Wednesday, January 2, 2013

My Jeans Razored

(I guess it's possible that the idea is that someone "lasered" my left knee, which is why it broke in 1993 at a cross-country meet.  I know it's possible because I've had things done to my body like this.  I noticed today that I had a mark from laser on my chin which discolored a spot to be slightly lighter and in a perfect circle mark.  I don't know when this happened--I saw it just today.)

Someone razored my jeans.  On top of all the other weird things people have done, and torture to my entire family, someone went into my house and took a razor to the left knee of my denimn jeans.

I had a natural tear on the right side, which I sort of liked, and left it. I was gaining weight and the fabric was thinner there and for some reason, that's where it tore.   I sewed it and it tore again but I don't mind. 

The left knee tear was not natural, and I don't like it.

I noticed when it was done.  It was a while ago.  I look at these jeans almost everyday, and only have 2 pairs.  These are my Levi's jeans.  So I got to my place and noticed there was some kind of shaving of the denim on the left knee to my jeans.  It wasn't because I ran into something or fell.  Someone deliberately shaved part of it, so the material was thinner.  They shaved it straight across, a little less than the width of a razor.  I knew, when I saw it, that someone had done this, hoping my jeans would then eventually tear at the knee.

Of course, eventually they did.

But what is bizarre, is why someone would go into my house, and do this my jeans.  I mean, are they THAT hard-up for an accurate "prediction" for something?  I can't think of what the prediction is supposed to be for.

I would say it was done to my jeans about a few months ago.  It was definitely noticeable.

So I have to sew up the tear on the knee, because it didn't occur naturally, and it bothers me that someone would do this.  I don't mind having the side to the right leg ripped and I like these jeans.  But the razoring of the left leg of my jeans, was someone trying to make something happen for them.

I mean, how nuts is that?  I'm supposedly nuts?  Who goes into a house, without permission, and tries to secretly razor a spot to tear on a pair of denim jeans?

The only thing I could think of, is I think this U.S. Army truck driver Mark wore a pair of jeans with a tear in the knee.  Aside from this, I have no clue what someone would be trying to match or prove with razoring my jeans.

I need Mark's last name.  Don't send anything to my hotmail account, to this blog, right now, because Microsoft has me blocked from accessing it and I wasn't checking the notes anyway.  But I need his last name. I'm sure it will come to me, but I've temporarily forgotten.

He showed up after I talked to the FBI in New Mexico.  No one needs to kill me, really, because it's not like I've had anything to say to the FBI other than "Why are you trying to kill me."  I am not kidding.  I've called them to ask them to investigate hate crimes against me, and once, thinking I was helping another woman, oh, and the PLF thinking it was in Oregonians' interest, and thinking once I saw James Whitey.  But aside from that, nothing.  So Mark showed up after I asked the FBI if they could at least pay for a bus ticket for me to get out of that state and they refused.  I mean, after my son and I are tortured, they couldn't pay for a bus ticket?  Mark showed up, from U.S. Army but he's connected to FBI.  He drove a semi truck for a company that delivers copper to coppermines.  There are not tons of copper mines in this country, so I'm sure it's not hard to track.  He took my ID and said he had to call it in to the truck company if he had another passenger, so there is a truck record with the Transporation Department.  He said he lived in Boston, MA and has a bunch of brothers.  It's a big Irish-Catholic family and he worked as a computer consultant before he did the trucking.  He has an ex-wife and kids.  He can't stand his ex-wife but he seems to like arguing with her.  He was either hooking up with a woman at a stop we made once, or picking up a drop. They knew eachother and she was blond with almost platinum blond or very light yellow blond hair and somewhat tall and pretty.

It was at a rest stop.  He said he had to do something and wait there and then over 20 minutes or more later, he emerged the same time this blond emerged.  She was very fit.  By their body language, I could tell they had just met with eachother about something.  I don't know what.  But then he wanted to buy tea, and put a bunch of tea in the truck.  I mean, it's not like he doesn't have contacts to Caroline Middleton or anything.  He bought all of this tea in glass bottles and dumped it out and put it into a clear water bottle.  And then he said he was going to go gambling and when he got back, he said he'd won or lost 10 or 20 bucks.  First he lied and said he'd won and then he told me he was lying.  He put on this acting routine for over 20 minutes, telling me he'd just won a jackpot and he didn't know what to do with it.  Then, after that long, of going on and on, he told me no, he lost and he was lying to me.  He bought a bunch of candy and nothing else and then he kept trying to pressure me to spend what little money I had, on food to eat for myself.  He wanted me to waste away my cash.  He bought Hersheys chocolate bars, Reeces Pieces cups, and sun chips.  He said I could have some "candy" but I should go buy myself my dinner and lunches.  At the same time, he was saying he would "marry" me in "10 years".  He said when he was done with trucking, and he had about 10 years to go, he wanted to marry me and buy some land in Massechusettes.  He was lying.  It was the same kind of lying he did when he said he won the lottery and what should he do with the money? and oh, guess what...he was lying.

He was scum.  I was tortured while sitting in his truck and he watched me for the signs of it, to observe me, and then made comments about "aliens" as he was moving around some kind of metal box thing with antennas. He is part of the group that tortures my family.

If I called New Mexico FBI offices, when I usually lived in Washington state, you can bet they called Laura Laughlin.

I want my son returned Laura, and I don't think you have room for negotiation.

No comments: