San Francisco, New People, & Judge Hotchkiss Orders

I'm in San Francisco. I can't tell you how much everything changes when I get out of Wenatchee.

Just getting to the airport was a triumph. As usual, the state railroaded things. I had grounds to object to their lack of notice and so I was told, when I said I was going to be late and put me at the end of the docket...I was told I should be fine. Usually the docket runs until 4. At least 3 p.m. Not once has it ever ended early. Well, I was told I should be fine and then I got there and court had ended before I arrived. I had let the court know I was on my way.

So they just pushed a bunch of lies and orders through again. Default. Every single thing they've won, they've won by lies and default.

I also found out my housemate HAD changed the locks and didn't tell me, and gave me no notice either. Someone told me this has happened before with her, that she's done lock-outs in the past. I guess some don't think she's as much of a missionary as one would think because apparently she's cussed out a 12 year old, and well, I know what happened with my fiance, whom she believed was my husband. Unless she knew him ahead of time, because like I said, it was like they knew eachother before we moved in. She also said, to me and housemates, that if certain people came onto her lawn she would shoot them outright. SHOOT THEM. I have certaintly made threats to SUE someone or make a report, but I have never in my life threatened physical harm to even my worst enemy. So it sucks. I haven't done anything to her. I haven't trashed her place, taken anything or stolen, and I've been polite. She said she'd work with me about some things regarding the house and then I tried to call her about it for more directions and she just ignored my calls and didn't even tell me she was doing a lock out. She did it the night I was out with that other guy who had police waving at him, and I had court the next day. If I hadn't been able to get into the house, I would have been unshowered and in the same clothing, and without my things. It's a little bizarre, and some of the things going on there are bizarre and I've tried to be nice about it.

I saw Jerry Moore, the Sgt. who lied about my son not having bruises, and when he saw me he actually looked humbled and nervous. I mean, I think the bee bee gun thing must have hit on something. He wasn't Mr. Cocky anymore. But I got his report, which he'd written before I said what I knew about him, and the guy just did his best to make me out to be a lunatic. I got the photos they took and they're just reprinted onto paper and are fuzzy and don't have definition. Only 3 bruises show up. It would be impossible, with that kind of resolution, to see the bruises that were there and I'm going to have to check dates because even the cut on my son's foot looked better. The band-aid was practically blending into the skin. They're not good photos. What is clear is that my son is very, very, thin.

The state's main request to the Judge was to prevent me from being able to videotape or take photos of my son. The visitation monitor is really, really, bad. She must really need her job because she's flat out writing lies in her reports and doing whatever she needs to try to make me sound bad. Videotaping is my only way of being able to prove the state is lying about me and my interactions with my son.

I met a couple on my way out of Waterville that I liked. An older man before that who was nice. But I noticed, with the man, his eyes. They were not just blue. They were this very specific, very clear and brilliant blue that I saw only in D.C. I knew it was either Russian or English. There are blue eyes of every shade and variety, but there is a certain color of blue that, I don't know how to describe. Once I saw a long line of handsome and tall men with this color of eye coming down the ramp from the airport in D.C. Some smiled and noted me. I noticed a lot of them had this blue eye color and I thought they were Russian or English. So I asked this man about it and he said, shocked, English. They were going to drop me off at a good intersection but after this, I guess he was impressed because they took me all the way to my house.

He was American, but with English heritage. So then, I met this woman with a carload of kids and really liked her. I am hoping to get to know her better. The kids were cute and the little boy kept echoing what I said like part of a Shakespeare chorus.

I got the airport and talked with a man from New Zealand who was funny and nice, and I noticed the Colombian colors on his bracelet. His daughter is marrying a Colombian. I realized I was starting to relax just talking to him, like all of the tension from the harassment I get from Wenatchee people, was just rolling off my shoulders. I realize once again, how normal I am and how well I like people and that there are normal people in the world. I socialize well and laugh and he and I were joking around about the competitiveness between Aussies and New Zealanders. He was saying, joking, New Zealanders aren't married to their brother and sister, and was going off about teams and joking and I said, "I don't know...then again, Aussies get to drink on the job!" He laughed and said there was a bit of that in N.Z. too. He has a daughter who loves to dance and is really good at it. She's 8.

I turn into someone else in Wenatchee, with all the harassment and provocation. And then I talk to this man who has been all over the world, and who knows a thing or two, and I realize I'm just in the wrong spot.

I then got on the plane and was joking a little bit with this woman who was maybe English? I think that was her accent. I looked back at her and for some reason, the idea she was related to P. Diana came to mind. She had so many similiar features. In a round-a-bout way. I don't know how to describe it. The air attendant came around with beer and I don't know what kind it was but it was good. It made me think of someone I knew in D.C. I had my beer poured and turned around and the English woman was looking at me. I almost toasted to her. I had this spontaneous impulse to toast but I didn't know why and I also thought it was lousy what the state has done and they are setting me up to lose my son permanently. I don't know why but I noticed her toes. She had the grecian foot, which I noticed because she was wearing sandals, and she was on her way to NY.

On the next flight I sat next to a man from France but he looked Russian and was suprised I said so because he said he does believe he's of Eastern European descent. We talked about blood type. Never in my life have I talked to someone who knew such random info as I did. I mean, he had studied the same things I had, just out of curiosity, about blood types and their dispersion of blood type throughout the world and origins of type. I couldn't believe it. He was B- I believe and he asked what type I was and we discussed how certain types are more predominant in certain countries. I'm pretty sure he said B- was common in Russia.

I got into San Francisco and it was rough. I had a few problems and noticed I was followed. I almost got the plates of a couple of cars it was so obvious. All of them were very rich and just following me around and laughing their heads off. It was basic harassment. When I got behind their cars, they would take a quick exit to the right. I don't think they expected me to know what was going on.

I noticed when I picked up my rental car, the keys had a symbol of a goat. Yeah, the ram. So I thought, huh. And then my room number and the room number of the guy I met with (who stays elsewhere) sum to 13. And the hotel has all this fish symbol stuff which was associated with A. all the time, but whatever. Probably no big deal, but I notice and I notice when I'm being followed around like I'm some kind of joke. I also noticed a couple of others who seemed to be keeping their eye on me (in a good way), and after I noticed one, I had to turn around because I missed my turn and saw she had a British flag on her car. And I'd noticed her noticing me before I saw the insignia.

When I was pulling out of the airport, I got the sense that someone was praying for me again, or just the energy that no matter where I was going, someone was looking out for me. And then I saw this huge shooting star but it seemed to be almost like a firework because it was too big I think, to be a shooting star.

Then I got to my hotel and it's nice. I met this new guy who says he works for the Dept. of Defense in intel. He didn't say this before. When he says he catches the "bad guys" and the "terrorists" I wonder about what he's telling me. "The bad guys?" I don't know. That's a direct line from Armando Garza. And come to think of it, "Secret Asparagus" was, I believe, used by a guy I met while trying to get to D.C. I knew it sounded familiar. Usually no one will tell you if they work in intel. Well, they can, just can't give specifics. But I wondered. You wouldn't think so or guess so. At any rate, things are checking out and he seems nice but I'm just getting to know people. There's no romance or anything, just meeting people.

I'm watching a movie for the first time in a long time: "Gran Torino", catching up on writing, and then going to hang out.

I think it's possible for me to get a job anywhere in the world except Wenatchee. I did go to my interview and he wants me to come back to talk to the second guy. I know I could do the job and do it well and probably make a lot of money for the company. I think they should hire me. They can always fire me. But I think they could make some money with me.

I don't write about people I work with. I never ever did, and didn't in D.C., UNTIL I got nervous about my work-romance with this guy who seemed to have connections of some kind with maybe some group in intel. I didn't know what was going on so I felt I needed to protect myself and put info up. I never wrote about that place until I was being fired for being pregnant, which was totally illegal, and pissed me off. But in general, I don't write about work or about people I meet, even if I've known them for a long time.

At any rate, I'm trying to figure out how to stay close to my son and find work at the same time.

Also, the Judge said he wasn't giving me a PD. He's refusing to assign a PD which would enable me to get New Trial right away, and is telling me I can find my own attorney and if they'll take $90/hr., he'll pay them the state rate. He knows, as well as I do, that for me to spend time looking for a lawyer, it will cost me all the time I have left. He also knows there's not a lawyer in Wenatchee that would take my case.

God. The police in this movie are just like some of the police I've known. This guy who took me out that night, recently...by his behavior, I don't know. Maybe his initiation wasn't at age 14, maybe there has been some kind of "initiation" involving being "another one in the hole".

I have no idea. I just thought about it, because I've had too many guys who are connected to eachother trying to be with me in just a one-time type of conquest, who are not looking for a relationship, but just a say-so.

This "13" shit is a little bizarre too.

While I'm here, I may upload some info on hearings. I also may go ahead and finally write about a few other things. I don't know. I may and I may not. I will think about it but I have to make up my mind for once and either just decide to never write about things, or just do it.