During that early month of May ‘99 (when in the story, she was going through all those “connection changes,”) she was preparing to go overseas to the World Music Awards in Monaco where she was going to be presented with a special award. This show was to be her very first time out the gate to be seen by me in public while in her element since our lil’ shin – dig and love fest had begun, so this was a very big moment for her (for more than the award that she was being presented with). She knew that although it wasn’t aired live, her buddies and I would be watching it in about a week or so, so that appearance on the show was a big to-do (for all of us).
Janet was intricately methodical throughout this whole thing (the bad and the good-just the same) and she deliberately planned everything she said and did publicly and privately, which was how we all (Janet, her buddies, and me) kept close and in communication.
Everything we did, and how we communicated was one big total inside joke or conversation at all times (and publicly-starting with this World Music Awards in Monaco). She was soooo pretty that day. She looked like a black china doll. She chose to wear all white, because that was how she was feeling: virginal, new, happy, and in love. It was weird— how innocent she looked, sounded, walked, and talked-even down to the way she held on to the award when she gave her speech-expressing how she really was feeling: “ennobled.”
She wore her hair all pulled up in braids with a white piece of cloth around the up – do. What she wore was like a metaphor for her private person vs. her public personality: On bottom, she wore a modest almost formal-like skirt, yet, on top; she had on a fitted midriff shirt that showed a little bit of the skin of her trademark usual: her six-pack abs. The top was nearly see-through (where you could almost see her nipples and areola).
A couple weeks after it was taped then finally aired, we all sat in the room while Janet’s buddies were crapping on her about the areola of her tits showing through that white top. She felt pretty, she felt sensual. She was happy-very. That day was one of her most happiest, memorable, and remarkable times within this on and off tug of love and war.
Unless you know + experience Janet and her ‘sensuality’ (in its most strong sense of the definition), you do not know that her premeditation and deliberateness is a part of her good, and how she expresses herself and as well, can be a part of her bad and how she expresses herself, or too, is an extension of how she wants to extend herself to you…
Throughout my writing the story (which began on July 20, 1999) and during her filming “Nutty Professor II” (which she began rehearsing for on October 5, 1999), we were “on” so much so that by that time that I was writing in the part of the story where I introduced one of my besties who lives in New York [who-in the story] I gave the name: “Denise,” I later found out (when the movie came out of course) that Janet’s [Nutty Professor character’s name too, was: “Denise”]. With Janet, that was no coincidence, it’s what she does.
That girl is a very smart woman beneath that seemingly dense, timid, withdrawn, innocent exterior. She is a master morph-who premeditates to predict the outcome, reaction, and response to whatever it is she is trying to convince or convey.
Her Super Bowl/Nipplegate apology is a perfect example of what I am saying.
From her makeup, to the way she held her face and eyes upside down, down to the way she spoke and enunciated her words down to the vowel, the syllable, the verb and the adjective. That is the sum of the morph in Janet that unless you experience her-you will never get to know that side of her, even if you just know of, or even (think) you “know” her. The fact about Janet is this thing: She is a “school,” a concept, a prototype, and a literal piece of work that requires a kind of dissection that you can’t get to, unless she allows you.
You will never “know” Janet unless you experience Janet. You will never experience Janet unless she wants to experience you + (plus/and/in addition) wants you (outside of your merely experiencing her and she-you). If she wants you, you will know. If she does not want you, you will know. You will only know her “conceptually” (even if you think you know her). She can be very cunning. She’s extremely deliberate (by nature). But in this thing with me, and for all of our entertainment (her buddies, and she and myself); she was sometimes deliberate in real-time (publicly), and other times, by surprise (then later—we would laugh or talk about it in the room).
Names and nicknames meant a lot to us, it’s how we communicated-how Janet could be “Janet” but behind names that would allow her to be herself with me but enable her to peek from behind them and go: “Baby it’s me-I’m this such-and-such name today.” …but in her own words to let me know what was up. She even does it with her staff-they never know at first, until she does [like she did with Lissa]-that day when Lissa wanted to know who I was talking to and Janet said: “@Lissa, it’s me,” then we move on to talking. The fact of the matter was: She still was “Janet” the superstar-no matter how long past that fascination I had been. She still had to not be “Janet” (by name) but only in writing-by way of her words’ deeds—and doings. Sometimes, it was pure de’ comedy (that name game). And it came back to bite her in the ass by surprise one day in public…on live television.
Janet was scheduled to appear on TRL (Total Request Live) on M.T.V with Carson Daly. On the show, Carson would have a lot of young folks outside the studio (that didn’t make it in) and some inside that did [make it in]. Well, Janet was doing press for “The Nutty Professor II.” Carson just so happened to have called out to a girl whose named [just so happened to be] “Angela.”
Considering the fact that the girl’s name (coincidentally) was “Angela,” it was too surreal a moment for Janet. It became “sensual-surreal”-something that had nothing to do with the girl (per se’), but the fact that her name was “Angela”-of ALL names, all people in the world, all people in the audience: “Angela.” LoL.
Watch how Janet froze (starts at 16:33-17:30) LoL
When the girl approached her, Janet reached out and held her. It was like the girl’s name being “Angela” forced Janet into a Ghost-like moment “Ghost” (like the movie)—like…a ghost of The Angela (me) was in her face. Watch how Carson has to practically pull them apart. He had NO idea what was REALLY going on in Janet’s personal life with (ironically) a girl named “Angela.”
Even Janet-herself-had a take a close look at the girl to make sure it wasn’t me: the REAL “Angela.”
Janet was so timely and deliberate, that the way she behaved towards the girl could have very well been a deliberate “demonstration” (because she knew that I was watching from my home) and her buddies were watching from theirs – and this is like…something we would laugh at and crap on Janet about having happened so unexpectedly, and catching her off guard.
To all of us on the inside, as if that wasn’t funny enough; later on, the girl said something about liking Janet’s sunglasses. Janet then offered the glasses to the girl-graciously to have, to keep. By this time, Janet was so nervous. My friend and me (watching on) could not stop laughing. The moment was something that Janet could not handle well, and boy was it classic. It was extra funny because Carson didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew something totally odd and over his head had just happened. “Angela” didn’t know what was going on. The audience inside or outside didn’t know what was going on. But my friend and I (and Janet and her friends) were the only ones who knew what was going on.
The moment was very awkward too because Carson’s odd “this is awkward,” “what just happened here?” look on his face was priceless. It was crazy hilarious. That made it even funnier – he had no idea [what was going on—in Janet’s real world].
She knew that most times, I hated the nickname thing we would have to do, but she went out of her way to do whatever she could do or say during any public real-time (and of course privately)-to make sure she did something substantial and literally remarkable to prove her effort.
Around the time we were getting to know one another well, in the beginning of all this (‘99), when I would get up early mornings to talk to her; I would bathe before getting online because once on, we would talk for a couple of hours.
As it would be nearing the time for me to leave, I would go on and put my clothes on during conversation. Somehow, we got on the subject of how I would get out the tub and put on my terry – cloth robe after moisturizing all over (while still damp) and how I would use a towel to stuff between my legs and up between the crack of my ass to dry out down there after my bath. I would then tie my robe around my waist and sit there (or walk around the house or whatever) – that was my routine and ritual that I always did out of habit. She thought that was the funniest and oddest thing. She giggled her ass off. It was cute.
She hung on to every single word I had ever said to her-no matter how large or small the conversation was, so much so that weeks or months later; she would do or say something to prove her effort at being as transparent and revealing as possible. I loved that about her. I loved that she cared to melt herself into my entire existence and experiences-she was sensual to that extent. It was very sexy, but also childlike and sweet.
So fast-forward, two years later after those early time, her “All For You” CD was about to come out (and mind you, she never said one thing to me about the cover art or anything about the CD for that matter).
I believe it was April 2001-the day the CD went on sale-she asked me if I was going to go and get it (of course I was).
I had a guy friend of mine (who was picking up one for himself) grab one for me and bring it over. So low and behold, I get a knock at the door. I opened it.
He had his hands behind his back then showed me one CD in his right hand (his) and the other CD in his left hand: mine. My mouth fell to the floor and I started to giggle and place my hand over my mouth. My friend says:
“What’s so funny!?” Of course I didn’t bother explaining but I couldn’t wait to get on and talk to her when he left. I giggled because the cover art on front of the CD pictured Janet laying there with a towel/piece of fur between her legs (like I told her how I do it). I fell out laughing. She does not play about her deliberateness, and is one of the most methodical people I’ve ever met in my life.
She was very “interested” in me, and always retained things that the typical person would have long-forgotten about. She would go out of her way to show me her attention-undivided (for hours at a time).
I can’t lie, I liked that. She was attentive to detail in ways that most girls dream about being catered to, by someone they love.
I was both flattered and impressed. It swelled my heart, and I have to admit-it swelled my head too (while around she and her buddies-in this world of all ours). I would say that some of her buddies didn’t like me, but their “not liking me” pretty much was to the extent that that they were on guard and ready to serenade Janet with the “I told you so,” stories (whenever she and I would fight). They were completely on guard for being ready to prove to her that the love and attentiveness she gave to me would soon be all in vain.
I was on the other end on a fight and a quest to keep disproving that-everyday. That’s why I put up with a lot of stuff from her, and when she still wanted to be with me after starting the book; that put more loyalty and unconditional love deposits in with me-she still held on. So even through all her “crazy” and madness, some part of me felt like I owed her. But as far as her friends were concerned, they really couldn’t do anything about “not liking me” because Janet loved me, and they knew that-all too well. So (especially early into this) I must admit, I probably was a little brat walking around with my tongue sticking out at them at every turn.
I could feel it sometimes when I would come in the room and if Janet was gone-it was the norm for one of them to post: “***gone*” …that would be my cue to leave (and in my world: have some “free time”). I would giggle to myself sometimes because I could hear ringing in my head [during those times I would come in when she’d be gone] all of them in unison saying: “gone,” but that one voice ending with: “little biiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttcccccchhhhh!”
I gave them a run for Janet’s money’s worth I’ll tell you that, Jack. They stayed paid and employed thanks to me-with plenty of overtime available to work.
Speaking of work—on to pressing “play” for her press tour and making her rounds of television: Janet goes on B.E.T’s “106 And Park” to interview with Free and AJ (the episode where AJ stands in front of her and does the lap dance). During the interview, they all began talking about love or something pertaining to being in love or whatever. AJ asked her had she ever felt some kind of passion or way about someone that made her feel…some…[however] kind of way (I forget how he worded it-I think he questioned her about a lyric from her song or whatever). Janet, knowing that her buddies and of course-I was watching, was soooo embarrassed-but it was on the tip of her tongue to say what she felt in her heart to say (but couldn’t).
So instead-she bit it. Her response ended up being such that she treated the question like a delicacy (in her mind) but she got stuck and tongued-tied so she blushed. Her blushing
face was hilarious-she was totally stooped. And just like that TRL incident (where Carson and no one else knew what was going on), Free and AJ had noooo idea what she and I were doing and feeling back home away from her life on television and her reaction (amongst myself and her buddies) at any point and time, would be a joke that she could not live down (not to mention-the way she sat back and received AJ when he hopped up in her face, threw his leg up and started giving her freaky self a lap dance). AJ had no idea she was gonna catch it for that one. We crapped on her hard, because it was funny (but mad sexy) how she threw her arms back and invited AJ to climb all over her. She knew we all were at home cracking up laughing (while watching).
Outside of their waviness and drama, the laughter we would have, how involved (and over involved) her buddies were in this thing, it didn’t dawn on me until many years later and up to [and especially after Michael’s death]; that these people (her buddies) were Janet’s real family. I know we all choose our friends, and those that we become closest to become like real family to us (sometimes over our biological family). But it wasn’t until years later and into the crazy hurtful things that they would orchestrate and assist Janet in doing to me (whenever we would fight) that I began to see these people as something that reminded me of how way back in early ‘99 back when the smut mag printed the story about Janet and Rene’s breakup [how in addition to Rene’s threats and claims] they mentioned something about Janet’s mother being “very concerned” about her “hanging out with the people she was hanging out with lately.”
Obviously, that statement meant nothing to me then, because I wasn’t on the “in” just yet-with Janet and her buddies at the time that I read the article. But since that; I know who “those people” are. And after knowing Janet and talking to her at her most desperate of times in this–like back on that July 10th day that she went gangam style on me-that day when (in third person) she mentioned something about herself being involved in a cult.
Then another time (that almost fateful July 16th night that she wanted to kill herself) when she cried out to me and specifically stated (verbatim): “It’s the people I interact with/they can take me down in one second flat.” The “people” are her buddies-the same people who I am more than sure her own mother was “very concerned” about, I can bet on it.
When I found out Janet’s room had been up and running since way back damned near when the Internet was first made available to civilians (‘96/‘97); as the pages of our story were unfolding, I could clearly see these people (her buddies) as those same people that I feel flock to and find these big celebrities with the biggest money that are always available to help them spend their big money on various things to help them pass time to keep from getting so lonely-no matter the level of mischief. These “people” (her buddies) became Janet’s real family.
I remember the time myself (and her buddies) crapped on her about her brother Marlon one day in particular (the night that M.T.V presented her with an Icon Award).
We crapped on her because Marlon made a comment saying something to the effect like: “look at my baby sister…all grow ed up,” but it wasn’t a joke. He used “growed” in the grammatical sense as if he said (correctly): “look at my baby sister…all grow n up.” That was a hilarious day. It was cute because she could laugh at herself (even at her real family), or get crapped on and not take herself so seriously. We tore his ass up about that grammatical speech error. I’ll never forget it.
For years, we had so much fun. But right before (and especially after Nipplegate) something terrible changed her in ways that our typical ups and downs, hot and colds, and off and ons could not hold a candle to. I was resistant to her. I was meaner to her. I couldn’t get back on track with her. And from there, what we had was all off, down, and hot (fire hot). It made her a completely different person, and everything between us was all-out war: no love for a while. It was a lot of anger, hurt, bitterness, and fighting between the both of us (and with her buddies assistance).
Around the time of that notorious Super Bowl Half-Time fiasco, it had been about three-four years since they closed the room and we took our business elsewhere online in another private room and I.M (doing what we always did).
Shortly before she began press and publicity for “All For You,” the chronicle turned story had become a manuscript and hard copy book (in my hand-unpublished as yet), so a slight amount of humility set in (from she and her buddies). They weren’t as loose – lipped and fly at the mouth as they were when we were in Janet’s room, because this time around, I could print script/room conversations (if need be).
So in the new room, I.M, and email; Janet used a unisex nickname, although the cryptic “nickname game” [to identify things in the form of a nickname like “basketballbutt” etc.,] still remained-that part never changed. Janet said just enough to me to say what she wanted to (to keep this thing going) but nothing much that I could do anything with-like I could with all that had occurred from ‘98 to early 2000 (which was where I originally had ended the book and details about everything).
For a while after the book, they lay low on being fly at the mouth and keeping up drama and confusion—that is…until around early 2005, that because of (in March that year); I took drastic measures that rearranged my life as I knew it. After that happened, although it changed the dynamics of mine and Janet’s relationship, it forced us all to make necessary changes that probably otherwise would not have happened had I not sent such a big jolt and message to she and her buddies that I was not playing games with them-on the bullshit-anymore. Eventually, we took it all mobile (as technology began to get “smart”) and she miraculously changed-had a brand new respect for me and “loved” me all over again (her special brand of what love was to her-to the full extent of what she felt love really was)…
But a lot had occurred before we even got to the point of my having to take those drastic measures and miraculous changes happening.
You see, from the moment she began promoting “All For You” on into 2002, she was very busy (Awards Shows, the JD relationship publicity stunt fuckery, appearances, Kid’s Choice Awards, hooking up with her two male actors + four industry honeys-all that).
One of her honeys (the now) defunct songbird, she was in a full-on relationship with (2002/2003) while later seeing the corny D-list actress she was seeing (that everybody hates) plus a few in between. So she was pretty busy and I was not caring-at all-because I knew she wanted me-still and had yet to have her way with me-still. Truth be told, deep down inside yeah, I was hurt, but I knew I won the game-despite her telling me of her trysts and trying to hurt me. I figured, as long as she could use “Mr. Happy” on them and I never let her get at me like she did them-combined with the fact that I knew she was crazy about me-still; I knew I would always win over them.
Friend or foe. Rich or regular. Platonic or no. I play hard ball with the girls just like the boys when they misbehave. Nobody’s safe. And nobody wins that game with me. And never will.
Besides, I knew they were just substitutes and good for her ego that I was shattering by the day of her darkening days. You see, at this particular time, I was making the kind of progress that was changing the technological comfortability of the world she had become to know and love for so many years. Yet, she still “loved” me but hated me too.
Yeah…I was sad, but accepting her trying to move on. Eventually, I became merely upset that I had no way of completely cutting her cord from my life. She had that under wraps. That was her power. And she stayed plugged in. That’s the part that pissed me off when she started hooking up with her cowboy actor boyfriend and industry honeys: 1 rapper, 1 journalism honey, 2 singers and that corny ass most hated D-the blacklisted actress who she was kicking it with around the time just before the Super Bowl.
Because I remembered she and I was going at it while she was telling me about her tryst with the corny bitch. She was in rare form that evening-telling me how they were laughing at and crapping on me. That day in particular, she wanted to SHOW me that she could hurt me in ways and at levels I never would see coming. She was unbelievable cruel. I have never seen that mean-girl in her before.
I was numb to Janet at that time. I loved her but I was numb. I understood her anger with me but I didn’t care. By the time of Super Bowl, I had given into her so many times and rested my pen and punishment so many times. And soon as I would get comfortable, she would, or her buddies (or her-in cahoots with them) would start their bullshit again. At some point in this, I knew I had keep going with lighting those sticks of dynamite I had been letting off into her world on the low and out her in my practical world.
If she wasn’t so connected to me and plugged in like such, I would have left her so quick and hard that her head would have spinned. She would have never heard from me again. Yes, “Janet Jackson” would have gotten the same treatment as ‘Jeff Jackson’ or ‘Joan Jackson.’
It killed me that I couldn’t just ‘leave’ her-like I would have any one else.
In 2002 she was preparing for her HBO “All For You” special too, yet, we still talked when we could (not very much though). So the new room and I.M changes set into place (after the book was completed), was perfect timing-because she didn’t have that kind of frivolous time on her hands like she did during the time we were all boo’d up during the last leg of her “Velvet Rope Tour” (1999) through the beginning of press for “All For You” (into mid-2001).
We kind of picked back up (via that new room and I.M) later into 2003-kind of. Mostly staring, saying words-her: angry at me. Me, hurt deep inside that we had gotten to this point and we weren’t even angry like this way back when I started chronicling for the book.
It amazed me that our issues and this fighting we were doing didn’t even have much to do with the book per se. What was crazily upsetting to her was that as a result of the book, it drew a wedge between us that forfeited a lot of plans she had for us, and she felt like all these years were in vain.
She stayed angry at me but never considered the fact that we didn’t have to be at this point if it was not for the things she and her buddies kept doing. By this time, I was like a brick wall to her anger. I was good and over her romantically-nothing like I was in the beginning of this thing, and that bothered her. That’s when she would tell me about her other honeys she had been fucking around with during all that time away-talking about it to me in detail reminiscent of a college frat boy talking to his friends in a locker room, she wanted to hurt me so badly but I wouldn’t let her affect me.
She then even went as far as to try and taunt me about her plans to get at one of my two besties. I laughed and told her that even with all her money-trying to get at either one was about as futile as the two of us being like we once were: aint gonna happen, so good luck on that quest, because neither ever was and never would be interested in pussy-sorry. Their repulsion for it was equal to what I felt about her at the time. She was pissed at me-my emotionless resistance. She was going for my heart and jugular at the same damned time-any and every which way she could. She was so raw and desperate to hurt me-certainly a different person to me from 2002-2005, but I totally didn’t even care, because so far, I was winning in this:
1) The “Room of Hell” was closed for good.
2) My book (arsenal, proof and protection-detailing everything from 1998-2000) was all ready for me to just press “publish.”
3) Here it was 2003 and she still hadn’t gotten the girl, the one she really wanted: Me.
I was making strides-strides that she couldn’t break. So as far as I was concerned, she could take that dildo and her fist and stick ‘em out all their pussy’s through their anus and out their ears-I could care less. I had nothing to shed a tear over because thus far-at that 2003 point; although what she was doing hurt me deeply; it didn’t hurt as bad because I wasn’t a notch under her belt of bitches. My mind and heart was a little bit stronger because of that one reason.
Had I given into her and we got to this vicious point (where we were at this time), I would have been devastated beyond repair. But I knew she still wanted me and needed to conquer that (even if it grew to not be about “Me” anymore, ever in life again). I knew the fight in her-how she fights-and why. I knew it killed her to have something with someone she knew for a hard core fact (at one time) patiently and repeatedly put up with all her “crazy” and loved her crazy ass unconditionally (even beyond what I would normally stand for) that now, she could not reach in any way: romantically, sexually, or emotionally–as a friend, a lover, a confidant-nothing.
Having all things controlled by her and go her way for so long in life, mentally-she could not handle that. I knew too much about her to be out of her control + not love her anymore, like I once did. She had stolen + knew too much about me to let go. I merely became a conquest for her-that in the interim, she abruptly became a bully, a terror, a Tasmanian devil, and a tyrant.
From 2002-2005 her head was fucked-and I had control of her heart. And that was my power. Her only power was that she remained plugged in to me still, while busy and plugged into the world.
When she had come down off her public self and when she wasn’t met with the kind of open arms she was used to from me; she was ready to get into her darker self-but I wasn’t playing that game with her. With my feeling stronger, she could have just gone away and I would have been ok with that. I was at that point-no anger, just over her.
The thought of talking personal, about sex, and anything remotely close to being boo’d up the way we were wasn’t even imaginable for me. And she didn’t seem too happy with that plus not being able to have control of things the way she did when we were using her room (owned and controlled by herself and her people).
After the “All For You” tour, I guess it felt kind of odd to come back to all this downtime she was about to have, and now for the first time after all these years; not have the comfort of being back in her very own troublemaking ass room-thanks to the birth of my unpublished book, having (as far as her digerati was concerned) infiltrated that whole devilish operation. At this point in time, she was back out of the public eye and was doing her trademark usual: gaining weight, sinking into depression, (and what I knew and had experienced with her-now): gone under; getting dark at the soul and getting into other mischievous and dark things.
I hadn’t seen her publicly since the end of “All For You”-around 2003.
Super Bowl Sunday would be the first time out the gate that I had publicly seen her in almost a year. The day of the Super Bowl, she was very busy. And although we talked for a second (very close to the time she was to go out), we didn’t talk about nothing much, and definitely not too long. The only thing she asked me was if I was going to be watching. I told her that I would-while visiting my mom’s house (I was staying the night there). When Half – Time came, I was sitting at a desk in my mom’s spare bedroom-fidgeting around, while looking back and forth at Janet: looking dark and a lot heavier since “All For You” was over.
Unlike back when we are all boo’d up and having our own private tittygate, all her public appearances (1999-2001) when she knew I was watching-she was looking innocent, svelte, beautiful, and thriving-happy, in love. This time, she was dressed in black and demonic looking–all tight and buttoned up; reminiscent of her Gorean lifestyle.
I merely blinked, and turned my head and my mother ran into the room and said to me: “Angie, did you see Janet’s titty out?” Believe it or not, I actually missed the moment. When I looked back at the television and saw her clutching herself and exiting the stage-the show was over. I turned the television off and lay down for the night. My mother was back in her room with the door shut.
When I woke up the next morning, my mom was gone out for work already. I bathed, got dressed for the gym and left the house. While at the gym, I looked up at the television and there Janet was with that “apology face” yet, I had no idea why her face was on the television screen (looking like that anyways).
I stopped the Stairmaster and asked the guy next to me what was going on. Looking at me as if I lived under a rock, he began to tell me all that I had obviously slept and turned a deaf mute ear to through to this very morning.
I hurriedly rushed home to get online [via our new room] to see if Janet or her buddies would show up. Janet didn’t, her buddies did. I said verbatim: “I’m getting ready to get online and find out all that’s going on, but whatever it is-that face she had going on was wayyyyyyyyy too apologetic. It was so overly apologetic that it looked staged and unbelievable. That was too much, just way too much. Fuck that.”
None of them replied to that mentioned something about Janet having a photo shoot coming up with Beyonce and Mary J. Blige that I believe she was on route to, or had been at already, so I left the [new] room.
Things got really crazy. As if all these years hadn’t been our own special brand of strange, things had gone to a new level of bizarre: psychological suspense movie-like bizarre.
Nipplegate was the start of a whole different with Janet-a level turned way up from the brink that she and I was already on at this time. Something happened to her after “Nipplegate.” No, some things happened inside of her and did a complete 360-she completely “checked out.” Her mind, her emotions, her soul, her spirit and everything was pitch Milky Way galaxy black. It was that deep and that far gone.
She didn’t care what happened to me [and as illegal and unheard of as what she started doing to me was] she didn’t even care what would happen to her. She turned this thing up to a game that felt like: “Catch Me If You Can. But Until Then, You Gon’ Catch This. You Hear Me Bitch!”
She refused to continue to allow me to feel victorious in winning the emotional tug of war that she knew she had lost with me-and still (up to this very point in time) never got her chance to bring anything of ours to fruition. This time, she turned her mere voyeuring by “overhearing” to “overseeing” and showed no shame in telling me, showing me, and proving it.
I was astonished. She came crashing down into my world like an Armageddon. My head was fucked up. My nerves were shot to hell. Luckily, I had been done writing and chronicling because I did not have the strength to write another word about this entire ordeal-and she was hacking and sending me packet-sniffers and boot-virusing my poor lil’ computers until them shits’ hard drives were toast. She wasn’t going down without a fight to make sure I wouldn’t be able to write and pre-press another word (especially about what she was currently doing).
Into 2004 with a printed book (detailing everything from 1998-2000) and 965-paged chronicle [+ a 365-paged condensed version of that chronicle which detailed everything from 2000-2003] traveling with me, she turned this ordeal turned up in ways unimaginable-unthinkable that made mere hacking and wire-tapping look minor as gossip.
She started fighting, terrorizing, taunting, and going government intelligence high-tech on me. She and her people spiked the notches on this sha-bang that made my head roll this time. And unless you work for Lockheed-Martin, the CIA, the FBI and any other sensitive intelligence government agency that would be familiar with the contents and know-how of the shit I went through, knew, and lived to tell; I wouldn’t even bother explaining to your: “Living In A Matrix Happy-Go-Know Nothing About The Uncomfortable Side Of Life That The Only People Who Can Afford It Can Do-And Get Access To” ass. I wouldn’t even want to disturb your innocently ignorant and special kind of peace. You probably wouldn’t sleep at night and begin to piss in the dark and live in a tent in the middle of your living room. Trust me on that one. You couldn’t even begin to understand or comprehend the sophisticated intelligence she had access to (as written, explained and contained in the 2003/2004 details of those 365 and 965 pages).
I couldn’t believe it myself. She fucked my peace of mind and my head up so badly. My preference for buying a black shoe and making sure I could find that same shoe in brown had me stepping out the house in a left black shoe and a brown right shoe. My equilibrium and senses were so screwed that I was fucking colorblind and distraught.
As if I was the one who had any power, control, resources, money, and malefic intent and came into her life turned it upside down; she handled me-one person-with the force of every single paparazzi, celebrity stalker, and non-celebrity that ever caused any and all celebrities since the beginning of time-any harm or stress. She handled me like I was the ambassador for the paparazzi and harassers and she was the ambassador for her colleagues of the world of celebrity-who, in her warped mind, were routing and cheering her on. She kirked out and made no rational sense of anything, and her employee-buddies were working overtime to assist her.
I was the only “regular person” within her reach who for starters, she was very upset and hurt about, and who (in her warped and irrational mind) she saw as the catalyst to all her problems that seemed to connect, come against, rise up and conquered her.
Her man was gone and had sued her for money, and took her home. As a result of that, her chef had regurgitated to the courts and sued her too. In addition (and also during this time); the L.A.P.D and media was back at Michael’s crotch and had his nuts in a clutch, and she had been many months ostracized and ridiculed by the media since Nipplegate.
She turned that all on me: everything she was angry about. In addition to her technological gangster (that I had no way to combat), she was having the windows to my car busted at least once a week for about a month-just because (and laughing about it).
If she could have me come home to a boiling rabbit in a pot every day that I walked in the door, she would have. She methodically repulsed me with mental, sexual, deviate vulgarity and at the mind (her mind); she turned rabid, like “Cujo.” She was fatalistic, diabolical, and ruthless. She needed to be put to an abrupt stop. I had to get her done.
She knew how much I valued my privacy and it seemed like she was purposely turning things up (to force me to turn things up) so that I would resort to the very thing that would take my privacy away from me too (and put me in a position to force me into a corner where to expose her would mean to open the floodgates of the world onto me and undo the comfort of having-no more-the privacy that she knew I valued with my life). She got me good.
Her master plan was magical. She predicted my every move like a board game of “Sorry!” that she watched and manipulated like a “Ouiji” séance. She wanted to layer that shit-layer that feeling, layer that sense of loss and security for me (like she was feeling).
Say no more biiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttcccccchhhhh because if I have to go that route, I’m going to handle you. All bets are off!” eventually became my thinking, my fight, and my doing.
I had endured her kind of pain for half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I made the decision to turn this thing over in ways that I knew would affect me; but having no clue or way to foresee the effects of what it would have on my life.
Those four weekly window busts for that one month were reminiscent of my anxiety and nerves half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I could remember the first window bust (well, second one-but at least the very first one she had done way back in ‘99 was because she wanted me to ask her for money). These next four times, she had done only to fuck with my nerves-interrupt my resistance and my methodically trying to get away from her, but this time, it cost her money to have done. She was paying, out of pocket, for her own evil that she was too irrational to see had become a habit that she could not break, which gave she and her buddies much ado about nothing. By this time, she didn’t have priority in my life like she once did with me. I had to keep going despite her craziness. As many places as I had been going with all my goings on in my life and living; these four weeks, she never had the window busts done anywhere else but on my street and in front or back of my house-methodically.
Each time I stepped out to the vandalism, I was jumping around like bare feet on hot coals. I was basket case. The first one, she had done while my car was parked out front, I got it fixed. My street was constructed such that it could have very well been gated but it wasn’t. It was a long [about a mile] stretch of street that looped into a “U” shape at the end of the street’s one-mile stretch, where the back of the right side of my street’s homes and apartments (mine included) all had back doors where we could be on the other street behind [us that connected to the “U” from the dead-end].
The second time I had my car parked back there, she had the window busted back there too. The job was so quiet and so professional. No one had heard or seen a thing-not even me-and my bedroom door where I slept, sat adjacent to the back where my car was parked. All I had to do was lift my blind and look up a few steps to where I could see my parked car’s side where the job had been done (but I didn’t hear a thing).
When I stepped outside to the broken glass mess, I was amazed-standing there at my car doing the same hot-coal dance and swinging my arms in the wind. It was like I was some negative reinforcement of a psychological Pavlov Dog Experiment where (to monitor my reaction on low-level shit, first) she would pay for physical, tangible, stressful, and costly shit to be done in my real world (whenever it became apparent to her that for any length of time, that’s where I was trying to remain-while leaving her to her own fucked up world with her “people she was hanging out with”).
She knew how to make her presence known in ways that she knew I could not afford to financially fight, and in any way should I try to; I would look like I was chasing my own shadows and sleep-walking. From digitally to virtually, it was everything demonstrative of her saying: “Bitch. You can’t even afford to battle me busting side windows of your car once per week. How the fuck are you going to battle me-period? What the fuck are you going to do when I put the order in to bust your front and back windows?”
She was in rare form.
The third time, I parked up the street from my house, mid ways up the one-mile stretch. When I stepped out and walked up to it-same thing. It was as if these motherfuckers wanted to send a clear message: “I could give two shits where you park your car, understand this: You need to know that we know it’s on the street where you lay your head, we’ve got the right car that belongs to the right person who’s going to step out of their own house to begin their day but get this work-first. Understand what the fuck we’re trying to do.”
The fourth window bust (to window number four) was unique. It happened one day I had just gotten in for the evening. I hadn’t even gotten into the house good enough to crank up the television, only my computer where by this time; we had been in the habit of annoying one another and talking slick if I would log on.
This day, she laughed and told me to look out the window. My car, parked right beneath my second floor window, had its inside light turned on. I ran downstairs to that fourth broken window. It was a totally quiet job, too, I heard nothing. I couldn’t believe it.
Anticipating week number five scared the dog-shit out of me. With having four busted windows and a police report basically telling me: “Fuck you. Get your domestic life together. Lady, you’re not the First Lady. No one’s going to guard your Honda all day and night,” I was on total edge just knowing this professional was going to come for the big ones now: the front and the back windows. My nerves and anxiety had reached levels unbearable-she made it very hard to resist, fight, and ignore her. And the fact that I could do nothing about it or tell it to a sole (without looking crazy) was absolutely tormenting inside. As long as I could keep moving and going on about my day, things would be fine. But if I so much as slowed down and stopped and stood in one place too long; I would break out and cry where coincidentally, whatever stranger was near and close enough to see me, would offer to pray with me or ask me to recite the Serenity Prayer behind them without a conversation or knowledge about the hell I was going through in my life. I was just that broken.
The intelligence she had possession of and could work from was movie-like astonishing; I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy-wait…yes I would, it was that tormenting. The anxiety and stress in my life was reminiscent of those punches and swings into the air with hot coals under my bare feet, and she enjoyed every minute of it-the torture of knowing I couldn’t do anything about it without looking like a nut. She took full advantage of the fact that I could tell no one without looking insane.
Half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005’s mind-fuck consistency was enough to let me know that this rabid “Cujo” of a bitch was not going to stop barking, growling, and biting until something drastic [but untraceable, un track-able, and un-pinpoint-able] happened.
Even the parts that had nothing to do with me, she meant business about making me pay for what she was feeling about everything, and had fun having it done because she didn’t even have to put her hands on it or move a finger for it.
She only had to move her fingers to type on a keyboard and fight me-catching my disses or pleads of olive branch extensions that she was not trying to hear, or trust trying. She herself, knew she had gone way too far to try trusting anything, and had experienced enough of my not cooperating (because of she and their “waviness”) that to this 2005 date; yielded nothing to her desire or favor that she set out to do, have, or intended to happen. At this point, none of her craziness was going to end, considering the plethora of diabolical things she could afford to do and have done (unseen).
I had to gather my head faculties, emotions, and senses and make some big decisions and a plan. I considered the fact that if all it took was for me to write a book that told the story about that “Room of Hell” to shut it down, that proved something pivotal and key: That (by way of that room) they must have been doing something that sinister that a nobody (like me) could shine the spotlight on it such that some person on her team felt they should close it altogether when, if nothing sinister was going on as written about, it would have remained opened. Innocent is as innocent does.
If somebody who was merely “delusional and crazy” said some things that were impossible and untrue, then any spotlight being put on [an innocent room run and hosted by “innocent people”] could have very well been beneficial to further publicity for Janet as well as it being a vehicle of honest and harmless intent to stay connected to her fans on her turf. But the truth is, that was never the room’s intent from conception and startup. And even before the book could be published (because of their watching its production every step of the way)-they closed the room down (because they knew everything in the book as all true).
I figured that if I got that part done, I could get her, and all this handled too. Maybe not to the extent of truly making it, her, and them stop what they were doing and completely and really go away; but I knew I could get accomplished what I had been trying and make happen for many years: make she and all of them go away stop what they were doing so that I could at least disillusion myself into thinking that they really were gone-so that I could had some disillusioned denial and semblance of normalcy and privacy back in my life that since 1999 to date-was null and void.
She needed to be handled in the most abrupt and unexpected fashion that (because she knows how private I am + how the truth and details of this whole story would make me look crazy) she underestimated would ever happen.
She underestimated the fact that I would take it to court with nothing but [the truth] and words on paper against big ole untouchable “her” despite how crazy it would make me look. I gave up that narcotic about caring how I “looked” in the eyes of a world full of ignorant, bedazzled, celebritydrom-disillusioned people and instead; began giving a damn about being heard.
Janet’s bragging and laughing about how she couldn’t be stopped is what stopped dancing around in my head as if she was some untouchable force with the power of a God. Hell no. I had to put an abrupt stop to her and this thing, in a way that as private a person as I was, I knew it would affect me.
I just didn’t know how badly it was going to affect my life and ability to make a living. I didn’t predict that. My desperation in getting it dealt with and out of my life was my only hope and aim. So I took it to the judge to get it crackin’: PRO BONO and one-paged raw summary of details.
I knew that if I remained quiet and continued to finger wrestle with Janet and her buddies, I was merely doing nothing but giving them lots to do. I knew that to continue fighting with them was doing nothing for me but helping them pass time that only they and Janet had the money to waste, doing. And although diabolical, I knew that doing so only afforded Janet’s [concept of a human being ass], something tangible to sink her teeth into in order to feel, know, hear, and see what normal life was like in the lives of others-a stark raving difference from her real life that because of who she is, she was never going to have. So she got life breathed into her by being privy to knowing and peeping into other people’s life, lifestyles, and living (whether they knew it or not).
If she or they (her buddies) did not like you-low and behold, what worked and became fun for them-was their efforts to make you think all your taunts and “coincidences” were the result of you thinking you were crazy-all the while, they would watch and listen to you chase your own tail until they got bored and found someone else to play with. And well if they liked you, and Janet wanted you…then like me-she got up in your life and patted it down by listening, watching, researching, and investigating and (like me) if you passed the test-get it crackin’-”Viola! Look who you get to meet!” The best way to do it was to already know your interest in her by your coming to her room: her turf-that is where the games would begin.
What seemed like magic and kismet for us was yes indeed, the fact that I met, talked, and sat with Rene. Yes, my friend and I laughing with two gay guys while I yelled flirty rhetoric up to the stage to Janet that caught she, Tina, and Shawn’s attention that eventually (three/four months later) was the premise that brought me to her room that (upon Janet and Shawn’s remembering); is where this whole thing began. But even with her right hand man and bodyguard (Hugh) standing right next to me [during my yelling flirty rhetoric], no, I did not ask him to allow me to go and meet Janet. (And too, with her man sitting right in my face, legs crossed and in cozy conversation with me, no, I did not ask him to allow me to go and meet her then, either).
So when I showed up in Janet’s room, her turf and world of unforeseen trouble (three/four months later with she, and Shawn remembering who I was), yes, it may have very well seemed kismet and magical. She knew what she does in her room, I didn’t. I merely wanted her to make an appearance in the room-and show up, not show up in my personal and private life-no, that wasn’t in the plan (of mine).
I very well could have [with Hugh, Rene, or my being at arms-length of she, Shawn, and Tina]; asked to meet her then. But never in my life, no matter how much of a fan I was to anybody; have I ever been, or had any interest in being a stage-door Annie or an ego ornament-it’s never been my pursuit or thing. I knew well over too many girls having got caught up into situations with celebrities and ballplayers and found themselves chasing them and chasing that lifestyle for their life and it was oh-so-sickening and pathetic to witness and hear about. I have never in my life fought to get backstage to meet celebrities or put myself at venues, events, or situations to be all up under ballplayers or celebrities in hopes to befriend, hob-knob, hang-out out, or have intimate relations with them. That has never been my interest or thing-ever.
I’m not even rich or “well-to do,” but I’ve always been (what I call) a bit of a “separ – a – classist” who always felt that hob-knobbing with [the financially] rich (should be) for the fellow financially rich. The modest-humble and all else: party with the fellow modest-humble, and not to be mixed unless it was for business, a specific purpose, or for a cause. And if a relationship of any kind ensued from then-then fine. But just mobbing all up in somebody else’s world of glitter that’s not yours when the clock strikes twelve (in my opinion) was just Cinderella moments that I never understood (girls especially) putting themselves through.
YOU might fantasize about or be interested in “being friends with Beyonce” but not me.
I do business (and personal) with people from all walks of life (financially lesser to greater), but I’ve always been content in my own lane that I have countless Cinderella moments in that even the rich and famous never have experienced or could pay for. That’s MY “rich.” That’s MY “famous.”
I’ve experienced and created memories in love and life that cannot be made up, bought or woven. That’s my “rich.” That’s my “famous.”
I’m compassionate, empathetic, understanding, passionate, emotionally sophisticated, intelligent, savvy, mentally adept, people-keen, intimate, personable, communicative, empathetic. That’s my “rich.” That’s my “famous.”
I’m naturally beautiful, naturally talented, naturally skillful, and create and do “rich” and “famous” things that cannot be duplicated or recreated. That’s my “rich.” That’s my “famous.”
So I KNOW how to go to a concert and be a loud, screaming, cheerleading fan and have fun without begging to get backstage. I know how to cheerlead and be excited about my favorite artist’s talent and love all over what they do without being borderline fanatical and imposing.
In my eyes, celebrities have always been regular people who happened to have occupations that paid more money (than a nonprofessional doing the same thing). They just happen to be well-known through television-not some untouchable enigmas, and unreachable stars out of the sky. From a small child though adulthood, from the very moment my dad never stopped telling me that I was a “star,” I truly believed him. All the mentors and special people in my life working hard to keep my self-esteem at a healthy level too, convinced me that I was special (I believed them as well). Their hard work was not in vain, I assure you. I never felt the need to put anybody on any automatic, or undeserving pedestal simply because they “glitter,” no matter how zealous I could be about their work or talent-it stops there.
Celebrity or not, I definitely have a “type” that I would shake it with-get intimate, or sexual with. And unlike the average girl, those facts and that feel is gathered way before I would even consider sleeping with you. Yes, I believe in the power of lust-and for me, it’s a necessity beforehand that I have to feel strongly (both ways). I respond to being uninterruptedly and wholeheartedly lusted, desired, and courted; but not being a lusted convenience (there is a difference). A lot of women do not understand that, especially when faced with the spontaneity of being summoned or propositioned by someone with fame, money, power and especially by what seems like love, the remedy for their loneliness, or fantasies of a certain kind of life. Your looks, money, fame or whatever else that shines about you (at bare minimum or plenteous maximum); is only enough to arouse and moisten me, not prepare me to shake it with you, that’s a whole other thing.
I’m a very simple girl but with old-fashioned rules of courtship that never left my heart and mind-for nobody. My “getting to know” process with a celebrity would be no different than the average person I’d meet in a grocery store. As I became sensible about sex and don’t waste time or my fucks; my “type” is something that definitely won’t be discovered via a spontaneous invite via text, phone, email or asking to hook up with me in a few short hours of meeting my acquaintance. That kind of spontaneous “let me get to you in 3 hours” is something I don’t do with strangers (celebrity or regular person-just the same).
Even Janet, at the beginning of this-when she said she could get to me in “3 hours,” was still a “stranger” to me. I do intimate spontaneous things with people I know-not strangers. Her “getting to know” process (unbeknownst to the ignorant), was not only illegal, but high-tech in such a way that not only does her celebrity catapult her into that kind of spontaneity and presumption, but the high-tech stuff she does as well (over and beyond her being a celebrity) takes how she is (as a person) to a whole other level (even beyond the typical celebrity). So yes, when she took it there-in her chat room by showing up [as “QueenJanet”] and getting her flirt on, heavens yeah I flirted back with her.
She is sexy, let’s keep it real. But I didn’t have any fantasies in my head, or hopes, or plans on taking it beyond that (or there-in her room). And sure as hell didn’t know that was how she got down. So in considering all the chain of events that led to this point, heavens yeah-it does seem magical and kismet. But it’s not magical to perform magic on someone’s personal and private devices and life without their permission (or invite), then begin your pat-down by listening, watching, researching, and investigating without having first even uncovered whether what seemed kismet was what they too, wished to do: kiss and be met (by you).
Regardless whatever side and walk of life you are from; you have a right to, and cannot help who you like, love, and fall for. If you’re on the humble and modest side of the fence, you have no right to intrude upon and make a mess in the life of a person from your side of the fence any more than you do a person on the fortunate/opposite side of the fence (all for the sake of having or creating an opportunity for yourself).
Likewise, if you’re on the fortunate side of the fence; you have no right to intrude upon and make a mess in the life of a person on the modest/humble side of the fence simply because you can, or because your life may be such that you feel you’re missing out on opportunity of a life of normalcy [but because you have the resources, power, influence and money to intrude upon someone else’s; dig in it, ridicule it, and take from it: everything, even down to what money can’t even buy back: their privacy].
That is where I drew the line with Janet (time and time again) and with countless tries of being ok with it-she kept taking it higher and more brutal, and she needed to be stopped at some point, even if it was in the middle of an “I love you too.” Because as if that wasn’t enough, even when I uncovered and discovered what was going on, I eventually put my guns down, cooperated, and surrendered to her-in every way, even in the ways she desired. It was amazing to me how she managed to fuck that up! And she had me right where she wanted me but kept taking it higher–to levels of torment and disrespect unbelievable and unheard of-at the switch of her emotions.
If she was truly for all the right things, all these wrong things would not have happened and brought us to this very point. She has herself to blame. She, with the help of [let her mother tell of her own concerns]: “people she’s hanging out with” took it to drastic and evil levels that did not have to be-because I meant Janet no harm, and they all knew that. I extended my understanding to her well over my boundaries and until she broke my back and forced my hand.
This is all the results and consequences of her doings and misdeeds-period. And she deserved it. She should be glad that this ordeal is happening with me-somebody who loved her (and still doesn’t mean her any harm)-just a lesson being taught, a literal poetic justice and special kind of ass-whipping being delivered to her ass. I really feel like this whole thing with me-was an interruption of something greater and far worse [down the line for her], because this Internet thing was her “life.” That Room of Hell was her “life” (since ‘96/‘97-years before I even entered). And by way of that room being the vehicle that afforded her a way to be able to peep into other people’s lives and living; it became an obsession and habit of she and her buddies, and when she lost that room, she lost a very big part of herself and a habit that she developed that was too hard to break.
I told her many-a-day in many-a-conversations and arguments, that what she was doing was unhealthy and sure to take over her life. I would explain to her that even if I had access to doing it, I would have no interest in monitoring hers or anyone else’s life in those ways because it’s never-ending, and one in which the one to lose will eventually lose themselves-because there’s no way to stop a habit like that-with that kind of access. That’s a habit that I wouldn’t even want to begin, and one that had already been a habit of hers even before she and I began. I knew that to be a hard core fact when, while I was preparing to go see the judge. From various random computers in the city, I dug and researched my ass off and by the grace and hands of God, I found a legal site where some else had been trying to get their situation looked into who was being harassed, yet, the person thought it was some random person from Janet’s room doing it to her (having no idea it was Janet and her buddies).
When I remembered who she was, I played her like I was answering her question from a legal standpoint and had her send to me; every single link, email, webpage and piece of proof she could get a hold of to serve as proof to back up her claims. It was the same girl that Lissa loved to harass and fuck with and who liked Rob so much: Sweetiepie. I knew their kind of harassment like the back of my hand. I couldn’t let the girl know who I was, or offer her anything I knew for sure that would help her because I remembered she was way too much a Janet-fanatic to even begin to understand, so I took her information and told her that I would get back with her if I found anything out. As for me, for me-I printed it all out.
And when I stood before that judge, I was strong-strong unlike the way I was just an hour before when I walked into the courthouse, filled out the paperwork and sat on that bench.
As I sat there, I was so overwhelmed (but more hurt) that it had gotten down to this. It hurt me to the bone. It just did. My heart was burning up through my nose. I threw my head back, and with my mouth open trying to hold back my tears; I must’ve looked like that one kid who had just gotten that painful ass-whipping from his mom while trying to scream out that last ditch effort of an apology or plea [that I wanted to run home and try with her, but I knew that she too, knew she had gone too far into crazy for either one of us to turn back and trust the other].
I knew that she had to be bucked down and subdued like the captured rabid dog she had been behaving like for far too long. I had to show this bitch that I was not playing with her. I needed to bite her: Hard (where and how she least expected). My patience, love, cooperation, conversation, and trying was no longer effective. Her tyranny for half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005 was proof enough that something drastic had to happen to send a jolt to her to make that change.
I was about tenth in line, watching the judge get annoyed listening to people tell crazy stories about needing protection orders for being stalked-stories that made my bizarre story seem unusual, but sane (in comparison)-unusual only because “Janet Jackson” was who I needed protection from.
The judge practically threw out every order ahead of mine and was annoyed with (what seemed like) people having come down wasting his time. The ambiance and mood of the room + his mood-worried me; especially my knowing I would be the only one in that room stepping up to the bench to talk about a celebrity—doing the stalking and harassing. I did not care.
I was diesel at this moment and refused to be broken down, embarrassed, intimidated, ashamed, or frightened any longer. I did not care about the crowd of people who sat in the benches behind me while I stood in front of the judge. I relied on the prayer that the guy sitting next to me out on the bench shared with me, after watching my hurt and pain roll down my face while in the waiting room. I relied on faith, my book in my hand, and my one-page raw summary of details-less any emotion or discussion of the taboo parts in any of this. I watched that judge’s brow frown up, but I held my shoulders erect, looked him in straight in his face and assured him that I was not crazy while I handed over my materials and spoke my truth, summarized in five minutes and flowed like I was speaking in tongue: perfectly, unrehearsed, and precise as he put on his glasses and read my one page.
He approved my temporary protection order and gave me a court date for the end March 2005 to return with counsel, proof, and materials to get this case poppin.’ I took a deep breath and dropped those last few tears then thanked him-he kindly returned the gesture. I walked to the window to my left and picked up my paperwork on the protection order, stamped with the date and time of the court date to return: March 21, 2005
As I walked down the steps, I felt a little bit stronger but knew this thing could really be blown out the waters of my life if Rene were subpoenaed and forced to tell what he knew that would shed more light on this darkness. I stopped at the desk to ask the clerk how I could get someone out of state, subpoenaed.
He gave me the instructions on how to get it done: Someone from the same state would have to serve it. By the grace of God, I had a bestie there-in the state of California: Kimmie. Knowing that it would be a long-shot (getting removed from his mouth) an $11 million dollar price tag sealed with tape; I took my chances and had Kimmie follow my directions to summon him to her Pacific Coast Highway address-that very same home (now owned by him) and attached to that $11 million dollar taped to his mouth.
I was not playing any games.
Knowing that she was no longer living there, I had no address for my defendant but she damn sure had a job: Virgin Records. Located on Foothills Road in Beverly Hills, California.
I sent the protection order and court date there-she got this work at her work. I was not playing.
By 12 p.m., part one of my biggest fear and ordeal was over: getting this poppin’-letting her know that I was not afraid of being ashamed and embarrassed, and hoping that if anything, it would make she and her people’s world shake like they had done mine many-a-day. I held my head up as I walked out of that courthouse feeling like something was nearing being accomplished-some move made out of this was going to get me the results I had been seeking for a long while now, even if only silence and fleeing-I was willing to take that even if it enabled me to live with the delusion that she really had it in her to completely go away for good.
My homeboy had a little mini apartment in the basement of his mom’s house. When I left court, I chilled out over there on his sofa while he lay in the bed watching television. Over in my peaceful little corner, I lay there dozing off and thinking of nothing but hoping the subpoena sent to Rene would be my ticket to ride this thing right on out of my life.
Considering everything that I had gone through with Janet, her being “Janet” was the last thing on my mind. Nobody warned me that this would hit the news before sundown, nor had I entertained the thought that it would. I just basically took care of business in an effort to try and get away from “Jan.”
Well, the world didn’t see it that way, they heard sirens and “JANET!” Before I could snore and slobber good, he yelled out: “Well Angie, it aint “All for You” now it’s all on you now my friend!” he laughed. “They got your name and Janet’s name on the television talking about a court case or something-wake up!” By the time I could raise up off his couch good, my cell phone was ringing and texts began to pop like popcorn kernels on a stove-even from people I hadn’t heard from in who knows when. I texted my cousin back. She offered to treat me to go and try our luck at a couple casinos a couple states over, to get away from the noise and drama brewing. I turned my telephone off, drove home and waited for her to come get me. We took the long drive over, both got lucky, and returned to the city in the middle of the night.
The next morning I woke up and turned my cell phone on, texts were still coming through. I returned my dad’s calls because he said that some entertainment newspapers and editors were calling his house from Splash News and countless other newspapers-wanting an interview with me. During that same week, I sat there one evening watching [I believe it was] Mark McGrath from ExtraTV reporting the story and displaying screenshots of my website all across the television screen. Producers from my city’s local stations with morning shows were trying to book me as early as the next morning. My dad was a business owner so with his business being listed, all these people from television, television stations and newspapers called him. He knew how private I was and knew not to give out my phone number, but he knew nothing outside of the fact that I simply “wrote a book,” and was a writer with a publishing company; so this Armageddon all caught him by surprise.
Oh lord, poor thing. He thought that overnight-I was finally becoming the success that all my years of hard work earned me. He had no idea that this was the direct result of all my years of literal blood, sweat, and tears over something I did not ask for and shall not want-and that after being lead into temptation, the table before me in the presence of my enemies was now being prepared-for my head; an anointing, as my cup runneth over (prayerfully going forward) with goodness and mercy to follow me all the days of my life! He had no idea. But neither did the people calling him-they hadn’t a clue outside of caring that “Janet Jackson” was involved.
It blew me away how all these people (for the Tuesday through Friday of this whole week) latched on to this story simply because it was Janet-having no idea what I had been going through, the seriousness of it and what that whore took me through. It annoyed me shitless that I had to play her game by “beating her ass in her own neighborhood” in order to be listened to (yet, I still wasn’t heard yet).I was sure no one had read any details on my website to know enough to even be able to begin interviewing me about the seriousness of the story-only the sensation of it: Janet Jackson having an order of protection filed against her. Whether true or no (they never cared to look into the details). Meanwhile back at the ranch, her people were on their “one big lie can distort the truth” spin control efforts to deflect, diffuse, redirect, and cause confusion, by gaslighting the public and leaking out to the media-their own story about some dude having stalked Janet. It was wild that week.
My concern was waiting on word as to whether or not my far-fetched subpoena and only hope in this upcoming court date was going to appear despite his mouth being taped. For my own personal backup and return address information testing, I had dropped a post card and note to the same address that the subpoena was being sent to, and when it came back with the yellow postal sticker; I threw my thumbs down but made myself content with the fact that I had made a big move that was obviously getting shit crackin’ over at Jackson’s camp-letting them know I was not playing games with the bullshit. I needed to let them know how far I would go. She was becoming way too complacent and content with the fact that I would not step over into the uncharted territory by which she made a living. But I showed her ass. I know when her record company got that subpoena, they said:”What the hell?” I didn’t care. Alls I knew and cared about was that I made a move that for far too long, I too, was becoming too complacent-and it was only hurting and sinking me-but giving them more power and too much comfort.
Still, without Rene though, I had no plans on showing up to the actual court date with only a one-paged summary of details, and a book. I needed Rene to talk about what he knows, so that I would not be railroaded and disrespected because of the presence of her people and “big name” name echoing across the court room, causing a bad case of starstruckedness. No way. I refused to be put through that. Rene was big enough key player for me to feel confident in representing myself. Without him, for me, it was a literal no-go.
Knowing that my not showing up would get the temporary protection order dropped, in the early morning hours of the day of court, I logged on, she was there-quiet. Neither one of us said one word-for a while. I spoke first, only saying: “At home, in my pajamas…where I’ll probably be all day.”
She simply replied: “Ok…” We didn’t say anything else, I logged out.
Later into the morning, my dad and his friend had been scoping out the area and said it was populated around the vicinity. I knew that people would be waiting on a show, in order to show some kind of footage to add to what was being reported all week, and as far as I was (un)concerned; watch me get railroaded from looking stupid as hell down there with no subpoenaed key player in sight. With what I knew that Rene knew, no matter how bizarre and circumstantial the story seemed; I definitely could prove the bizarre details beyond a reasonable doubt (with Rene’s segue help and knowledge of what went on). He may not have known the details of what happened between myself, Janet, and “those people that she hangs out with,” but he sure as hell knows what Janet and those people do behind the scenes of that room, as well as the intelligence that [someone/s who obviously worked for a government agency in the past] has access to and sells for Janet’s use. I know if I knew it, he sure as hell does-even more.
She was lucky he had that taped price tag across with a home attached, because he had the foundation by which I would’ve stood in that court room and built upon [it] such that regardless how much her counsel was fancy and paid; they would have had a tough time huffing and puffing and blowing down what I had to say, show, and prove beyond a reasonable doubt [based off what I know Rene knows and too-experienced-like I did]. As well, he had over 13 years of public connection and credibility to her that (at that time) my 7 years [private-trying to defend myself without him] was merely futile would have only been entertainment for television, the judge and publicity for Janet. I was not having that.
In the middle of this fiasco, I had been in the process of packing and moving to a new place myself-so I was pretty busy that week. But a short time after the court date, I stopped to take the time out to go online only to see the blogs and message boards misreporting the story without even taking the time to view all the details that were public and still online at the time. Amazing! All I could do was shake my head at how they only reported what their star-struckedness wanted to believe and run off with: that “some girl was claiming Janet was stalking her and having the windows of her car busted and when she filed stalking charges on Janet, the judge threw it out”-just totally omitted and neglected to report the truth right in their faces:
My personal website with a summary of details from its beginning + a link to the actual court documents stating that my temporary protection order was indeed granted with a court date to follow two and a half weeks later, for which I did not show up to-therefore/because of/as a result of my “no show”…it (my granted temporary protection order) was forfeited (“thrown out”)…as simple, and true as those facts-period.
No one cared to report those facts. They felt it more sensational to speculate and talk about me and what I was probably like, what I probably looked like, and how I probably lived yet, none of them knew anything about me: my person, my personality or even how I looked and lived.
They didn’t know that I was loved, multi-talented, creative, a patent owner of several utility patents, intelligent, a great person, owned a publishing company, had some class about myself, a damned good writer (and was writer already-years before this situation).
As it would probably mattered to their small minded thinking, it would have blown them out the water to know that even Oprah Winfrey knew my name (and not theirs), years before this ordeal. They didn’t know I was a mother, a friend, an auntie, a sister, a daughter, educated, book smart, street smart, none of that.
They talked about me like they knew and had a rapport with me and was damned near kin to Janet yet, didn’t know that woman in any way but from a television screen and a stage (just like you). I know her better than you do, and I knew her then better than they never did (or will). If they had any sense, especially having put “Janet” as high on a pedestal as they had, why not take the time to consider (any percentage of the way) that if Janet was alleged to have done all these things to the girl, she must have been exceptional and maybe something just went wrong. If it’s “Janet” it damned sure wouldn’t be just “anybody.” So perhaps research the details-she must be something special to her. There’s always two sides to every story and definitely two ways needed to balance out whether something could be fact or fiction by which they knew nothing about either side-mine or hers.
Seeing that woman on television or in concert didn’t make them know her any more than they didn’t know me. All I could do was shake my head. The ignorance and stupidity of people is amazing, especially when they otherwise, probably considered themselves smart or intelligent. I merely laughed at them all for being completely packaged idiots because little did they know; she couldn’t get enough of me-in every way. So: “Ha!” I laughed and kept it moving. I had nothing to prove (to them anyway). Needless to say I did prove yet, another point to Janet and her buddies.
And although it humbled them a great deal, the fact still remained, they didn’t go away-she was still right there. She did not go away and leave me with the delusion and denial that she actually had it in her to “poof!” and disappear like she never came. At this point especially, everybody pretty much had a stake in this.
We were all playing a nice slow game of chess and took this shin – dig offline and to our cell phones almost immediately. She then had her people remove all traces of the court’s public records offline and anywhere else. I still had them up on my website, but it would be nothing for my website’s server to go down for hours at a time on any given day, many-a-days. They were on it like hawks.
Tired, but a little bit more rested, I was still on my grind. On July 26, 2005 via Fed Ex, I shipped the book (detailing everything from 1998-2000) and the 965-paged chronicle [+the 365-paged condensed version of that chronicle which detailed everything from 2000-2003] to 110 N. Carpenter Chicago, Illinois 60607 to one of the biggest television moguls in history.
The 965-paged one arrived complete with audio tapes of the chronicle in case she felt it was too much to read. I was on it. At this point, my opinion about the rich and famous (especially at her level) was that they were interested in nothing that didn’t contribute to increasing their popularity and income, or fit their agenda. So when I sent the materials, I sent an agenda (that fit hers). If she wanted a show idea, I even told her in the letter how she could shed light on a situation like this, complete with the “how to” for that show idea. Fair exchange is no robbery.
I needed an involuntary witness-to put the truth and intricate details in their lap even if they weren’t there to witness the goings on and all that had happened. My email, phone call, fax, and letter writing campaign was tenaciously brute force. I didn’t care WHO got the deets. All is forever sweet and cool with me until you fuck with me sideways. Janet or “Jaleesa”-just the same. I will not come out that ass until the lesson is felt–and gotten. Since I couldn’t duke it out with “Janet” toe-to-toe in the streets, I had to beat her ass in her own neighborhood. She was learning: Do NOT fuck with me the wrong way. I’m sweet as pie until you handle me sideways. I never believed in “turning the other cheek.” People don’t respect it. It just looks good on paper and doesn’t mean shit against rock and scissors. In any situation how you handle me (negatively) I will simply mirror you. Or your punishment will outweigh the crime-just so you know not to try me again. Eye for an eye. I’m straight jugular. I’m allowing. I’m open. And we’re either going to talk about it–or be about it. I believe in getting it not just how you live it–but WHERE you live it (too). And Janet’s just happened to be ‘public.’ She came fucking around in my neighborhood and in turn, I came to hers.
I was going to get the raw truth to ‘em, no matter how crazy it made me look, it was PROGRESS to me nonetheless. I got my receipt: A basic letter and only the 965-paged one (with the audio tapes) returned back to me. I was thankful—she kept the book and the 365-paged condensed version, so that was fine by me. I knew she could do nothing about it-but read it. And that’s what I wanted: An inquiring mind of a journalist with a love for reading who, no matter how long it took; would eventually do just that. I did this work, and somebody else was about to get this work [laid in their lap-and “tag”-she was it.
The riddle and rumors are true: “Reading is fundamental.” And in this thing, my ability to write was instrumental. In fact, it was essential. And if you can’t read or write in this world, you had better have some money-plenty of it. It became my only defense. Everything I had done up to this point, no matter how it: hurt me, affected me, and infected me in the process; it was progress in the process. And through it, I learned a lot of things, and was overcome with a kind of clarity that most people in my world will never, ever get-through ‘til the day they die. But it hurt like…removing a layer of my skin. I became that raw. I am that raw. My security as a human being, a tax-paying and law-biding citizen is ruined, forever. It’s quite unnerving to know that you can go through an untypical situation in this world and you have all these laws to “protect” you, yet, it won’t protect “you” one person/singular. That’s where you had better have some money to be able to pay somebody to fight your fight-that’s the only way anybody will help you in any unfortunate (and especially bizarre and untypical situation like such).
This situation opened my eyes such that I was able to see how to this world really “works.” This world is a maze-with different levels and compartments in which if you are not in control of your own mind; your best bet is to keep your lane, because you sure as hell aren’t ready for “The World.” It’s an eye opener that I promise you, you don’t want to be faced with. It will change you. In this world (in the bigger scheme of things), you are only as valued as you can match your opponent-financially. If you are the average humble/modest living citizen, you really have no rights or “protection” without money, and the only branch of law in which you have any power to move anything is domestic.
The funny thing is that-you’re lucky if you can make it through life without ever being faced with learning the truth about “The World” and that being so. And it’s something you will never know unless you are thrust over the threshold behind that closed-door worldly secret, and you happen to be the victim of the other side of the velvet rope and line. Without being able to financially match your opponent’s money, power, resources, and influence, you will see how much you are nothing other than an ornament on the tall tree in this green world where only real green: (money), celebritydrom, and power (which affords resources and buys influence) matters.
Contrary to your (knowing?), there are people in this world who have more money than the Janet Jacksons and you don’t see or know them from television or stage. For example, if such person (let’s call her “Joan Davis”) would have done this very same to me by which this book is the premise; I would have been at that Joan Davis’ mercy for life-because (a) no one [who tells me that I am a citizen with laws that protect me] would have helped me and actually-they didn’t-despite all my letter writing and talking to all the right people from Washington and back. Those laws only protect you if thousands upon millions had the same experience with that same person, place or entity. They just file your complaint, that’s it).
I also would have been at “Joan Davis’ “mercy because (b) despite my being able to write and tell the story, you (reading this) would not have been as interested in reading and circulating a story about somebody named Angela Sherice vs. Joan Davis. It would have just been another book out by some struggling writer sitting online working hard trying to convince you to buy my book: 24/7/365 (like everybody else is doing with their books)…
The world has a formula-there’s a formula to this shit: sensation, sizzle, fuckery, cluckery, debauchery, and even sensational mediocrity leads to: money, power, worldly success (fame), and celebritydrom. Opposite that, unless you’re a product of “old money,” you may as well make yourself comfortable with the fruits of your education and labor. You may as well make yourself comfortable in being content with your 9-5 and looking forward to retirement, and your 401k plan in your humble/modest life (it’s still success nonetheless), but keep dreaming, grinding and striving-it gives us all life and something to wake up and look forward to…
Not ok with just that? Then tell me: Where are you in that list? What dream aspiration or goal are you working towards that is sensational, sizzles, offers fuckery, cluckery, debauchery for entertainment, and is mediocre (but sensational)? Because that’s the name of the world’s game, and ways to claim to fame (if fame or worldly success is what you’re looking for). If you frowned at that reality, funny thing is, you are your own product of that whole reality being why it’s real.
This experience opened my eyes to what’s real, and I’m sorry to blow your fantasy or lift the veil of disillusionment you may have had, but it is a reality. Don’t just look at my experience to disagree or agree-that’s just one source from which I concluded this [reality]. Just look around you, turn on your television, look at your Facebooks and Twitters, watch the “news,”pay attention to yourself (and keep reading, because I’ll elaborate).
You reading this now, you don’t know me-you don’t really care about me. You’re only reading it because Janet Jackson’s name is the other party involved, that’s why you care, and that’s why you’re interested now. That is because celebritydrom, money, power and influence owns and controls your mind, rules the way you move, rearranges the way you think, what you want, how you feel, and what makes you empathize, care to empathize (or not). The world works such that I had better be glad it was a “Janet Jackson” and not a “Joan Davis,” because (how your mind is controlled about what interests you and grabs your attention) had Janet Jackson not been a celebrity (with power, money, influence), I would have never been heard.
Interestingly, on the flip side of this world we live in, and the strange and irrational dichotomy of the people in it; the fact that it was a “Janet Jackson” [versus a “Joan Davis”] caused me more problems than I ever could have anticipated because now, it wasn’t just between me, Janet, and her buddies-the world knew about it. I still had to work (for a living) but this situation ended up causing me to be rejected, ostracized, sneered at, gossiped about, ridiculed, and unable to work to support myself to make a living. Without even knowing me or having one conversation with me, the shallowness and vanity of the world gave me a very small percentage of literal consideration in this because I was instantly attractive at a glance-yet, that same percentage of the world and all their star-struckedness discounted my sanity, the double-takes and stares all began to have one look that saw me out of, and stopped at many a doors to make my money where I never had a problem before this ordeal. A couple of people even “felt sorry” for me and played charades with me on the bottom line of what was really going on and swore me to secrecy so they wouldn’t lose the jobs that I lost, couldn’t get into and forced out of “by design” (over this ordeal–now being public information).
My life became one big cyclical series of ups and downs that looked something like a spot traveling through the shape of a paper clip that never could seem to get to that end point of it-it kept going up and down and back again. The days of my being able to walk into a car dealership and get myself a new car with test-drive miles on it and the option of taking it back to switch colors were no more. Before all was said and done, my impeccable business credit was ruined. I had lost two of my most biggest accounts for my company, and I had paid off, but lost a 20k car to car pawn (for a mere few thousand to help me stay afloat and eventually lost two other trucks to repo, too). The sound of a diesel truck at one time practically scared me. By the time they came for the second truck, I was immune. I merely looked out the window, waved my hand, lay back down and went sound to sleep. I woke up the next morning, got my bus route together and continued on about my way and kept it moving until I could get another car [that I could pay cash for]. I walked, ran, and mass transited it to my destinations for miles. I wasn’t ashamed. I was getting used to this cyclical life of mine.
Over the years, my eviction record began to look like a street nigga’s rap sheet. I was selling big ticket items in order to stay true to my current situation that read something like: you may not be here too long so make sure you come with, and leave with what you can pack, pick up and carry by yourself. From place to place I was a cock-strong lil’ something that needed no help hauling my shit between my trucks and eventually U-Hauls. If I ever needed help I only called my brothers because I was on a timer-trying to beat the bailiff from coming to sit my shit out, other than that, I did it all by myself. For a good stint of time into the years, I knew exactly what it was like to live like a crack head trying to stay afloat and not able to support yourself yet, I was wasn’t a crack head. I didn’t drink or smoke or do any recreational drugs whatsoever. I damned sure know how to know hustle, but I didn’t want anybody up in my mix with no fucked up emotional expectations-getting in my way. I was holding on to tears of my own, I sure as hell didn’t need any whining in my life and no drama. I suffered alone. And I suffered hard.
My one bestie was on the east coast on her acting gigs, wanting more than having been on Law & Order and the like, while too; was trying to keep hope and her love life afloat. I left her to that – I didn’t want to burden her-so I talked with her as if all was well in my sinking world. My other bestie was on the west coast having finally found the love she sought for life-I didn’t want to burden her either, so I left her to that; carrying on with her too (as if all was well). What I really needed was someone close and within arms reach-a friend (not just knowing what I was going through) but there simply because they knew it was literally “me against the world”-not just some fly talking shit or a line out of a rap song.
My two besties on the two different coasts didn’t literally “owe” me anything. The ones who “owed” me anything were right in arms reach of me but already cleaned the blood off their knives from my back long ago. At this time in my life they were of no use to me, despite the fact that they were the very same friends who over the years, I carried, chauffeured, housed, allowed to shit babies in my house amongst all other kind of domestic and case-related situations all up in my mix-living rent free, and came back a time or two or three. No fucking good to me when hard-times was my only friend. I lost so much-it was so up and down, and in the beginning of it all, lost my mother and my father to being put on their backs.
Even into being a full-grown adult, I never knew how spoiled I really was until they were on their back and mine was against the wall in this way, and at this time. I gained, lost, gained, lost, and went up and down-like the direction of that paper clip. The ups were long and so were the downs. I never could make it to that end point to free myself to live stably and breathe freely. The only solace I could find in this was the faith I had in the fact that I knew it would all be over soon-because this part was not my karma, my fight or my battle; it was an indirect and direct result of being forced to make a decision that put me in the public clutches of a big celebrity who the world sees as a God of sorts. And the circumstances in which I was connected to that big celebrity made me look like I was the crazy one in this thing (to the world – not even the courts). No, she was the “crazy” one (if anybody had to be “crazy” in this). That part angered me. And wrong or right, I found solace in the fact that she eventually couldn’t sell a CD and pop record numbers, or sell a ticket to fill an arena if her life depended on it. She ran out of excuses and lies to fold her last tour until she couldn’t run from ‘em anymore. I had always wanted to know from what direction her karma was going to come from as a direct result of all this, and for me, that was it.
I suffered, but the fact is-I knew I could have made lots of money off this story back then (if I was willing to play the “strictly for publicity” game). For me, this was more than that.
There is a story behind this story that nobody giving me publicity would have given two shits about uncovering and discussing had I not forced them to read it (like I am doing now – in 2013). I have a story behind this story, but through that game (publicizing it back then), the story would have gotten lost in fuckery, cluckery, sensation, and debauchery. I’m far from sensational mediocrity and desperation in search of the quick bullshit kind of fame that would have forever overshadowed my umph and sizzle. I’m far from sensational mediocrity and desperation in search of the quick bullshit kind of fame that would have overshadowed the dynamic person I am and the wonderful things I’m made of. I’m cut better than to settle for that.
My mother always taught me that you can never miss what you never had, and I swear by that. I live by that. How can you crave, settle for, sell yourself short for, or chase what you never even had in the first place (be it a person, place, or a thing). In settling for that, you may eat good, travel, sleep on, wear, and own beautiful things from fuckery, cluckery, sensation, and debauchery; but once you accept it-that’s all you’ll ever be, first (in the eyes of the world) no matter how you fight it or try to change it. And that’s the only kind of attention you will garner with true interest in you- is that of the same, because like that, that too is all they have to lend (therefore expect from you) and extend (audience to you).
In this world game, you have a choice to be respected or audienced for being great, for your fuckery, or your sensational mediocrity. Life and love (in that regard) is a full-circle thing. How you come out the gate and make a living-by way of it, is something that will follow you when getting more work, all the way down to finding love (especially women). And love is important to women. But it’s hard to be taken seriously, respected, and truly loved when a man has full proof in his face-based upon what you did to get your living or love-something that was sensationally mediocre or some fuckery. Unless that is what he is made of too, he will always remember that foundation about you. And people getting you more work too, will remember that about you, and they’ll stick you at that level (in love, and in life). I’m a gutsy, racy, provocative writer and person. But despite my effrontery, and despite how sexual or entertaining I may be in my works; I can’t let being “famous” or well-known overshadow the fact that I too-(as well) am informative, intelligent, and a great storyteller.
Despite how sensational all my work is; I still fancy myself an intellectual, first. And with this book, considering the seriousness of it all (behind the sexual, untypical, and bizarre parts in it) the fact still remains it infected me, and eventually affected me-there’s a story to tell, so I insist on any “fame” or “well-known-ness” to supersede that (which is one of the reason why I released the book in generous chapter excerpts before dropping the whole thing) because it’s more than just a book about a star. I didn’t want to run out on some fame-chasing publicity campaign for the sake of being known as “that writer that wrote that Janet Jackson book,” because that kind of insta-fame garners the attention of other people who want instafame too. And that’s where the fuckery, cluckery, and debauchery comes into play. And I don’t coon and jump through hoops [or even want to be audienced by] people like that, and who have those kinds of expectations because they can’t offer me the kind of thinking I felt was required in order for me to truly be heard on this.
As a person and a writer, I respect other intellectuals and too, fancy myself being one so they too, need to recognize that I’m up in here-I’m out here too. And like I said, what you come out the gate with (especially nowadays) is how you will always be seen-no matter what kind of reinvention campaigns you try to do, that first set of “types of people” that gravitated to you will not let you free of that first “you.” So you have to be careful about the foundation by which you jump to insta-fame because it remains. Like, it’s ok to have people screaming at you for being [a pretty face or body or whatever superficial things may be of you], but if you know there is more to you than that (be it a talent, skill or whatever), and that’s all they have to say to you, then somewhere, you set yourself up for the bigger part of you to be overshadowed. And when I say that I’m a damned good writer, I’m more than damned good writer of one hot sensational book about a star: all my books are hot. I am more than the sensation of this one book, and I insisted on having that respected and understood. No quick dollar amount was worth my message getting lost in that sauce. This book is a story.
People with money, fame, and fortune got something to learn in this story.
People who live modest/humble lives got something to learn in this story.
Groupies, the ignorant, the star-struck, the wanna-be overnight successes got something to learn in this story.
Aspiring writers got something to learn in this story.
Everybody’s got something to learn in and about this story…
Fearlessness became how I survived-fearlessness with all things. I experienced enough hurt, pain, ridicule, suffering, agony, hopelessness, angst, backstabbing, embarrassment, humiliation, anguish, despair, desperation, aloneness, and loss-to be afraid, and anything less than brave. Tired of the uncertainty of the cyclical direction my life was going, I put my pride aside and put Oprah’s email to use. I needed to know if she would put her money where her heart and her mouth was-so I asked her for help. I let her know that too, I would work for it.
And she did reply-quickly (that same day I might add)…
At any rate, later on into this thing-by the grace of a much higher power; things started to mend and repair, and things began to move along miraculously. I couldn’t catch a flat tire on the expressway and stop long enough to turn my ignition off before the expressway care van was pulling behind me to help.
In many small to greater areas, every little door slowly squealed open. From down in these years of what felt like a black hole abyss-looking 300 feet up into a light that couldn’t hear my cry; little did I know, some college boys were out in the world making plans to connect the world in a way that too, would afford me a way to do things my way (in order to see to it that the story fully be read and respected for the story-not just because of it involving “Janet”).
Onward, upward, and going into 2009 I had been busy, and pulling myself out of my cyclical phase. And when those college boys opened their invention to the world, my first inclination was to let these horses out the gate immediately. But by that time, I was too busy feeling inspired, happy again, dreaming again, and writing again-regardless of the fact that (like I always have to do since all this); I wake up and insist on my sunshine every morning of every day. But deep down inside, as vengeful as I felt even then, at that first opportunity  to let these horses out the gate, my spirit would not shake hands with the vengeance I felt. So I kept doing “me”: putting my energy into writing and doing my other works. I figured when my spirit was ready to shake hands with my spirit (rather than vengeance) you were gonna get this work that I knew not even I could escape (when this ghost from the past came right back to visit me via this same way of connecting the world by which this work got to you).
In my town and in my life (over the years), this ordeal was mere juicy gossip-an urban legend and a secret town taboo. It had been many so years that anybody ever had the guts to step to me and say or ask anything about the situation.
One guy, Ronaldo, did though. And it caught me by surprise when he Facebook messaged me something like: “Angie! Hi! Remember me? I went to school with you. I was following that Janet case closely! I even went downtown on the day of court because I wanted to see you and her! I was on it! Whatever happened with that? I ignored him and didn’t reply back. I left him hanging in my friend request queue for almost a year, maybe.
When I finally let him in-he was bold as shit-he asked again. I ignored him (again), because it angered me (again). I have unexplainable bouts of PTSD over certain things that remind me or relate to certain things in this, and my PTSD was in full effect, I almost kirked out on his ass. But I took a deep breath, collected myself and four-cornered thought it through.
I was pissed off because I wasn’t used to anybody being bold enough to ask me. I was too used to people like my (then) friends, [my coincidental circumstances at birth known as] family members, and other people in the town gossiping about it and me to other people-rather than being bold enough to ask me. Upon running into me while out, those same people and others would tell on one another and feeling embarrassed to look me in the face only to see with their own eyes that I was sane after all. Now, those same people spend time clocking me years later online, only to learn (for sure) that they never knew me anyways, after all.
They never knew me any more than those same strangers from the blogs and message boards years ago, but now they all know [rather than speculate whether they want to accept it or not]; what I’m like, what I’m looking like-my person, and all those things. Now they all know that I’m loved, multi-talented, creative, a patent owner of several utility patents, intelligent, sane, a great person, got some class about myself, still owner of a publishing company, and am a damn good writer, of books, essays, and blogs. Now they all know there’s a synthesizer-like rhythm in my words, and my ways; and my presence commands more bass than the average.
Now they all know.
And well, still:
They all know that regardless the circumstances, still (if it means anything to them all) Oprah (personally) knows my name (and not theirs).
The strangers now know that I’m a mother, a friend, an auntie, a sister, a daughter, educated, book smart, street smart, sane, and intelligent. And whether they all want to accept it or not, it’s real. And I’m as real as it gets-fearlessly.
I got more resilience, fortitude, savvy, tenacity, diligence and more guts than the average person could never dream of being. I am as transparent as I seem opaque. I’m what you would call a “bad bitch”-and not that traditional slang bird brain cluckery of the term specific to anything having to do with just my face, my body, materialisms, and other superficial illusions that I put forth to cover up and camouflage all else that lack or am not. I am more than that. And that’s what I take pride in, first.
There are still people in the world that have brains, palettes and taste beyond cluckery.
So why wouldn’t somebody (like “Janet”) want me?
So why wouldn’t somebody (like “Janet”) want to hold onto me?
So let’s find out.
We have to rewind before we reach: “stop,” (well…before we reach: “pause”).
Because this thing-me, her, this situation, it never “stopped”…these chess moves, power plays, tug of wars, and back and forth pulls between two people on opposite sides of this velvet rope was brought to life by Janet having merely imitated her art, her CD, the concept, and song in ways that not even she herself could have ever anticipated or predicted.
So to win, somebody had to lose. And the beat goes on, just like her “love” everlasting…
As stupid as that sounds-that’s how they were. They pulled out all the stops in order to get it started and poppin’ enough for me to set off in there (to give them something to do-some excitement). It was a sick game-but a real “game” for them, but that is what they got paid to do for a living-from Janet. This was their [and Janet’s way] to get “life” away from a life that she could not have. This is how she lived life away from being seen by her public (at the expense of other unsuspecting people).
All that “Krystina” game detail was either one or two things to you:
-Intricate in detail
If all that was merely “intricate detail” to you (and you understood it-how their “game” went), then chances are, depending on your strategy and coping technique, (like me) – you would have not only been on to them, but too, you would have survived their “game” and more importantly (like me) you really do trust yourself and trust your intuition more that the average person claims to. Chances are, all that happened at the very beginning of this book (January through March-detailing how I was lured into this game), would have intrigued you too, because you thoroughly understood how everything went-therefore (like me) this too, could have very well been you (if Janet wanted you for her personal reasons).
On the flip side, if all that “Krystina” game detail seemed like “over-detail” to you, then you would have been another sad case of “Sweetiepie” (who Janet did not want for her personal reasons), however, her buddies had a field day fucking her life over and making her think she was crazy by watching and listening to her chase her tail to the point where she resorted to trying to get legal advice for being “harassed online.”
Listen to this:
Her real name was Jennifer (from South Carolina) who, thank goodness I have a picture of in my files). She was a girl that used to hang out in Janet’s public chat room that Lissa (one of Janet’s buddies) used to harass all the time. Janet’s buddies and Lissa (behind random nicknames-not their “authorized” names) would toss Sweetiepie around and have her in tears in that damned chat room.
She was their big fun and mental project who they drove crazy. I watched it, even before they re-routed me over to a different side of the chat room (because of Janet and me doing our thing), which is where myself, Janet and her buddies all did our thing eventually-away from her regular chat room fans and visitors.
I was never able to print Janet’s chat room’s scripts of our conversations in there, but interestingly (the day I found out that I couldn’t) that’s when I went to the HTML Source Code to try and view and print a script from that source. The script portion of the HTML Source Code was un-viewable (invisible), but the HTML Source Code (showing where I was rerouted from “oldchat” to “newchat” was indeed viewable), so I printed it… That’s how and when I knew I was re-routed from a regular Janet chat room to a private room, which was how Janet and her friends were able to be so brazen in ways that in the regular/normal chat room (with her fans), a lot of what we did and said would not have been possible at all.
Years later in this ordeal (2005) I decided all bets were off because Janet and her buddies thought they were going to keep toying around in my life without getting dealt with. While I was getting my case files together, I went dumpster diving onto various legal messages boards in search of people posting who may have had questions similar to mine that about what I was going through. Sometimes on these boards, those questions get answered by the random paralegals and attorneys that frequent (the reputable) legal message boards. Low and behold, I hadn’t seen old Sweetiepie since Janet’s chat room back in ‘99/early 2000, and guess who I ran into—having posted on the message board? Olddddddd “Sweetiepie…”
“Oh how great thou art!” I yelled out to myself.
My lone hand was guided this entire ordeal man, I tell you. These “Ghost”-like times (like that TRL/Carson/“Angela” incident that sent that jolt to Janet + Janet being forced to “overhear” Anaya talk about her via the same telephone line that she herself was tapping); kept showing up in my life. These things kept reminding me that although most everybody gossiped about me and fell by the wayside, I had an unseen ally in this-wanting me to just hold on and be patient because there was a bigger hand overseeing all that was being “overheard” while overseeing all the evil deeds that at one time, made me feel so powerless and alone in this. It was showing up and showing out in my life, proving to me that I didn’t need anybody after all but me and It.
My running into Sweetiepie on a random legal message board was nothing short of a miracle. Her original post (for which I have screen prints) was on 10/4/2001. It read (verbatim): “hello. There are some people in a chat room that harass and threaten me, I have copies of many different things they said, they also have put up a negative website about me and used my pics without my permission the pics were taken at a meeting of chat room members the address to that negative website is http://bounce.to/beachhousexxxxxx click on the dedicated to sweetiepie page they also have called my house and hung up and prank calling my house I would like to know what my rights are and what I can do to make them stop if possible I would like to press charges against them is this possible email me at email@example.com and let me know what I can do thanks”
Sweetiepie’s nightmare with them was so sad, but what was even more sad was that she could never entertain the thought that Janet (too) was behind all this. Let me rephrase that, because I can’t truly say Janet was in on this thing with Sweetiepie-but she sure as hell knew. These were her buddies, and this was their kind of fun. I didn’t want Sweetiepie clinging to me so tightly because she was too much of a Janet fanatic. What I needed from her was all web pages, emails, and anything she could send to me-so I could print everything and include it in my case files. I would get at her when time came, because she sure was essential to my fight. Her part of my growing chronology [that ended up being 965 pages] takes up about 65 of those pages. In some of her screen prints that I have, she even went so far as to do an online petition involving Janet’s chat room.
They were so into having fun harassing Sweetiepie that (after Janet’s chat room closed) they moved over to another online group site (for which I printed screen prints of their terrorizing her there, too). I was floored. All this was so déjà vu, but even more creepy because I was still dealing with Janet and her buddies. I knew everything that was going on and could easily tell Sweetie who was behind what-doing and saying what (on her phone and online).
As I began to comb through and print Sweetiepie’s insulting web pages (in addition to my saving all the I.P address from which the pages were built), while viewing the web pages, I was shaking my head because I knew all too well-Janet and her buddies’ handy work. It brought back soooo many memories of how they would do all this for fun.
They would build countless pages for the Internet (to promote Janet). Other times, they would build personal web pages to insult and crap on one another. And then some of the web pages would merely be personal pics of Jan (like earlier when I mentioned I had seen that femme-dom pic of Shawn and Janet where I said you could tell they fucked that day)—these were those same web pages her buddies would build, which too, is what they were doing to poor Sweetiepie: building hurtful pages about herself and her true to life living situation with rhetoric and pics that would surely jog her memory and recollection about seeing her own life in front of her very own eyes without a clue as to how this was all being done (outside of thinking it was by way of some fellow Janet chat room members who had it in for her).
Poor thing, she didn’t have a clue.
I also remembered how Janet and Shawn had began harassing another girl (who, thank goodness I still have the personal picture of she, Janet and Shawn)—she went by the name of “Wytasha” but, she was more than Jan’s fan who hung out in her room, she was a personal friend of Shawn’s.
Something (I never knew what) had gone bad between she and Shawn; so Janet, Shawn, and Janet’s buddies began terrorizing her (like they were harassing Sweetiepie too). You already know with Janet and me going through our issues, what it was like for me–so this all should give you a clearer picture of how things worked with them and what was most probably going on in Wytasha’s life too.
I had Wytasha’s email addy, and tried emailing her some time ago, but I guessed she stopped using that particular email address because it too, was the same email address that Janet, Shawn, and her buddies had access to as well. I definitely knew they had access to it when she gave it to me in the middle of the chat room. I can only imagine the hell that Janet, Shawn and her buddies were putting her through…
Long [Sweetiepie] story short (and “Sweetiepie” cliffhanger):
During this time that I was corresponding with her, on November 1st 2001, she set up a time and asked me to get on I.M with her so that she could patch me in to her private I.M where these “harassers” would bother her.
(Poor thing, she was a major Janet fan, her I.M handle was “PoeticJ19xxxxx”).
I was already in I.M with Janet (who of course could already see mine and “Sweetiepie’s” I.M conversation in our window, while she and I were already in our own window). Janet patched over and let her buddies know that she was online with me but that I was about to be patched through with Sweetiepie (but on a mute-watch) as Sweetiepie’s “counsel.” Already knowing what Sweetiepie hadn’t said yet (that she had her “lawyer” on the line); they laughed her ass to high hell on that I.M until she almost broke down in mind.
It was so surreal; and such a terrible scene that it gave me the strangest case of vertigo-just to know that I was sitting here on the left side having small-talking with Janet already, while sitting on the right side in another I.M box with someone else who Janet and her buddies had too (like me-for years) been their “entertainment.”
Here I was (me, a different kind of victim-who Janet happened to want) + another victim who Janet did not want (Sweetiepie) yet, we were being faced with both of our enemies: Janet and her team-who we both could not win against. She was out, I was in—and “loved” by Janet’s sick brand of love, and still…look what was happening to me…
I’ll never forget that night-ever. I didn’t know what to feel.
I was pretty shaken by that moment.
Sweetiepie was so helpful to me-all her information.
Considering her pursuit of this thing, it was obvious that she knew she was being stalked and harassed, but she wasn’t let in like I was (because of me and Janet), so she had no idea that the people doing this to her [was the person who she was a fan of] + her buddies.
In one of the screen prints where Lissa was harassing the poor girl, [Lissa] mentioned two times that she did not feel sorry for Sweetiepie’s threats to kill herself. Well, I came back looking for Sweetiepie about a year and a half later (via all her email, I.M and other personal online contact information) she was nowhere to be found. I searched for her for almost a month to no avail. I seriously wondered if she made good on her threat because after my bumping into her on the legal website, in addition to what she readily gave me to get in touch with her; I did my own homework on her and she was easily found-everywhere. But in the year and a half (since this time), there were no traces of her through to this very date.
I can believe [and would be willing to bet that] Sweetiepie probably killed herself, because I know the emotional stress, mental strain, and psychological torture that Janet and (as her own worried mother put it): “these people she was hanging out with lately” can put you through.
This game of theirs was like the “Saw” horror movies but it was psychological torture rather than physical death with no end in sight because who could you tell? So they had wiggle room, space, and opportunity at their disposal, these: “people that Janet had been hanging out with lately who Janet herself-on that July 16th night-came crying hysterically to me telling me that she was about to kill herself because the people that she ‘interacts with can take her down in one minute flat’ and she herself couldn’t take it anymore.”
(You do the math)…
I never told her, but in my heart-I kept secret promises for her. I promised myself that I would remember the night that her friend Halimah I talked her out of killing herself. I also kept in my head-the statement she made on that July 10th day [when she was talking in third person about somebody being in a cult but didn’t know what to do].
But I kept another promise to myself: That when the smoke clears (and the ink is dry), if she appeared to me having gotten dropped off by a UFO, freezing cold with icicles hanging from her lashes and little green people beaming back up to Scottie; I would keep her in my good graces. But if she didn’t appear to me in that form, she was going to have hell to pay when this smoke did clear…
If you weren’t in-tune with their frequencies, and attentive detail, but more importantly, attentive their exclusive and specific details pulled from your own life (in order to play their evil little game); you would have lost the game and most probably your mind (from seeing what was right in front of you in plain sight but being afraid to trust yourself and your own intuition)…but since what was being presented in front of you did not spell it out and tell you what was going on, you would have chosen to believe this was merely countless “coincidences” and “real-time coincidences” going on in your life (and on your telephone) that for the millionth time.
Your non self-trusting tail would have just kept tossing (all those things presented in your face) to the winds of coincidence—all those personal details about your own life and what was happening in front of you—being just your imagination…(and they would have been giggling and laughing their asses off at your ass). Even Sweetiepie understood what was going on, she just didn’t know WHO was behind it but knew THAT it wasn’t just her imagination. She just got left OUT there because she wasn’t IN.
Because (if you understood it), the “game” it was like an impromptu game of improvisation derived from real live(s)—information gathered from people’s real life in which they spent a lot of time taking on these real lives as role play-to entertain themselves.
It was like it was their very own personal hi-tech board game where there was no board, just: improvisation, skits, monologues, and dialogue among one another (or for, and in front of you): people and situations significant to your own life, while they watched and listened to you react (or not-because you didn’t trust yourself to believe what would be brazenly on display for you). And they would be pretty brazen with it, because it was no fun if you didn’t know or catch the clues.
So they put it right out there—especially knowing that you could do nothing about it. It could have you sitting there in deep though-second guessing your own sanity. It was pretty wicked.
Throughout this thing, Wytasha was somebody I
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