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(excerpt/near end book)

INSERT UPDATE: *inserted a few more pages back-to help you understand the end--down where "Decemeber 4th" begins (as highlighted).

Thanks for reading. Bye! Happy New Year! :)


My laptop was working normal again.

I could get into my Word files like nothing ever happened (again).

I sent Denise an email to the email account that she and I was using. Just to keep my meanness up, in the email I told her that I was going to make good a joke we had laughed

about over the telephone, (about how I should sleep with Janet’s ex). I made mention in the email that-that was going to be my mission in life. I wrote that in the email just too infuriate

Janet because I knew she was either watching, or would soon get her copy of it too-which would let me know (for sure) if she had access to our Denise and my email account (like I pretty much knew she did). By my mentioning something like that, I knew she wouldn’t waste any time making her presence known and responding to it (the next time I came into the room).

That afternoon (even without my going into the room), I guess after she got a hold of the email because she blocked me from using my Word program (again).

Later that evening, I walked into the room and immediately, the nickname “Quest” rolled down (which served as confirmation that she “overheard” and read what I said in the email about “mission” in life). She didn’t say anything to me, nor did they make any other jokes or carry on any other conversation. Everybody was pretty much talking in their private I.M’s, trying to figure out what they were going to do next. So I just logged out.

She was so predictable, but then again, to her-so was I (but in a different way).

To my advantage; this cat and mouse game that she and I played made her reveal things that she had no business knowing (without having my phone, computers and email accounts bugged).

To her advantage, she knew that no matter how mean to her I was being; it was forced-because she knew that if she opened herself up wide enough and if she whined and cried enough; I would be caught right back up into her trap and all her trappings, like: Sunday evening, November 7th I came into the room around 5 or 6. By 7 p.m., I had been so tired and nodding that I couldn’t even hold my head up or keep my eyes open.

Out of nowhere and thrown right into the script, the one who I’ve had my nastiest sex with slid down and said to [me] while purposely neglecting to call out my name: “I would hate to lose my girlfriend. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I hope you aren’t upset with me because I would hate it if you hated me or were upset with me…

“How clever of her to start in third person and conclude in first person” I thought to myself. Even still, she melted my heart. I felt like such a fool for how I couldn’t help myself when she would be this way. I was just not strong enough to turn her away once I let her back in (and she knew that). I felt so bad for all the mean and rotten things I said over the phone about her-and how I had even gone so far as to say I wish she would just die: “Poof! And be gone” were my choice of words.

The thing I loved about her was that no matter what I did or said [to hurt her], she always had this way about her that could squash it in order to start anew. She was very forgiving of me and would put up with my ways in ways that I wished I could put up with hers. I’m not that brand of forgiving, because I feel that people need to have enough self-control (or tolerance) enough to feel what they feel without stepping directly over into your space and in your world with anything cryptic, or having expectations of anything more or less than a conversation being had (about whatever it is they are feeling). To me, that’s a tell-tell sign that if they can’t or won’t do that, or wouldn’t (because they don’t know you well enough); that’s a queue (and what should be an answer) for themselves: They have no right to feel what they feel anyways, which too, means they lack tolerance (of other human beings who too, make this world go ‘round) and more importantly, have no self-control. And in my world, if you crypticly express actions beyond what communication [would definitely cure], then you deserve to be taught a hardcore unforgettable lesson about either your intolerance, or lack of self-control (simple as that). And until then; you can’t have my time, my attention, my respect, my friendship, my kindness, my affection, or my love.

Her “ways” deserved to be taught lessons-badly.

My ways required better and less harsh reactions (to her ways)-but she didn’t care, she just wanted what was beneath my harshness and anger. Because she knew that I loved her too, and she also knew that I was a good friend to her-no strings attached. She held on to like holding me by the collar as if I made her promises that she was going to see to it that I honor and keep.

She could anger me to lengths unimaginable, but could be sweet-twice over that. And when she would be this way, it would melt my heart probably because if the shoe were on the other foot, she would have never seen or heard from me again. I would have been so far out of the picture that she would wonder if I really ever came. I admired that about her, because it was another quality of hers that I lacked, yet in her-it was natural. For her to be as cruel and possessive as she could be, she was also raw and vulnerable. For me, (for whatever reason), if I was forced to be cruel to you, you could never get my vulnerability. That confused the hell out of me-those two totally opposite extremes [of how she was as a person]. And what I was in the middle of doing-to teach her the biggest lesson of her life (and quite possibly-her career), she seemed to care more about holding on to me and what we shared than she did that and those things.

I never knew anybody like that in my life. (And it could be very well because she knew she deserved everything I was doing to her). Either way, I’m not like that...that brand of forgiving is not my bag. Because even despite of who she is, what she has, and all this love for me she claimed to have; if I had no idea that she had all these ties to me (that I could not undo), she would have lost me a long time ago. Knowing that (and considering the fact that she really didn’t need me a long time ago-even before I found out this hookup she had to me), the simple fact of the matter was—after knowing me, she simply wanted me in her life. And considering all that (although I know “love” to be different than her brand of “love”); if that was the strength of what “love” to be different than her brand of “love”); if that was the strength of what “love” is, then—I’ll accept her brand of “love,” because she loved the fuck out of me-I must admit that. As well, she was accepting of taking her lesson like a fucking champ. I was witnessing that, too. It didn’t go unnoticed. That was as brave as her risking loving little ole me. Not even a non-famous average, regular, or broke motherfucker knew how to love me like that. She was rich and famous and certainly did not need me. But she was smart-she knew my worth therefore, she valued me like I already knew of my own worth.

She appraised that. I appreciated that. And because she saw the diamond in the ruff in me-even through all our beautiful, good, bad, soft, hard, and rough terrains [from ‘99-2005]; by 2006 and into 2013, I chose to see past a lot of the things she did to me-and we got along so good and amicably. Because she learned her lesson-she had an even greater respect for me (and she knows I stab in the front). So in that regard, I learned to be forgiving in another kind of way after all.

She began serenading me a song off her very first album called “Love and My Best Friend.” That really made me smile (because she knew I loved that song so much). And I thought that was so sweet.

We keep each other’s secrets hid. Go on to talk for hours. Never tired of closeness, only friends can share. We cross our hearts hoping to die. If fate, should separate us. What we have won’t ever changeNothing can compare to-Love. And my Best Friend. Nothing better can be found. To make the world go ‘round...

...a song off her very first album called “Love and My Best Friend” was her first choice and that really made me smile (because she knew I loved that song so much).

Then she posted lyrics to something she wrote called “Crossroads” or “At the Crossroads of Love.” The lyrics said something about wanting to turn away right at a certain point but not wanting to cross/staying and finding it hard to leave (something to that effect).

She said the lyrics reminded her of me-us.

We did this for hours-serenading one another. I was so sleepy and tried so hard to stay awake. She begged me to stay on because we were having so much fun.

We kept apologizing to each other through lyrics, rhymes and riddles. She started posting other people’s song lyrics that reminded her of me:

“Sweetest Taboo,” and “No Ordinary Love” by Sade and “Weak” by SWV. She then told me she was in a Brain McKnight kind of mood as she sent down the lyrics to “Back at One.” I smiled so hard, but laughed at myself, thinking about what a sucker I was for this girl, especially when she was like this. I felt like a kid on Christmas Day.

I sent down the lyrics to “Still” by Lionel Ritchie, “When U Cry” by SWV and “Crazy Love” by Brian McKnight.

We were back to talking dirty again, and back in love. I was wide-awake by this time and was happy as hell. I mean, I was singing my ass off: “Have you ever had something…that you just couldn’t explain? Huh? It takes your mind. And twists it all around. And all you could think about. Is this one thing? Well this is her; and Beauty is her name…” I was a Sisqo one-woman show. And I mean…I was shaking my head; closing my eyes, and typing like a lovesick puppy. I was so happy again-boy was I ever happy. The next thing I know, the room slowly cleared out-one by one-while I was sitting there just’a singing my ass off. She too just disappeared. It was only about two people in with me when I opened my eyes fully as they stretched wide open when I looked at what was now an empty room. I was sitting there looking like some romantic fool singing my heart out in my virtual world; typing and leaning my head back with my eyes halfway shut-opening them to nothingness-not a soul around. This kind of thing had never happened right in front of my face. They disappeared for almost an hour and I was sitting there baffled-looking like: “Hey, who turned out the lights?”

Janet came back first, angry and mean all over again:

“So Cinamon, what’s up with you and your girlfriend?”

I responded: “Uh, I don’t know, I can tell almost nothing from what I’m seeing all of a sudden. I think I’m about to go to sleep as I should have hours ago especially seeing as though my high is now blown.”

“Goodnight Cinamon…” she said, as if she didn’t even care.

When she said that, and put ellipsis behind it, I knew something was wrong. One by one, everybody came back talking around something that had just happened-I of course, was completely in the dark (literally).

Nicknames like: “MissPROJanet,” “TattleTale,” and “bigmouth” dropped down as they stood around and asked me: “How does it feel to be a welcome matt?”

They talked to each other about what a shame it was [about what they had just found out]. They talked about how pissed Janet was, as she had to stop what she was doing to catch the next flight to Chicago to “beat a court date.” Basically, they stood around talking about what a traitor I was and how could I be so “all about Janet,” and claim to love her and do what I had “just did.” I was so confused because they-Janet included-had the manuscript, and had known everything I had done thus far-none of which had anything to do with anything legal.

So for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what else different could have happened, and I definitely couldn’t understand what could have happened to force her to get on a plane to Chicago to “beat a court date.” Alls I knew is that whatever it was, it was damned serious and immediate, because nothing like this had ever happened.

I just sat there and listened to her employees gang up on me-feeling victorious, because whatever had happened, was just what they felt they needed for the big, “I told you so” that I never wanted them to be able to rub in Janet’s face. I was devastated because she was too, like never before.

I was so hurt and shaken, as if this woman and these very same people had never done anything to me

As if it wasn’t because of Janet and them that my sleep is broken 5 and six times a night.

As if it wasn’t because of them that when I doze off to sleep, my body jerks as if I am falling off of something high up-constantly awakening me.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I lost any patience to do any of the things I used to do.

As if it wasn’t because of them that by the time she got through with me, I was down to a 1.40 GPA in college from a 3.3, and as a result; on academic probation-having to write appeal letters in order to keep my financial aid rolling in-the only thing that helped pay the bills in my household that since because of them I had to quit my part time job in order to remain stress free and to have all my time to myself to write a book to free myself from all of them.

As if it wasn’t because of her, my concentration is so terrible that I had to sit out of college (with only 26 more credit hours to complete) because I couldn’t even study and think straight.

As if it wasn’t because of her that my patience is short, I’m damned near ready to diagnose myself with some kind of anxiety disorder that I didn’t even have before her. My life had a special kind of peace and contentment-moving at a pace that was progressively fine for me.

As if I’m not in a habit of thinking about any business I need to take care of that I may not want her to “overhear” that whenever I see a telephone at a restaurant or store, it feels like a fucking delicacy-like I’m some primitive life form excited to see some useful foreign object.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I’m set 1 to 4 months behind on certain bills for trying to combat her million-dollar ass from being forced to tell the world my story about all that I had been through with her only-necessary to free myself from her.

As if I enjoy paying $2.50 an hour to use computers over at the café [when I already got not one-but two computers of my very own] that I can’t use in peace and private-because of them.

As if it wasn’t because of them that I’m eating like a cow and sleeping like a bear all my days through like never before; and crying in spurts just out of the blue ‘til I can hardly breathe or see.

As if the stress and tension headaches I’ve had every other fucking day weren’t because of her; fucking up my spiritual, mental, personal, environmental, emotional, financial, spatial, educational, physical and eventually-my menstrual flow.

As if it wasn’t because of all of them, I lost the #1 luxury that other writers have: creating fiction characters and surprising the world with stories that may or may not be true.

As if I hadn’t always felt like her invading my privacy was such a shame considering how hard she and her family had always fought to save their very own. And how Michael was just in the news last week, trying to fight for his own privacy (once again) all the while, his baby sister was taking from mine at the same damn time. To hell with some stolen pictures, what he had stolen from him had nothing on what his baby sister was doing: stealing and taking from me…

Even with all that, I still couldn’t help but feel bad because I couldn’t imagine what could have just happened so late in the evening. All I could imagine was how she was already in the middle of working on her movie she was filming at the time and how I probably disrupted her flow, and they probably had to postpone her parts until she could return.

I felt so bad, that I was sitting there crying my heart out-imagining how she too, was crying hers out; hurt and upset that we were just serenading one another and proclaiming our love for each other and now this.

I felt so bad that I just sat there and let them throw darts at me and beat upside my head about how terrible it was that I hurt her that way. I was so desperate and wanted to know what happened that I didn’t even fight back this time. I just sat there like I deserved it and watched until I couldn’t listen any more.

I got off the phone to call Dana; she wasn’t there.

I called Denise in New York; she wasn’t there.

I called Shauntay-waking her up from lying next to her small child and husband.

As usual, she listened while I burst into tears because I couldn’t control myself or pull myself together.

I tried to explain while she tried her best to listen through my mumbling and crying.

She of course didn’t care about anything Janet was going through. The only thing she cared about reiterating was that it was exactly the fault of Janet’s, and whatever it was she was going through-she deserved it. Her other opinion was that they were probably trying to use reverse psychology on me, but whatever the problem was; she felt strong in her opinion that Janet deserved anything that was coming to her. I quickly got her off the phone when Denise clicked in and too, told her about what just happened. She mentioned (too) how much Janet deserved it, and how I had better not forget all that she had taken me through: “ No better for their asses!” she yelled repeatedly, until I fell asleep in her ear.

The next morning, I checked my Hotmail account and she had an email in there that she must’ve written at the moment she was tapped on the shoulder during our serenading session. It simply read:

Date: Sun, 07 November 21:56:29 EST

From: Sexyjanetxxxx@hotmail.com


Subject: WTF?!?

WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!? >:(


“WTF” in cyber world means “what the fuck,” and the >:( if you turn your head to the left, is a cyber-emotion of a frown at the brows, eyes, and pouted lips. She wrote nothing more or nothing less, so I knew then that there were no reverse psychology games being played and that something really did happen. I felt even worse. I couldn’t stop thinking about her and how many tears she was crying through the night. Although I was a day late, I replied to the email:

I don’t know. I really don’t know-seriously. I gave all the abc’s and 123’s and I am clueless-I swear. I just don’t know. I guess right about now, it is almost useless trying to talk to you. I just don’t know. I really don’t know…”


Monday, November 8th, I entered the room and someone said: “Hello Cinamon.”

The nickname that the person hid behind was unfamiliar to me, but: “Hello Cinamon” was typically Janet-speak.

“Hello,” I responded. A couple other people just said “hi.”

“How are you?” asked [her?]. Then one of her other buddies reprimanded her by saying: “Stop it, you aint slick. Save it for OPRAH will you?” I guess that was Janet’s [and the others who spoke to me]’s queue not to talk to me.

The first someone started to debate back and forth with the person that came in reprimanding.

I just sat there and watched. Everybody stared at me like I had a bad case of the plague. Nobody joked, nobody insulted me, and nobody joked with each other. They all just sat there wanting me out of the room but wouldn’t say anything-so I walked out.

I figured that I shouldn’t even go back again, because I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I still did not know what happened. I couldn’t help but feel bad because this was one time I knew something really big had happened that shook Janet up well past a jolt, andstill didn’t know what that thing was.

By Tuesday November 9th, as bad as I wanted to, I made it through the whole day without going back although I didn’t know if now, even more than before, I could trust her after this incident. I was sure that even if not when they got a hold of the manuscript, this time-she had those people in her corner advising her against me. This time, what I feared after she had gone to her big meeting last time (about the manuscript), was actually happening this time. I felt like it was useless trying to talk to her. This was it-but I tried anyways.

I showed up in the room just to let her know that I was available to talk to her if she wanted me to. Familiarity does breed contempt. The more I would check in and lurk, the more

her buddies felt more comfortable dropping down their many nicknames, jokes, rhymes and riddles to, at, or about me, family, friends-blah-(the usual).

Chris was first to start in with his shit. But before he began, they sent someone down to ask me where I was from (as if they didn’t know). Since I knew they were playing games, I gave them the ignoring treatment because they seemed so eager to get me to post where I was from (for some odd reason). It was almost like that was all they needed me to post in order to be able to manipulate and wiggle their way out of this madness that they created.

Next, Chris created something to say to me so that he could use my chat room nickname (as used on my bio page for her room) and as well, my real first and last name (in caps).

He said to me: “Alright Cinamon Brown/ANGELA SHERICE. Poof! Be gone!”

…trying to kill me softly with my own words that they “overheard” me say just the other day over the telephone after our big fight [about how I wished Janet would just die and “Poof be gone”].

Meanwhile, Janet logged into our I.M. (I was shocked because she hadn’t come in, in such a while).

She said to me: “Ignore him, he’s subliminal.”

“Subliminal? You mean, he’s irrelevant?” is what I normally would have said to her, but I was not in that kind of playful mood by this time and I was sure she wasn’t either. We had bigger fat fish to fry, so instead-I asked her: “Is that it?”

“Um yeah,” she responded.

Then she said: “I’ll TTYL,” was all she said.

“Alright then,” I responded.

We got quiet. I spoke up first: “Is there something you wanna say,” I asked.

“I miss you......…” she said to me-like she was being held hostage by that satanic cult

she spoke of on that July 10th day. Her use of the long ellipsis was her way of saying “I missssssssssssssssssssssssssssss youuuuuuuuu.”-expressed with as much yearning, emotion,

and seriousness that she could convey in words.

Because her buddies had started in on me and she still hadn’t given me any clues as to what happened the other night (and the hell was going on at this very moment), I simply responded: “Oh. I miss you too. Is there something else?” I rejected her sentiment and neglected to reply sentimentally, so she either:


1) got defensive




2) she really was being forced to participate in all this mess by that “satanic cult” she

spoke of…because she replied to my rejecting her sentiment by saying:  

“You keep strivin.”

Regardless whichever reason, I replied: “I sure will,” I assured her.

“You keep strivin,” she reiterated, again. (In my eyes, #1 won. I took that as a challenge rather than the encouragement as a result of #2).

I logged out of our I.M and proceeded to watch them all clown around in the room.

One of them hid behind the nickname: “ShondaHill” and was talking to another one of her buddies. That friend of her who must’ve heard me just call my child’s bus company (because it was 3 hours late) said to me: “Hey Cinamon, where is your kid?”

I didn’t respond. So he/she asked again: “Where Cinamon?”

I then said: “Ok now, you are barking up the wrong tree. I’ve advised you all before, not to mention or bring my kid into none of this-for any reason…”

They knew that to interject anything involving my kid was a below-the-belt hit, even if to sincerely inquire about how he was doing. To me, because this thing was so many ways an unnecessary darkness in my life (and that I didn’t even invite); they knew that my close relationship with my kid + my kid was way too pure to ever be tainted with this demonic shit they had going. They were reaching for something sacred, righteous, and pure in my life. So I knew they wanted trouble. Therefore, they reached for the last straw and hopped on the camel’s back to be dusted: 

“ShondaHill” came back in and said to the other buddie [who, if I could have gotten my hands on-would have been short of breath from me ringing their neck]: “Guess what? I’m coming out with a new album.”

The other buddy asked ShondaHill: “What’s the name of this album Shonda?”

ShondaHill then said: “The LostSpecialTransportationEducationofShonda Hill…LoL”

“LoL!” replied the buddy. I guessed that was their knock-off version of Lauryn Hill’s CD: “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill”...and supposed to be funny? I didn’t find it to be funny-especially at this moment of my angst. I sighed. That did it. That was it for me. All bets were off. Only death could become all of them at this moment. The room (in my real house) was spinning, and all I could see was red. I was steaming mad but I refused to get worked up, because there was nothing I could do. Not a damned thing. So I took a deep breath and left…

At this point, I was already on pins and needles waiting to hear back from the bus service. And to think of how much I was going through with them (and Janet); having that said to me only added paranoia to my fear and anticipation of waiting to hear back from the bus station about where the kids could have possibly been. I was a little soothed in knowing that because of the distance, and rush hour, sometimes the bus would be late (especially if there was a new driver), but considering all this craziness I was going through (with Janet) and now this joke, it made me paranoid-understandably so. I didn’t know if there was an accident or what. Thoughts were going through my mind that Janet’s money had something to do with this delay. It’s not far from her handiwork and the extremes she had proven to me time and time again she was capable of. I do know I was ready to kill them all-Janet included.

Ironically, Denise and me were on the phone the day before this, talking about how if I never left a man for anything, one thing without a question and at the drop of a dime; he would definitely get left without a trace if he ever allowed his friends to disrespect me. That has always been first on my list even before infidelity. And here it is; I allowed Janet to allow her

friends to toy with me from day one-all the way down ‘til they had nothing else but to toy with an innocent child who had nothing to do with this. Unacceptable. Unforgivable.

At this moment, as far as I was concerned (and my knowing Janet’s bad-her kind of evil when things didn’t go her way or would go awry); one of those two people hiding behind those nicknames could have very well been Janet, even “ShondaHill.” That’s her evil style.

Regarding [and right after this incident and talking to Denise] she said to me on the telephone: “They are really going to reap what they have sown girlfriend I tell ya…” she sighed.

Aside from sucking my teeth, I didn’t even have to reply because I already knew what to do and what would soon going be going down in preparation for me to ease on down this road to no longer carrying this somethin’ that had been a load.

Each step of the way as I was observing, I could tell I had more power in this than I thought I did. I had heart whereas unlike before I felt as empty and helpless as a tin man crying. I was fighting to maintain the courage of a lion. My brain power against her worldly power felt about as nonexistent as the scarecrow, while I lost my hope and way home like Toto, but the reality was-they weren’t the Wiz. And all along, I had courage, heart, and a brain to see this thing through…


The next day (November 10th) from the café, I was on my way to the room and was suddenly stopped by a big bogus notice they put up before you could enter. It read:


We have received numerous emails from worried people about a so called virus on this site or

connected to the chatroom. It is some sick joke that was played upon us, and is totally false (besides

being technically impossible). There is no such virus on the Janet website and or chatroom.


The JanetChat staff


I couldn’t believe them. Although the hoops they would go through trying to cover up their tracks was no longer a surprise, still, it seemed to amaze me every time-the routes, extents, and many lengths they would go through to cover their asses from a big mess they created that didn’t even have to be-[the same one they are going have to answer to when the smoke clears]…

I would have thought that having the manuscript, control of my laptop and PC, emails, my phones, and friends and families phones were all the tools they needed to prepare their alibis and rebuttals for when this mess went legal. While for me, my fight and proof of details was the manuscript (and now this bogus cover up piece that also made print and earned a spot on the BULLSHIT disc-when little did she and they know; if everything proved to be transparent and on the up and up; nothing-no emails, dialogue, or I.M was ever going to be documented and saved ever again).

To make an actual book out of the ordeal, it cost me more time that I simply did not have, bigger headaches, and not to mention; a major interruption of my life (to have to re-do, edit, add to the manuscript, re-edit and proofread). The mental and emotional strength that I had to muster to do it was such that I much preferred we make right and nice in order for me to avoid having to.

But here we go again-all complaining and exhaustion- like all bets-were off. There were no other options. If I had to give the book away for free I was going to do it. Whatever it took, I was going to do to get the story out-because the goal was to get the story told more so than sold-that was my number priority. From this point on, my sole purpose for dealing with her, or going to that room was for information so that I could make sure I had all my ducks in a row-I wasn’t playing with them.

They were on “Operation Create an Alibi” something serious.

I laughed, thinking about how careful they had to comb through the manuscript in order to find any real nicknames they could (in order to stage a second bogus notice that ironically-they disabled from being printed or saved). They did that because after that first bogus notice (about the “technically impossible virus”), I guess they felt they needed to compose another bogus notice to explain how a particular chatter was banned for insulting Janet and misbehaving in the room. I noticed the name of the “insulter” was a name that they carefully scoured and hand picked out of my manuscript that I mentioned somewhere in the middle of it. Because of course in this game of ours-via the room I was rerouted to for us:

Janet, me, and her buddies-there was no such thing as “normal” or real nickname use.

Outside of maybe one other regular/normal nickname; Chris and her other buddies co-conspirators all carefully designed nicknames to be used for a purpose: To me, at me, or for me—to insult me, to compliment me, or both (in order to tell a  story, or make me recollect a happening all “in a name”) which was the reason for their “only three nicknames per chatter” rule that they eventually permitted regular chatters (so they could be free to be able to conjure up as many deliberately specially marked “designed nicknames” as possible, in order to communicate things they wanted me to see or know, like such):

When I finally got in the room, the nickname: “REAP” rolled down.

They sent that nickname down to let me know that they heard mine and Denise’s conversation over the phone where Denise stated they were going to “reap what they’ve sown.”

Next, they sent down the second of the two normal/real nicknames (that they pulled from my manuscript) so they could hold some kind of conversation with me under it (I guessed so they could have a copy of a chat script showing me conversing with a normal/real nickname-rather than all the carefully designed nicknames they normally used like: “REAP”).


Meanwhile, in the room, they were pretty much doing nothing but their usual: helping me with all evidence to tell my story while trying to entertain each other with their insults, blows, and inside jokes. Come to think about it, they never had too much of anything to talk about if they weren’t talking about me, friends, family, or other celebrities in a not so good light. And a few minutes later, they finally came up with something else.

Lissa was carrying on a conversation about her personal vendetta she had with the singer Brandy. She rambled on about how she lived near Brandy in some ritzy area in California and had some kind of issue with her. One of Janet’s buddies (or it could have very well been Janet hiding behind the nickname) was in defense of Brandy, but Lissa wouldn’t let up. She assured the defender that her issue with Brandy was way personal and not because she was “Brandy.”

I just watched on. They loved drama (and gossip)-especially Lissa.

By the week of Thanksgiving, I was only talking to Denise and Shauntay.

I sent Denise an email from my literally damned PC after begging Janet to quit rebooting and clicking me off at whim. All I had to do to keep avoiding her was pull up a Word document and type what I wanted to say onto it and she could see it. I reduced dealing with her down to that level rather than talking to her in her room or getting back on I.M. She was pissed too. When it came to her anger, jealousy, or possessiveness; she gave no consideration for how well I treated her. Not even the things I changed, gave up, or rearranged for her was ever considered. She made me pay for these days that I stayed away from her turf and made sure I wasn’t going to be able to use my PC in peace if she was around and had anything to do with it.

I found out later that from the looks of things, I had a boot virus on my computer where after so many forced reboots; the hard drive would be burned out completely. She gave two shits about my important documents (or books) that were stored there. She only cared about wiping any computer forensic evidence off of that PC of mine that they bugged so badly. They were on their shit and not taking any chances.


By this time, with the manuscript in their hands, they knew I documented everything.

But unlike me (who had no intentions on pushing any “go” or “infiltrate” buttons unless they forced my hand) that motherfucking digerati team of hers handled me every step of the way as if I was preparing to push the button. They didn’t take no chances contemplating: “maybe she will,” “maybe she won’t,” “she loves her,” “she loves her not.” They treated me and this thing like I was already sitting in some Official’s office with my finger on the “infiltrate” button, but they already had the fastest fingers in this thing since the beginning-and had theirs on the detonate button called: “Interception Click. Click. Boom.”

I was sick of running back and forth from the café and the school’s lab begging Janet to “allow” me to use my malfunctioning (laptop and PC) computers. After I sent the email to Denise, I took call forwarding off my pager, turned my pager off, and as well; turned the ringers off on my home phone number and my new cell phone and number that I just bought (again).

I was annoyed with the fact that she could listen to my conversations + read my emails.

Eventually, I stayed away from the cafe, my PC, my laptop and my other so-called friends who were falling by the wayside. I didn’t want her to have any life from me whatsoever.

For the couple friends that hung in there with me, there was no creative way to tell them how not to mention certain things on my telephone (when talking to me) that I didn’t want Janet and her buddies to know. I was tired of her knowing my: who, what, when, where, and how’s.

I was annoyed with the fact that I couldn’t check emails from my child’s teachers from the privacy of my own home without having to ask her to stop rebooting my computer. I got tired of paying the café $2.50 a wop to utilize their computers [three of the only ones I used because each enabled me to use my portable drive from them] were eventually screwed up with some kind of Sub7 virus. Those people were so tired of me and this “thing” following me. I had to be honest with them in order to find out what was going on (ironically) with the computers I happened to be using and witnessing malfunction one by one. By this time, the owner’s wife had her way of reiterating to me that if she didn’t like me so much and understood what I was going through, she would ask me not to use their computer services completely.

Denise thought that was so funny but fucked up at the same time-just like I did. I had been so fed up with looking like such a fool to so many people. Even without revealing her name, words cannot explain what a fool she had me looking like. I hated her so badly for being able to do all that she did; all the while, she hid behind this technological bullshit and still managed to get her way (and get away with it). My life just felt like each time I walked to the left, to the right, forwards and backwards; a whole other body was bumping into me: face-to-face, forehead-to-forehead, toe-to-toe. 


Saturday December 4th, I went up to the café. When I selected my email account that she and I was last using, I had like over 15 carefully selected advertising emails with promises to make me thin, rich, or both. She had even gone so far as to send those same emails to the email account that Denise and I would use through Yahoo. She knew I would notice the duplicated emails because she knew how anal and close attention to detail I paid to everything.

She wanted me to make no mistake about it that the emails were sent by Yours Truly. That was just her way of saying to me: “Bitch you aint got no secret email account that I don’t know about. Quite frankly, you aint got no damn secrets that I don’t know about!” She was a trip like that. It seemed like no matter how long I ignored her; she always had some way to get around it, just to make sure her presence was known-to show that she was still in control somewhere in this. She didn’t care how far she had to go to do it, she felt no shame. It was like she totally masturbated off her own methodology and madness. Those ongoing harassing emails gave her energy and life of some (crazy) kind—like a way of touching me, or punching me; to make her feel as though she was literally arguing and fighting me like we would do sometimes via email, her room and/or I.M. She was going to get her virtuosity one way or another, and by all methods necessary-she won’t stop.


It was a habit by now-as was I: her fix. She set herself up for this kind of psychological torture while trying to psychologically torture me. I was so tired of Janet. She sucked the life, the will, and ways out of me. My body was tired, my mind was tired-and I was beat. The one and only way I could ever accept her apologies or even be anything to her after this ordeal, was if she somehow rolled off some fucking UFO covered in green slime, with ice cycles hanging from her lashes-shivering cold-telling me how she had been held captive by that satanic cult or some little green people that forced her to do all that she had done. If she didn’t appear to me in that state, she could completely kiss my ENtire basketballbutt-forever and keep

her apologies because I didn’t want anything from her after this shit: her friendship, a relationship, a new CD, a ticket to a show, a magazine article, a television appearance or even to look at a jar of the spice cinnamon. I didn’t want anything to do with or associate my whole existence with anything that had to do with her-at all. I wanted to ignore her so far away from

me until she feel her head spin like her souls twin: Raygan from the “Exorcist,” which was how I had eventually begun to see and think of her: like some demonic force of a spirit that was possessed, but underneath-somewhere else in her-was a normal sweet childlike person who had been taken over by something sinister.


I couldn’t decide if it was irony, my thoughts about her having manifested, or a coincidence that at this very moment in time, but one of the strangest things I had never seen or heard tell of in my life, had happened. For a few days into the end of the year, there was an abnormal flock of crows that hung around my house screaming violently loud [and doing whatever it is they do]. They would start their show when the sun would go down by flying back and forth-doing out of sync calisthenics in the air in what looked like an effort to be synchronized while barking and squawking.

From where my house sat, across the street from it; there was a large tree on the left.

And on the right side of my house, another large tree sat there (that one was closest to my front porch and my deck on the back side of my house).


On December 30th, the crows really went crazy-so much so that they were flying a little lower and shitting up and down the street like rain. It was like somebody gave the crows a laxative. For the few evenings they came; they shitted so much that everybody on the street had to run and duck for shelter to come in and out their houses. My brother had stopped by unexpectedly and had to run and duck too. It freaked him out because he too, like the rest of us, had never seen anything like it before-so many crows screeching and screaming in such large flocks all at once. “You need to move! This aint normal” was all my brother could say. It was an odd thing to see and experience.


At night time, they filled the bare trees like leaves. When you would look up at both trees; it looked like the trees had leaves but it wasn’t-it was all crows! It was so many of them that it looked as if for about four days, every crow in the entire world had come to town to release to shit, participate in some synchronized flying, and live in the two trees outside of my house.

Into the middle of the night/early morning hours of December 31st, I peaked out the doorway and looked across the street at the left big tree, there were no crows-just branches.

I then looked to the right (at the tree closest to my house); and every single crow covered each branch with what looked like 50 crows to a branch. They filled that large tree so much so that you couldn’t see one single wooden branch. My mouth dropped. They all just sat there quiet, it was a spooky sight to see and mad creepy. 


At about 6:30 in the morning (still a little dark outside) I peeked out my window blind, they were still quietly sitting and covering the tree branches. I trotted down the steps, into the living room and walked over to my PC. I wiggled the mouse so that the monitor’s light would come on. My hard drive came to life as if it yawned and had just woke up.

I took a seat.

I then logged onto the computer only to be disconnected a few seconds later by that possessed-spirited woman herself, as if she rolled right over, growled, hissed, and then disconnected me. That was usual. But what was really unusual was that at the very moment (that my computer rebooted), those crows started flying, screaming, and squawking like crazy-as

if I woke them up too. It was like…they were her pets or something-awaiting her command before they could fly. They were so loud that I had to look out the door again because I couldn’t believe I was hearing them awake and come to life right at this very moment in time.

They went crazy!

The girl next door to me was leaving for work but ran back up on my side of the porch-screaming scared and complaining about how she too had been noticing the crows show up out of nowhere. “They represent evil and that means the death of something, or bad luck or something! No way man! What the fucks UP with these things! It looks as if when I run to my car, they are all gonna fly down and attack me!” she shouted.

We stood on the porch underneath our house’s awning and conversed for a little while-until she got the guts to run to her car (that was parked facing the big rock wall underneath that big possessed tree on my right). Once she made it to and inside of her car, I went back into the house and slept.


At daylight I looked out and hell was gone. The crows disappeared and never came back. They did however, leave the street [from the bottom to top, every car, and the cement on the street itself] covered with those big giant golf-ball sized droplets of shit. Everybody needed a car wash, and it needed to rain or snow badly because the street looked diseased. It was a mess outside and the people on the street were talking all about it-we all were amazed.

I told myself that I must have Janet too far into my entire existence; so much so that I really think her energy was manifested into something that symbolized some kind of omen that hang right above my head-right outside of what once was my humble abode.

The thing about “omens”(by definition) is that there are good omens and there are bad omen. Considering what I was going through with that woman, I sure as hell didn’t want bad ones in my life-she had already been a mixture of the two [definitions].

These birds had everybody talking and wondering what the hell this could have meant (the fact that they showed up for a few days, and then the day before the New Year—and then they flew out, up, and away as if the mess they left + the amazement they left us in was but a dream).

Since it was hours before the New Year was to set in, I started to combat this strange happening with my yearly superstition and tradition: In order to have a good year, cook a pot of black-eyed peas and wash every stitch of dirty clothes in the house before the clock strikes 12.

This time, I didn’t bother going out to buy a bag of black-eyed peas and wash clothes like I did for the previous New Year because even after doing all that; Janet poured herself, spin cycled, and drained me such that it dispelled my superstition any further. Let me tell it, I had stirred into my house (the energy of this woman that I was destined to meet) my own personal witches brew. So considering how my year had gone, I was insistent on putting that ritual in reverse: No washing clothes and black eyed peas for me this year-I’ll go at it on faith alone.

I remembered all to well that last New Year (right into the year of Janet coming into my life), I had gone out in search of that bag of black-eyed peas. I guessed a lot of people adhered to this superstition because I had to go to four different grocery stores and couldn’t even find one bag of these funny looking beans that always sat on the bottom of the shelf, hiding.

When I got to the fourth store, almost every dry bean was there except what I came for. I simply refused to take the drive out to another store in search of another bag, so I got down on that floor and stuck my hand as far back as I could while peeking into the dark empty shelf with one eye open. I must have looked like a life-sized frog on a white tiled lily pad-down there on my hands and knees in the middle of the grocery store isle reaching for a bag of beans. My little fingers must’ve been like a magnet all their own because I found a stack of neatly packed beans stuffed in the very the back of that shelf. I grabbed my bag and thought to myself, “This is about to be a hell of a year for me and I’m ready!” And it sure as hell was. Nothingcould have prepared me for this thing with her.

I can’t help but think now, about how stupid I must have looked on the floor of that grocery store peeping into a dark space of a shelf in hopes finding the bag of beans that I was in search of; that eventually made its presence known. The thought of that reminds me of how stupid as I must have looked yelling into her dark virtual world: “DOES JANET EVER COME IN HERE?” …wishing that she would make her presence known. Yeah she came to me all right, and set some shit off.

Because of her, I learned to be careful what I ask for, because you just might get it. 

But now, I run from it and her.

I had to go. I had to leave her. I had to.

Sure, I wanted to wait around for the day that she would come running to me from that UFO, covered in that green slime with those icicles hanging from her lashes, telling me that great grand story about the green people who held her hostage and forced her to do to all the parts she played in this--that day never came, so I had to leave.

I had to make a serious decision as to whether or not I wanted to continue to make love and war with Janet, or if I wanted to peacefully co-exist in my world (the way it was before getting involved with her).

So I had to leave her.

I had been there-done everything with her and I knew all too well what happens after the bad is made good: The good goes bad (and back again)…






Valentines Day-February 14th.


I sit here on my basketball butt, in my comfortable black Futon chair 


(end excerpt)