Tag Archive | coffee

Gang Stalking – The perverts at it again!

Well, the morning started off right. I went into the  store to get something and after getting what I wanted, I went to the cashier to pay. There were 3 people waiting in line. Two men were buying a lot things and were speaking in some sort of German-like accent. I think they were Brazilians tourists.  How do these people know about me?!  I  looked toward my left. The man on the left side stepped back. He had on bright orange shorts, perp color. He turned himself toward me and began playing with himself. He stood behind the man he was with so the cashier wouldn’t see him. I did not turn away. I kept looking at his face. And I blurted out, “You pig!”  I wanted to make sure he heard me, so I again  said, “You pig!” He turned away from me and turned toward his friend. The cashier had to ring up about 20 items. When she finally finished, they paid. As they were walking out, I made sure that I was eye to eye with pervert and  said, “You pig” again. He turned toward me and gave me a surprise look. The typical look the perverts give me when they’ve done something and want to look as if they’re innocent as new-born babies.

And while I stand in line, a woman gets right in front of me.  She begins to look at nail polish and acts as if I’m not standing behind her. I get fed up and tell her to get behind me. She whines, “I want to look at the nail polish.” I say, “Well, you can do it standing behind me.” I get in front of her.She has no interest in looking at nail polish. She’s just looking at the polish to annoy me. Typical perp behavior.

When things like this happen to me, it’s like having my morning coffee, so expected.

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Gang Stalking – Zero minus for the way McDonald’s treats its customers.

I had no change to get on the bus, so I went into McDonald’s and bought a chocolate drink to get some change.  The woman asked me, “Do you want whip cream with that?” I said “No.”   The bus is  in  front of McDonald’s so I walked to the bus  stop  after getting the chocolate.   I’d forgotten  to check  my chocolate, took the lid off, and, of course, whip cream. Not only a bit of whip cream, but half the cup whip cream. I walked back into McDonald’s and told the woman I said I didn’t want whip cream.  She said, “Oh.”  with a big smile on her face.  Got another cup of chocolate, tasted it before I went back to the bus stop, nothing but water and a bit of chocolate. Gave it back to the  woman and said, “It tastes like nothing but water.”  Again, she smiled.  I got another cup of chocolate. The woman put it right in front of me.  I tasted it. No chocolate.  It was coffee.  She said, “I put it there for someone else.”  She took it back.  Did not put another cup of coffee out.  Again, I got the chocolate.  Again, lots and lots of whip cream. I gave it back to her again and said, “You want to stand there and play games with me, I can be here all day” She replied, “I work here all day so it doesn’t matter to me if you stand there .”  Got another hot chocolate,  I said, “This is still nothing, but water.”  I decided to leave because I really wanted to ________________. You can put your words in the blank. I don’t want to say what I thought.  I ended up throwing away the watery chocolate before I got on the bus. What I think of McDonald’s and its help I can’t express here. I’d be thrown in jail.  Of course, when I left McDonald’s all the help had big smiles on their faces.  McDonald’s you get a rating of zero minus for the way you treat your customers.

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Gang Stalking – Sundays are for relaxing, not for fighting a war.


Breakfast (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

English: american breakfast

English: american breakfast (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Comics (Photo credit: Richard Masoner / Cyclelicious)

Sunday morning. I used to love Sunday mornings. It was a day to relax. A day not to worry about anything.  To read the newspaper, especially the magazine and comic sections. It was a day to have a really good breakfast. On Sundays calories didn’t count. I could have anything I felt like eating. I could have bacon, donuts, eggs, french toast, big glass of juice, and drink as much coffee as I felt like drinking. It was a day to do absolutely nothing and luxuriate in not getting dressed.

I haven’t had a normal Sunday in years. I’m always taking care of some problem, or trying to get my computer into working shape.

This morning, for instance, I spent two hours plus trying to fix my computer. Of course, it’s still not working right. And the idiot that is working as a hacker today has already deleted what I’ve typed.

I imagine it’s a man who is doing the hacking. I know women do hacking, too, but most of the hackers are men.

I’d to take my foot and put it right where it hurts the idiot, and I would do it over and over until he would be yelling at me to stop. And I don’t care if they write me up for writing this. I can just see them now saying that I’m going to beat someone up.

What they do to us is torture, and they’re going to complain about being hit in a certain spot! Aren’t they all such girls?

I bet they wouldn’t be able to handle what we targets have to put up with every day. They’d probably be crying about how everything hurts. They’d probably have to call their mommies “Mommy, some nasty woman hurt me. Mommy, she really hurt me. Oh, poor thing. My heart breaks for all of them.

They act as if they’re so strong. So in command of their lives. Sure, they are. If they were in command of their lives, they’d have a soul and act like human beings. But they’re not humans. I don’t know what to call these things that walk around on two feet and are supposed to be human. Human, they’re not. It is an alien thing that tortures human beings for absolutely no reason at all.

I miss my Sundays and want them back. Sundays are for relaxing, not for fighting a war.

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Gang Stalking – I no longer take an “ordinary day” for granted.

Bella Unión. Artigas Español: Hijos de los pel...

The Meeting Place A 30-foot bronze sculpture c...
The Meeting Place A 30-foot bronze sculpture called The Meeting Place by Paul Day featuring two reunited lovers embracing in the newly-refurbished St Pancras station in London. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
People Watching at Sculptures

People Watching at Sculptures (Photo credit: Alegrya)

A sight of Marquee Mall's entertainment area t...

A sight of Marquee Mall's entertainment area taken from a balcony in the third floor. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The second location of Starbucks in Seattle wa...

The second location of Starbucks in Seattle was opened in 1977. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

people watching

Sometimes I just stand somewhere and watch people.   I watch them as they take a walk; as they get on and off the bus; as they sit on a park bench enjoying a sunny day; as they drink coffee at Starbucks; as lovers embrace; as  children laugh; as the lonely people watch others; as men watch women; as people watch other people.  And I think to myself, do they ever think about how beautiful an ordinary day is? All these things people do on a regular basis, and I bet not one of them thinks how lucky they are to be doing these ordinary things.  I’m sure they don’t.  They take ordinary days for granted, just as I used to.

But I no longer take ordinary days for granted. Now I’m on the outside looking in.  I’m no longer one of them.  I can no longer enjoy an ordinary day. My life is not ordinary; I wish it were.

What I wouldn’t give to just have an ordinary day.  To not have someone follow me everywhere I go.  To not always be watching my back.  To not be shot with chemicals.  To not be thought a thief.  To not be called names.  To not be treated like trash. To be able to trust someone.  To have someone talk to me as if I mattered. To be able to sleep 8 hours a day.  To enjoy a meal at a restaurant without a bunch of freaks staring me down and making fun.  To enjoy a really good laugh with a friend.  To have a friend I could trust.  To just enjoy being.

People take their freedom for granted.  They should live my life for a day, I’m sure freedom would have a different meaning.  It wouldn’t just be a word they hear all the time.  They would truly know what  the word freedom means. And after learning what the word freedom means, I’m sure they wouldn’t be doing to others what they’re doing.  They would cherish the word and what it means.

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Gang Stalker – PostaDay 2011 – Describe the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten.

English: Swan choux pastries

English: Picture of the entrance to the Las Ve...

Image via Wikipedia

Oatmeal with Blueberries

Image by TheCulinaryGeek via Flickr

Breakfast of rasperries, blueberries and oatmeal.

Image via Wikipedia

English: Breakfast for dinner

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve had a lot of delicious breakfasts.  I used to work at the Las Vegas Convention, and we’d get breakfast if we had to work early in the morning, about 4 a.m.  These were breakfasts for which the convention people paid about $40-50.  We’d get scrambled eggs, bacon, juice, pastries, coffee, tea, marmalade toast, eggs Benedict, etc.  Really delicious breakfasts.

The breakfasts were really good, but the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten is the breakfast my mother used to cook for me.  My mother used to cook the best oatmeal ever.  She’d take oatmeal, beat it to make it floury-looking.  When it was floury enough, she’d add milk to a pan,wait for it to start boiling, and slowly add the oatmeal, some sugar and cinnamon.  She’d let the oatmeal cook slowly, about 20 minutes to cook. She keep stirring it to make sure it didn’t get stuck to the bottom of the pan.  When the oatmeal began to bubble, she knew it was ready.  She’d spoon oatmeal on everyone’s plate and add more cinnamon on top. It was delicious.  It wasn’t too thick nor watery.  It was just the right consistency.  I loved it.  I’ve tried making the oatmeal myself, but, somehow, it doesn’t taste anything like my mother’s.  I guess it was the love she added to the oatmeal that made it taste so much better.

So even though oatmeal is a very simple breakfast, it was the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten.

Countdown: 56 blogs to write.
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Gang Stalking – Off Topic – PostaDay 2011 – How do you know when it’s time to go?

How do you know when it’s time to go? Like a party or when you meet a friend for coffee?

When I first read this topic, I thought it was about leaving a relationship. I was ready with an answer. Wrong topic!

What tells me when it’s time to leave?  It is time to leave when the conversation becomes boring.  If I’m at a party, and I’ve met everybody and eaten all the food that I can get into my body, and danced every dance that I can dance, then it’s time to leave the party.  What reason is there to stay at a party any longer?  I’ll get bored and bore everybody else to death, too.

As to when you meet a friend for coffee.  Same thing.  The friend and I have discussed every subject under the sun, and gossiped about everybody.  We’ve drank more coffee than we care to drink. We’re getting coffee nerves.  And instead of looking at each other, we both start to look around.  It’s time to say adios. Good-bye.  Whatever.  It’s time to hit the light fantastic.  It’s time to vamoose.  We’re getting sick of each other.

countdown: 125 blogs to write.  Getting closer to 500 blogs.

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