My daily plan plus new genre creation etc.

Friday and weekend
Appeal- citations for witness exclusion, citations for judicial demeanor.citations for immininent threat, citations for overzelous advocacy, get better example too and then get lawyer etc.
Void- federal rule 60 – 473?
Bills
Pay 3 on way to
Bread for mother!on way santa monica blvd.
Psychiatrist- tell her that all checks bouncing and that she must now wait till end of month to cash. Hope she understands.
and then
Finish Appeal by Monday . No stalling. No socializing.Must get done. No blogging. Nothing but Appeal and Void to by Monday. Look into article for Sievers culpability too and also file Lauren Grimes appeal by due date or before. drop that then drop brief downtown. 60 days from time of judgement. no panic. Or void that as it is completely voidable.

END
I woke up this morning, starvingly hungry and ate spaghetti for breakfast. Not to be rebellious but because no breakfast foods to be found. Spaghetti is good and cheap and I should eat it more but I didn’t put that in my daily plan. After the spaghetti and even during, I figured I need to figure out what I must accomplish. I had the urge to write what I guess can be called poetry but felt too guilty so I wrote my to do list in some poetic form. See above.

My plate is overflowing much more than spaghetti, that for sure.
on it a choice of the more mundanee, the somewhat mundane, and the non mundane, and I want to finish them all. But, which should I do first? Prioritizing for me is MURDER.

My ambitions for the non mundane are great today. I’ve failed to foment a revolution on this blog much less a movement(bowel ones don't count. ROFL)
much less even to monetize it so though this frees me in the sense that there is no expectations but still I’m tense about trying to start a new genre.That’s right, blogosphere! I want to start a new genre. Don’t you think it’s time for a new genre of writing? No? Why not?

And that is I want to write all my deep piercing insights but at the same time write about the news that I hear behind me because I don’t have as of yet and as counseled by Ms. Viriginia Wolff, a room of my own. So, the news is in the background without my consent, really. If the tv is not on in pops up on the aol or elsewhere and very rarely am I completely in the dark, current eventswise.

So, that’s my new genre. And, it’s very much experimental and so I’m going to put out things my mother says that strike me as funny too, as I do the other two things, and whomever names this new genre best gets a free Oprah Picks her nose t-shirt from Coffee press if I figure out how to set that shit up.

News I heard about a half hour ago.: hilarious two new twitter items. Study shows that only 10 perecent of twitter users are really tweeting and the vast majority have all just done one tweet. Ha ha one single tweet. Most people have nothing to say!!!!!!!
Second funny twitter item: annoying family went on vacation and “tweeted” non stop about where they were and what they were doing and ha ha a robber wisely followed and broke into their house and robbed them of all kinds of gadgets. Ha ha ha. Mean, but some lessons are funny.

Things Henya Says

SO… what did we do today ? We took lemons and we did what... I can't remember?”
Me: We made lemonade, mommy.
Henya: I don’t really like lemonade. What about we made a Lemon Marengay pie(pronounced right, meaning she pronounced it all wrong)… Pause… Henya continues: I don’t really like Lemon Marengay pie either.

Then this from yesterday: Henya:
I can’t wait to talk to that Judge. I will say… I like cats your honor… I like dogs… but I don’t like jews. Are you a jew, your honor? Rosenberg can be German….
In between me and sister say…. “Keep going mommy.”
So she does: “Your honor Rosenberg, I don’t like jews because I am really Eva Braun and I was the mistress to the Fuhrer, you see.
“Keep going Mommy.”

She does: “I was his mistress and I don’t like you your honor Rosenberg.”

It went on a bit more but I can’t remember the rest.

Then my mother danced to the sounds of our wretched car alarm which keeps on stopping our car from working ,and she almost killed an angelic little girl on her bike by accident and there really was a midget too. My mother makes Ruth Gordon in Harold and Maude look like Terri Shiavo by comparison. God, I so hope no loved one of Ms Shiavo ever ventures on my unadvertised blog.


That will be for my next post—the midget at the car dealership and the little girl right behind the car and the big black wise momma woman with the gap.

See, yesterday was pure David Lynch and I want a Capra kind of day today to offset that but holding my breath could only not help and then some psycho will put a shoelace on my nipple and a porno in my hand and make it look like I’m the first female autoerotic asphxiamanica . Absofuckinglutely. I would bet the farm, I would.

Hitler rolls over in his grave every time Ameanajihad denies the holocaust. Dude, he was proud of that shit.
Hmmm, new genre. Hmmm

Googling away on a sunny day

It seems that the profile of my client, Tarra Slovan, is showing up and making it seem as if I'm her. But, I'm not. I'm her webmaster and I host this site as well. SO, please ignore that and know that I am not her. Thanks.

AS for lucy gordon I'm anxious to know the true story. In this day and age no 28 year old with that much kills themselves. Doesn't happen. Unless she has tried and failed at medication and was known to have deep depressions but otherwise-- nope. She was murdered. I know of what I speak, but of course I could be wrong. The unbearable tragic story of Adrienne Shelly should be remembered. Which somehow also reminds me of the creator of rent and how he died in some strange way before he could see such massive success. Ach.

I've been googling lucy gordan and there are as usual, stupid and some smart comments on these sites. This is not stupid or smart but one of the comments that stood out was that suicide is better because he gets to be in control. I totatlly disagree and will talk about that maybe in an upcomign post.

How is Oprah faring out there, I wonder.

no body should feel suicidal in paris

I never heard of Lucy gordon but now I have been googling her for over 10 minutes. What a beauty! It doesn't get better looking than that. I contend that she was murdered. Her movie is at Cannes, she's successful, has a cool name, gorgeous and there is prozac zoloft etc. I say she had to be murdered because otherwise why the hell are most of us still hanging around?

Hanging entails a very very deep depression and I call foul play.

How lame of me. Calling anything. I'm not a real blogger why am I talking now about tragic celebrity deaths? I see so clearly now that Twitter is inevitable and I shake.

Murder is much less depressing than suicide, don't ya think?

Anything new with Oprah that one of you invisible reticent characters can tell me about???

there can't be a title for this one.

If my week doesn't deserve a blog then no week would. So, blog I must and blog I will. Suffice it to say that I have three bullet holes in my house, I learned about my mother's past for the first time and it's gettting more and more incredible and answers so many major questions, and the bullets are there for reasons that I still can't understand but for the sake of suspense I will save some essential details for later. One bullet lied there looking beyond feeble on the carpet by the coach. One bullet was stuck in the door and one bullet is on the side of the kitchen cabinet. The CSI or whomever that was decided to leave it be for the time being. And, since I longer trust police I can't not assume that they probably won't investigate this in any right way.

Where to start is the big problem that I won't be able to solve. I am literally being persecuted by a two sick and stupid lesbians, then I find out the history of my mother's survival and it turns out to be epically fascinating and amazing. My mother found herself amongst 21,000 jews that were a part of Eichman's "deal with the devil"-- Rudolph Kastner-- Two trains went off to Aushwitz at the tail end of the war and those in those trains(my greatgrandmother and great cousins amongst others) were gassed to death upon arrival. My mother and her family for reasons that can be interperted in millions of ways were on the strasshoff train and that explains so much that never made sense to me. Google Strashoff, Bergen Belsen, Bergen Belsen hungarian camp, Rudolph Kastner, Debrecen. But, it gets "better." Then google Hileslaben Magdesberg train for another insane episode in my tiny mother's childhood. And, my great uncle Imre was on the Kastner train -- 1,300 or so Hungarian jews saved for reasons that pose too many philosophically agonizing questions to answer at this moment and because I am too busy writing up the be all end all document that will finally sink the fools who thought they could bury me and my family. There's a actual whole confederacy but two will never live what they've done down. One I barely knew and theoretically didn't know at all and the other I never knew nor cared to know. but these abject strangers(and I mean abject in it's more negative connotation) have seen fit to do things that they will pay for legally and financially for a very very long time. I won't even get into the other repurcussions that should result in such a gross gross injustice, but are not in our power It gets better everyday and evidence and investigation comes in that has resulted in a document that is getting to be a bit of a masterpiece of aburdity. I've finally gotten it down so it expresses what happened from top to bottom and it will be shown to anyone and everyone . Damn, it's good. Cracked me up and is cracking up those reading it. It's a actually a terrible and evil thing that was done but the way it is coming together in this document is laughter inducing.

I just don't know where to start ...
.


Let's start on Wednesday January 28th, the day before I have to go to court, and the day that I put out a prayer to god or the universe. I put out a prayer to something not tangible is what I'm saying. And, this prayer was: Please, god, I really can't stand this carpet anymore. Someone please make this disgusting carpet clean or give me hardwood floors. This was my admittedly mundane seeming prayer and this is the first time that I could recall praying for something so banal.

Long story shortened but long still is that yesterday I got my stinking wish and my carpet is clean as can be and most spots(except sister's red punch spots etc)
And,this didn't come about because I hired or paid for someone to clean said carpet. This was done for free because....


The craziest answered prayer yet and I've had my share. It will sound glib when you hear why but it doesn't feel that way and is not intended to sound that way. It is just one of those things where you remember something so clearly. I remember putting out this intense intense prayer for a better carpet and feeling silly about it and 5 days later I get my wish because of the murder of a lovely good man.

I plan to link some articles about what happened but that would ruin the story and even in the darkest of times a story is a story.

The articles I'll link don't mention so many things and of course it isn't mentioning the reason my carpet is now clean. It is all in another police file somewhere how three bullets came into my home while me and my family were there and when I asked the strapping female cop who came by and who had an accent( I asked- new zealand) if it could have killed us she said, "Hell, yeah."
YOu see the murder happened right outside my door. By my door. And two bullets were shot through my door and one ended up in the side of the ikea style kitchen cabinets. When the police came to collect forensics from my apartment they dragged some of the victim's blood and so now the manager got the owner to agree that this warranted a no cost carpet shampooing.
There is still a bullet hole in the cabinet and though they've painted the door you can still see the outlines of the two bullets. Squares of the carpet outside our door have been removed-- the ones where the blood was. In my not sure but true crime reading estimation: There is very little blood once you hear that a man was shot 5 times or more and that all together there was 8 bulltes fired.

The lead detective interviewed my mother but me and my sister got so stressed we fell asleep before they could talk to us. I don't trust the police at all anymore and I don't feel sure that they will investigate this as thoroughly as they theoretically could. My mother for the record is a not healthy 70 y.o woman and the way she didn't flinch at the sight and sound of bullets coming into her home was beyond heartening. The machoest mother alive! It was really something to see her just act so cool when it appears we were going to be murdered. After seeing judges and "elite police units' bow to the wishes of a corrupt repulsive law firm called lavely and singer and other horrors, we really weren't feeling paranoid when we were sure that we were going to get killed.


Soon but what seemed like a long time later the police came in droves and we were asked about our neightbor and we were told something that made us conclude that he was murdered and we all began to cry. He was an old gentleman. A black man who brought to mind the jazz age or new orleans or something more genteel and poignant than L.A. Very tall and with an easy walk and smile. And, we cried. I remembered how he came to my door and wanted to give me ice cream. I was in a rush out somewhere and he told me that someone got him the wrong flavors and he wanted to give it to me. I insisted that I could return it for him and get him the flavors he wanted but he insisted I take it. He opened the freezer and there was lots of breyers ice cream in there- those quart tubs that have been around forever. He leisurely took out four tubs of icecream and gave it to me. I was in a rush and I am pathologically incapable of saying, "I've got to go." especially to old folk. My sister and me have always had a particular respect for older people. And, so I waited patiently. He smiled sweetly and gave it to me as I said thank you many times. Money was so tight and it seemed very great to get so much ice cream for free. And, I liked this man before the free ice cream anyway and my sister had recently become very interested in ice cream and this was a lucky and good feeling. I ran into the apt and gave it to the family to freeze and ran out. I remember taking note that he didn't act like the stereotypical senior living alone -- he didn't make me feel guilty when I had to go etc.. He didn't do anything to break my heart-- only icecream to make my sister pleased(sweettoothwise, I'm into pastry as is my mother or plain old candy bars etc fyi) I saw him seldomly as I haven't been able to get out much and I don't think he got out too much either but each time was just plain pleasant. I find most people friendly and pleasant but this was different -- like I said, there was a needed throwback classic quality to this man. Thinking about in now, and the shabby modernity of the architecture and people of L.A and how he was different.

I would say anything to him by the elevator or on the way to the garbage disposal or on the way to the elevator or by the mailbox and he would laugh. My sister once overheard it and said, " yOu must have been really funny with him. " And, I just wasn't. He just found me amusing and would laugh sweetly at everythig I said.
About two months ago a package was left by his door and too much time seemed to pass and the package was still there. We worried that he died or something bad and we tol the manager. He assured us the next day that our neighbor was fine. The package was gone soon thereafter. When I was away my mother knocked on his door and told him that if he ever needs anything we are there for him. He never sought us out.
In the three years he lived no more than 3 feet away this was the extent of our relationship. But, not just by dint of retrospective recall when one dies did we remember him so fondly. He just seemed terrific and after years of lousy loud neighbors he was a godsend. So when something the cop said led us to believe that he was murdered we cried.

But, a knock and the door and the "real story" of what was happening with all those shots dried our eyes quick and made us wary of any further tear duct action. The same strapping and very tall female new zealand cop was back and she clarified: Our neighbor was the murderer and he had "brutally." murdered our handyman. My mother had talked with and met the handyman about 5 times in the three years we've and so now she cried for the handyman. I rememberd the handyman and my sister who doesn't deal with things like thing that need fixing remembered someone else but soon remember who it was and what a good vibe he was. His name was Gerardo Villegas Ramos and he had a 5 month old baby. My neighbor is in jail on 2 million dollars bond and I can't help but want to visit him and I can't help but wonder how and why this happened and if it was alzheimers or some war related mental snap or what. But, I have so many of my own worries that all that will have to be shoved into the parts of my headspace that manage excessive and inexplicable tragedy that in essence don't truly effect me in the sense of measurable loss blah blah blah.

So, if the fact that my gentleman neighbor turned out to be a senseless and brutal murderer( I won't believe it for a long time or until I know more.)isn't a reason for a blog ..

we (my family and I) know not only the sound of shots fired but how it feels to think you and your very loved ones will be killed because the police are not neccesarily there to protect you. That story too will get told if bullets keep missing. I have so many stories that I think I live to tell ,and so since I haven't told them all ,there's no telling how long I'll live.

I know how my mother and us act under the kind of pressure we've ever only seen on TV or in the movies. I know of the pride one has when they are literally under fire and they don't hardly flinch, and though I've never watched one episode of CSI I saw a CSI unit outside my peehole for many hours. I know how bullet holes look very close up. I know or don't know that I got my carpet wish and that once again the higher power answered my wishes in a really sick bastard kind of way. There are countless other elements to this tragic tale that may or may not get told. But, the least I can do for now in this strange sad modern landscape is ... blog.