, writing now, this isn't a poem. the above one is, and i did it mainly to wake myself up. and shock everyone and raise my family's great expectations of me to even greater heights.
i'm going to try to write a longer poem, but everything i'm writing isn't even with an effort...i'm just writing what images i can see in my mind's eye. but not really "working" on poems or anything. stream of conscious writing i guess, but i should try something longer so here goes...

sing a song of sixpence
the banks have made us cry
4score and 20 blackbirds
baked and quite quite high
when the pie was opened
the birds began to sing
wasn't we a dainty dish
to set before the king

listening to king of sorrow...

skyscraper pavement rain
looking up at coming down
we are going to play a game
you be the crazy one
i get to be the one who is sane
we'll see how long they believe us
we look like twins though,
if we don't say a word we could
switch places now and then
no one would know.
i know i'm not the pretty one
but i want to be the funny one
the interesting one
how long shall we play?
from the back, we look alike
especially if we wear hats and hide our hair
you'll have to do something
with your hair you know
it isn't sophisticated like that
if you look like something you are not
you will look crazy
if you act like something you are not
you will sound crazy
and i want to be the crazy one
stop it! stop it! give me THAT!
i will look crazier if i wear the pretty clothes
contradiction is key
they might guess if it's too usual
throw in a quirk or two that's not in the book
make it your own
wear crazy like a cocky hat

you get to be the sane one, remember?
no, they will adore you. some people can relate to
crazy better, but a LOT of people would rather have dinner
and go shopping, and speak, with sane.
you shouldn't wear crappy clothes, but shouldn't
look too fashionable either. it would be too eclectic.
no fancy bow ties. keep to the same old thing that's
worked for centuries. a dour expression and khakis
khakis go with everything, but when in NY or Paris,
may as well wear black even though it
reminds you too much of your rejected calling to the priesthood.

you get to eat the normal stuff. i get to eat fruity things
and maybe some junk food, for the sake of instability.
this is going to be so much FUN!
i am going to have WAAaaay more fun than you are.
I'd better get paid more too.
I think I'm worth it.
You know I'm worth my weight in gold.
a father mother son
sitting at a table made of wood.
quiet tones, they are looking into eachother's eyes
their son is playing with a car, driving it noisily as he
listens in all the same
losing everything
the refrigerator hums, everyone notices because
no one sings
can't fall asleep, not even to the white noise

Bitches Or Cats?

I just got something better than a shot in the butt. I got mad. I walked out to get some coffee and have my nails done, and these women driving by me, pissed me off. I'm not even going to go into details, but it made me mad enough to turn around and get more TTSOMLs done.

It is sometimes the bitches that scare me most. I have always related better to men. But unfortunately, even before I had enemies through reporting corporate assholes like the Thebaults or clergy with the Catholic church, I always had women who were jealous of men.

If they are not jealous and worried I'll take their man, they're livid and want me to pay for reporting misconduct by their man.

The type of women I get along with are usually very beautiful, and don't have inferiority complex issues, or the very laid back, who don't freak out over a sink of dishes, or the ones who are extremely smart and strong, and have had their own share of battles for being a strong woman. Some of the poor, too, because I know how it feels and they know I know.

In general though, I do not get along with women. Actually, I used to be nice to everyone and I only got to see their jealous side. They couldn't say anything bad about me, but they were still jealous and paranoid, guarding their men. When I stopped being nice to everyone, then the claws just came out. It's always the bitches who have at least some money to perhaps more than a lot, who are used to getting what they want, and manipulating it out of a man. Almost always, not very bright. It's the trophy wives and the conformists who hate me most, and while they should actually be proud of women who stand on their own, it's like it's a threat to their whole existence. They don't WANT to stand on their own two feet, and they enjoy being conformists and leading silly lives. That I would dare report their husband, or father, or friend, or brother, is unacceptable to them. They're the type of woman that stood on the side, throwing things and yelling self-righteously when other women were marching for the right to vote. The same women who abused the activists, won the same rights they were ridiculing. They ridiculed the sight of a woman doing something "different".

That I've made vindictive female enemies is no surprise to me. So when I see what I just saw, I don't know exactly why it even triggered a response at all. Do I want their lives, in exchange for mine? NO. Do I want them to "like" me? No, not exactly, though I wouldn't care one way or the other.

I think they just feel I'm a threat. If not to their church and clergy, as some of the worst have been (and said asmuch to me about what they think, so I'm not running off of assumptions here), to their men, and therefore, maybe THEM.

I think they must not like the fact that I am able to both turn a man on sexually, and think with my head instead of my heart at the same time, knowing where the lines should be drawn.

And, I think, they don't like the fact that I am not living a vapid life. There are plenty of bitches who wanted to see me fail, in every possible way, because they were jealous, and then resentful, and then, simply hated me. It is from this hatred that they derive their pleasure. These are the women who marry themselves out for hire as personal assistants, who think they are defenders of the faith, who perform blow jobs for their bosses willingly, who have spent far too much time masturbating over the failures of others.

Some of them have looks, some have money, some have artistic talent, and some may have brains. But most of them do not have the entire package, and courage enough to be a free spirit and buck the system as well. It's their loss. In this way, I feel superior. I also care more about public interests than myself, or I'd have never gone through any of the things I've been through. I guess what pisses me off, is that the wrong kind of women acquire power and money to begin with, and then laugh as if they are superior to me, simply because they have the keys to the basement door.

Back Soon

Well, I am going to write TTSOMLs but I have a terrible headache (tension) and need to get my nails done too. So I'll have to come back to this.

I'll come back, read up on the financial issue, and bail out plans, approved and not approved, and listen to the debates again, and add more to what I think about that too.

I haven't been following the news at all. I was more in touch with politics in Blaine, Wa., than I've been here, in D.C., just trying to make it and deal with the matter involving my son. But I'm curious, so I'll see what I can read into things later today

My Thoughts On The Debate: Financial Crisis and International

I want to go back and watch the debate, while I'm not both stoned and buzzed. However, I was able to gather a few things to talk about last night.

I should brush up on the financial crisis. Someone asked me what my plan would be, and I said my plan would be to match however many billion we spent on the corporate bailout with a bailout for the lower end of the spectrum. $600 per person on a tax stimulus isn't 70 billion or whatever. Well, frankly, don't ask me to do the math, but I don't THINK so. This was my flippant response, without taking any of the details into consideration.

I am untouched by the crisis. I was poor before and I'm still poor. But I feel it, and I feel what is going on. On one hand, I'm not surprised. I would say this is a manifestation of what happens when the plutocracy has been making policies and creating loopholes for corporations for years. The thing is, if they can get away with paying almost nothing in taxes, because they know how to "work" the loopholes, this only encourages high risk behavior. In investments, there is a time to take high risks. But the rule of thumb is that you keep a balanced profile. Low, moderate, and high risk, in various forms of investment. These guys were making decisions based on greed and the encouragement our society gives, to those who take risks. I say encouragement, because the only people who can pull the strings to take the risks of this magnitude, are those who already feel protected by the government they've been using special interests and lobbyists to create for themselves.

Unfortunately, so many middle class Americans are affected who were just along for the ride. Do we bail out these corporations, and give them the assurance that they, and large airlines, and other big business, can count on the government to fish them out of shady waters? There's sort of not a choice right now, because they're actions, the choices the elite has made, has affected everyone else. Well, like I said, not me, and not a lot of us already-po-folk, but in general...

So how about this...If we're going to spend billions to bail out these corporations, and then be stuck with higher taxes to pay it off, when these corporations have tax cuts and loopholes like none of us have...If we're going to give corporations, who, through their OWN FAULT, made unwise decisions, WELFARE--EMERGENCY WELFARE (and, by the way, let's just start calling it what it is...)--I think we can look to the government and expect to have a ready answer when we ask who the favorite in the family is.

Three kids in the family, Poor, Middle Class, and Rich. Rich keeps getting an awful lot of gifts, favors, fancy dinners, special meetings, and welfare. But when we give to Rich, we don't call it welfare. Now, for Rich, we discuss "bail outs". For Poor, we turn our nose up over "hand outs".

What is the fucking difference between a bail out and a hand out?

Middle Class is the unfortunate middle child. We know what happens to the Middle Child. Rich gets attention, Poor gets attention (even if it's negative attention), but Middle Child...Hmmm. Maybe we should begin to worry about the neglected Middle Child.

If a multibillion dollar bail out to corporations is the solution, and some kind of help probably IS at this point, why don't we start to think about doing something radical like this, for the lower end of the spectrum?

We are seeing the effects of "trickle down" with the collapse of banks, but whatever happens to the idea of trickle UP? Making our base stronger, and giving people who never had the means to take "high risks" in the first place, a chance to succeed? I already hear resentment over who is going to paying for the mistakes of the corporations, through taxes. And who already gets some of the biggest tax breaks?

I want to know how much money we could give people who want to save their houses, and those who have never been able to own a house in the first place. How far would 70 billion go towards these people? If we're going to spring for billions, why not trillions? at the very least, in this giant government bail out, I would think the bail out should be distributed, or more money added to the pot. I even wonder, so what if the banks fail.

In a way, I wonder, what if we just allow them to fail, but support everyone else who has been affected by their failures and mistakes? For once, I wonder what could happen if Americans were given tools and money and a little guidance on how to take their own bail out money and make it work for them. Maybe some new people could start up new banks. I don't have very much sympathy for Enrons and Banks that do stupid things. Everybody makes mistakes, but it's these people who turn their nose up at the poor and try to cut welfare for the poor, but open their hands for money themselves, and they will TAKE it as long as the government is willing to dignify and distinguish the vocabulary.

This is an emergency, but I also know a lot of families in emergency situations every single day and no one is giving them ENOUGH to really be able to make a difference. They get some food stamps, and the single mothers are encouraged to become worker bees for the grist by taking state sponsored courses in vocational schools, to prepare the poor for doing the dirty work of the rich.

Onto the debate. The thing is, it was either Obama or McCain, who said the best days of America were ahead of us. Something about how this isn't the end. Which wasn't very encouraging.

When you have presidential candidates standing up, and telling the American people this isn't the end, and that we have better days ahead, when the fear is palpable throughout the nation, over the state of our nation, it almost reinforces the idea that we all know. That THEY know, and are admitting to us, they know things look grim. It's sort of like standing in a wasteland and trying to be courageous. I know, probably, that most people were able to blow things off, but for me, there was a point in the debate where I became literally afraid for the country. Like, "Shit. We are going down."

On the other hand, I think both candidates are admirable men. I heard a lot of mockery over McCain, which I didn't like. I'm for Obama, but hearing crowds jeering does nothing for me but make me feel sorry for the jeered-at party. I also don't like all the age-discrimination crap I hear all the time. I know I want to be taken seriously when I'm 70-something and people should have more respect for wisdom that comes, often but not always, with age. Is it a serious concern that he COULD pass away or something and leave us with Palin? Yeah.

Obama has come a long way. His demeanor was more confident and commanding. He didn't have the same deer-in-the-headlight look he sometimes had months ago. You can see he's grown.

On the other hand, McCain had some good points, and while his face seems expressionless, the things he says, hit hard. He is able to make a forceful point. The point about genoicide was good. On the other hand, some of the stuff, about seeing "K, G, B" in Putin's eyes, sounded a bit artificial and doesn't sound very diplomatic either. Sort of contrived in a way.

I need to hear the debate again, before writing more.

I think, the best economic stimulus plan is to empower the people. Something needs to happen, to motivate, embolden, and inspire the middle and lower class, to take control and put their talents and skills to use. When 9/11 happened, people were suddenly working together, flying flags, and trying to do what they could to help their neighbor. The very richest, at the top, we need them. We can and could benefit from the tricks they've learned over the years, while they actually had TIME to develop strategies and MONEY to pay for advice and consultation. We need to have them on the side of the rest though, realizing that if they do not change themselves, and their policies, and begin to give up the rule they've had, they will be going down, and when they do, they will fall further, and hit hardest.

The regular American needs a "plan" that will inspire them to take action. The rich need to be willing to give up some of their power, to allow those who weren't born with a silver spoon in their mouths, to level the playing field. This is, I think, what will save the country. It will only become weaker and more corrupt if this doesn't happen.

Oh, by the way, get rid of the war on drugs and legalize the crap, and you'll have a lot more money for the justice system as well. And how about allowing Americans who don't make much money, smoke pot when it really is a medicine for so many, and stop pandering to the pharmeceuticals. It's a documented fact that pot reduces intraoccular pressure, and is effective, and noted as effective, by our government, for glaucoma. This same mechanism at work reduces pressure I get behind my eye from migraine. It's just common sense.

Get rid of the drug war, and take, as someone said to me recently, "The legs out of crime".

Give a giant stimulus package to Americans, not corporations. See what happens. Also, I think it would be a great experiment to give a few people, who represent average America, all of the tools that the rich have, including guidance and mentors and tax attorneys, and see what these people are able to accomplish when they are equipped with the same tools. People do not get the kind of "bail outs" that corporations get. They get a few bucks here and there, and that's not enough to work with. You need money to make money. It takes generations of saving, and planning, to bring a family out of poverty, and that's a family that is planning ahead and has time to think about it. On the other end, it's been generations, on the part of elite, to secure their own interests, through the policies we have now that encourage risk and greed.

I DO think something can change. I don't think the U.S. is falling down, or falling apart altogether. But there are very serious warning signs, and if the collective whole doesn't stand at attention, and realize there is going to have to be some give and take, it will weaken, I think, and set us up to be taken advantage of by other countries which haven't enjoyed playing second fiddle to "the best".

"Maria" by Carlos Santana

I just saw the video for this song. Really beautiful dancing. Technique I don't know, but passionate, yes. I almost had tears in my eyes watching it.

I especially like the dance collage towards the very end, after Santana is singing the chorus with his head back, and then it goes to this guy break dancing and doing a flip, to a couple spinning together, to this shot were a women with a cream colored dress with a fringe at the bottom, strikes this incredible dance position...the feeling is there.

Wondering About Gangs In Wenatchee

I was still getting my migraine last night. I smoked a little bit more to get it to quit but had to go home after the debate. I think I slacked in smoking when I didn't get the first migraine--so I thought I must have enough stored in my system to prevent the next one.

I should mention though, yesterday when I had to smoke right before work, I did think later, it must have affected my memory. Because I took a drink order which is usually no big deal, and I had to go back and ask what they'd ordered. For me, it definitely affects my immediate short term memory. Other than that, besides sleepiness or occasional munchies, it doesn't seem to have any ill effects or side effects.

The benefits outweigh the risk because I was able to continue working. The migraine went away, even though my memory was affected a bit. Then, last night, before I went to see the debates I smoked, and then I had a Petron Cosmo and I could NOT, for the life of me, concentrate on the debates. I was staring at the screen with info going in one ear and out the other, and spacing off about this guy, and noticing people in the room. I was totally unable to focus. I was told, these sorts of affects could have been from the pot-strong liquor combo and I think it must be true.

The other thing I noticed, which may or may not be right, is enhanced appreciation of flavor in food? Because suddenly, that glass of chardonnay I had, right after the Cosmo and endame, was the absolute best glass of white wine I've had in years. And probably, since it wasn't a wine bar or anything, it wasn't even that great. But it turned me into a wine lover. I have never had a glass of wine where I could not only taste the "bouquet" but see it in living color (and I was NOT on shrooms). I don't know how to describe it because I don't know much wine vocab. But it was very full and fruity, but not tart, sort of smooth in a way. I have no clue how to describe wine. But I started thinking maybe it was the pot.

So, we hung out for awhile and then I went home because I was getting a rebound migraine and just needed to sleep. I took a little pot a half hour ago because it was there a tiny bit. Not much, but a little. I hate how it makes one sleepy.

I started this morning with "Umbrella" and "The Little Things" and in the last hour, "Maria" by Carlos Santana. I heard it at work the other day and it took me back to a summer before things went from bad to worse. I hosted my cousins and their friend to stay with me in Oregon for a week or two and we went around town and did things. I was involved with the monks by then, but it was before things went bad, I believe. And it was before my house kept getting broken into and cars vandalized. I still had all my cute clothes from Nordstrom, and my caramel leather jacket. Got a photo of me, my cousin, and his friend (who was, I think a gangster in Wenatchee--before I moved there). I realized later because I took a class in juevenile justice at Portland State and people talked about identifying gangs and I looked back on the photo and saw them. The numbers, the shorts, colors, and way the hat was worn. Never even thought about it before.

His favorite song was "Maria" and we played that one, over and over and over, along with a lesser known Whitney Houston tune, "Your Love Is My Love". "Maria" was definitly the song of that summer. I don't think I've ever heard a song more, in the car.

Now I listen to it and wonder about everything. What gang or gangs were involved with harming my son. What the motive was and who did it. I think about my own eventual involvement in finding out about Wenatchee and how there is a drug circle that goes through the justice system there. I was told, by a reliable source, that one of the Wenatchee judges bought cocaine from a dealer, and a probation officer as well (and here they are slapping the hands of convicted drug guys), and I think about how I told Wes, with the FBI and how he didn't bat an eye and seemed to defend the judges more than anything else.

I think about the car vandalisms after what happened with Dr. Butler, and how, after my son and I were being constantly exposed to something at our house, when we went to McDonalds (we hadn't been able to get out of the house for a month because my car was broken down and there was no bus, so the times things were happening, we weren't able to get out. As soon as my car was fixed, I planned to leave the country with my son).

...anyway, how, once, at McDonalds, right before Christmas, a huge group of hispanic guys, in 3 different trucks and SUVs, came in and sat down and just watched me and my son. There were about 10-15 of these guys. They started making faces, one especially, who imitated "twitching" like I'd been complaining to my doctors about. I was also documenting things on my blog about the twitching. So I assumed they were reading my blog or were familiar with it. The guy would twitch dramatically and then laugh and shake his head looking at me, with all his buddies staring.

I gathered my son, got up from the table, and walked directly over to him. "Do you have kids?" I said. I said it firmly, looking him in the eye. He stopped and all the guys just froze and looked at eachother with discomfort. I wait. He said, with a toss of his head, "Yeah, I do." I didn't say anything back, just nodded curtly and firmly, and then walked out with my head held high. I said this because I thought if they had anything to do with what was going on, they could look me in the eyes, and I wanted them to think about their own children, if they had any. I didn't really think they were a part of it, but perhaps just reading my blog. Still, why would THEY be interested in my blog?

They piled out and got into their cars, and were whispering to eachother, some looked very nervous, and then they'd look over at me. I think they didn't expect me to notice how they were mocking me, or to do anything about it. But I stood up for myself, and I stood up for my son.

The problem was, when this stuff was happening to me and my son, we had nowhere to go. We were isolate in the country and I didn't have a roommate who could speak enough to testify what was happening was true. This all happened from the fall, towards the end of fall, into Winter when it was cold. My car broke down twice and I couldn't afford to have it fixed. In the meantime, my family stalled on getting it fixed and we were simply stuck out there. There wasn't a bus. We lived in the country. There was a lot of slow.

We were sitting ducks.

When I get to more of the details of what exactly was happening, it does confuse me a little bit. There were a couple of different things going on there, besides the constant computer problems.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Second Round of Migraines Report

Well, I wAS going to do TTSOMLs.

I was exhausted again today so took long, long nap. After smoking weed earlier this morning, which cut short my second migraine.

So this post, real quick before the debate, is about the marijuana cure. I pretty much quit my period yesterday and was fine, no headache, even this early morning.

By the time I got to work, about 10:30 a.m., I had a migraine coming on. I knew it was a migraine because it was very lightly behind my eye and on one side of my neck.

So I had a joint with me. I was bummed I didn't think to inhale a little the day before, but I smoked a few inhales and it CUT off the migraine, within about 20 minutes. I worked the whole shift, without even noticing my head.

I had zero problems. Basically, on a usual day, I would have had to go home. But there was no problem.

I started getting a little bit tonight and just smoked a bit, and I'm fine again.

This stuff is a total cure for my migraines.

What do I have to do? Go to Canada or some other European country, to both have my son and not be suspect for "illegal activities" AND have a life despite my disabilities?

I seriously hope the U.S. changes their policy.

TTSOML #91: After Recusal Of Judge #1

Judge #1, for Marion County, Salem, Oregon, stepped down after a few months. I think she probably does a good job with less complicated cases, but my opinion was that she wasn't much of an independent thinker. She relied heavily on the reputation of an attorney, and what firm they were coming from, more than actual substance.

So I filed for recusal, and she stepped down. There was no way she couldn't.

The next judge, I really need some of the paperwork now because I can't remember everything, but it was a man.

I actually think I may need to refresh my memory on these details and the names of judges before I continue with the litigation posts.

It was certaintly a learning experience. The justice system was totally different from what I expected. I learned what lawyers talk about when they saw the law is different in "theory" than in "practice". I also can understand the frustration lawyers have with incompetent or prejudiced judges. Judicial misconduct sometimes falls within the scope of the FBI, and it's no wonder. It's a position of great public trust (supposedly) and there is actually a high degree of corruption. A lot of attorneys told me most of the good lawyers just don't want the job. So they get stuck with people who want power.


I had to work a longer shift yesterday until late so couldn't call certain people because it was too late, and then, this morning I have to be at work earlier in the morning.

I plan to work on TTSOMLs today.

It was good to meet some of the people I met yesterday. Take care everybody.

So, whaddya think? On a scale of 1-10, how crazy?


I just put 2 & 2 together. Mark and T-Bone.

Mabye it's a coincidence, but if not, hi Mark.

I lost my phone, with the sim card with your info so if you read this you can writre me here.

Talk to you later.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Profiling, If I'm So Crazy

I've just had this guy, and then another, come into the cafe I'm at, to smirk and wave (first) and then scowl.

I know that writing all these ideas out, out of order, and without the timeline or facts together, makes everything sound all over the place, but I'm not going to refuse to write out each detail.

I will only have to go through and finish the TTSOMLs to get the facts all in order. And it's not as though I don't have any evidence to back up my claims. I have enough evidence.

I said I had YouTube clips and I did. I also have taped telephone conversations, and some other items which show I'm not making things up. I have medical records, and I have rolls of film, and in addition to this, I have the information about the Catholic church, which was even paid for by attorney Greg Smith, when I was still in Portland, Oregon.

While writing out suggestions or thoughts may muddle things, once details are in order, it points back to what happened when, and first.

All I will have to do after writing out the TTSOMLs, is to scan in some actual documents that prove my order and what I've said. I have copies of email as well.

It is funny, because today I've had some people pass by who clearly seem to know who I am and make supportive comments or give a thumbs up sort of gesture, and smile pleasantly, and then there have been a few who deliberately stare me down, glaring, and others who just pop in to look directly at me, laugh in my face, and leave.

If I'm so crazy, let's see exactly how "sane" I can be when I've completed this and gone to be with my son, with the seeming willing resignation that I am exactly whatever Wenatchee wants to say I am, and how I've suddenly metamorphed into a model of decorum and dignity.

A truly "loose cannon" cannot "control" themselves, over a period of time, if there is truly a mental problem. A truly loose cannon would always be that way, or lapse, or need medication.

The thing is, I sound like a loose cannon because I've called out so many on the carpet. I've reported several individuals and talked openly about things most people would not speak of. But it's either true or it's not. It's certaintly not a figment of my imagination, because witnesses saw the people I've been with, and there is evidence I was where I've said I've been. I also recall events and facts accurately, even a decade later. So when, exactly, does my "imagination" become "spotty"?

I've also never claimed to know exactly what has happened, or to point a finger in only one direction. I've been careful, because I have never made any assumptions, only suggestions and I've questioned things.

But if everyone just wants a show, I'll give you a show.

Then you can tell me how all of this, what I write now, is not the result of a controlled mind.

I am writing about things people don't want to have in public, and don't want to know, or believe. But it is true, and it is controlled. I choose to write about it, and I choose to make some of the facts known.

If I can then suddenly "convert" to whatever it is, and I know what it is that society wants of me, to deny all, and to accept all blame upon myself, I will do so.

But you have already been warned and know ahead of time that it is an act. And yet, how will you ever prove it is just an act?

Will someone then attempt to question my "sanity"? My "remarkable recovery"? Hmmm. For how long, I wonder?

I'm not ready to put on the act though, not until I get to the part about the litigation and what the Abbey lawyers did, and then how the FBI and Portland police got involved. Then you will have more insight. Then, how I was hounded by police all the way from Oregon to Washington, and profiled and followed and pulled over for things I didn't do, and I think by the time I get to these things, some people will have a better idea about what the objective was.

I just had another woman come in here and photograph me with her cell. Thinking I didn't notice.

When My Son Quit Speaking

I don't know why I'm adding this now, but to follow up my post today about my son's vaccinations and how Dr. Butler refused to give me the original records I signed for his vaccinations...

Well, later, it was when my son and I went into the hospital, after my son and I both began vomiting violently, and had extremely severe cramps (it wasn't like normal flu, and my son and I ate the same thing after having a "guest" over). I took my son to the hospital.

They told me this female doctor who saw me was examining my son in the next room. I didn't want my son to be apart from me but they took him away when I was vomiting.

I later found out the doctor who examined my son, was not the woman doctor, as I was told. Dr. Malcolm Butler saw and examined my son.

My son quit almost all his speech from that day, and within a week was unable to say any of the same things he could say before.

This was the timing, because I called Christa and told her when it happened, and said I didn't know what was wrong, but that my son had quit talking since we'd been to the hospital. She sounded very strange over the phone and actually, a little panicked. She wanted to get off the phone right away and avoided talking about it later.

When I later found out I was lied to, and that my son had been seen by Dr. Butler, whom I had directly FIRED and accused of not treating me and my son for various things, who also pressured me to take narcotics while I was pregnant, I questioned why I was lied to.

I wondered if my son and I had eaten something that was bad which caused us to throw up, and then I wondered what had happened to my son in the other hospital room, out of my sight.

After I told Christa about my son's cessation of speech, which I can trace to a direct date, the date of that hospital visit, my son and I began to have the twitching episodes and this is when we were asked where we slept and against which window.