Monday, July 25, 2016

Lucian-Myer on the Kickdrum

This is my esteemed colleague and sidekick Lucian Price.



I keep him supplied with organic catnip all day long.








Both planted and canned catnip. After all he was born in Humboldt County.





I should keep the catnip in a martini glass.
This is him passed out on his green binki.
His mother was a feral cat, killed by a stoned driver while she was pregnant with him and his two sisters. He obviously survived, so I assumed he would be a runt, and I spoiled him.





He has his 'business in front, party in the back' socks to fit his personality; White high tops in the back, white gloves in the front (very professional.)





The world was waiting for this guy to come around. He also goes the aliases: Doctor Poopinton, Professor Scootington, and the convicted mathematical murderer: Hans Reiser (I never got that name, but a guest labeled him with the name [probably because he is also a genius] and it stuck. My favorite is simply Lucian-Myer Price.
His deadbeat dad has his last name, not his mom.




Yes I still own my Alf doll from the 80's.


 He is my favorite playmate.
He brought the sun with him when my cat of twenty four years died of a stroke. My live-in fiancé brought Lucian home shortly after we cremated her (D was her name), and I promised him that I would never love another cat again. That did not last more then five minutes. He use to sleep in my hand because he was so tiny. Love is the answer to any tragedy. However you label it, love saved me.


Those are my Groucho Marx glasses. I keep them in my purse. Airport security will love that today, on my evening flight to Los Angeles. It's going to be a Gold Star Day!





I always thought it was Woody Allen that said, "I would never join a club that would have me as a member." It was actually Groucho Marx.






I am pretty sure that it was Woody Allen who responded to the comment from one of his movies: ['.After 200 years of being frozen and then revived, he was immediately told that all his friends were dead.'] His response was, "Dead? But they all ate organic rice."






Friday, July 22, 2016

Urg.

I'm going to leave this blog behind to start one that I never put up on my Facebook page. Today I don't have time to write much. I'm going downtown to get waxed, polished and all classic colors. Nothing experiential.
I'm not the only family member freaking out about this upcoming family reunion. My sister is too. A few days ago she turned to stone like she usually does for very good reason when she has to see any of us, especially my skirt chasing father.


I'm going to take all of this down. It's amazing how much the brain can calm down and refocus if you write for about twenty minutes. That's my exercise today.


Why is the page for logging in weird today?


Red nail polish today. My regular woman. I feel like a human car wash going to the salon to get packed into a presentable form to see my family. We are all spread out over the country, and usually its over the world.


The sun never sets on an English Provence. I don't have a high opinion of the English. Nor their Falklands War with Argentina. Nor their disgusting food. I was working at a French Café (I'm capitalizing everything I deem fit) when the French Prime Minister spoke those famous lines last decade to (I think it was) Russia, and some other country. "How can we trust the English? Their food is so bad!" He had to apologize, which was less sincere then the public apology given by Johnny Depp and Amber Heard. My boss, Raphael, has gone to the back of the store to insult people for raising questions about the quality of his cooking. Don't insult a French chief's cooking, EVER.


A positive about the English: If you are picking people for a paintball game, they make good allies with guns of all kinds. That is why the sun never sets on an English colony.


See the above and I can breath again. Ahh, fucking family reunions. I wonder if I've mentioned in any of these blogs that I was stood up on my wedding by the man I just broke up with last week (after four years of dating after the incident) and my younger brother Simon flew in from England for that wedding.
My wedding was supposed to by a wedding by the ocean in Mendocino County, right below Humboldt in Northern California. If you want to live a bohemian lifestyle (code for, 'grow weed.') but you understand that you must be cut off from many people, choose your friends wisely and always screen their conversations (because my ex-fiancé and I were the only people in our rather large circle that were never robbed) , move to Mendocino County. A bonus if your side hobby is painting;  Mendocino County will treat you well.
I bought a twenty dollar skullcap because the ocean in three out of four seasons brings in freezing cold weather. The wedding was supposed to be on the beach, by the ocean. The ocean is infinity to me. The flowers were unapologetically poppy plants, and I was only concerned with picking out a tulle skirt, because the lei was going to cover my naked top. But it never happened, and much later while driving with my run away groom in the Jetson's-like traffic in Northern Austin, he calmly thanked me for the Honeymoon suite I had picked out. He stayed there alone. I'm talking about The Howard Creek Ranch Inn, which I stayed at with my ex-lover, my former California government professor. I highly recommend staying there once in your life. If you are lucky, you might spot a whale in the ocean next to the Inn, and Sally's cooking in amazing. Even if you are a veggie like me. She's a real hippie, meaning she has a strong work ethic. Her husband and her designed the detailed tile floors, built in hot tub, and Redwood interior. The Inn is a mixture of a church, a library, a museum and a cozy home.


Since I'm on the topic of Highway 101 (or HW 1) a motorcycle tour up the coast is something on my bucket list of things to do before I kicked that bucket. Also, staying in Calistoga Natural Hot Springs (a wine connoisseur paradise), and doing a couple's mud bath is on the list again. It feels better then a shot of China white heroin. You can thank me later.


Yes, my abandonment issues (that I've justified by saying, "No one is perfect!") include forgiving the money paid to the wedding coordinator. Forgiving my (now ex) for going on our honeymoon without me while my friends and family came into town from far away simply for just one day of shopping and skipping stones. I'm not the bitch that I started this blog with the intention of reveling. No, I just want things to run smoothly. My brain has so many compartments that I am a rocket scientist at keeping organized and free from one negative emotion oozing into a compartment that should have high walls. Some of these walls are like Castle walls.


Side Note: Talking about a Castle's walls always reminds me of that scene from, 'Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail', when a gatekeeper sees a man running from the distance for about five minutes, then that distance shortens within light speed and the guard is taken out. If that analogy fits with my brain's wires getting cross, well sometimes it happens.


I have a short period of time to write because I have to find a ride downtown. Two things that are bothering me. Number one is that I am a Jewish mother about my cat. Yes, I want multiple people watching him for the week or more that I'm in California. I might stay there. The health care system rocks and I like to save money. I'm spending over a thousand dollars in liberal Austin on feel good prescription medications that began for record setting insomnia. All the same medications are free in California. Plus I miss the ocean so much.


Another thing to recommend: The Clam Beach Marathon. I tried to do the 5K. I knew of a person who had a heart attack and died doing the full marathon. He ate his breakfast daily at McDonald's though.
Side Note: Michael Keaton is in a movie coming out about the founding father of McDonalds that looks interesting.
You have to run through rivers that the ocean make through the paths. That means you have to take off your jogging shoes more then once and bolt through freezing cold rivers in bare feet. The people in Humboldt who associate themselves with a 5K or a marathon have some brain cells moving together. The pure, take-your-bong-into-the-bathroom-in-the-morning stoners in Humboldt (I almost married one) will worry out loud if the government has put their thoughts into a physiological prison while not worrying too much about a Zestfully clean hot shower.


The other thing to worry about (that writing is calming down) is my family getting together. I wish we could just go as siblings. No dad allowed. When I say that I come from a unique background, I mean a few things by that, but I am willing to explain one of those things now:
The public answer to what I mean by a 'unique background' would be that I grew up with a loving family on an organic blueberry farm in a very wealthy area in Maryland, near Annapolis. But after my mother died (I don't think that I've ever mentioned her death in this blog) when I was eleven years old, my father sold everything of value to make his second wife happy. He met her in the discount section of the classified ads, long before the Internet world of dating sites. The Pennysaver, to be exact. She was a sadistic narcissist (unlike Paul Cortez...who I am certain is a narcissist of a different modus operandi) who never had a single conversation with me in the ten years she was married to my father. My mother had family money. When she died my dad went through that money, property, and tried to (its not funny...I guess I can laugh now)... to invest in an Eastern Orthodox Icon and Book store in Annapolis (called, "Holy Wisdom.") Surprise! That idea never got off the ground and my dad's very expensive icons that he bought mostly from a monastery in Boston were all hidden under his bed or in his storage bin. None were displayed for anyone to enjoy. For years.
My siblings went without food sometimes, but my father always had expensive artwork hidden out of site.
I have a pure silver cross from his collection. Since I'm not religious but lean towards Judaism, the cross I have is more of a secular one with four expensive gems at each point. I feel guilty wearing it though.


Expanding on this idea that I grew up in an upper class background but converted to poverty, well that is not an exaggeration. My stepmother wanted to leave my father, but somehow he sold the house my mother and her family built for us, and his share of our family beach house on the Chesapeake Bay (us kids are always welcome there though) to give all of that money and more to his second wife.

I can't resist this side note: That beach house that my mom's family owns is next to a man who has a helicopter pad like some people have side gardens, because his claim to wealth (for at least 15 years) is that he invented a cure for the common hangover. I've never seen his invention. I never need to now that I do not drink alcohol.
Back to my stepmother: She did not want us to live in the same apartment complex as her (because she was a highly calculating terrible child abusing monster) so we moved from our family home on 48 acres of land to a city project apartment in Redding, California. I have a blog that I am very proud of that lays out the speech my father gave to us about how the Germans (not the Nazi's...the regular Germans) lost the war, but they laid out their best linen and fresh cut flowers before the United States conquered them. My father gave us that speech to explain that we would never go back to our life of comfort again. And you never know how great wealth is until you lose it.
Our home eventually sold to a poor soul who has to drive past my crazy family farm to get to our former home. It sold for more then half a million. But my dad got rid of it initially to my cousin for $80,000 and we were in California within a month. My father even left our family photos in the attic. Its a good thing the house was first sold to my mother's niece. My father dragged us into the ground financially, and eventually I accepted that my lot in life is in the gutter. That is what I mean by a, "unique background." There is more to that label, but my life is not an open book. The Internet is still a venereal disease to me. But its one that I'm looking more favorably on every day. So its like chlamydia. A drink down the hatch can purify you. I initially thought it was more like herpes.

By the way, my stepmother eventually divorced my father, after just one year in California. So our transplant into poverty for a fickle woman was all in vain. He joined a cult, signed his youngest children over to me as their legal guardian, and spent the rest of his life reminding his children from his first marriage to my mother (who was honestly, the most pure and beautiful person I have ever known) that he only had children because my mother was a devout Catholic. Meaning they did not believe in birth control. My own sister, who turned thirty last year, did not know that my mother loved her at all. So although I don't want to elaborate anymore, it is very rare to find a man who leaves their family after the mother of his five children dies. He had only one more strike before he went to jail for child neglect. So he moved to Europe until he had no more legal responsibly. My father is a horrible parent, which he knows and has a sense of humor about.

I could detail more about him, but right now its ShowTime! and I need to look my best. The French think it is rude to not look your best in public.
The reason why I chose the spa that I do is because the manicurist I love is trying to speak to me solely in Spanish. I came to Austin to dance my pancake butt off (I half did already) and to learn how to speak Spanish. Also to hear live music. Austin is a gorgeous city, but more so if you LIVE DOWNTOWN. My new home is just seven miles away from my previous one, but its $5,000 less a year, and the actual apartment and its neighbors remind me of that daily.

Time to run! Olly Olly oxen free! Where is the poor soul to take me! I need to get downtown in an hour. I regret nothing (but my spelling and grammar mistakes.) Lo siento!
Finished product. I got drunk yesterday. Three glasses of wine. I expected those ladies to know not to give an alcoholic any fuel to their fire when they are already in a chaotic mind-space, but damn it, they treated me like an adult with options. Three glasses of dry wine in quick succession on an empty stomach left me joking about the salon's owners to the receptionists...while the owners were listening to the gossip directly behind the said receptionist. I am often an ass. Hopefully that marks my last ingestion of any alcohol for the next forty years of my life. I took so much Ambien in the course of my sixty tab prescription (a month) that I woke up one day in Austin, Texas. The wrong end of an alcoholic blackout could have me joined in holy matrimony at The Little Wedding Chapel in Vegas. That's where my father married his newest bride. She teaches Mandarin at Humboldt University.


Sunday, July 17, 2016

Back to L.A. Next Week

To die. That is the only line that I remember from Nathanael West's  'Day of the Locust.' That is the first line of his novel. I read Miss Lonelyhearts twice, but I never could get into' The Day of the Locust' because the first line is already introducing me to a wasteland.

The city was beautiful to me. That is, L.A. proper. I unfortunately lived in Richard Nixon's hometown: The very white, San Clemente. I packed so fast to leave Orange County that the fork from the dinner I was eating less then fifteen minutes before an argument led me out the door with my now ex-fiance was packed in with all of my clothes. He loved me as I was walking out the door. With relationships it may be hard, but there is a time to pull the plug when you still have some dignity left.

Today I pulled the plug on a four year relationship. I'm not a lawyer; there was too much negotiating going on and too little fun for a healthy balance.


This was my family. The only one that I like in this photo is Lucian. Look at his little tail! I don't know why I'm so tan in the middle of winter, but those smiles are genuine. This was before a wise guy altered the chemical components for regular oxycodone, so the 80 milligram pills that we crushed up and went up our nose with a rubber hose worked just fine. One day I'll tell random teens about the days of crush-able oxycodone just like Jordan Belfort told us about the benefits of quaaludes in the 80's.

Today is a day to own a rock-star pair of sunglasses. I bought a mega 14 hour energy drink. Today I leave behind a damned relationship. Nothing a brisk jog can't fix.

Okay, I rarely watch Oprah (gone is my credibility now) but I remember watching this one particular episode with a man who was a guest on her show with his claim to fame being the catchphrase for desperate women everywhere: He's Just Not Into You. And it was fucking funny in retrospect. The audience of pretty women asked him the same question from a dozen different angles and he got paid a shit-ton of money to break their hearts with the repetitious phrase, "That means that he is just not into you."  He had women crying in that studio audience as if he were talking about terminal cancer. That one phrase, that went on to be a movie, was his ticket to the big bucks. Every woman who explained their confusing relationship history to him would spill their guts and he would just wait until their mouths stopped moving to reply with, "He's just not that into you." I think he altered the phrase to add words like, "Honey" sometimes before he spoke.


What did I say about vanity? I gave it up in this photo for a laugh at myself. What the hell is wrong with my face? Where did my lips go? Yikes! Titties and beer...I mean wine. Titties and wine. My lips are stained with one year old cabernet sauvignon. My head seems like its way too small for my body. My ex would carry the same book, In Watermelon Sugar, down a very steep trail to get to this spot where we were photographed. It was heaven on Earth. It was so beautiful I almost felt guilty for intruding. The water was light green. The river was about 14 feet deep. Our Portuguese landlord at the time (Humboldt has a very large Portuguese influx) told my ex that his son died at this spot by falling on the rocks adjacent to this photo. When my ex did not reply at all, our landlord repeated his story, and my ex still missed his step to add, "I'm so sorry."












NO, I CAN NOT FIX THAT GAP.
*See, we don't look like extras from the movie The Hills Have Eyes 2 before the bottles of wine. Every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man. In this case, a perpetual tux.
Side Note: That Portuguese couple were expert gardeners. Very inventive gardeners too. There was a room in their home with a fine mist that came from the ceiling that had wooden barrels full of fresh tomatoes, and colorful flowers. We would sit in this room once a month when we came to pay rent. His wife would bring us pecan pie from scratch. Or tomatoes in a salad. The floor was simply wooden planks like the kind in a boat. I always felt calm in that room even though the tension between my ex over the source of his money (weed) never boded well with them. The landlord always greeted him with, "Hey easy money!"

I have always wanted my own family. But with this relationship and previous ones before this one, I'm angry at the conversations wasted on these people that could have been better topics for more interested lovers.

So next week I fly to Los Angeles, again. I have not visited that city since I jumped on the bus Gus, which was 7 years ago. But I'm only visiting. I get to leave in one piece.

Its worth mentioning that when I took that long train from Orange County up to Humboldt, three people sat next to me at different times that were like guardian angels to me. The first was a gangster-ish man, who was blunt about being abusive to his sweet girlfriend. He told me I was smart to leave, because once a relationship becomes that toxic, there is no coming back with respect. He told me a story about the first time he saw his current girlfriend, how he thought she was asleep so he got out of bed and grabbed her wallet, and took about $700 dollars out. He told me after a full year she asked him why he stole from her. His response was, "You don't get to ask me those questions."

The second guy I truly can't remember. But we talked for hours.

The third person was a woman who told me about seven years of abuse. She explained the concept of relationship escalation to me. If he hits you in the face, you throw something harder at his. She told me she was woken up to a gun in her face more then once. She said she never would have left that relationship, but one day her boss asked her to take off her sunglasses. She had a black swollen eye. Her boss told her that was enough. That broke up a very toxic relationship. When your lover is pointing a gun at you, yeah, its not a salvageable relationship.

The emotional compromise is much more insidious then a physically abusive relationship.

The very day that the 'titties and wine' photo was taken, we stopped on the way back home (being Arcata, California) to buy some flowers from a farmer selling plants from a stand by the highway. We were in a pick-up truck and there were too many of us, so we pilled in and basically sat on knees and laps. The flowers were for a memorial garden I kept to honor my brother. The truck was an explosion of bright colors and both cut and planted flowers. I wish a picture of that scene was taken. It does not matter to me that the men with me don't remember that day. It was a perfect day; and no cookie cutter day could replicate our organic fun. Its a memory I keep close to me.

This blog is my church. It's where I spell out my religion. I answer Pontius Pilate's question over and over again. Here is an entry in my electronic diary on a hot Texas day.

Here are the flowers, and a more modest and less funny version of me. Gardening is one of my favorite hobbies.
This is for a printing class that my ex took. He said the purpose of this image is to see the man as 'brainless.' Well sweetheart, I agree.
I was a stylish dresser before my rented home went up in smoke. At that time in my life I had a collection of lingerie, Bettie Page photographs (and the fire was a week after her death, ouch), as well as my brother's unique clothes (he was the type of person to find gems in thrift stores), most of my brother's baseball card collection, and the brand new one grand organic silk comforter was the flammable component that caused the fire to spread that quickly (no more then two full minutes.) Also my collection of scarves, pure Valium (I could have used that) and vintage clothing were lost. The humor is Joan Crawford's legendary line, "No wire hangers" was why most of my clothing was not salvageable. Wire hangers would not have melted the plastic to the clothing. My punishment for laughing at the camp classic, Mommie Dearest.
This fire was my first (out of two) major attempts to leave him. After the fire I had to go back, but with nothing. I'm no victim, but that did hurt.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Paul Cortez the Model Stalker

A Preface to my preface.
To find and watch the crime shows I am referencing in this blog, Youtube either:
-48 Hours Death of a Dream or
-48 Hours The Last Dance.
After reading the blog that I responded to (I am glad I skimmed it because I'm embarrassed to have tried to write comments that were ignored) its really hard to believe that anyone who has researched the case believes that Paul Cortez is innocent. They would have to ignore a lot while believing in miracles.
If you believe that the tabloids' convicted him, why did he almost get acquitted? David Haugh was cooperative until he was thoroughly cleared. Paul Cortez got a lawyer after his statements contradicted themselves. The one point to my pre-preface that is laughable to me is that blogger's comment that David Haugh has the words "Motherfucker" and "Bitch" in his lyrics. That points to guilt? He has those two naughty words in his arsenal, so he murdered his former (or current) girlfriend? Then David went about repeating his routine of getting a bite to eat, then getting his car, then waiting for Catherine, then going up and saying, "Whoa, she's dead!" To a 911 operator? He also told that police that he was, "barely gone. Like 20 minutes," to get his kicks by nearly damning himself with a tight timeline to the police? That makes sense? Also, because he said there were boot prints on the sheets, he is guilty? Did you see a photo of those sheets (I'm sending you over to the "Get this guy out of jail because he became a vegan"site for that photo.)  If you want to stay focused, I'll just tell you that there are impossible to miss foot prints on the sheets that almost look planted there. He chose the word 'boot' so he is guilty? Someone pointed out that they look like running shoes, so why did he say boot prints? I'll answer this question with a hunch: Because he just saw an image that burned into his brain for the rest of his life.
Paul Cortez called her over and over again around that time (not the actual murder like some have stated)  and his call patterns show that he took a subway then got closer to her place...then decided, "She's not answering. I should just go back, butt call her once more and not call her at all the next day for the first time in The Longest Time (Like Billy Joel's song.)
Duh! I keep getting sidetracked. The two curse words versus violent poetry are what I want to talk about in this pre-preface to the Preface. Okay, you don't have to have a degree in Poetry to know that those words are adult words often used in rap lyrics. David was very young too. While it is true that Paul Cortez's Poetry and lyrics were allowed in from years earlier, the only poetry talked about at the trial was in relation to Catherine Woods. So yes, there was a drawing of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle (these comments are dumbing down my blog) but you don't have to use adult curse words to have extremely violent, woman-hating, disturbing lyrics like, "She must suffer far more then you want her to suffer." As for the big boned uni-brow woman (I'm sort of jealous of that uni-brow) featured in the '48 hours Death of a Dream' or '48 hours The Last Dance', she had just met Paul Cortez at a yoga retreat! For her to state, on camera, that she does not believe the woman he sexually assaulted by sodomy, well I doubt that woman hating man-woman fends off sexual assaults to be an expert. That is what much of this boils down to: Women hating. I went there. The uni-brow woman (I have to draw the brows on after getting them tinted...its just latent jealousy on my part) to say to the physiatrist found on Youtube disguising the case was wrong because,"They were, "mutually obsessed..." well, why did she tell him she never wanted to see him again and stop getting his phone calls days after she realized he was not going to kill himself if she broke off all contact? Just random thoughts here. To me what is disconcerting is the mob mentality against the tabloid sales. Both are just momentum to convict someone. If you ignore all the evidence and don't believe the women who do state their real names and say he was obsessive, pick on someone besides David Haugh. I think David has had a hard enough life without a bunch of post-pubescent lemmings using his struggles as a scapegoat for a narcissistic murder. By the way, a narcissist has a really hard time with rejection.


Preface to this blog on stalking.
I initially started this blog about my day. I got stuck on a rant about the formatting of crime shows, and somewhere in my subconscious a bunch of anger regarding my stalker came to the surface. This is my anonymous, personal diary, and I don't want any comments. When I noticed people looking at this particular blog, I said HELL NO. But a few things make me want to keep it up.
-It was the right thing to do, and it is definitely the opposite of what people on the web seem to feel. Sometimes the right thing to do takes strength. This blog has stuff about family deaths, separations, depression, William Blake! and recently being branded a felon myself. I do not want mean people to pry into my personal life. But someone has to speak for Catherine because she can't speak for herself. She could have been me. From what little I know about her, I'd like to think she would do the same thing for me.
-Regarding the formatting of crime shows: 48 hours are mostly interviews and Dateline generally give more details on the crime itself.
-Regarding Catherine's laced drink when she was dancing; she did in fact call Paul Cortez. But court transcripts show that he never took her to any hospital that day. One additional comment is that that "Say No To The F-Word" blog states that he did take her to a hospital and that, "she was probably raped." Rape, in many states, is punished as a capital crime. You can't just add a careless, "Ah, she was probably raped" to a sentence. Also if that blogger says (and she does) that she read the court transcripts, she is admitting to lying in her blog. I just re-read my comment and many of her answers are, "My blog explains that." Well, no...actually it does not. What that blog does is label anyone a liar when something is important that needs to be discredited. But as a Catch 22-, when Paul Cortez lies, the blogger comments with lines like, "Well, he did not want to get involved in a murder trial" [to explain why Paul Cortez lied to the cops on where he was at 7pm at night. That is a serious lie, and I highly doubt his lie was because he foresaw that he would be railroaded because New York City cops are racist. That blog insults the reader by expecting me to believe what is a lie, who tells that lie and whose lies are white versus deadly.
-The fact that there is a person who has a blog that attracts "Yes" people. This blogger is as honest as Paul Cortez. She did not publish any of my comments but the last one, then capitalized on the word, "Fuck" that I used. Make no mistake; this is a terrifying murder. Catherine was getting dressed and ready for work when she was surprised by Paul Cortez (who was hammer calling her as his cell phone pings got closer and closer to her) and nearly decapitated her. So the word, "Fuck" in a audience of adults about this crime...wow!
-The other thing I'll add about the above blogger is that I politely apologized to her. When I went to add something in response to an insult she dished out to a commenter, I was blocked from my e-mail. When I got my partner to e-mail this blogger, her response was that three different e-mail addresses have responded (it was actually two because I was blocked) and her response to my comment pissed me off. The comment I am speaking of is something like, "Look what happens when you are Hispanic and live in the Bronx!" Here is one personal fact about me: My oldest sister is adopted (I have to say that because she is very obviously an exotic mix of Spanish and African American blood) and she has lived in the Bronx most of her life. I'm actually from New York. She is the most shining example of a successful person. It strikes a cord with me when people blame David Haughn because he came from a broken home (like a commenter in another blog I responded to, but in support of Paul Cortez.) My sister Lisa is a beautiful and successful mother who beat the same cancer that killed her husband and she does not entertain any negative behavior. I love her dearly, and never have I been afraid that she is of Hispanic decent and she lives in the Bronx. They are not putting certain races into padded wagons and chalking up murder charges.
-Yes, at one point I did support Paul Cortez as mentioned above. I'll speak about that later in this blog.
-A commenter in that blog that opposed the "F-word" (I feel like I am ten years old) wrote something like, "I am a former girlfriend of Paul Cortez but I have to remain anonymous so no television reporters contact me." What? Are you fucking kidding me?
-Paul Cortez was accused of rape by sodomy. No one in these 'Pro-Paul Cortez' sites have addressed this fact. This is how the police obtained Paul Cortez's D.N.A. In the end, this woman did dismiss the charges though.
-No, this in my final comment about the blogger who did not publish my nice comments: Someone wrote:" Paul Cortez is guilty and needs to stay in jail." and her response was, "Sorry but that is not a good argument." Well if you block people who have valid comments, you'll get the desired outcome of a blog that shouts from a high tower to free a murderer. I am not mincing words and I don't care what big boned women with a misguided sense of compassion believe.
-No comments will be published, good or bad. This is my personal diary and its my opinion. We are all entitled to have one.
-Finally and most importantly, this blog will introduce other blogs (or one other blog...I am lazy) regarding what should be the main topic that is attached to the name Paul Cortez; Stalker. Here is a link to a blog about stalking. I did not comb through the Internet to find one to suit my points. I Googled the words "Stalker" and "Things they say and do" and one came up that speaks about the "Hero Mentality" in a stalker. It goes through ten points regarding stalkers, and Paul Cortez and the limited knowledge on the web about the case (I went straight to the court transcripts) show that he fits at least three of the ten. One defines his behavior to Catherine in a nutshell.
-Also, there is a blog (in which I did comment that, of course Paul Cortez is innocent!) that states that the blogger believed this case is about too many phone calls and his shoes (or were they boots?) That is bullshit. The state had a much stronger case then two factors.
-By the way, his own band member Alex Rude wrote in a statement on a social media site about recruiting a new band member that Paul Cortez "definitely owned a pair of Sketchers."
-When Paul Cortez' appeal was denied, the "Don't Free Paul Cortez" site closed. It laid out points that were very compelling as to his guilt.
-Some "Free Paul Cortez" blogs will have you believe that every factor in the case from the judge to the racist police railroaded the poor victim. The weather was against him. His lawyer was corrupt. The jury did there own investigation (the actual words, spoken in a neutral to negative effect about the 'guilty' verdict.)
- If you believe he is innocent, imagine for a moment, hypothetically, that he is guilty. That murder was violent, unprovoked, and executed with lethal force. If Paul Cortez is guilty (he is) then its horrific that people are hanging on the format of a 48 hours episode for their truth.
-My apologies for repeating myself many times. As I stated in the Preface, I wrote the original blog as a random, get some inspiration, rant. But when it turned into a rant mostly on stalking and Paul Cortez, I repeat myself in these quick bullet points again in the body of the blog.
-So when you talk about Paul Cortez and his guilt versus innocence, maybe a reference to a stalker's behavior might help sway you!!!!


Here is the site that shows traits from his case:


http://www.lifescript.com/well-being/articles/0/10_signs_that_you_are_being_stalked.aspx


Paul Cortez fits numbers #3, #5 (a big one with her drink being laced. There is the term, "Some Hero Complex Stalkers.") That fits his M.O. #6 "Other forms of manipulation include threatening to hurt themselves, thereby forcing their victim to intervene") My stalker's constant threats of suicide are what swayed me from being an ardent supporter of Paul's innocence, to questioning if he was innocent to the point of doing my own digging around to eliminate my doubt. Instead what I found cemented my opinion that he is guilty without a shadow of a doubt. I'd bet my life on it.




You can discredit me by saying that I am a felon who went to jail. My spelling and grammar suck. I'm biased myself because of six years in hell as a victim of stalking. I've threatened my own stalker when police took my report (My Jesus Christ Heart.) But at the same time, having a six year daily experience with my stalker, who has convinced even close friends of mine that we are in a committed relationship (another factor that made me question Paul Cortez' innocence.) I started to get bitter that if my stalker did kill me as he threatened to do after his suicide attempts did not work and he lost control a me; my dear friends and some family might testify that he and I were dating. We are not. Even my stalker believes in his head that we are dating (probably still.) My own roommate of six months believes we dated. My close friend keeps telling me to, "cut the bullshit." No, I have never dated my stalker! If I am murdered my last comment regarding him is that I was never his lover, ever. In fact what angers me about Catherine's and mine is that we both tried to help our stalkers. Her messages that say she loved him were, according to her friends (who speak for Catherine) were after his alleged suicide threats. Paul Cortez even spoke to David at their joint apartment saying that he and Catherine have been dating for a while (and David said in this 48 hours that he does not know if that is true or not, even now.)


My only thought regarding Paul Cortez is a broader topic of what is the purpose of jail if there is no rehabilitation? What is the point of jail if all he is going to do is sit there? After all, he is very talented and jail should serve some purpose to rehabilitate those that are forced to be there.


Ask yourself if you believe Catherine's friends who told police that Paul threatened to kill himself if she stopped talking to him did any stalking research? Or is a just a strange coincidence that Paul's words fit a stalker's behavior?  Stalkers fit into a mold. My stalker said a few of the same things that Paul Cortez said. Mr.Cortez called her father more then once as Mr. Woods stated on the witness stand. The first time Mr. Woods was extremely grateful. But after his visit to NYC, when Paul Cortez called him again, his reply on the stand was something to the effect of, "We are done that conversation now." Also on the stand he is asked by Paul's defense attorney why he did not demand his daughter get a restraining order. He said he, "talked to her about it but did not feel it was necessary." He is dead now, but I'm sure (as both her parents believe Paul Cortez is guilty) that he wished he had pushed for that restraining order.


Okay, commence original blog that turned into a rant about stalkers and Paul Cortez.


This will be the last blog I do that has serious content. I plan to spend what little talent I have in written form on explanations for good living. Minus the Gwenth Paltrow elitism of course. Food recipes, favorite perfumes, horror movie recommendations (Creep 2014) and regurgitated advise from wiser people.

But today, I am writing about the good, the bad, and the undateable. Oh and of course I'll add in pop culture quips such as Seinfeld's stand up comedy joke that, "99% of people are undateable. People are getting together because of alcohol."

So true.

Since I've been hanging about in  four different homes in the past four years I have been in Austin, I started watching crime shows like Dateline, 48 hours, and just recently, 20/20. They create a fictional world of purely good and purely bad. But viewers have the freedom of choosing what is reality. Like those 'Choose Your Own Adventure' books. People think they are smart for identifying the innocent martyr.

The number one fact I want to get across is regarding the formatting of these crime shows. The format for Dateline and especially 48 hours is from a slanted angle that makes the 'Who done it' intriguing. They also set many episodes up where the viewer is drawn in because of, "Who is next?" As if we laypeople are in danger too. The problem with crime being entertainment is that ignorant people don't realize the format is designed to hook and captivate, so crimes are often pure good guy versus purely evil guy. Even worse then the black and white morality it creates, the skewed format makes many people question the guilt of the truly guilty, so Facebook accounts with, "Justice for blah blah" spring up. That, and websites that draw attention to the guilty as innocent (Paul Cortez as one blaring example) instead of painting a realistic picture of how horrific the crime in question was from the victim's standpoint.

Paul Cortez is an intelligent man from New York (The Bronx) who obsessively stalked a beautiful, young lady who had aspired to be a Broadway dancer but made her way by dancing as a topless stripper. Catherine Woods was an adult when she was murdered, not a child like the 'Pro-Cortez' sites insinuate. That is what the story should be after the episode is over: The dangers of stalkers and how they can look like attractive young men with a very high intellect...in short, the model for a stalker could be anyone. But 48 hours had solid gold in this particular case because the timeline for the murder keeps viewers guessing; Why?  Because the facts are few and the majority of 'facts' are actually opinions by his own mother. Can we put less stock and more bias in what the mother of a condemned murderer's character is to us?  Deep research on this case is hard to come across. When his appeal was denied the "Don't Free Paul Cortez" website was shut down.

Before I say more about Paul Cortez, I'll use another, more recent episode from 48 hours that shows the very biased slant to keep the viewer guessing. This one was close to home. The title is 48 hours: A Solider's Wife. The story is about a very young soldier's wife who was from the town adjacent to the city I lived in for ten years. She was from a broken home and she quickly married-

Side Note: My parents were married at 18 after just fourteen days of dating. My father was abusive. Jumping into marriage is, by many experts, a red flag of future abuse.

-He was a gun nut. At 20 years old Skylar Nemetz was skilled in building weapons, so firing them was second nature to him. He was often away from home and he had a jealous streak. He flat out treated his wife, Danille Rippeon-Nemetz, like a slave. The day he got back from a few weeks of training, he became irate that his new wife bought alcohol that he requested she get from a specific person. Instead, because she was short on time, she asked a close friend that her husband was jealous of to purchase the liquor because neither Skylar nor his wife were twenty one. The outcome was a bullet hole in the back of her head. To people who know Danielle Rippeon (Nemetz), like my sister who went to school with her, it is a cut and dry case of premeditated murder. Her husband, who commented in an interview on the 48 hours episode "A Soldier's Wife" that he,"Often wished [the gunshot wound] had not been so dead set square in the middle of her head [as opposed to...I don't know...missing her head all together] ". Take away the slanted format and the story is a jealous young man who drank a few drinks, got buzzed, and angry and with a somewhat documented history of abuse, he shot his wife dead. He then dumped out the alcohol and braced himself for the inevitable 911 call from his neighbors.  But in this episode Erin Moriarty interviewed his wealthy mother, who [surprise!] put such a disgusting spin on the crime that people commented that he is innocent. Often regular viewers proclaimed his innocence in the comment section. That is how clever the slant is in many of these episodes. A Facebook page was created in honor of his innocence. Skylar Nemetz's mother goes on these Facebook sites that honor Danielle Rippeon and she slams the adopted family that miss their surrogate daughter. That is one example of the spin these shows put on the actual crime. Both of these shows extensively interview the emotional and loving mother, and both are framed with Erin Moriarty as the reporter.

Paul Cortez has more then one "Free Paul Cortez site." The websites that say he is innocent are extremely accessible but often inaccurate. The devil is in the details, and if you look on-line one blogger whittled his case down to what shoes the murderer was wearing and where mystery blonde hair came from that the nearly decapitated victim was clutching. By all accounts, Paul Cortez is highly intelligent. I would not be surprised if he planted the blonde hair in her hands. He could not erase the bloody palm print (though he tries to explain it away by saying they had 'period sex') or erase his initial lies to police on his whereabouts for the entire hour he was not in communication with anyone but his cell phone was calling Catherine Woods. After an hour he called a few people and said he was asleep (therefor he missed band practice.) But he told the police he was making appointments with his clients at home. Why the hell are the location of your cell phone calls getting closer and closer to the victim Mr. Cortez?

No details about the alternate suspect (her live-in roommate and one time boyfriend...with short blonde hair...hmmm) are discussed. But in fact this alternate suspect had a clockwork routine to go from his shared apartment with the victim, then he would run 20 minutes worth of errands, grab his car, wait for his roommate/victim/ and possible girlfriend Catherine Woods to come down for work. The day she was murdered, David waited in his car, like always, and eventually went back into the apartment to find the grizzly discovery of Catherine's body. What 48 hours leaves out (intentionally, I'm fairly certain) is the fact that David was alibied by the people he regularly saw on these errands for most of that twenty minutes.

Look at the shit about Paul Cortez's innocence on the web! Instead of illustrating how sick it was that he threatened suicide if she stopped talking to him (common among many stalkers including mine) and manipulated her with those threats, while repeatedly (not just once) calling her parents and lying about her being a drug addict and not just a topless dancer (good for her!) and also harassing her boss about firing her. Catherine was an adult when she danced. Paul Cortez claimed she told him she was raped at knife point (to explain some of his journal entries) but her own friends, including best friend don't know that story? I call bullshit. When you kill the person who can tear apart your lies you have a much better chance of having websites about your unfair incarceration fly.  Also, he writes very angry poems that his, 'Free Paul Cortez' blogs publish.

Paul Cortez's magic trick (diverting attention away from reality) is that he was hyper-concerned for her safety as a stripper and he wanted her to stop because it is a dangerous profession. How many other strippers did he target and attempt to protect? None. No, of course he was not jealous to the point of a murderous-nearly-decapitating-anger because she was dancing in front of other men and she told him her relationship with him was finished. I'm being sarcastic. That is it in a nutshell. Paul Cortez's story; more like Catherine Woods' story, is the worst possible outcome for a stalking victim. She was brutally murdered. After her murder, a bunch of his supporters claimed (unfortunately true) that the media was railroading him. Yes, the media loved the story of the two suspects and a possible murderous mystery stripper aficionado. But behind a lot of finger pointing and newspaper sales about eight years ago, there was a truth that he obsessively called her (she often called back in the beginning), refused to take "No" for an answer, and his obsession led to her murder.

But you have people saying, "Oh, he is innocent. How do we get him out? Those were not his shoes!" If a court case was only what type of shoes a person ever owned or not, my God we would have a lot of court cases. There; I said I'd never write about that narcissistic asshole because its not worth it. But my rant about how crime show episodes are formatted to defer the topic from horrific stalking case to, "Is he guilty?" overcame me. I guess I had a lot of pent-up anger from living in fear for so long. Mr. Cortez is as guilty as the blood on his hands that led to a palm print at the scene of the crime. These episodes are for entertainment. Re-read Fahrenheit 451. Ask yourself if it is normal that he called her boss over and over again asking her to fire his future murder victim. Fuck Paul Cortez. Moving on...

I moved 2,000 to get away from one stalker. He tried to get close to my family by popping into their homes unannounced. He gave me Valium after a house I rented burned to the ground and with it everything I owned. That Valium turned into an addiction that he tightly controlled to get me very close to him. The hell that I went through as a six year victim of stalking is something I would not wish on anyone. It had nothing to do with love. It was a sick control freak thing.

And damn it, I just lost a paragraph of writing. I'll make it up by adding:

*I'll also add that, although I'm not happy with the Pro-Paul Cortez websites, I know that the authors of these sites are people who truly believe that he is innocent and I respect their passion and active campaigning. I simply don't understand why they can not put all of that work into a surefire innocent man in jail. I can name quite a few. How many stripper near-decapitations have there been since November 27th, 2005? That answers the question of the random New York version of Jack the Ripper.

I have actually had two stalkers. Both left handed (like that means anything.) One sent me naked photos. He used his own children to keep me close to him. The main device both stalkers used to control me is simple fear: No one wants to end up like Catherine. Her outcome was the ultimate horror story that is not being told like it should be. Instead people filter what benefits their hypothesis that Paul is innocent and ignore facts. Or worse, they blame the victim. That blogger who hates the 'F-word" initially told me that she did not wish to canonize Catherine Woods. No shit. Instead she muses on why Catherine was dishonest to so many people in her life. Rather then question if she is truly not being truthful, the verdict given to Catherine was a death sentence then a smear campaign.


Right now, where I live it is impossible to track me down. The name on the lease is in a third cousin's name. She has a very long, hard to pronounce (let alone spell) name. I am off the grid. So I can say that I truly hate both of my stalkers if I ever bothered to give them much thought. Both threatened to kill themselves and both have threatened to hurt me, One threatened to kill me more then once. Both are losers and both have said disgusting things to me.

They are not worth writing about. I did not expect to write this blog about Paul Cortez. But what that man did was a mirror of the ultimate horror to come out of stalking. The tragedy is not just the murder of a young woman. A young woman who will never get to have children. She will never hear a beautiful song. Or have her heart flutter from her own crush. The tragedy is that, not only is she hung up on these disgusting "Free Paul Cortez" websites as a liar, but her killer has turned into a quiet symbol of a grave injustice. The reality is the opposite of what the media is trying to feed these people. Ironically so, because they claim that the newspapers railroaded Paul Cortez. Well, the crime show format for our 'entertainment' railroaded Catherine Woods.



Saturday, July 9, 2016

The Value of a Person

"Everyone knows that you've been discreet but there were just so many people that you had to meet without your clothes, and everybody knows." - L Cohen.


I'll never finish this blog on my abandonment issues, but this opening sentence begins the momentum. I would die of boredom if I lost the ability to people watch.


At one point in these 160 written blogs, I stated that there is a person (or personality if you will) for every stage of my development. Either someone contributes to my personal evolution, or they were the backbone of that particular time in my life. People are my teachers from their unconscious movements, style, passions and ticks. They are instruments of education.


There are so many people in different stages of life, or on separate wavelengths, or on a different page. When that wavelength is synchronized, magic happens. Creation begins. A blank page originates the action, the style of pen is chosen, the type of penmanship paints the page that can never be reduplicated.


For every stage of my life, there was a person I was married to in a sense.


All the traveling, books devoured, love affairs of the past are in any given person's brain for me to pick apart for free. A writer is a skilled brain surgeon to pull out those secrets. Its my second class trip to their first class destination. 


One of my favorite aspects of clarifying a personality is when I see the person at face value, and they look a certain way. But when they talk more, their ticks, pronunciation and movements elevate their beauty. You can't transcribe that from a print model.


The opposite is true as well. There was a woman on a Greyhound bus trip that I took from Arcata to San Francisco. She had the face of a young Uma Thurman. But her beauty eroded once she opened her mouth.  Yep, there are two sides to that gold coin.


I gave my moronic ex a book of poetry for Christmas six years ago. William Carlos Williams' collected poetry. A photo of the aged poet was on cover of the selective collection. I distinctly remember my ex looking at it with laughter and mocking me with, "What does this guy know?" I think my that ex-fiancé believed you have to die of a pickled liver at the age of 40 to have any substance to your words.


When I see an old person, I can't help but think of how many administrative lines that person stood by, waiting. How many forms they have filled out? How much time they spent that can never be retrieved?


Someone explained the universe's unexplainably large map in a way that fascinated and terrified me. That person said to imagine what I am doing. What clothes I am wearing and the blog I am writing and all the furniture in my home. There is someone with my name who has identical furniture, clothes, tastes. There are two identical snowflakes in our universe. That is how large the universe is and how small I felt hearing that explanation.


On this plane at this time, there is only one me. I cherish people with a certainty that each person has something to teach me. My love of the human race and my refusal to treat people as objects is a direct result of my mother's passing when I was only eleven. I never understood turning one's back on a person. They are too unique to throw away. 
As my past 'marriages' remain with me, these people continuously gain knowledge too. I can always go back to my library of friend's experiences, and pick more apart. Experience is perpetual momentum.



That man in my arms, the gentleman in the tuxedo, has an equal amount of value. Maybe more. The backstory of this photo (non sequitur) is that my downstairs neighbor at the time had a partner (whose literal name is Dik Scott Wood) that was a left handed MacGyver. He made awesome coffee every morning before I walked to school. I love my neighbor, but she would get rallied up after my cup of coffee was half full (not half empty.) She was highly opinionated. So I timed her argumentative nature by a half a cup of coffee. I'd ask for half a cup of coffee, then cold water to fill her up. Only she could get me to take my shirt off for this photo.