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….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…
So although I’m sure she “overheard” me since I was last in the room that Monday, August 2; she had no idea how much (as far as I was concerned); “overhearing” me was about all she was gonna get for any “life” out of me. These five days away from her could have very well turned into five weeks, to five months, to five years, and neither would have been too soon for me. I was mentally exhausted of Janet’s tyrant ass.
From that August 2nd date that I last left her room [when she thought that coming down as “Dunk” would soften me]; little did she know, I would have continued to go on about my way and dealt with the fact that she could “overhear” me until I could somehow fool myself into denial that she could not. All that I went through and the money she paid to keep this thing going; little did she know, had she stayed away and allowed me to run off into denial, I would have done just that. But five days was not only a record thus far (for us not talking) it was obviously five days too long for her.
On Saturday, August 7th I was at home relaxing. My brother called me to ask me something. We talked for a minute and as soon as I got off the line, it rang twice-back to back (her typical-methodical):
First time: hang up as soon as I pick up.
Second time: let it ring half of that ring.
My typical methodical: Follow the cue and immediately go into the room I did.
I just sat there-she followed right after me.
Nobody said a word, she just wanted me there.
I was sighing (still annoyed). She was smiling.
If our bodies were physically in the same room, she would have boldly walked over and copped a squad so close up on me that she would have pinched my thigh with her thigh.
She had a way-an aggressive way about her that if she didn’t have so much craziness going on with her, it would have been cute and sexy (and it was…for a long time in this thing), but I had experienced so much of her crazy even into this thing with her that her cute ways were being depleted like pollution to the ozone layer.
She continued. She had zero fucks to give about imposing, and refused to give me room, a breather, and any time to shut her down again.
This time, she was “Laura the Poet.” This character’s role was supposed to remain as detached as possible, and she was coached not to talk in I.M with me-at all; strictly chat room conversations (so they were able to control everything, and manipulate everything too, if it came down to that).
She sent me an email under “Poetlaure…” and stopped there.
I guess she still had that night weighing heavily on her mind that I put the words of the poet “Lauryn Hill” through the speakers of her computer that one Saturday night that I played “Lost One” repeatedly, then headed out to the grocery store. This girl doesn’t forget a thing. I knew this was her way of reminding me that she never forgot about what I did that day.
At the end of some of her emails, she would sign it: “Laur a” not: Laure n, (although she was “Poetlaure”), but definitely not: “Laur yn.” No-it’s not “over thinking,” it’s: Janet, trust me. She knew what she was doing (and knew that I knew why).
At any rate, she emailed me [to our same Netscape email set up for me that we had always used thus far]; but re-introduced her [new character] self. Consider the fact that she sent it to our usual email account, she already knew that I knew it was her:
Date: Sat, 07 Aug 22:17pm PDT
Subject: (no subject)
I am Poet from Janet’s room (if you didn’t already figure that out). This is my e-mail addy, so use it to stay in touch…
Lots of love,
Laura Aka: Poet
I left the room because I was tired. She was so busy carrying on conversations; I figured she wouldn’t notice anyways-sort of. I didn’t announce my departure, I just wrote her back:
Date: Sat, 07 Aug 22:32pm PDT
Subject: Re: (no subject)
Going to bed. Until then, I’ll be up watching Mad TV crackin’ up laughing. Ttyl
When I woke up the morning of August 8th I had an email from her that she wrote at 6:07am PDT (which was 9:07am EST-my time). I laughed because she had already sent me one at 10:17pm PDT (1:17 am EST-my time), which meant that this next one was sent only 8hrs later. The reason I laughed was because this Internet junkie was most probably still online the entire 8hrs, and went to sleep after she sent this one at 6:07am (like how she-“Brie”-would be online for 12-14 hours at a time).
Date: Sun, 08 Aug 06:07am PDT
Subject: Re: (Re: no subject)
Hello! What happened to you last night? I am sorry we didn’t get to finish talking, maybe we can talk later. Well, I have to go and do some things.
Bye, bye. Lots of love/mucho de amour
I carried on with my Sunday the whole day-no time for her (and she didn’t bother me either).
Monday, August 9, I was visiting Dana’s house and while I was there, she had gotten a phone call from a friend of hers. The girl was trying to recall a particular girls’ name that had lived in an area of town that I used to live in. They were going back and forth trying to remember the girls’ name and all, and I interrupted: “LEELEE, is her name. LEELEE is her name! Dana has company and needs to get off the phone, friend, sorry!” Dana laughed, and got off the phone.
The two of us sat around talking about some things that she was going through and when we were about to wrap it up, I picked up her telephone to use it. When I got off, I stared at it to see if Janet was going to call. I hung around for about another half-hour awaiting her call to hang-up, but that didn’t happen.
I tightened my lips and folded them downwards:
“She’s doing well,” I thought to myself.
I then hung out with Dana for a long time after.
When I got home and went into the room, Janet followed. We began to talk-about nothing much. She wasn’t in a bad mood or anything; she was just in there being her silly self all over again. Sure enough, she couldn’t help herself. She dropped down the nickname: “LEELEE.”
I just shook my head thinking about her and all I could do was laugh, there was nothing else I could do anyways. I didn’t even respond to it (like I would normally do). I just sat there with my mouth hanging open knowing for sure now, she had Dana’s line tapped as well. That told me that between the day I was at my mom’s house and this day at Dana’s; she must have “overheard” my mom telling someone (over the phone) how I told her about how Janet (or her buddies) would always call and hang up to let me know that she knew where I was whenever I was not at home. From that, she switched her game up (and purposely didn’t call Dana’s phone after I got off the line). So my sitting at Dana’s house for the half hour after I got off her phone awaiting Janet’s (typical) ring and half-ring was only a waste of time.
Dropping down Leelee’s name for me to see was what she figured she’d do in exchange for her not calling Dana’s [to hang up]. To her, that was a ringing reminder equivalent of letting me know that she was still in the know (and in control of things). She was so in a habit of wanting me to never forget that-that she couldn’t resist not dropping down the “LEELEE” nickname just to let me know that she knew I was at Dana’s (by posting something said over the phone).
Although there hadn’t been many days in between my last being at my mom’s house and this day at Dana’s, for a long while after, she never did it again. She hadn’t called my house. She hadn’t called any of my friend’s houses. She never called anyone else’s house ever again – to hang up or send beeps. I was 100% sure then, that (over the telephone, talking to her friends) my big mouth mom had done all that I told her not to do (and most probably telling her friends I was going crazy, all the while crazy Janet and her crazy people sat back and laughed at their masterwork).
I finally replied back to her last email from a couple days prior but indirectly talking about her “LEELEE” nickname:
Date: Tue, 10 Aug 3:44am PDT:
Subject: Re: (Re: no subject)
You know I couldn’t do nothing but burst out laughing to myself at first ,but then I thought about you and just shook my head and told myself how much you are so much, too much. But you’re still my heart nonetheless.
With ALL my love
Later in the day, she replied. Here she goes with her crazy (character). She tried to act like she didn’t know what I was (indirectly) talking about and switch it up (by staying in character):
Date: Tue, 10 Aug 15:06pm PDT
Subject: hello love, your poet
What is it about me that has captivated you? Don’t get me wrong, I am very flattered by all this, but I don’t see what you think is so special about me. I was just being myself, and just being honest, was that it? Normally people are very turned off by me because I am too straight forward and I don’t hold back. Obviously that’s not the case with you. So what is it about me? I want to know. Well, I have to go for now, I will talk to you later.
Lots of love/much de amour
“Honest” about what? We hadn’t even been in conversation (in the room or I.M as yet), nor had I been in the room since her starting this PoetLaure character enough to witness anything [“PoetLaure”] said in that constructed email. She was just “in character” I assure you.
But she does know that I am: “honest/too straight-forward and don’t hold back” I shook my head again and wrote to this clever heiffer:
Date: Wed, 11 Aug 00:23am PDT
Subject: Re: [hello love, your poet]
Cute, real cute. Never mind
I was sitting in the room talking a big bunch of nothing to Lissa and some of her other buddies. Janet strolled in as “SassySHH” (for old times sake). She spoke to me. I spoke back. She said a few words to her buddies and then dropped me an I.M:
“What’s up sexy? I see you and Poet are getting along really well…She is a really cool person! Huh?”
I just looked at her-twisting my lips as if to say: “You need to quit it.” But instead, I didn’t say anything. I purposely ignored her and well, she purposely re-posted that question (about “Poet” being a really cool person). I knew she needed to get my [posted] reply back (for their records). So she asked again-with emphasis:“Isn’t she Cinamon?”
“Yeah, yeah girl…” I replied. I didn’t say anything else.
We just stared tried to outstare one another to see who would win. I did…I logged out of I.M.
Her? She went back to her dressing room to turn back into the “Poet” again for next time.
“Next time” came (late that night). We’re in the room. Chris came down and called me by my real name (for some “by-design” reason)…
Perplexed, I ignored him. He did it again. I figured they must have gotten alarmed because of my past two emails to her (the real her); my being myself and totally disregarding this “character” and characterization.
Next. “Dread” came down and asked me when was I going to come to see him or when could he come see me. (That was merely thrown out there for Janet). I replied: “I told you that I was going to step outside the door so you could see me that one day but you weren’t there.”
(I said that because in the room sometimes, “Dread” would inquire about seeing me in person and I would simply respond: “*stepping outside the door…”)
“Cin, I see you’re trying to be funny, things just aint the same” he said. I didn’t respond back. (He went backstage to join “ThePoet” and traded places with “Chris”).
“Cin, are you ever going to call me again?” I responded: “Yeah, maybe perhaps you need to ask MissThing PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND…”(I was talking about the time Chris and I talked on the phone while Janet kept whispering and playing around in the background, but wouldn’t actually get on it).
After I said that, she clicked me off line by rebooting my computer. I had to log back onto the computer and then back in to the room. I said: “See Chris, see how she plays around?” she rebooted me again.
This time when I came back into the room she dropped the nickname: “BACKGROUND PLAYER” I didn’t say anything, and this time Chris was gone…
“The Poet” switched places:
“Cin, do you want me to call you tonight?”
“Yes, I do,” I responded.
She dropped down the nickname: “Star50won” again (like last time when Chris sent me the email with his phone number in between the body of the words within the email).
“I’ll remove it…” I responded-again (just like I did last time-talking about removing the call-block).
“Ok. Cin, how about 11 your time?” said “ThePoet.”
“That’s fine, baby” I responded.
“Ok then…you’re dismissed,” she posted.
It was already around 9 p.m. (my time) so I assumed they might’ve needed me to release my line to do some kind of magic trick to make sure I wasn’t going to try anything suspicious. I logged out and waited on her call until around 1 in the morning-nothing.
I felt just like her-from a line of her own (real) “poety”: “[She] stood me up a-gain…” I fell asleep wondering why the hell I even put up with this heiffer like I did, when she’s done nothing for me lately either (but worried my everlasting nerves)…
I carried on with my day and didn’t show up in the room until the next evening. When I did, she was already in-holding a conversation with one of her buddies who quickly switched it and started teasing her about acting shy: “All right Ms. ‘Shy over her!’ they laughed, as Janet sat there giggling and blushing like a kid.
“Silly girl,” I wrote.
She kept hiding from me (logging in and out of the room), being silly-she wouldn’t talk. I just laughed. I laughed because when I thought about it, I kept asking myself: “All things considered and having happened, what in the hell do we have to talk about (over the telephone) anyways?” The things I want to say to her and the questions I need to ask her are far too many and the kind she would never trust me to ask her over the telephone. Considering all that I have to say to her, it’s probably a blessing in disguise that she didn’t call, because truthfully, I really didn’t know what we would talk about before I got my who, what, when, where, why and how’s answered. Then maybe after that, she and I could just “shoot the breeze,” hook up in “3hrs” or whatever else.
She wrote me (saying what she really meant, but hiding behind her “character”):
Date: Wed, 11 Aug 20:06pm PDT
Subject: Re: (Re: [hello love, your poet])
I am certain that eventually I will be comfortable enough with you to tell you all, but that just hasn’t happened yet. It takes my heart a while before it will let someone else in. (It has to screen them first! LOL) Gotta go
…she meant that “screen them first” part, and she knew that I knew what she meant. I replied:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 03:48am PDT
Subject: Re: (Re: [hello love, your poet])
See! See! I woke up this morning thinking about u, then I come in to u telling me u have to “screen” me. Yeah dammit! I’m just gonna let that one roll down my back for now LOL
The evening of this August 12th day when I was in the room, she was already there. I could hardly tell what kind of mood she was in, but she didn’t want me there-at all, I knew that much. The talk of the room was about some legal troubles she was going through with her chef (who, much later-when it finally hit the public); I found out was suing both she and Rene. Gauging from watching their conversation, Rene had definitely called her. It seemed like she was happy that he called her (but you could tell that he didn’t give her too much rhythm).
You could tell she was not too happy that he didn’t call her to reminisce or talk about old times (while talking about the sole reason why he called). It was like…you could tell that he played her “strictly business” like: “I’m only calling you because we both have a vested interest in this, so let’s sort this out, gather a plan and keep it movin.’ ”
In hindsight, I totally know how that went (it wouldn’t be until years later, that I would totally understand). You won’t feel this way until (years later) that you’ve had the pleasure, (and the displeasure) of knowing, having loved, and being the recipient of Janet’s love and countless pleasure principles. She’s the type of girl that no matter how fun, sexy, lovable, sweet, attentive, adoring, and ravishing in you she can be; once you get away from her-you will run…far-far away. And if you ever have to meet up with or run into her again (for whatever reason) you have to consciously keep a shield up to get through the business (not pleasure) at hand with her (in order to keep from getting caught back up into her clinches).
Trust me, at this particular moment in time, it hadn’t been quite a year that I had been involved with her and wanted to run “far-far away” many times, so I know that he knew her moves and how to maneuver around her-considering the fact that it had thirteen for him.
It’s a shame that you have to do her like that because she is awesome to know and to love. And you know how to feel good with her (if she really wants you)-she’s a master at encompassing that. But despite her fun, sexiness, being lovable, her sweetness, her attentiveness, her adoration of you, and her being so ravishingly into you AND TOO, despite her money, her fame, her beauty or her good lovin’; her “bad” is twice as bad, no…three times as bad (like no one I ever knew). Her brand of “crazy” is not worth the roll in the hay or getting tangled up in a relationship with her. Tangles are all she really has to offer and she is her very own velvet rope. No matter how transparent or unraveled you are for her, she will tangle that, encompass her own tangled ways on top of it, and constantly tangle you.
She has no healthy, balanced or safe medium in which her “good” would bring you back to her, because her “bad” was tilted like the end results of the Titanic-that’s how strong her “bad” is… That’s the only thing that will make you run “far-far away” from her and I say that even more so now (on this very 2013 date). She’s the type of girl that can do a number on you so badly that hearing her name could put you in a trance-like a hypnotic slumber where your chin falls to your chest and you’re knocked out having fallen asleep on queue. You’re tired out in the few seconds and four syllables it took to sound out her first + last name. Her “way” can be like fingers snapping, and she wants to be there with her fingers on the controls; being able to predict your every thought, action, reaction-at all times (by which too, she will be control of provoking-unnaturally).
Every good and bad thing while dealing with her is controlled by her. That’s impossible-to have a need to do-yet, expect any normalcy (she does not understand that). But she has done it so long that there’s no way she canNOT do what she does-because of how she is. That’s how she “loves.” It’s a part of her now just as sure as all ten of her fingers are a part of her hands. She has one literal hell of a unique personality like no one you’ve ever met. Her bad is the motherfucking Anti-Christ-like the devil’s seed, the apple in the Garden of Eden + the snake.
Yet her other face, the delicate one that she puts on for the public (the one that’s she’s painted for soooo long) can be compared to the “good” her. When you know Janet and are loved by Janet, on the outside looking in (to her other dealings with people) whether it’s a guy or girl who acts on that torch [that you will always have for her]…you (knowing her), you automatically know that she did not like that guy or girl very much (in that deep, intense, intimate way). Because if she does (or did) like them in that way; with that same torch, you know they would run “far-far away” from her to keep from getting caught back up into her clinches, because she’s hurtful and she can damage you, she’s damaged goods herself-eternally.
Her “good” is a smooth sailing ride, and her fire for you can burn like forever while she shares and shares her good with you. BUT, when she’s “bad,” her fire can burn you alive and that smooth ride turns heavy, it tilts, and it will sink you like the Titanic. When you know her and she’s “loved” you (that oh-so damaging way which too, is the only way she knows), you really don’t give a damn who she’s with or loves after you, you’re just happy it’s not you anymore.
At the beginning of this whole situation-those infamous “first 13 pages,” (when Rene and Janet were still together and Janet was flirting and getting at me, but then spazzed out on me after learning that I met and talked to him), I was so naïve and green in understanding her, this, and it all. Then next thing you know, it hit the news that he was history in her life. Later, the real true proof of that being so came to me from Janet herself (and buddies). At first I said: “Please I know that little chance meeting of mine with him did not cause a thirteen-year relationship to breakup. My dealings with him weren’t even enough to be a straw in breaking a camel’s back.”
But it wouldn’t be until years later of dealing with her myself, that Janet is so “too much” that all you need is that one out-way from her ass and you will gladly leave, you would gladly hit the door running “far-far” away from her. That’s what happened. It didn’t have anything to do with me (per se) but everything to do with her-how she’ll make you run “far-far away” from her. Any prop or convenience can serve as a catalyst or straw breaking a camel’s back, all you want to do is ride out on the back of that bitch; far-far away from her. And that’s what the hell he did. He sat back and watched all that shit we were doing and mapped his plan of escape, and just threw me in the bag (then under the bus).
One of the (typical) things about two people in a normal functioning relationship (no matter how bad the breakup was), is that one or both persons get that luxury of their ex being jealous about who steps up to bat in their life next.
Janet’s “bad” is so abnormally bad that regardless of her money, her fame, her beauty, her good lovin’, her fun, her sexiness, her being lovable, her sweetness, her attentiveness, her adoration of you, and her being so ravishingly into her new love after you-you won’t even care.
From knowing her, you already know that no matter how much love, attention, cooperation, lovin,’ and adoration that person gives to her or what that new person’s attributes and qualities are, after a while; she won’t even recognize any of it. She’s a life-absorber. She will suck your life, your joy, your happiness, your love for her, your cooperation, and all your tries — right through a straw, ride you like a camel and break your back.
All good things about you that made her love you, she (if she “loves” you) she will eventually overpower it, crush it, and ruin it and you with the strength of her bad to the point that you won’t give two shits who she’s with after you-as long as it aint you. I know her-how she is and how she moves. And I can only imagine that Rene (having known and been with her much longer) knows these same things about her tenfold. If I can conclude this never even so much as lived with her, not only could he second these emotions, I know the shit he could add to what I’ve experienced and concluded is probably minor (in comparison). She’s a hum fucking dinger.
Because of how she is, Janet did, and will continue to miss out on a lot in life, and a lot of things about love and being loved [well over the price she has to pay for being loved by a bunch of strangers for only being famous]. She will miss out on real love because of her fame and “good face.” Stranger love from merely seeing you on television and the stage is different; they don’t know you-so it’s not real love. As well, she will always miss out on real love in her personal life (during and post-love) because of how she is.
During love: You want to run “far-far away” from her. Her singing: “Run Away With Me My Love, Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” for you, becomes more like: “Running away from you my love.” Her singing: “Let me take you on an escapade, let’s go!” will not be that joyful and whimsical. The only thing you’ll see in the word “Escapade” is “escape.”
Post-love: You consciously make an effort and block her “good face,” to avoid her smile and her sweetness (to avoid getting caught back up with her).
Janet didn’t with him-Rene-and won’t (with anyone else); ever get that luxury of that old flame bumping into her and those feelings popping up (whether acted on or merely talked about in friendly and sweet conversation). Her being a woman, that feeling and bricks built on a girl’s self-esteem in knowing that we can have our exes back with one phone call, or at bare minimum-make them smile and be happy for the day from just seeing or hearing from us is something she will never experience. And it’s all because of how she is. How she is will never change-she can’t be cured of herself, and Rene showed her proof of that when he called…
“Guess who called?” she asked. “…I’ll tell you later” she finished (before her buddy that she was talking to could ask: “who?”). She knew she had never not wanted me there, but this time she did not [want me there]. She wanted me gone but couldn’t figure out a way to say what she wanted to say to them really quick without my catching on (because she knew I would of course). And by the same token (considering how I was with her at this particular moment in time), she knew that asking me to leave would probably make me start playing passive-aggressive games with her during all the other times that she did want me there.
In her mind, she knew that [this first and only time] making me leave would probably start making me purposely excuse myself mid-conversation with her (just to piss her off). We played tug of war power games like that and we knew just what to do to piss one another off.
Just like we had the perfect formulas to arouse one another, as well; we knew just what to do and brew to piss one another off. We could be like two evil or good twins who had the same Wonder-Twin-like powers and could use them against one another at any time. I knew how she was and she knew how I was-simple and contrary as that.
She tried to talk around it as much as she could, but when it came to Rene, no matter how much she called herself loving me; she didn’t see me as that girl that she loved-she saw me as that bitch that met, talked to, and whatever else, with her man. She’s irrational and unreasonable like that and could give two shits that I knew or felt that from her (when it came to that damned Rene).
They were also subliminally talking about something legal that had to do with her sister-in-law whom she mentioned using initials “DRJ” or “DHJ” or something like that. While she kept trying to talk to them in codes, it was like she would stop and look at me with that one side-eye look you would give to somebody who should automatically excuse themselves from your presence. She was in some mood I couldn’t quite explain, but she wasn’t feeling me right now, I could certainly tell that much. But I wanted to make her say it.
She and her buddy tried to talk around me as best as they could, then she finally turned to me, rolled her eyes and said: “Alright Cinamon you’re dismissed,” making it clear that this time she really was dismissing me. She wanted me out of the room-stat! Never in the history of this thing had she ever told me to leave-ever, so I knew this was something serious (pertaining to her).
“Ok then, TTYL.” I replied.
I walked out of the room looking pretty stupid and sleuth-foot like a fucking duck while one of their silly asses posted the nickname: “UNINVITED.” They were so on-cue (and funny sometimes), I had to laugh at that one myself-the stupid look on my face was priceless.
It was funny like that with Jan. She had no problem letting it be known that she “loved” me—to the greatest extent of her version how she knew “love” to be/what love was. And too, she truly ‘liked’ me, wanted me around, and wanted access to me 24/7/365-eventual access to virtuosity: Close up vaginudies, nudies, watching me masturbate, bathe, shower and even clean the house nude. You name it, she had it. I eventually let her have her way with me-a total enabler of her lust and lopsidedness just the same.
I was learning that still, all my pussy poppin’ and no pussy-deposit I could give her would lend me the full ‘in’ with her ONLY when—it came down to that damned Rene.
I’m a woman. I get it. With a plot twist like ours: Janet remembering who I was one night at her concert and Shawnette bringing us together-and her happy and flirting and giddy as fuck-only to find out a few days later (from her buddies monitoring the room) that she probably should pump her brakes because I was the same girl who met her “Rene” just a few years prior.
In Janet’s frame of thinking, considering how long he was away from backstage-not helping her get ready for her show, she put two and two together and remembered he was M.I.A long enough to sit through Lyte’s set with me and Posh, have my ink pen explode in his hands, go backstage and wash it off and come back out. He definitely made it back to Janet at a hairs timer just before she went out and if not-had just missed her and she’d already gone out.
I get it. I’m a woman. I too, would wonder what or who held your attention long enough to sit through my guest performer’s set, intermission, and make it back to me just at curtain time (or miss curtain time)?
The strange twist of fate was indeed weird. My innocently walking in to her room as a fan girl and learning that he hung in the room too. I bumped into him there before Janet even showed up as she was still on tour-in a different time zone. I did notice that when I asked him if he remembered who I was-he kept trying to dodge the question-even to the point that I joked: “Rene, how many ink pens exploded in your hand while out with Jan signing autographs?” Now, I didn’t think it would be good to continue with: “Come on man, you copped a squad and watched Lyte’s set with me” so I didn’t say that part.
I didn’t know she had a covert operation running and this little interaction would eventually be turned over to her and that (little did I know) jogged her memory, too.
Plot twist was: I randomly showed up at a time when she was there-and made Shawnette remember who I was who in turn, hooked me and Jan up as-Janet remembered me. However, the “covert shift” hadn’t gotten to her yet—to tell her about Rene…and when they did, that’s when she came down on me that January 21st day—after all that flirting and trying to get at me.
I’m a woman. I get it. If I thought a girl was cute enough for me to flirt with and my man neglected to handle his duties for me and I find out that that same girl occupied his time away from his duties for me, I too, would have flipped my lid (and January 21st she flipped on me). I get that.
But plot twist too: The next thing I and the world knew, she was getting rid of Rene, made back ‘nice’ with me and the beat goes on.
Still, regardless of my loyalty to her, pussy-deposits and countless ways I allowed her to have her way with me, when it came down to that damned Rene: In some strange way, I was still “That Girl”—despite what she had grown to know and love about “That Girl.”
It was weird. Weird how Janet could talk to me about anyyyyything but just like that July 16 (birth)day of his that she had a sucker attack, her down melt turn straight to stealth and up. She snapped her ass out of it like-for a minute there-she forgot that (from somewhere inside her heart and mind) I was “That Girl”-the ‘reason’ behind it all.
When it came down to Rene, I could only hypothesize that perhaps she (or, while she was on tour/away) her buddies caught he and Rob guy-talking/trash talking after I made him remember who I was. Or maybe after (or because of that) he used that as his way out and played on it. Who knows?
Regardless, what I do know for sure is that Son of a Gun is gone and well, I am here. And knowing Janet’s stubborn, unreasonable self, whatever she found out or discovered; she most probably said “how ‘bout I take That Girl and dump you, then?”
What I do know for sure is that divorce cost her a cool 11 million, a beach house and then some. And from there, she paid a lot of money to Black Hawk Down on me and my life. So, in some way, what I do know for sure about this is that: I was a sought, bought or an exchanged good of sorts.
When I came back in late that evening, someone came down under the nickname: “Landlord” and said: “Doesn’t somebody in here owe me money?” I took a deep sigh and rolled my eyes in my head-knowing all too well that a fight was about to start, because for me, that was a cheap (but true-to-life) real shot: True to my life at that very moment in time. That same day, they “overhead” my landlord put in a call to me “wondering when he was going to get his money” (that was now invested in a laptop computer that I had to buy so that when I began to delve into writing, hopefully, do it in some peace from them). The big fight about that would be upcoming, but for now, I sat there fighting hard with myself-trying to figure out if I should just keep my mouth shut or if I should get it crackin’ and set it off up in there.
You see…stuff like that would make me happy that she eventually got a chance to get a taste of what “overhearing” (things that wasn’t any of her business) was like. And just soon after his, she would indeed be getting a stark-raving, jaw-dropping jolt of that when my dancer friend Anaya would call with some info about her that Janet-herself-“overheard” and obviously felt would be damaging to her (in my eyes)…
Her karma on “overhearing” shit would soon come…
September 2000 for a second (the 18th of September to be exact), this time, the tables were turned on her – embarrassing and personal information was being fed to me about her from a reliable source who too, was one of my (then) besties in the industry: Anaya-a theater brat, singer/actor/dancer, and Broadway dancer who lived in L.A and New York City. (She was 1/3 of my “Three Amigos” between myself and Denise).
Anaya called me one evening after coming off tour. We were sitting on the phone chopping it up-all the juicy details about her excursions, experiences, and industry gossip. She was talking a mile a minute-I could hardly get in a word edgewise. We hadn’t talked in quite a few months-almost a year-so she had countless cities, countries, states, and hookups to catch me up on. That’s been my homegirl since first grade, so obviously when we dish-we dish. But I had to interrupt her, I had to, it was getting to deep. And if the shoe was other the foot I could only hope she’d do the same for me. When we got to the part where I told her my phone was tapped and by whom, she (without a doubt) never questioned it, nor did she act all that surprised. She was already “Janet-briefed” and “Janet ready”-nothing thus far in the conversation seemed surprising to her. We began to laugh about how Janet being at me was seemingly “fitting,” and how as well, so said Denise (who too, was a mutual friend of mine and Anaya’s).
Denise and Anaya had the nerve to wait until we got good and grown to have a high-school girl like fallout; they were both still my homies-but they hated each other after Denise moved to New York and they became roomies. I hated that. They both have very strong personalities and hearing both versions of the story would leave me speechless. Although all the three of us were besties and keepers of countless secrets between us, their personalities were such that not even I could say anything to either of them in an effort to mediate. They were the type of personalities that if either had any conversing to do they would do it themselves-which by my listening and weighing the situation and versions; was next to never. So I left it alone. My loyalty to both was always such that both knew they could trust me, so for years, we all remained friends-separately.
Anaya switched gears: some tough-talk now. Janet sure as hell was in for a big surprise: “overhearing” the G’s on herself-something she never in a million years would have thought would come through the lines of my telephone-totally unplanned, unrehearsed, and unexpected. Anaya proceeded to compliment Janet with words of endearment such as all kinds of “fierceness” and “Miss Thing’s” but at the same time dissed her about feeling the need to monitor my conversations. She then began to lay into the phone horn; private details about Janet that I dare not repeat. They were strictly and specifically about her and had nothing to do with any anyone else or any details having to do with our story however, they weren’t the most flattering of details.
As if that wasn’t enough, Anaya had more to tell me-and she couldn’t wait to tell it to me too. I listened to her slurp words, trying to refrain from telling me over the phone some things that she had no doubt in her mind was indeed being listened to by Janet, but felt I should know. But that’s what Janet got for dipping. This was our usual. Little did Janet know, Anaya wasn’t a big-mouthed girl, we often talked and got caught up on the G’s of her industry and theater life about details that she knew would travel no further than me and my phone, regardless. Janet did not enjoy hearing what she too, heard through the phone-knowing that Anaya had quite a few other things she was itching to tell me (about her).
Getting home couldn’t get here soon enough for Anaya (and of course, me either). Times like this would be almost like that Total Request Live incident with Carson where that “Angela” girl’s name caught Janet by surprise by making her react (which made me laugh). Because it was like some good omen was looking out for me by sending Janet a jolt that I needed in this situation, making me feel like I scored-like I gained some ground in this thing where in the bigger scheme of things, I had no control at all (until much later).
It reminded me of the movie “Ghost” were no matter what bullshit the friend was doing, or how much he stood to gain from his evil deeds, still, he had jolts and nudges from Patrick Swayze’s ghost always there to haunt and remind him that the reality of all that was going on in this situation may not been by other people (in our case: my friends, my family and the public); but the fact of the matter was…it…(“it” being: me-on the shorter/receiving end of the stick of all the tricks that Janet’s money’s resources were affording) “it” lived…(“lived” being: me getting life breathed into me because of her getting those bad omen nudges and me getting good omen nudges letting me know that some power bigger than hers and mine was guiding and working with me and on my powerless side).
Anaya was gigging hard for a good stretch of time. She had been overseas, to California to New York to California and back to New York—gigging her ass off. By phone, I probably hadn’t heard from Anaya for about for years-but we stayed current and up on each other’s lives via post card and letters. She didn’t come home (to our town as much)-her “home” was in New York.
So Anaya’s calling me and coming home (to our town) this time around was some “by-design” rare irony-like a ghost chance of a happening. And it was these “Ghost”-like times (like that TRL/Carson/ “Angela” incident that sent that jolt to Janet), that would happen to further remind me that I wasn’t crazy and that I had an unseen ally in this thing-wanting me to just hold on…be patient, because I had a lot of lessons to learn in this (about my friends, my family, and the world/public) that this higher force of power needed me to know but refused to just lay it in my lap so easily.
It’s like throughout this, I was being spiritually groomed to go through a hard and hurtful kind of fire that eventually, she-Janet was going to have to stand in—and in the end/at climax (well…the conclusion), I would be standing there witnessing and watching while she got her lesson too: to teach other people like her (with money, “worldly power,” fame, and resources) that when the smoke clears—at the end of the years; your money, fame, influence, and “worldly power” aint shit, when bigger hands are overseeing all that was being “overheard,” overseeing all other evil deeds that made me feel so oppressed and stressed-for years and was indeed going to assist me in getting it dealt with-one way or another. It just wanted me to be patient…keep my heart and eyes open, mind clear-and I did.
When I got off the phone with Anaya my rule that I adhered to all this time: never discuss with Janet what Janet “overheard” (even if it concerned her on my behalf)…that rule of mine had to go out the window for this moment right here, jack….Whoooa nelly.
This time, I was more than willing to talk to Janet about what she had just heard (because it was about her). Janet did not appreciate having things being told to me from a source closer to her world that no one in my world could never deliver. A and she knew every word was true. She was sitting in I.M boiling mad. BIG mad…
Obviously she didn’t care to explain to me what she overheard, nor did she make it comfortable for me to ask her to elaborate either.
Just to be sure I wouldn’t get the nerve to ask her, she took our talk to a third-person conversation where we were going back and forth like a game of tennis-nothing much, small talk and my listening to her telling me “your girl is pissed right about now,” (talking about herself).
The back and forth small-talk ended with her stating (clearly and in first person): “I should be hearing back from you on some things after the weekend shouldn’t I?” she demanded.
(“After the weekend” was when Anaya would be in town). Throughout this whole conversation, that was the only first-person thing she said, and I merely replied: “Yes.” But I wasn’t going to tell her shit that Anaya had to tell me. My plans were to play Janet just like Anaya ended up (really) playing me when she got home.
You see, September 23rd/24th when Anaya got home, she was mum like she had never said a word to me about Janet. Her lips were sealed-tight! She was so mum that she turned very uninviting and dry to me-as if she was working hard to make me feel uncomfortable to ask her to tell me [what she was dying to tell me over the telephone].
The visit was odd and definitely unusual. Anaya was a loud wild-child and in all my years of knowing her since we were in 4th grade, I couldn’t even think of the last time she had been this subdued and quiet. That ardent, feverish desire to tell me what she had to tell me had totally gone away. She damned near treated me like I was at her mom’s house wearing a wire.
She got home and shut completely down when little did she know, I was going to play fair to my friend and Janet: By reporting back to Janet a “bread-crust” like version of whatever Anaya had to say–nothing too much to piss Janet off enough to get at Anaya’s dancing career, because if anybody had dance community connects and strings, it would be Janet. But Anaya met this thing head on and shut me the fuck out like I came over to her mom’s house wired.
When I got home, Janet was already waiting for me in I.M. She already knew when I left to go visit Anaya and knowing her, she patiently sat her butt right there awaiting my return.
As soon as I logged on, she bomb-rushed me with one question: “So now what?”
I replied: “Nothing, nothing at all as a matter of fact…” I expressed-just like that.
Janet got quiet for a second then she replied back with two words: “popular whore…”
I knew then, that Janet must’ve gone dumpster diving on Anaya and in addition to that, must’ve somehow gotten word to some other dancers that got to Anaya.
It wouldn’t be until mid-October, around the time I had just started a job at the bank for the Christmas season where from, I called Anaya. She was deathly afraid to talk to me and kept asking me if I was at home or no. I assured her that I was at work.
She began questioning the odd telephone number that came across her Caller I.d. I kept assuring her that I was at the job. She couldn’t call back to the phone number I was using because I didn’t even have it-and the one that came across her Caller I.d was the main frontline. All that did nothing but made her suspicious. She went right in about her dancer friends giving her a different version of mine and Janet’s lil’ love story where it was relayed to her that I was the one who did Janet wrong, and as a punishment, began writing a book. What the hell!? I almost kirked out on Anaya on that telephone. The hell I had gone through with Janet and her buddies was such that a book or anything as a result of it will never in life change, undue, or make better-how dare she? I told Anaya that her lil’ dancer friends could kiss my ass.
I looked at this thing like this. Anyone on the outside looking in had no idea about anything. Anaya’s friends skipped a whole sleuth of hurt, violations, and upset that I couldn’t even sit there and explain to her over the telephone if I tried to, that’s why it was chronicled and written: it’s all too much for anybody to sit and try to listen to and understand.
If I tried to tell a story like this in a conversation, it would go in one ear, out the other, and over-head. But when I put the details in a book, it will get IN head; that’s the only fair chance I get in the nature of explaining and understanding, not to mention-a hard core much needed lesson about boundaries that Janet’s rich boundary kicking down door ass needs to learn. How, or if it is accepted after my work is done, that is none of my care or business. I only cared about the big truth, not about trying to make anybody “believe” me. There are so many elements about what happened that everybody’s going to “believe” could have, or should have gone one way or another. My “book” is merely a chronology turned story about what happened-left up to whoever reads it to be the judge of what relatively true from their own point of view. I just wrote the truth about a story. The fact of the matter is, there didn’t have to be a book. Without all the craziness, I would have kept this thing another one of Janet’s well-kept secrets; sealed about as tight as the “alleged” fact that she birthed a child in the early 80’s.
I told Anaya that it was Janet and her buddies in control of pushing any buttons as to whether that outline and chronicle would even become a published book. And they pushed the buttons-every single one. It cost me more money, time, energy, headache and heartache to write it than any results of it that I could I ever reap any benefits from. My plans as a writer (having being one years before I even met Janet) was never to be “that kind of public”-her kind her kind of public, I’m not about her kinda life. Furthermore, there’s a major happening and going on that I purposely omitted from the book that because of, no end result of having written it will ever be able to give back to me, she would have to be dead or in jail for that comfort to be given back to me. “You have no fucking idea!” I snapped.
I can’t say that mine and Anaya’s conversation turned into an argument, but it was a defense-offensive kind of conversation that almost felt like Anaya was purposely talking to me defensively in the event I was lying and Janet was overhearing. It just wasn’t natural. We’ve been friends too long and never in the history of us being friends had she ever put guards up with me like this-not even with the fight she was having with own mutual friend.
Furthermore, like, post graduation, you blab my secrets of cheating to my high school boyfriend (slash) baby’s dad and you-yourself- eventually fuck him and I remain friends with you for years since yet, all it took what for Janet Jackson to end our friendship? Make it make sense! So how can you not be a loyal friend by default to someone who remained friends with you on your foul, technicality, and infraction?
Anaya seemed to be afraid-a stark raving difference in how unafraid she was when she first sat on that phone and talked about Janet the first time [and having known that day-that Janet was indeed listening]. But little did she know, in the one week’s time (from that point of our initial conversation ‘til the time she got home), whatever happened-whatever was said; whomever those same friends were that definitely misinformed her about my part in this, they were probably the same ones who offered Janet some information that lead her to have for me; two choice words about Anaya [that because of the tone of the conversation and her defensiveness towards me], my loyalty ended up lying with Janet in that I sealed my lips and charged what Janet had to say about her to the game.
Besides, being referred to by Janet as a “popular whore,” had nothing on listening to my “friend” of many years shoot loads of instant disloyalty through to my ears and heart over that telephone without even once having sat down and had one conversation with her friend to hear any details about everything.
Ohhh shame on me, Janet was soooo innocent in this and as far as she and her industry friends were concerned; had done nothing to deserve being dragged through the mud by having a book written about her transgressions, indiscretions, and more importantly (and the sole reason for writing the book): the upset that she put myself and other innocent people in my path through-just from knowing me. Ohhh she’s sooo innocent in this monstrosity.
Hmm. The illegal shit she had the power to do (and get away with). Oh she’s such a victim.
Hmm. The emotional, mental, and financial destruction she caused me to suffer. Oh she totally got taken advantage of.
Hmm. The eventual ridicule, humiliation and further financial destruction and inability to fucking make a living I suffered as a result of her crazy ass. Oh, though: poor Janet. How DARE I teach her tyrant ass a lesson about crossing boundaries and literal wires..
Hmm. The fact that I too, had to relinquish a level of privacy that I value-such that well over being a writer-I will never get back again (as result of being forced to write the damned book) yet, through it all, every turn, every moment; I still cooperated and tried hard with her.
“Bitch please. You can get your ass off the other end of my phone and out of my life with that bullshit,” was all my head could hold for her after that conversation where on that day, she may as well had forgotten we ever were friends-ever.
This time, Anaya was non-existent to me, and that “popular whore” didn’t know the half of what I had gone through with Janet-where the bad overpowered anything she could have ever heard was “good,” between us, because the good was private (never public-we we’re closet dikes, dammit!). So if the bad made such a “bad” thing happen, be rested and assured, it was earned and well-deserved. I was never rested. I spent way too much time fighting to keep not just myself, but other people out of cross fires (that should have ever been).
Shame on me. Let’s talk about the “victims” and who really got shit on:
Ok so, when “Landlord,” came in the room “wondering when he was going to get his rent,” keeping calm, rather than setting it off in the room, ruled (at least for a moment). I didn’t say anything back to whoever said it. I just sat there and continued to watch. As if my purposely not responding to that wasn’t enough; in the form of other nicknames (the usual game) I sat there and watched them drop down specific nicknames of things that had to do with me, and other situations I had been going through, as well as that of my poor friends [who had zero to do with any of this but merely caught in the crossfire of knowing me and because of, gave Janet and her buddies much to do, ridicule, and live vicariously through on Janet’s time, resources, and dime].
I sat there and watched in awe of their deliberate cruelty. It was so methodical that I slowly started to see this shit a being a talent of sorts. It was amazing. As busy as I was in my own life, I couldn’t see having the time, curiosity (or interest) in tapping into the lives of people for the sake of making skits, monologues, and have dialogue [that obviously took a lot of time and note-taking] in order to be able to do. As a sane-minded individual, I could not fathom doing that, let alone see the fun in it. If it were legal, they could have won Oscars for talent and acting, and a Nobel Peace Prizes for the invention of doing it and being able to display it front of your eyes. It was actually magical-just illegal. You’ve never seen anything like it (Janet lead the pack in the skills-don’t sleep).
Interestingly, by way of this whole thing (even the bad), little did she know, I gave her an exceptional amount of credit for being smarter than I ever could have given her credit for. I learned through this, that Janet was very savvy. And that was a turn-on for me because from the outside and having been a mere fan of hers, I actually used to think she was an airhead, dense, slightly corny, superficial, but: pretty, talented, had a pretty smile, and could entertain. Other than that, that’s all I thought of her-besides her having abs of steel, being sexy with a great body-that’s all I thought she was made of. But the shit that they did took skill, and talent. On the inside looking in [from being a victim of], I learned that this gave Janet (and her buddies) life. I learned that Janet really was a “life absorber,”-more than how she could suck your life from you for “loving” you.
This thing (for all of them) was a game-like playing with little army men or like playing with dolls–that thing that kids do and could where they can sit for hours having monologue or dialogue; naming their toys yet, could carry on with a different scenario everyday that they brought them out and played with them. This was that kind of thing for them (Janet included), yet, there were no army men. There were no Ken and Barbie Dolls. The people they played with were real people with real lives, real dilemmas and real personal situations. That’s the part I couldn’t accept. These people of their “bored” games were real-life people living lives that Janet was fortunate enough to never have to live yet, she (and her buddies) found it to be cute and funny. She liked that she could still get a piece of a kind of life that she would never live without their (and my) permission and knowing. It gave her life and something substantial to sink her teeth into. It’s a part of her sensuality-it was broad in range: from sexual to deviate, to illegal.
So when the bigger part of this game happened-how it escalated, all I could do was sit back and rest my guns but pop my pen; purposely neglecting to leave out [the bigger part] because a regular naïve world could never understand or entertain the thought of it, nobody but me: her little victim slash girlfriend (who did keep her bigger secrets I might mention)…of which the contents of the book is actually candy in comparison. So in considering that, my thinking always had been (and always will be): “Bitch[es] please,” to who ever had a problem with it. Furthermore, if there’s a “victim” here, I’m the victim of the biggest part untold. If I can sit on it, Anaya and whomever else can shut on it. I’m left with the fight for not only myself, but a few disloyal “bitches” (and a star-struck world of people). Knowing that, this was like some power game to all of them, but it was far from being a game to me.
Each name and joke they posted made me more upset because Janet and her buddies treated me (and anyone I associated with) like we were lab rats. Her kind of cruelty was something that I never experienced in life. It was psychological torture. I sat there and watched them joke and jive about our personal lives, financial and emotional lives and such, as if we weren’t even human beings. I was stunned; thinking about how bad I already felt that she knew so much already about each and every one of them without my even having to tell her, and there was nothing I could do about it.
This particular day [that the jokes escalated from their lil’ “Landlord” joke] was one of the few days they had done it and in rare form in this way. It got brutal. For her to be able to sit there and put voices to them, and listen to their trials and tribulations only for her to make fun of them, upset me to hi-hell. All I could think about was how she and her team listened to the many hardships and struggles of single these parents with no daddies for their babies. Half of them were on the welfare and or receiving Social Security, some of us went to school, worked part-time and lived off of school loans and work-study. The rest of us were working penny-anny ass jobs trying to make ends meet. Some were professional boosters, some former thieves, friends of, hoes and whores-you name it. Some were college educated, some not. Some were high school graduates, some not. Some worked two and three jobs. Others were budding entrepreneurs who felt inspired about a new hustle once a month-trying.
Some were street chemists and product inventors where prototypes and potions were sold from tables on street corners. Some worked disrespectful and degrading jobs that could easily send them home crying at the end of the night. Some spoke proper English, others: broken English. Some spent most of our time on the phone calling agencies trying to get assistance with our rent and utility bills.
Others robbed Peter to pay Paul to meet the gas man at the door-emptying pockets down to the penny to avoid sitting in the damned dark and washing asses in cold water and using candles for light at dark time. Others were having affairs, some sold drugs, or smoked weed or had moms and dads were on drugs. Some were promiscuous, others weren’t. A few wouldn’t even give a man the time of day unless he was paying bills-one way or another. The rest were on the telephone calling to make payment arrangements on our bills and taking advantage of all kinds of other date-buying options available. I was the tunnel and vehicle for some awesome entertainment to help Janet and her buddies’ need for getting life breathed into them for their “bored games.”
Everybody had some kind of hustle, struggle or triumph going on with themselves, their friends and other people they knew. It was just life. Period. So it was like: “Welcome to hood-life (rich bitch) a place where somebody like you can’t afford and aint got the Mott’s to live one day in where we earn or insist on our joy, not steal it (like you do) in order to get some sick sense of normalcy in your fucked up rich life. We work with what we got, and with the cards we have been dealt. We work and hustle to multiply. Welcome to the motherfucking hood, where as you see, motherfuckers don’t only just lay around and do nothing-they move, they hustle, and they try gotdammit. Welcome to the motherfucking hood, where you’re “UNINVITED” ‘round these parts.”
You name it, it was done, you name it, it was lived. And all this very rich woman and her buddies could do with their time was sit around and make jokes, rhymes, riddles and carry on skits about them and me included if Janet was mad at me for any reason (like this day in particular). They didn’t give a fuck. Nothing over what I was in for on the very that day Janet kicked down the doors of my life, could have prepared me for what I was about to walk into on this particular day. But I was blind-sighted by her in every way-on any given day. She eventually became that dark cloud over my head that I could not control, could not stop, or could not do anything about-(especially trying to explain anything about). But still, every day, I was fighting as hard as I could, sometimes with my mouth, other times—with my mind.
Regardless whoever had whatever to say about it, I knew the win was going to have to be with my pen.
So you think I was gonna have someone who was supposed to be a friend of mine come at me like Janet was the victim?
Just like I had to develop psychological strategies to make love and war with Janet, I learned to make peace with erasing years of friendship and kept it movin,’ no love lost at all for Anaya (and a few other ones like her, who I stopped fighting for-that fought, rather than stood with me, on this craziness).
As I was making it through the fire, I got clear. I realized I had nothing to miss in our friendships anyways but trivial things, shared time and shoulders; trying to fix what was clear evidently broken and chasing love eluded love. My counsel and shoulder for those issues were all we really had in common for years, so I wasn’t missing much. Love’s been chasing me for a while now (not just crazy love, the sane kind too).
I stopped speaking that babble and gave up narcotics like that long ago (but it didn’t stop me from being a friend either).
Needless to say, my (then) friend and I have not spoken since , over something like that…a bad omen like Janet. She spread like a poison-automatic destruction in her path-no matter how innocent, righteous, right, cooperative, and delicate your wind was, she turned everything into debris yet, on the other hand-there was one fact that I could not ignore. In no way was Janet right, but in some way, she brought to life-a trying situation that otherwise, my friendships (family too) and all I thought were true blue-would never have been tested to show me proof. Turns out, I was merely handing out passes on longevity and relativity.
Everybody’s your friend when the going is fluff.
Everybody is your true blue friend and talks a good game when the waters are tranquil, the ship comes in, or the table is spread. In life, you need major catastrophes (like this) to happen—when the tranquil waters turn into hurricanes, or when the legs of the table are broken. You need that in order to be able to see who should really be sitting there eating with you when the ship does come in. Fuck sailing along.
This situation with Janet only brought to surface in some-solidarity that was always there, and in a few: never was. Those few weren’t shit to me anyways and even beyond this thing with Janet, I had other things by which to reference that-this just brought it to the head. It’s just that as a result of this, I experienced the true meaning of what it was like to need a real friend. And through this, what didn’t match that-eventually left my head and care.
Throughout the years via other mutual friends of ours, it was being told to me that in Anaya’s personal life, domestic situations were taking a toll on her. In her professional life, her reputation for being hard to work with was preceding her and she had gone from gigging hard to gigging soft, to nothing at all-to a point where she couldn’t afford the Big Apple anymore and had been down to asking around for money. I’m not big balling, the struggle is real in my personal field too. I didn’t have much, but I had something significant to help her with (at that time). That was my friend (at one time), and I felt bad hearing that, so I reached out to her-not to be her friend again-because that could never be. But I don’t hold grudges and begrudge her a well-wish in life, if nothing else. I’m not that brand of bitter.
Having said that, I don’t have a reason to have my guard up-it is what it is with me, and it aint what it aint with me. So after hearing about it all, I hit her online. She replied back all guarded, fake, and superficial as hell. Save the theatrics. It annoyed me. So I just left her ass hanging no different than I kept it moving from the other few.
As for the few others, I decided to stop being a sounding board for their teenage angst level weak ass boy problems that were curable as a spill of a Bounty Towel quicker picker-upper. From this situation, I learned that loyalty and friendship is not a bond built on heartbreak and minor things, it’s the bigger things-that’s the test of who your true friends are and where their loyalties lay (if at all). No matter how catastrophic, why should I be there for typical redundant, recycled, heartbreak spills and anything else going forward if they couldn’t show loyalty and assist on one big and major spill in my life enough to even fool Janet and her buddies into thinking any solidarity was on my side. In this psychological game, all Janet and her buddies needed to know was that I had somebody in my corner when the shit hit the fan for when my fight with the world (against a big celebrity at that) would begin. Knowing that I did not have anyone within reach, afforded them wiggle room and many field days of having the kind of fun of knowing that one singular person in this game could not win-and they loved being a witness to that. Ooh that killed me and made my fight in this so much harder.
There’s strength in numbers-even if only imagined or seen at a glance. In my fight, I was still going to be doing all the real work anyways. All they had to do was be a solid friend.
One by one, she got what she wanted-them: gone. And she and her buddies were there to see it (and listen to it).
Until I could get this dealt with, I had to keep a daily mental strategy. I learned to chill and become content with giving audience to all that they did. To keep from cracking, I had to find ways to cope. In this thing (with Janet), when it was love it was love. When it was war, it was war. Either way, for me-both were as real as this whole thing had to be survived (until)…
…So the room’s “Landlord” jokes and [real-life based] skits and dialogue began to die down when they saw that I was keeping calm (rather than setting it off in there like I’d usually do when they would carry on this way). It’s mental. It’s psychological. But I guess they got bored and decided to turn it up to a level that was sure to get a rise out of me by merely posting a name (in the form of a nickname) of one of the people that was listed in my computers phone book. It annoyed me because people who were listed in my computers phone book were people who I rarely talked to-if at all. It wasn’t just that they dropped the girl’s name down (Krystina), it was that they followed it by dropping down her daughter’s name: Karen, and then her sister’s name: Keisha which confirmed for me that they could tap phone’s from merely just having the number rather than it being necessary for that person to have called me. Because not once had I ever talked to Krystina over the telephone throughout the entire year that I had been dealing with Janet. I only saw Krystina at school (because we had a class together). That’s it.
Janet and her buddies didn’t have much to say in the form of a monologue or skit, they just wanted to drop down a name that would jog my recollection from my collection. And by dropping down two other names behind it that were in close association to it, that was just their way of letting me know that they must’ve gotten bored and listened in on Krystina’s phone calls [for however long] in order for them to find out that she had a daughter named Karen and a sister named Keisha. When I saw that they spelled Krystina’s name with a K and correctly (as I had it typed/spelled in my phone book versus the regular spelling: “Christina”), I knew for sure that’s where they got Krystina’s name from-then headed for her phone. She was the only one of the few names listed as a “friend,” others were business or some other association. Had they mentioned Krystina’s name only, I probably would have continued to ignore them and not allow them to get a rise out of me.
Understand the fact that they were so methodical in that way (only to jog my recollection and to annoy me). It did annoy me because I hated that they could get away with this shit and because of, it could go on forever (and they knew that annoyed me too)—so as another method of their deliberate cruelty; they wanted to get specific (even without any ridicule, skits, or monologues) but to annoy me because they knew I hated that they were getting away with this shit. Get it? That’s the part I’m talking about that took skill and talent— (and total boredom in order to be that methodical). They deliberated different ways (like that) to flaunt what they could get away with, but in various ways to let me know that they were doing it for reasons or no reason at all (like this particular time-by pulling out “Krystina”).
When they could not take my ignoring them after the “Landlord” jokes, and then turned it up by tossing in practically any and everybody’s business they could while I continued to watch; they calmed down for a second-from behaving like a room full of monkeys then they pulled out the “Krystina” game only to communicate to me: “Yeah, we’ve been all up in your computer’s phone book and tapped her phone. And just to prove it to you, how would we know that she has a daughter named Karen and a sister named Keisha?”
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 always wondered about. She disappeared very early into this-never to be heard from again (in Janet’s room). I would love to know her story-because since she was personal to Shawn as I was to Janet, and she was going through issues with Shawn (as I do-with Janet); her story can’t be that much different than mine…but you had to have a mental strategy (especially after coming to terms with the fact that the shit going on right in front of you was no coincidence-but real). I never knew the extent to which Wytasha was close to Shawn-whether they were lovers or friends who had a falling out. Alls I knew is that they did. And of course I knew what Shawn, Janet, and her buddies were into doing. So I often wondered about Wytasha…
Her digerati (knowing they were unable to be caught, therefore untraceable) compounded by the fact that a major superstar too, was involved; totally made them all feel invincible and untouchable. Knowing that, surviving was a daily strategy of mine. While I was surviving, I became a combination of:
Chill-(to try and keep my cool, sanity, and peace. When I would “chill” I would just watch them carry on)
Cooperate–(amongst one another, play the game too, as long as the role-playing involved harmless banter about the goings on and lives of myself, Janet, and themselves-not other innocent unknowing people. If that would come into play, I moved down to “fighting”).
Submit-(to Janet. It kept peace between us. Giving her what she wanted from the start and throughout, is something I hoped would be the thing to end to all this mess that I was going through with she and her buddies. When she would act like she had some sense-so would I. But when she would get emotional, jealous, paranoid or kirk out; it moved to “fighting”–which is how this coping mechanism often turned out).
Fight-(to stand my ground despite knowing my screams were like being buried thirty feet underground where no one in my world cared to believe, or hear my cries. And in their “world” they were unbothered by my threats. But my ‘fight’ was that my words could break Janet down-that was my only leg-up while being buried so deep).
Those four “techniques” were my only coping mechanisms and each one felt like being in a gerbil in a cage. I felt like a rat in a maze-where not even one of those coping mechanisms seemed to work for any consistent length of time. So the end of the maze was never near—and this crazy situation going on in my life had no expiration date. Why would it? To convenience who? When they could completely get away with, were paid to do it, and a celebrity spearheaded it, why would they? Who so ever dared to try and get it dealt with could not win-and they knew that.
It was torture-the worse kind of torture where no matter how much you screamed; nobody could or would take the time to hear you (and especially because of a celebrity’s name) no one believed you, and Janet took full advantage of that.
Believe it or not, every single one of those coping mechanisms were really
created creatively equal. And for the majority of time all these years, when at any time Janet stopped the madness, I would submit to that-I would give in to trust the try (which you’ll see shortly, yet again, when she switches nicknames to “Savvy” and “Femmehound” and sets it up for us to meet up-yet again).
By any means available and accepted, I desperately wanted this madness to stop and go away, (and like you’ll see how it plays out)…time and time again; that’s how the “Submitting to Janet” portion of my coping mechanism would always seem to play out, that is—until I gave up and eventually eliminated that “Submitting to Janet” coping mechanism and made the decision to survive on the other three. At that point (which took years), I decided to play my own game-because theirs wasn’t working out too well for me.
I figured since they were presumptuous enough to feel they were untouchable and untraceable, and considering the torture I had been going through; I figured I would play my own little game with them (sort of like the movie “Untraceable”–you can kind of compare it to that)-where the victims’ death would be contingent upon how many people logged online to see their live torturous murders. The more people logged on, the more the victims would be physically moved closer to whatever method they were being tortured and murdered by.
My game was little simpler and sensible (not to mention): fair.
The only “unfair” part about my game is that I kept it to myself while I:
In MY game, the noose by which to hang themselves was controlled by them.
In my game, it started it out on a gauge…kind of like a gas gauge: on full. They had three chances by which to keep the gauge closer to full than empty (Chill, or Cooperate, or allow me to keep peace with Janet by my Submitting to her).
Janet and her team were so sure that they were that untraceable and untouchable that (unbeknownst to them) they managed to run out of gas-driving me to utilize the one option that caused them to hang themselves: FIGHT.
They didn’t keep the gauge on full for too long a time-so eventually that sent me into overdrive on them…
I had run out of fantasies of seeing them get caught and all hauled off to jail in patty wagons. And with them having put their petals to the metal and running over my Chill, Cooperate, and Submitting coping mechanisms; all I was left with was to Fight: Break Janet down when arguing-humiliate her via email and in the room (every time she earned and deserved it).
…So in rewinding back to that “Landlord,” escalating monkey business (the same day they erroneously brought “Krystina” into this game) I felt they had gone much too far because in addition to my personal and sensitive information, it was the very first time they threw a sleuth of other people’s information in my face like it was gumbo soup. I didn’t find that to be funny. The game was turned up in a different way this particular day like never before. I just didn’t understand. But it wouldn’t be until shortly after I brutally went at Janet extremely hard, that I would find out just who all was behind this, and who was not involved this time-(surprisingly)…
If there was any “good” about this terrible game, it’s that through my being onto it, (therefore inside and then involved with Janet), this freed up her “actual” chat room to be conducted in a normal way for her fans and whoever else came in and hung out in there. Since me, they were pretty much were free of becoming an unknowing victim to Janet’s digerati buddies’ “human life game” because they were too busy with me and mine (and whomever was associated closely, or indirectly) with me.
This particular day however, I had gotten so fed up with the thought of it all that I couldn’t contain my calm anymore, and I knew that the longer I sat there, the more they would turn this thing up octaves higher this day, because for some strange reason; they were in rare form.
Yessssssss, I know I could have “just logged out” (like many other days), but still-even if I logged off today, tomorrow or forever; just the thought that I had this thing going on in my life (even at logoff) was something that kept gnawing at me, it kept me angry and tending to it. Unless it happened to you, you wouldn’t understand how unnerving it is to have something like this show up in your life and (because of you) it spreads to other people’s lives, and there’s nothing you can do about it. That (compounded with the fact that a celebrity spearheaded it), is something that will further make you look crazy-should you try to fight it (like I eventually went through-years later after trying to survive it-unsuccessfully). Then I was left with no other options-because “surviving” it was taking a literal toll on my life.
I fought like hell with them this day. Pissed off, I wrote Janet:
Date: 12 Aug 16:33:21 PDT
Subject: look TRAMP
Bitch you and your friends need some fucking business and need to get up out of me and the people I associate (and don’t associate with)’s business! By the way, Krys’ name is Krystina, nosey tramp, you are in my business in the worse way and all up in my address book on my computer cause I don’t even talk to her. You MUST be bored, you and your friends. How dare you sit up and listen to the everyday trials and tribulations of everyday ordinary women (and men) who in no way shape or form is even thinking about YOU.
How dare you and your bored as friends even find the gall to even carry on skits and drop things down about shit that’s not yall’s business!…
To even be bold enough to put it right in my face is like a slap in the face. How do you know my friend even wanted me to know she had bacterial vaginosis that day!? How would you like it if I opened up a whole other can of worms and paid Kris a visit to have her mother (the police commissioner) bust open this whole phone tap scheme you’ve got going then that way I wouldn’t have to file a police report claiming that some stupid star gets off on listening to the lives of people who don’t give a flying fuck about her?
Well, I told your tired shit for brains ass, every other day it is always something with you.
Please don’t confuse what you know I truly do feel about (the potential you) for what you are showing me is the for real brainless, shallow, premeditated, dense, gullible, unaware, unstable, unreasonable, spineless, muddleheaded you.
You are clearly barking up the wrong tree and I’m about tired of your shit. I’m going to let you have it like never b4…your day is on its way…and you know it….
Fuck you and everything you stand for (and want to stand for).
I hope that you get every negative thing that’s coming your way because you fucking DESERVE it! No…you EARNED it! Hiding behind that sweet smile like you are all innocent and sweet and shit. You are nothing but a facade full of shit and an obvious freak of nature who’s rich, bored, lonely, miserable, unhappy and definitely…unpretty. You need to get a life TRAMP.
…I cursed her out with all I could. She got my email cursing her out and she wrote back:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 16:41PM PDT
Subject: Re: look TRAMP
Excuse me? I have absolutely no clue as to what you are talking about? YOU make absolutely no sense to me!! Accusing me of doing some shit to some people I don’t even know…What the FucK?
She must have re-read my email and had flashbacks about the damage my insults and name-calling had done to her a many-a-day. This time, she wasn’t having it. I didn’t respond fast enough, so she wrote again:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 16:48PM PDT
Subject: Re: look TRAMP
Listen, you should come correct with the shit you are talking about okay? I don’t know any of the people you are talking about. As to saying that I need to get a life? Oh no, YOU do. You know what? I am glad that I didn’t fully open up to you!!! And if you want to see the real me (as when I am really pissed) you aint seen nothin’ yet…
Don’t tell me I DESERVE anything. You need to check yourself and realize who you are talking to, before something bad happens to you…
…To hell with the nickname game, her real Janet self came to light through that one. She responded that way because I had told her in my email that she “deserved everything that was coming to her” because around this time, she and Rene were going through some legal issues where she bit that hand that literally fed her: the cook-the one who at one time kept her slim and trim. He was suing both she and Rene for some shit that she was pissed about having being public record around this time. She didn’t appreciate my saying she “deserved” everything that was coming to her (considering what she was already going through with Rene and now the chef-her newest legal issue). After she lost her temper, her buddies must’ve told her that her threat was too much like “her” (Janet), and not “Laura” her new character persona and nickname. So she jumped back into the “Laura” character sixteen minutes later:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 17:04PM PDT
I don’t know what the fuck that email entitled “look Tramp” was all about. What the hell was that all shit? Now, see first I was all happy and emailing you back and then I got that like “What the fuck?!” Was that supposed to get to me? If it was, I have no fucking clue as to what you are talking about. Like I have said before, if you are going to accuse me of something, come correct with your shit. I don’t know ANYONE by either of those names, I do have a friend named Kris, but I know you don’t know her because she doesn’t get online.
I wrote back in response to her threat about something bad happening to me:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 17:45PM PDT
Subject: bitch I aint scared of you
Don’t be sending me no bullshit like that-threatening me! Yeah who the fuck AM I talking to? Which mu’fuckin personality?…I’m tired of being nice and patient with your tired ass.
Stay the fuck away from me and out of my life! And get one of your own because you obviously don’t have one. TRAMP! Again! I HATE YOU! Leave me ALONE!
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 17:50PM PDT
Subject: Re: bitch I aint scared of you I don’t know why you are pulling this shit out on me, but if you want me out of your life, STOP EMAILING ME!!!
She hated when I was would call her crazy and talk about anything remotely close to her being a crazy person. Obviously it had just dawned on her that I made a comment about her many “personalities,” so eleven minutes later she yelled:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 17:61PM PDT
Subject: Re: bitch I aint scared of you
I HAVE NO OTHER PERSONALITIES. AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT OR WHO YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. IF YOU ARE TIRED OF BEING PATIENT WITH ME THEN LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
I took a breather and wrote:
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 18:15PM PDT
Subject: NO PROBLEM
The next time I look in my box from here and forever, I do not wish to see anything from you, you have my word. I won’t email you (that’s for damned sure) so please don’t email ME. Goodbye, please…
Date: Thu, 12 Aug 18:21PM PDT
Subject: Re: NO PROBLEM
I do want one more email from you. I want you to tell me why. What is all of this about?
I SWEAR I am clueless. I don’t know any of the people you are talking about, I only jumped down your throat because I was being defensive. Come to the room & explain this shit, please…
…and she does have a friend named Kris. Remember back in her Sassy/Kajira days (back in May), “Kris” was the friend who owned the nightclub where they were having Janet’s birthday party that “Kajira” invited me to (where Janet was at when she took the picture with the New York Yankees cap in her hand with and her head turned to the wall—joking and laughing about her taking that picture for me with her face turned from the camera, to the wall).
Well, her friend “Kris” is the girl from her “Go Deep” interlude on the Velvet Rope CD.
When I got that email, I felt her truth (this one time). I knew she wasn’t lying-she was desperate. She never defended herself this hard.
I couldn’t stop obsessing about the things I said to her in my nasty email [as if she had never done any foul things to me in this ordeal that ever hurt me]. I just felt so bad because I was so brutal and in my email to her, it killed me-because I knew she was not lying to me. I had to be true to myself and remember that I did remember saying to myself how clueless I was as to why they were in this rare form on this particular day-clowning like monkeys. But turns out, that was because Janet wasn’t in the room from wherever in the world she was. She really was not around.
After carefully reading all her emails since my nasty email, I knew for sure that this was the one and only time that she really wasn’t involved. She really felt wrongly accused for the first time of all other times and she refused to be accused on this one. I let her off that one time, but regardless-the bottom line was two things:
1) although this she wasn’t in on this-this one time, she’s still the ringleader of this whole operation by way of her orchestration and instruct
2) they shouldn’t have been tapping mine or anyone else’s phone and poking fun in the first place. It was already bad enough they could tap us and there was nothing we could do about it, but don’t poke fun and make light of our issues, problems and situations-adding insult to injuries. That’s what ended up bringing us to all the rough terrain in this thing.
When I entered the room, she was in there and had mentioned to me how she was cracking the whip on everybody. She and I didn’t really get to say too much to each other because she was in I.M’s and talking back and forth with them all-finding out who let loose this (one) time without her instruct and participation. I just sat back and waited. She then said to me: “Wait a minute Cin, I’m trying straighten out this big mess that you done got started.” Naturally I ignored that statement because from the beginning up until this moment; I hadn’t started shit—I was merely chilling, cooperating, submitting, and fighting.
During this thing (rightfully so), I could so brutally verbally abusive to her and she hated it. I knew just how to hurt her. But then when I found out that this ONE time she wasn’t involved—it tore me apart, especially knowing that she had so much belief in every word I uttered or wrote-so back to submitting…
I kept apologizing to her because I really did feel bad for the things I said to her.
While she tended to them, I left the room and emailed:
All of a sudden, the nickname: “DigiTEK” came down. (I remembered that name floating around the room since my meeting “Bravo19” a short while back.)
DigiTEK responded: “So funny how one could admit that they got played…”
I just sat there, knowing DigiTEK’s comment couldn’t have been because they thought all this time I didn’t know that all six of those “authorized” people were the ones behind the many nicknames on any given day I was in the room with Janet. We all knew that, so I didn’t respond, I just let “DigiTEK” have that one. I kept quiet because I thought back to the night when I was in the room with them for a second (when Janet was gone to the Source Awards that night),
“DigiTEK” had made his entrance claiming to be a hacker, sending down language that looked something like this:
£ëä;êbð°zëDv,J:ì^µ8‰ÃDisÒ9iß¦•¥~Õ6ÃDcÔ ¯©ÅÊ?¨´‘’GMíÝ $Íìº/>6÷T•0Pû6-FÆÇ’Ô•‡ig¨‰EÀ¼ß
That day, I knew now for sure that “DigiTEK” was a part of her hired help but was only there playing around trying to be funny (for whatever reason-I did not know). I just sat there with my brows up wondering what the hell was going on and what they were going to do next.
We sat there trying to outstare one another. They won, because I just logged out and went to bed. I wasn’t taking any chances. I was all too used to Rix remotely doing magic on my computer for Janet and this time, I wasn’t having it.
The next evening I came in. She wasted no time.
Ready to risk it all…for little ole’me.
“SAVVY” came down and stared, licking her lips slowly and seductively. I knew this was the seductress herself: that damned Janet. I shook my head and laughed to myself. She loved to get sexy and play-and it had been a while since we did. We fought so damned much, and so badly that I thought we were pretty much beyond repair and rapport.
She took a seat and placed her elbows on top of her legs-resting her head in the palm of her hands. A conversation was going on about the Internet and computers so I dropped down a quote for old-times sake: “If you embrace technology but do it blindly, you may find less freedom, not more…”
The SAVVY one got up and walked over to me and spoke: “Cinamon. Hello Cinamon. How are you?”
“Fine,” I said.
“I know,” she responded.
“LOL” I giggled. She didn’t laugh out loud, giggle, nor crack a smile.
I knew then that she was *W and ready.
“I love how you so eloquently posted that quote,” she said.
“Gee thanks, it is so very true,” I returned.
(She didn’t respond. She posted something for me in French that ended with something like “je suis amour avec toi.” I laughed and posted):
“Alls I know is that “avec toi”means: ‘with you!’ meaning: “Me!” What now with me?”
(She still didn’t laugh, giggle, nor crack a smile). She replied: “Cinamon. You are soooo very clever. You’ve played the game so well.”
“Clever eh?” I replied.
“Yes…very…I mean it…I love it…I’ve never in my life been sooo…sooo….romantic in here…” she said.
“Oh, in here? LoL” I responded, feeling like I had been the “lucky” (victim?).
She still wouldn’t laugh out loud, giggle, nor crack a smile.
“I.M me,” she said.
(I didn’t respond, because I assumed she wanted me to take my pick on which I.M nickname to use. But she was reaching in her bag o’tricks and pulled one out for me) *drum roll*…ta daaaaaaa!!!!:
“FEMMEHOUND…” she posted in caps and in bold letters.
My eyes stretched like a kid on Christmas morning:
“Dayyyyuuuum,” I said (to myself).
“Do it NOW…” she demanded.
I could tell she wasn’t going to let me get away this time.
We went off to the side to whisper to each other in I.M.
“I want you Cinamon. I want all of you,” she said, immediately.
“When?” I asked.
She paused then responded: “Let’s see, right after Labor Day, because I’ll be totally free after then.”
“When is Labor Day?” I asked.
“September 6…any time after then, because I have to fly to Hawaii,” she said.
I just shook my head at this maniac and said: “Oh okay that’s cool, because after the 29th of August I’m real free until almost the end of September, but you know anytime is time for you…LoL”
She still didn’t laugh, giggle nor crack a smile.
“I want you,” she reiterated and posted in bold.
“You can have me…do whatever-I’m yours. I won’t fight this anymore,” I submitted.
“*Sticking my tongue ring out.” she said.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Ok, I’m about to go!” I responded, because she was trying to flip the game (she knew I hated that).
“No, no…okay…I understand. LoL” she said.
I didn’t laugh (or crack a smile)…
“Ok I understand,” she reiterated.
“I’m telling you now…” I warned her-so as to let her know that I was going to log off if she couldn’t trust me and if the game playing shit would begin.
“I know,” she said…with her shoulders up, trying hard not to piss me off again.
We had been through this time and time again despite the fact we all knew Janet and me were both on some “Mr.-and-Mrs.-Smith-We-Love-One-Another-But-We’re-On Assignment-and-On-Guard-to-Kill-One-Another-at-Any-Moment” type shit.
Me: With the chronology of which they were in possession of the first 13 pages while watching me complete.
She and her digerati: Ready to detonate upon infiltration and come out leaving no traces of footsteps or stains.
She continued: “You wanna know what I look like?” she asked.
I didn’t respond because I knew she only threw that out there to prepare to “un-describe”herself for this I.M conversation’s record. It was crazy how she wanted to keep talking and get us together, but still playing everything like playing with fire. If you’re in you’re in, if you’re out you’re out. These were the kinds of things that kept me away from her and treating her badly.
“If I’m transparent totally on record, you have to, too. I’m just as important as you bitch,” was my thinking (and expressing). I refused to leap to her on whispers, clues, footprints in the sand and connect-the-dot-to get to that cock. Shid. I was not budging.
Whatever she wanted from me-on record, if she didn’t do that same (for this printable record), she was not going to be hounding this femme.
She dropped the description:
“I got long ass hair, about 3/4th’s Caucasian, but I look more black. I have light eyes and I’m very fit,” she said.
I replied by throwing this out there: “Oh. Like Janet in the “Everytime” video huh?
(I dared her ass to reject that and switch up on me).
She didn’t, but she was in no mood to play around either.
Together, we were like a sweet poison to one another-like some strange concoction developed in a lab by some mad scientist who hadn’t completed the potion and because of, every time it was mixed, it would combust-that was us. It was crazy. We needed to get this fuck off our chest or we were going to explode-the both of us. I never experienced anything like this-this sexual angst, she hadn’t either.
Me: Making her take her time unlike (because of who she is) she wasn’t used to being forced to do.
It was very scary for the both of us, but we needed to get this thing up, and on. She was ready to get this showdown locked in before yet another fight would start. It seemed inevitable, and we tried hard to avoid our fights because we really wanted one another badly. But it was like this strong shaking magnetic force bringing us together yet, this other force would keep wiggling us apart:
My intimidation versus her paranoia. I could always handle her in our normal conversations-even when we were romantic and nonsexual. She seemed to be intimated by me when we would talk about life and regular subjects, regular conversation. She was always afraid that she sounded stupid, and I would have to peel her apart gently-to relax. We could meet in the middle when we would talk romantic and nonsexual when we would just be silly together-talking for hours.
She was just as intimidated by my “smarts,” “savvy,” and seasoned sophistication as I was by her “star” her sexy, “stardom” and her “sexual.”
She had a way about her when she would get into another kind of sexual “her”—it was like a whole other person, she could be verrrryyyyy intimidating…like in this next conversation-this was one of those times. It was like reverse, where, she would have to peel me apart to get me to relax. I aint gon’ lie. I would be sitting there nervous as fuck. (Truthfully, I had NO idea how I was gonna be able to handle her).
“*Looking at U. So shall I fly down? Do you live in a house or apartment?” asked the Femmehound.
“*Deep sigh. Looking at u…” I replied (with ellipsis), with my brow up-knowing that she already knew everything: where I lived, my dwelling, and all that. I was ready to start the fight and she knew my brow was raised.
“LOL!” she said.
“I’m just kidding. I’ll fly you out here. I have a big house in the hills of California…” she said-truthfully.
I responded: “I need complete privacy in order to work my special brand of magic…”
“I’m definitely going to give you that…” she promised.
“No one can see me?” I asked.
“No…Not even the raccoons,” she assured me.
“No one can hear me?” I asked, coyly (sounding like Golidlocks talking to
The Big Bad Wolf Femmehound the big, bad wolf).
“No one. I promise,” she assured me. I knew she was getting aroused. She was such a sexual maniac.
“No one can smell…while you follow the trail…to wet tail…Femmehound?” I asked seductively with my one brow up.
“Oh Cinamon, you turn me on so…” she gasped seductively, yearning as if she had stomped her foot like a spoiled child.
“LoL” I giggled and smiled.
“I want your everything,” she demanded.
“I want to have you on the beach, in the park, in the car. I want strawberries, honey, whipped cream. I want it outside, anywhere anytime…anyplace…I want spontaneity. I want intimacy from you. I want everything,” she demanded, with her brow up-SERIOUSLY.
“Greedy is an understatement,” I thought to myself about this self-confessed greedy, lusty, and selfish woman. If she were a line out of a song it would be: I’ve been hurting for a long time. And you’ve been playing for a long time. You know it’s true. I’ve been holding for a long time. And you’ve been running for a long time. It’s time to do. Oh what we have to do / She says her love is much too deep for what her lover hasn’t heard. But what she doesn’t realize is that I’ve listened to every word. That’s why I’m gonna tell her that I love her. And I want her. And my mind and soul and body needs her. Tell her that I’d love to. And I want And I need to do all that I have to, to be in her love,” because I thought about the contents of Denise’s and my conversation on the phone that Friday August 20th night again. We were talking about intimacy and oral-sex and I told her that kissing was more intimate to me than oral sex (something she never knew I felt). I told her that I could count on my hands how many people I had kissed in my life-kissing was special to me, especially passionate, deep, open-mouth kissing-that is for real love.
She (Janet-“overhearing”) had also been briefed on how I feel about spontaneity, and how it had to be earned with me. She felt like she had already earned it and wanted it all.
Janet knew just what to say in this session as if she pre-planned it with a checklist. I imagined her stating her list of things she was going to take from me while she looked at me as if I had better not buck (which is what I knew she meant when this lustful, selfish, and greedy woman said: “I want you. I want everything”).
I already knew that she is the type who would see to it that I not hold back on nothing that she had hunted and gathered, or read [or heard me say was off limits]; she knew she would be the exception to all my rules: mentally, emotionally and sexually. This moment had been too long a time coming, and she was double-checking, twice, her long list of all things she knew about me that made me naughty and nice. She’s methodical and premeditated like that-in every way. She does not play. Janet is a mechanical human being about everything.
She paid attention to everything. I thought about the time in the room we were talking sexual (in third person), and I said: “Me and my woman are gonna fuck so hard that the world is gonna feel it.” I knew at this moment she was ready for me to put my body where my mouth was. So this maniac femmehound was going to see to it that I backed up everything I had ever said (in addition to everything she “overheard”).
“I’m aggressive in the bedroom and I want passion, I want all your passion…” she gripped. I then replied with lyrics from one of my favorite classics: “Back and forth, raging scenes of lust I want you madly can’t you tell? Can’t you tell? Can’t you tell? Oh, take me in your arms oh baby. If the crime was death I’d rather die, here in your, screams of passion…”
“I know that you are hard to please, but I’m gon’ work you…” she said confidently and slowly. I know she folded and bit her lips when she said that-I know her well.
“No, it’s just a front. Trust me. I’m easy to please. I’m relaxed and easily stimulated.
You already know how to get me started…LoL.” I replied.
“Oh my gosh, I’m getting so wet now thinking about it. I know you are wet right now aren’t you?” she asked.
“Oh Yes,” I replied.
“Touch it for me” she instructed.
“*Touching it…smelling it. It smells so good.” I responded.
“I know it does, ooh you turn me on so,” she said-yearning.
“Oooh you turn me onnn. You do everything that brings out the fire in me, like I fantasize about,” I confessed.
“I’d taste it for you, in the heat of a moment as we kiss,” I said.
“And then I’m gonna put my tongue down your throat” she said (knowing-from “overhearing” mine and Denise’s conversation where I told Denise how I feel about kissing being more intimate than oral sex). This maniac wanted to make sure she had permission to take everything I felt was sacred. She did not want to be left out.
“In the moment-you can,” I returned-to assure her.
“I’m gonna put my tongue down your throat and you’re gonna sit on my face right?”she asked.
“Yes, in the heat of the moment,” I gulped, she caught me by surprise.
“I got nine and a half inches of strap for you…” she bragged (again).
“You gon’ work it?” I asked, softly and seductively.
“Hell yeah…we’re gonna marothon fuck,” she said-confidently.
“You know what that is?” she asked.
“Marathon fuck?” I responded.
She got intimidated:
“Thanks for correcting my spelling,” she said, as if I was about to spoil the mood.
“No, no, no, no, I wasn’t trying to be funny. What is it though, is what I’m asking?”
I replied-feeling way too aroused to have the mood spoiled.
“It’s non-stop fucking. It’s better than the best work out you could ever have,” she said.
“I think I can work with that. *opening my legs to let you watch insertion. Moaning slowly-every inch in. Do you want me to stretch my legs wide open or wrap them around you to grip you tight?” I asked.
“Ah grip me tight, grip me tight,” she breathed hard and said.
“I want you to see it and hear it talk to you…If you hit my spot…oooh…I bet you I wet you,” I whispered shyly.
“Oh I’m gonna find it,” she challenged-confidently.
Her sexual confidence was unmatched, I must say. It had been a quite a few weeks since we had gotten it on and I was noticing she had been brushing up on her already potent sexual skills so I was feeling a little intimidated at this point but I was hanging in there and ready for her aggressive ass:
“You like manual stimulation?” she asked.
“Yes, you gonna be doing it while you’re inside of me? It’s gon’ be slipping and sliding. You gon’ try to hold on to my clit while you play with it?” I asked.
“I’m gonna find your spot. I know I can…” she said with extra confidence.
She already knew my vaginal anatomy-every curve and cavity. So she was preparing her mission in her head-most probably remembering all too well; those nudies and close up vaginal shots she got from me by merely asking for them. After I worked her mentally…spiritually…and emotionally…I was SUCH a whore for her. I loved her. So I did it. She got normally full-close up vaginal shots and ones after I masturbated-clit swollen. Anything for her. I admit, I was mad ‘easy’ in that regard after I worked her slowly, commandeered her…piqued her interest enough to want to get to know me beyond her “big” self and little time. And she MADE time for me: at all times, anytime, anyplace, anywhere for anything. It made her so happy-and us closer.
So I could see the picture in her mind-I know her. She could see HER getting to my spot like x-ray vision through the phone, but until she got a hold of me, the pictures would have to do. In the middle of our moment, I didn’t tell her, but only one person could make that happen to me-and I thought he was magic for it too. I didn’t want her to feel too challenged in a “slim to none” kind of way. I wanted her just like she was: challenged in a “ready to go” kind of way. So I kept that secret.
It added to my excitement, my anticipation-those butterflies in my stomach traveling down to my cooter knob making it throb had me going. I couldn’t wait. I loved her sexual arrogance. I knew if she was going to be any good at finding my spot that made me skeet; that would make her a motherfucking magician. And we were already magic.
“So make my rabbit purrr dammit!” I yelled out to myself and clapped my hands while looking at the screen.
“Okay, when you do, you’ll know. It’ll skeet right out on you…” I replied.
“You promise?” she asked-seductively.
“I promise.” I responded.
“While you’re fucking me, I want to you hold me down by my waist and stomach so I can’t move, then I want you to fuck me harder and harder like you just don’t care. You know I like it hard, but grind it like you mean business.” Just hurt me ‘til it feels good,” I asked.
“Ooooh. I’m gonna do it too. I’m strong. Real strong and fit. Very fit…LoL,” she said (bragging).
“Oooh I’m loving you,” I confessed and stressed in bold-something I hadn’t told her in a long time.
“You had better not try to move cause I’m gonna get the cuffs out on you,” she said sadistically-planning and preparing me for some S&M.
“Promise?” I asked softly.
“PROMISE” she confirmed (in caps-meaning that shit). Now down to business.
She demanded to know some concrete answers no…she needed a (ONE) concrete answer: WHEN.
“Alright then, when?” she said, quickly-stressing “when” in bold letters. She wasn’t having no games this time.
I replied: “Well, with you…we will have to cross that bridge when we get to it around the 6th.”
…I said, knowing how crazy we could be fighting in like hours or a day after getting me comfortable. It was insane how that would happen, and mostly because of her buddies arousing too much unnecessary suspicion.
If Mrs. Smith sat her gun down, I dropped mine. When she picked hers up-well, so did I. It was the name of the game. We could fight viciously like it was the end and we both could care less. Then the next day we could be on again and stuck like glue. Even at this particular moment in time, she knew that I had started the chronology and she was in possession of the first 13 pages, but still-she wanted this thing we had to happen. That made me happy, because then I wouldn’t have to be bothered with the nuisance of completing it, and more importantly, she and I could be together-happily (like we both wanted) – that was the plan from the start.
“LoL… I’m serious. Real serious,” she stressed in bold.
“I need to know if you are you ready for this relationship?” she questioned-sealing the deal to end all bullshit (mine and hers).
“Yes, yes, I am-real ready,” I assured her-seriously. I was soOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy.
“Ok” she confirmed with ellipsis and her brows up as if to say: “don’t play with me.”
“I’m soooo embarrassed. I aint never coming back to the room,” I said to her; thinking about how everybody was probably reading on, too.
“No, don’t do that-why silly?” she asked.
We just laughed…then she stopped laughing, took a deep breath, and paused as if to look me in the eyes (seriously) once again. She wanted to double-check:
“I don’t want my heart splattered all over the floor…” she warned – vulnerably.
I responded (seriously):
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