That letter was so perfect for the public’s eyes-to hoodwink and fool them, that even if I was 1% doubtful of any of my truth in this, it was perfect enough to make me think I had imaged it all, it was just that good. But I’m sane. So I knew it was mere fuckery with the attempt to mind fuck me, but I kept my mind and held onto my truth. I was the only one with nothing to hide, but just as much to lose in my little world-by fighting this (being called “crazy” for life) as she had to gain by having a big scandal [that would not only increase her popularity and income, but would all blow over in thirty days].
The ONE and ONLY element of the whole story that made them fight me were the illegal elements of it, other than that-she would have toyed with it, played coy, and hung back-quietly. But there wouldn’t have even been a story had there not been those illegal elements involved that (because of her emotions) she used those illegal elements to hurt, ridicule, punish, anger, control and upset me. Other than that, this thing would have just been another one of her many secrets never been told-period-no matter what.
Although I played a part in this ordeal, the truth and part out of my control are these two facts 1) I did not come in with any malefic intent to cause her any harm. 2) I ended up becoming a victim in the wrath of her craziness, bullshit, and boredom that (between the two of us) only she could afford to turn into something altogether different than what I expected and would never agree to. She knew when she turned this into something else, I had no resources, access to the press and public, or dollars fight with. She knew I could not fight her without looking insane, and she took an over and beyond transcendent kind of advantage of that, which brought us to this.
Her people knew I had been working on this thing-they watched every single thing being typed and knew just when to bark and what to bark with. They knew everything I was doing-every step of the way. Everybody on her team was a team. Everybody had the same stake in this. Unless somebody grew a conscience and stepped outside to tell the truth, I had nothing but the truth and a strange kind of proof on pages and pages of paper. Outside of that, the only person who could shed any light on my truth has a Malibu home and an $11 million dollar price tag taping his mouth shut-and that was Rene: the catalyst and premise of the story [slash] Janet’s ex husband.
Having said all that, her people knew that their open letter strategy would work over mine, and that no one would really take the time out to read the intricate details in order to determine (for themselves) what they thought was true or not (hence, no matter how embarrassing any part was for me too, even if I didn’t want to admit any part I played in it-I admitted it). I made sure that I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so helped me God.
Those were the facts, my feelings, and one facet of this fiasco. As strange as it may sound, there were those “good elements” woven in between [all that was good that had gone bad]. Surprisingly, even since the birth of the story (July 20th 1999), after commandeering the computer and getting a hold of the first 13 pages; we continued to get along (off and on), and more “on” than “off.” Eventually, she understood my reasons for chronicling, and it was obvious she felt that as long as she could be a witness to it being chronicled, have at it. She knew that I wasn’t trying to shake her down, and she also knew she needed to be shaken somehow. And unfortunately in this way; in her own neighborhood: the public. There was no other way she was going to redirect her wrongdoings and assist me in resolving the part of our wrangles that I could not reverse-unless it was me who did the redirecting. And I did; the only way I knew how to-via my neighborhood: in ink and in print. After the shock and awe was over, it didn’t stop her from “loving” me, wanting to see me, be “us”, and continue our thing. She felt like she loved me enough that what she felt for me was bigger than what I could really do [to hurt her]. And in some twisted way, it made me love her back-because she still wanted me when she could have shut shit down (or even if she didn’t shut shit down), the operation was set up as such that she could even pretended to have shut shit down and gone away, and I would have never known any different-that she really was gone (or no). The fact that she still accepted me and still wanted to be with me after knowing what I was doing to her-for me, forced me to keep a light on for her because unconditionally, she meant what she said about loving me. And I knew it was true and real because even after getting a hold of the first 13 pages; (and outside of all things, and big people surrounding and attached to her) where we-she and I-were concerned, our fights picked up and continued right where our fights began: about and around all things having to do with her unreasonableness, anger, jealousy, possessiveness, and controlling ways-never about my writing the book, ever.
No matter what we were “off” about, it never involved anything about the story at all-but always over her getting jealous-her emotions about me with other people in my life that took time away from her. And by 2001, the majority of my friends (in the same city) had backstabbed or bailed on me anyways, I only had one or two friends still by my side. So Janet pretty much had me to herself-and fighting for them was no more-and no longer necessary in my book. Janet (or her buddies) never brought them up anymore. It was like all she wanted was them: gone. I seriously doubt that anybody close to Janet can deal with too many people-because she was like that. She encompassed, required and sequestered a lot.
Strange chain of events and strange altogether-yes indeed it was. Yeah, we would have fun (through the “offs” and “ons”) even around the time that her girl sent me that open letter email, that same week we (Janet and I) were still doing what we do. As the shit hit the fan (during 2003-2005); we both had things going on (in preparation to go to war with one another), yet even through my hurt, anger, and upset (and hers), we were still “on” talking about “love” for one another in a few days time (off and on).
This whole thing was a tug of war-love and war pull of a velvet rope from the start. “War” was always being planned even during “love,” at all times. Yes, it was strange…but with both our understanding that these were merely strange but necessary formalities that we both knew we had to do in the event one of us decided to go to battle. She was still “Janet” and I was still: “me.” Therefore, “love” could never be the only thing. Love is never the only thing with somebody rich and famous like it is in with somebody broke or living modestly. I learned that (amongst all the other things that taught me lessons in this thing).
Early into the time we were especially head over feet with one another and really hitting it off-like way before any drama popped off especially in mid-March through May of ‘99-everything was unbelievably perfect. It was like magic. We thought this thing we had was kismet, and if what we felt and what we were doing by any other’s eyes and opinion seemed indecent, immoral, insane, unnatural, or abnormal-we could care less. She cared nothing about going through a divorce or the millions it was costing her. Those moments within that bracket of time, Janet was with the girl she had grown to know and love and was extremely excited like a girl in love. Her face was different, her way was different-she was perfectly happy. It was like she had no care about what she was going through because she was happy to have someone else around to talk to, to know, and to love-who accepted her unique and strange brand of love and accepted + loved her back. That’s all she cared about and we had big fun. We couldn’t get enough of one another.
During that early month of May ‘99 (when in the story, she was going through all those “connection changes,”) she was preparing to go overseas to the World Music Awards in Monaco where she was going to be presented with a special award. This show was to be her very first time out the gate to be seen by me in public while in her element since our lil’ shin-dig and love fest had begun, so this was a very big moment for her (for more than the award that she was being presented with). She knew that although it wasn’t aired live, her buddies and I would be watching it in about a week or so, so that appearance on the show was a big to-do (for all of us). Janet was intricately methodical throughout this whole thing (the bad and the good-just the same) and she deliberately planned everything she said and did publicly and privately, which was how we all (Janet, her buddies, and me) kept close and in communication. Everything we did, and how we communicated was one big total inside joke or conversation at all times (and publicly-starting with this World Music Awards in Monaco).
She was soooo pretty that day. She looked like a black china doll. She chose to wear all white, because that was how she was feeling: virginal, new, happy, and in love. It was weird—how innocent she looked, sounded, walked, and talked-even down to the way she held on to the award when she gave her speech-expressing how she really was feeling: “ennobled.”
She wore her hair all pulled up in braids with a white piece of cloth around the up-do. What she wore was like a metaphor for her private person vs. her public personality: On bottom, she wore a modest almost formal-like skirt, yet, on top; she had on a fitted midriff shirt that showed a little bit of the skin of her trademark usual: her six-pack abs. The top was nearly see-through (where you could almost see her nipples and areola).
A couple weeks after it was taped then finally aired, we all sat in the room while Janet’s buddies were crapping on her about the areola of her tits showing through that white top. She felt pretty, she felt sensual. She was happy-very. That day was one of her most happiest, memorable, and remarkable times within this on and off tug of love and war.
Unless you know + experience Janet and her ‘sensuality’ (in its most strong sense of the definition), you do not know that her premeditation and deliberateness is a part of her good, and how she expresses herself and as well, can be a part of her bad and how she expresses herself, or too, is an extension of how she wants to extend herself to you.
Throughout my writing the story (which began on July 20, 1999) and during her filming “Nutty Professor II” (which she began rehearsing for on October 5, 1999), we were “on” so much so that by that time that I was writing in the part of the story where I introduced one of my besties who lives in New York [who-in the story] I gave the name: “Denise,” I later found out (when the movie came out of course) that Janet’s [Nutty Professor character’s name too, was: “Denise”]. With Janet, that was no coincidence, it’s what she does. That girl is a very smart woman beneath that seemingly dense, timid, withdrawn, innocent exterior. She is a master morph-who premeditates to predict the outcome, reaction, and response to whatever it is she is trying to convince or convey.
Her Super Bowl/Nipplegate “apology” is a perfect example of what I am saying. From her makeup, to the way she held her face and eyes upside down, down to the way she spoke and enunciated her words down to the vowel, the syllable, the verb and the adjective. That is the sum of the morph in Janet that unless you experience her-you will never get to know that side of her, even if you just know of, or even (think) you “know” her. The fact about Janet is this thing: She is a “school,” a concept, a prototype, and a literal piece of work that requires a kind of dissection that you can’t get to, unless she allows you.
You will never “know” Janet unless you experience Janet. You will never experience Janet unless she wants to experience you + (plus/and/in addition) wants you (outside of your merely experiencing her and she-you). If she wants you, you will know. If she does not want you, you will know. You will only know her “conceptually” (even if you think you know her).
She can be very cunning. She’s extremely deliberate (by nature). But in this thing with me, and for all of our entertainment (her buddies, and she and myself); she was sometimes deliberate in real-time (publicly), and other times, by surprise (then later—we would laugh or talk about it in the room).
Names and nicknames meant a lot to us, it’s how we communicated-how Janet could be “Janet” but behind names that would allow her to be herself with me but enable her to peek from behind them and go: “Baby it’s me-I’m this such-and-such name today.” …but in her own words to let me know what was up. She even does it with her staff-they never know at first, until she does [like she did with Lissa]-that day when Lissa wanted to know who I was talking to and Janet said: “@Lissa, it’s me,” then we move on to talking. The fact of the matter was: She still was “Janet” the superstar-no matter how long past that fascination I had been. She still had to not be “Janet” (by name) but only in writing-by way of her words’ deeds and doings.
Sometimes, it was pure de’ comedy (that name game). And it came back to bite her in the ass by surprise one day in public…on live television.
Janet was scheduled to appear on TRL (Total Request Live) on M.T.V with Carson Daly. On the show, Carson would have a lot of young folks outside the studio (that didn’t make it in) and some inside that did [make it in]. Well, Janet was doing press for “The Nutty Professor II.” M.T.V had a set of cameras outside. Carson just so happened to have called out to a girl outside whose named [just so happened to be] “Angela.” When Janet heard it, she kicked into ‘sensual;’ softened her voice and asked Carson if Angela could come upstairs to the studio [so that she could meet her]. Carson seemed to be very taken aback because no provisions like that had ever happened (he made an under-the-breath remark to that effect, some kind of way). At any rate, after a few commercials (and Carson being a good sport about it), he says something like: “Sooo Angela you wanna come on up-come on up and...hang out.”
Considering the fact that the girl’s name (coincidentally) was “Angela,” it was too surreal a moment for Janet. It became “sensual-surreal”-something that had nothing to do with the girl (per se’), but the fact that her name was “Angela.”
When the girl approached her, Janet reached out and touched her face. She looked at her with a very sensual and piercing look. And while touching her face, it was like the girl’s name being “Angela” forced Janet into a Ghost-like moment “Ghost” (like the movie)—like…a ghost of The Angela (me) was in her face yet, Janet was so timely and deliberate, that the way she behaved towards the girl could have very well been a deliberate “demonstration” (because she knew that I was watching from my home) and her buddies were watching from theirs-and this is like…something we would laugh at and crap on Janet about having happened so unexpectedly, and catching her off guard.
To all of us on the inside, as if that wasn’t funny enough; later on, the girl said something about liking Janet’s sunglasses. Janet then offered the glasses to the girl-graciously-to have, to keep. By this time, Janet was so nervous. My friend and I (watching on) could not stop laughing. The moment was something that Janet could not handle well, and boy was it classic. It was extra funny because Carson didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he knew something totally odd and over his head had just happened. “Angela” didn’t know what was going on. The audience inside or outside didn’t know what was going on. But my friend and I (and Janet and her friends) were the only ones who knew what was going on. The moment was very awkward too because Carson’s odd “this is awkward,” “what just happened here?” look on his face was priceless. It was crazy hilarious. That made it even funnier-he had no idea [what was going on].
Sure, there were bad times in the midst of this “off” and “on,” but Janet could be a lot of fun, (when we were “on”).
She knew that most times, I hated the nickname thing we would have to do, but she went out of her way to do whatever she could do or say during any public real-time (and of course privately)-to make sure she did something substantial and literally remarkable to prove her effort.
Around the time we were getting to know one another well, in the beginning of all this (‘99), when I would get up early mornings to talk to her; I would bathe before getting online because once on, we would talk for a couple of hours. As it would be nearing the time for me to leave, I would go on and put my clothes on during conversation. Somehow, we got on the subject of how I would get out the tub and put on my terry-cloth robe after moisturizing all over (while still damp) and how I would use a towel to stuff between my legs and up between the crack of my ass to “dry out” down there after my bath. I would then tie my robe around my waist and sit there (or walk around the house or whatever)-that was my routine and ritual that I always did out of habit. She thought that was the funniest and oddest thing. She giggled her ass off. It was cute.
She hung on to every single word I had ever said to her-no matter how large or small the conversation was, so much so that weeks or months later; she would do or say something to prove her effort at being as transparent and revealing as possible. I loved that about her. I loved that she cared to melt herself into my entire existence and experiences-she was sensual to that extent. It was very sexy, but also childlike and sweet.
So fast-forward, two years later after those early time, her “All For You” CD was about to come out (and mind you, she never said one thing to me about the cover art or anything about the CD for that matter).
I believe it was April 2001-the day the CD went on sale-she asked me if I was going to go and get it (of course I was). I had a guy friend of mine (who was picking up one for himself) grab one for me and bring it over. So low and behold, I get a knock at the door. I opened it. He had his hands behind his back then showed me one CD in his right hand (his) and the other CD in his left had (mine). My mouth fell to the floor and I started to giggle and place my hand over my mouth. My friend says: “What’s so funny!?”
Of course I didn’t bother explaining but I couldn’t wait to get on and talk to her when he left. I giggled because the cover art on front of the CD pictured Janet laying there with a towel/piece of fur between her legs (like I told her how I do it). I fell out laughing. She does not play about her deliberateness, and is one of the most methodical people I’ve ever met in my life. She was very “interested” in me, and always retained things that the typical person would have long-forgotten about. She would go out of her way to show me her attention-undivided (for hours at a time). I can’t lie, I liked that. She was attentive to detail in ways that most girls dream about being catered to, by someone they love. I was both flattered and impressed. It swelled my heart, and I have to admit-it swelled my head too (while around she and her buddies-in this world of all ours). I would say that some of her buddies didn’t like me, but their “not liking me” pretty much was to the extent that that they were on guard and ready to serenade Janet with the “I told you so,” stories (whenever she and I would fight). They were completely on guard for being ready to prove to her that the love and attentiveness she gave to me would soon be all in vain.
I was on the other end on a fight and a quest to keep disproving that-everyday. That’s why I put up with a lot of stuff from her, and when she still wanted to be with me after starting the book; that put more loyalty and unconditional love deposits in with me-she still held on. So even through all her “crazy” and madness, some part of me felt like I owed her. But as far as her friends were concerned, they really couldn’t do anything about “not liking me” because Janet loved me, and they knew that-all too well. So (especially early into this) I must admit, I probably was a little brat walking around with my tongue sticking out at them at every turn.
I could feel it sometimes when I would come in the room and if Janet was gone-it was the norm for one of them to post: “***gone*” …that would be my cue to leave (and in my world: have some “free time”). I would giggle to myself sometimes because I could hear ringing in my head [during those times I would come in when she’d be gone] all of them in unison saying: “gone,” but that one voice ending with: “little biiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttcccccchhhhh!” I gave them a run for Janet’s money’s worth I’ll tell you that. They stayed paid and employed thanks to me-with plenty of overtime available to work.
Speaking of work--on to pressing “play” for her press tour and making her rounds of television:
Janet goes on B.E.T’s “106 And Park” to interview with Free and AJ (the episode where AJ stands in front of her and does the lap dance). During the interview, they all began talking about love or something pertaining to being in love or whatever. AJ asked her had she ever felt some kind of passion or way about someone that made her feel…some…[however] kind of way (I forget how he worded it-I think he questioned her about a lyric from her song or whatever). Janet, knowing that her buddies and of course-I was watching, was soooo embarrassed-but it was on the tip of her tongue to say what she felt in her heart to say (but couldn’t). So instead-she bit it. Her response ended up being such that she treated the question like a delicacy (in her mind) but she got stuck and tongued-tied so she blushed. Her blushing face was hilarious-she was totally stooped. And just like that TRL incident (where Carson and no one else knew what was going on), Free and AJ had noooo idea what she and I were doing and feeling back home away from her life on television and her reaction (amongst myself and her buddies) at any point and time, would be a joke that she could not live down (not to mention-the way she sat back and received AJ when he hopped up in her face, threw his leg up and started giving her freaky self a lap dance). AJ had no idea she was gonna catch it for that one. We crapped on her hard, because it was funny (but mad sexy) how she threw her arms back and invited AJ to climb all over her. She knew we all were at home cracking up laughing (while watching).
Outside of their waviness and drama, the laughter we would have, how involved (and over involved) her buddies were in this thing, it didn’t dawn on me until many years later and up to [and especially after Michael’s death]; that these people (her buddies) were Janet’s real family. I know we all choose our friends, and those that we become closest to become like real family to us (sometimes over our biological family). But it wasn’t until years later and into the crazy hurtful things that they would orchestrate and assist Janet in doing to me (whenever we would fight) that I began to see these people as something that reminded me of how way back in early ‘99 back when the smut mag printed the story about Janet and Rene’s breakup [how in addition to Rene’s threats and claims] they mentioned something about Janet’s mother being “very concerned” about her “hanging out with the people she was hanging out with lately.”
Obviously, that statement meant nothing to me then, because I wasn’t on the “in” just yet-with Janet and her buddies at the time that I read the article. But since that, I know who “those people” are. And after knowing Janet and talking to her at her most desperate of times in this--like back on that July 10th day that she went gangam style on me-that day when (in third person) she mentioned something about herself being involved in a cult.
Then another time (that almost fateful July 16th night that she wanted to kill herself) when she cried out to me and specifically stated (verbatim): “It’s the people I interact with/they can take me down in one second flat.” The “people” are her buddies-the same people who I am more than sure her own mother was “very concerned” about, I can bet on it.
When I found out Janet’s room had been up and running since way back damned near when the Internet was first made available to civilians (‘96/‘97); as the pages of our story were unfolding, I could clearly see these people (her buddies) as those same people that I feel flock to and find these big celebrities with the biggest money that are always available to help them spend their big money on various things to help them pass time to keep from getting so lonely-no matter the level of mischief. These “people” (her buddies) became Janet’s real family.
I remember the time myself (and her buddies) crapped on her about her brother Marlon one day in particular (the night that M.T.V presented her with an Icon Award). We crapped on her because Marlon made a comment saying something to the effect like: “look at my baby sister…all growed up,” but it wasn’t a joke. He used “growed” in the grammatical sense as if he said (correctly): “look at my baby sister…all grown up.” That was a hilarious day. It was cute because she could laugh at herself (even at her real family), or get crapped on and not take herself so seriously. We tore his ass up about that grammatical speech error. I’ll never forget it.
For years, we had so much fun.
But right before (and especially after Nipplegate) something terrible changed her in ways that our typical ups and downs, hot and colds, and off and ons could not hold a candle to. I was resistant to her. I was meaner to her. I couldn’t get back on track with her. And from there, what we had was all off, down, and hot (fire hot). It made her a completely different person, and everything between us was all-out war: no love for a while. It was a lot of anger, hurt, bitterness, and fighting between the both of us (and with her buddies assistance).
Around the time of that notorious Super Bowl Half-Time fiasco, it had been about three-four years since they closed the room and we took our business elsewhere online in another private room and I.M (doing what we always did). Shortly before she began press and publicity for “All For You,” the chronicle turned story had become a manuscript and hard copy book (in my hand-unpublished as yet), so a slight amount of humility set in (from she and her buddies). They weren’t as loose-lipped and fly at the mouth as they were when we were in Janet’s room, because this time around, I could print script/room conversations (if need be). So in the new room, I.M, and email; Janet used a unisex nickname, although the cryptic “nickname game” [to identify things in the form of a nickname like “basketballbutt” etc.,] still remained-that part never changed. Janet said just enough to me to say what she wanted to (to keep this thing going) but nothing much that I could do anything with-like I could with all that had occurred from ‘98 to early 2000 (which was where I originally had ended the book and details about everything).
For a while after the book, they lay low on being fly at the mouth and keeping up drama and confusion-that is-until around early 2005, that because of (in March that year); I took drastic measures that rearranged my life as I knew it. After that happened, although it changed the dynamics of mine and Janet’s relationship, it forced us all to make necessary changes that probably otherwise would not have happened had I not sent such a big jolt and message to she and her buddies that I was not playing games with them-on the bullshit-anymore. Eventually, we took it all mobile (as technology began to get “smart”) and she miraculously changed-had a brand new respect for me and “loved” me all over again (her special brand of what love was to her-to the full extent of what she felt love really was)…
But a lot had occurred before we even got to the point of my having to take those drastic measures and miraculous changes happening.
You see, from the moment she began promoting “All For You” on into 2002, she was very busy (Awards Shows, the JD relationship publicity stunt fuckery, appearances, Kid’s Choice Awards, hooking up with her two male actors + four industry honeys-all that). One of her honeys (the now) defunct songstress, she was in a full-on relationship with (2002/2003) while seeing the corny D-list actress she was seeing; so she was pretty busy and I was not caring-at all because I knew she wanted me-still. They were just substitutes and good for her ego. I was just merely upset that I had no way of completely cutting her cord from my life. She had that under wraps. That was her power. And she stayed plugged in.
In 2002 she was preparing for her HBO “All For You” special too, yet, we still talked when we could (not very much though). So the new room and I.M changes set into place (after the book was completed), was perfect timing-because she didn’t have that kind of frivolous time on her hands like she did during the time we were all boo’d up during the last leg of her “Velvet Rope Tour” (1999) through the beginning of press for “All For You” (into mid-2001). We kind of picked back up (via that new room and I.M) later into 2003-kind of. Mostly staring, saying words-her: angry at me. Me, hurt deep inside that we had gotten to this point and we weren’t even angry like this way back when I started chronicling for the book. It amazed me that our issues and this fighting we were doing didn’t even have much to do with the book per se. What was crazily upsetting to her was that as a result of the book, it drew a wedge between us that forfeited a lot of plans she had for us, and she felt like all these years were in vain. She stayed angry at me but never considered the fact that we didn’t have to be at this point if it were not for the things she and her buddies kept doing. By this time, I was like a brick wall to her anger. I was good and over her romantically-nothing like I was in the beginning of this thing-and that bothered her. That’s when she would tell me about her other honeys she had been fucking around with during all that time away-talking about it to me in detail reminiscent of a college frat boy talking to his friends in a locker room, she wanted to hurt me so badly but I wouldn’t let her affect me. She then even went as far as to try and taunt me about her plans to get at one of my two besties. I laughed and told her that even with all her money-trying to get at either one was about as futile as the two of us being like we once were: aint gonna happen, so good luck on that quest, because neither ever was and never would be interested in pussy-sorry. Their repulsion for it was equal to what I felt about her at the time. She was pissed at me-my emotionless resistance. She was going for my heart and jugular at the same damned time-any and every which way she could. She was so raw and desperate to hurt me-certainly a different person to me from 2002-2005, but I totally didn’t even care, because so far, I was winning in this:
1) The “Room of Hell” was closed for good.
2) My book (arsenal, proof and protection-detailing everything from 1998-2000) was all ready for me to just press “publish.”
3) Here it was 2003 and she still hadn’t gotten the girl, the one she really wanted: Me.
....So: PROGESS. I was making strides-strides that she couldn’t break. So as far as I was concerned, she could take that dildo and her fist and stick ‘em out all their pussy’s through their anus and out their ears-I could care less. I had nothing to shed a tear over because thus far-at that 2003 point-although what she was doing hurt me deeply; it didn’t hurt as bad because I wasn’t a notch under her belt of bitches. My mind and heart was a little bit stronger because of that one reason. Had I given into her and we got to this vicious point (where we were at this time), I would have been devastated beyond repair. But I knew she still wanted me and needed to conquer that (even if it grew to not be about me anymore, ever in life again). I knew the fight in her-how she fights-and why. I knew it killed her to have something with someone she knew for a hard core fact (at one time) patiently and repeatedly put up with all her “crazy” and loved her crazy ass unconditionally (even beyond what I would normally stand for) that now, she could not reach in any way: romantically, sexually, or emotionally--as a friend, a lover, a confidant-nothing. Having all things controlled by her and go her way for so long in life, mentally-she could not handle that. I knew too much about her to be out of her control + not love her anymore, like I once did. She had stolen + knew too much about me to let go. I merely became a conquest for her-that in the interim, she abruptly became a bully, a terror, a Tasmanian devil, and a tyrant. From 2002-2005 her head was fucked-and I had control of her heart. And that was my power. Her only power was that she remained plugged in to me still, while busy and plugged into the world.
When she had come down off her public self and when she wasn’t met with the kind of open arms she was used to from me; she was ready to get into her darker self-but I wasn’t playing that game with her. With my feeling stronger, she could have just gone away and I would have been ok with that. I was at that point-no anger, just over her. The thought of talking personal, cybersex, and anything remotely close to being boo’d up the way we were wasn’t even imaginable for me. And she didn’t seem too happy with that plus not being able to have control of things the way she did when we were using her room (owned and controlled by herself and her people). After the “All For You” tour, I guess it felt kind of odd to come back to all this downtime she was about to have, and now for the first time after all these years; not have the comfort of being back in her very own troublemaking ass room-thanks to the birth of my unpublished book, having (as far as her digerati was concerned) infiltrated that whole devilish operation. At this point in time, she was back out of the public eye and was doing her trademark usual: gaining weight, sinking into depression, (and what I knew and had experienced with her-now): gone under; getting dark at the soul and getting into other mischievous and dark things.
I hadn’t seen her publicly since the end of “All For You”-around 2003.
Super Bowl Sunday would be the first time out the gate that I had publicly seen her in almost a year. The day of the Super Bowl, she was very busy. And although we talked for a second (very close to the time she was to go out), we didn’t talk about nothing much, and definitely not too long. The only thing she asked me was if I was going to be watching. I told her that I would-while visiting my mom’s house (I was staying the night there). When Half-Time came, I was sitting at a desk in my mom’s spare bedroom-fidgeting around, while looking back and forth at Janet: looking dark and a lot heavier since “All For You” was over.
Unlike back when we are all boo’d up and having our own private tittygate, all her public appearances (1999-2001) when she knew I was watching-she was looking innocent, svelte, beautiful, and thriving-happy, in love. This time, she was dressed in black and demonic looking--all tight and buttoned up; reminiscent of her Gorean lifestyle (something I found out about shortly after this fiasco and how this breast-bearing thing then-for the World Music Awards where she dressed in white-and later-at the Super Bowl dressed in all black; was ceremonial and deliberate—and why (and not from some Internet conspiracy theories but from what she said to me).
At any rate, I blinked, turned my head and my mother ran into the room and said to me: “Angie, did you see Janet’s titty out?” Believe it or not, I actually missed the moment. When I looked back at the television and saw her clutching herself and exiting the stage-the show was over. I turned the television off and lay down for the night. My mother was back in her room with the door shut. When I woke up the next morning, my mom was gone out for work already. I bathed, got dressed for the gym and left the house. While at the gym, I looked up at the television and there Janet was with that “apology face” yet, I had no idea why her face was on the television screen (looking like that anyways). I stopped the Stairmaster and asked the guy next to me what was going on. Looking at me as if I lived under a rock, he began to tell me all that I had obviously slept and turned a deaf mute ear to through to this very morning.
I hurriedly rushed home to get online [via our new room] to see if Janet or her buddies would show up. Janet didn’t, her buddies did. I said verbatim: “I’m getting ready to get online and find out all that’s going on, but whatever it is-that face she had going on was wayyyyyyyyy too apologetic. It was so overly apologetic that it looked staged and unbelievable. That was too much, just way too much.” None of them replied to that mentioned something about Janet having a photo shoot coming up with Beyonce and Mary J. Blige that I believe she was on route to, or had been at already, so I left the [new] room.
Things got really crazy. As if all these years hadn’t been our own special brand of strange, things had gone to a new level of bizarre: psychological suspense movie-like bizarre. Nipplegate was the start of a whole different with Janet-a level turned way up from the brink that she and I was already on at this time. Something happened to her after “Nipplegate.” No, some things happened inside of her and did a complete 360-she completely “checked out.” Her mind, her emotions, her soul, her spirit and everything was pitch Milky Way galaxy black. It was that deep and that far gone. She didn’t care what happened to me [and as illegal and unheard of as what she started doing to me was] she didn’t even care what would happen to her. She turned this thing up to a game that felt like: “Catch Me If You Can. But Until Then, You Gon’ Catch This. You Hear Me Bitch!” She refused to continue to allow me to feel victorious in winning the emotional tug of war that she knew she had lost with me-and still (up to this very point in time) never got her chance to bring anything of ours to fruition. This time, she turned her mere voyeuring by “overhearing” to “overseeing” and showed no shame in telling me, showing me, and proving it. I was astonished. She came crashing down into my world like an Armageddon. My head was fucked up. My nerves were shot to hell. Luckily, I had been done writing and chronicling because I did not have the strength to write another word about this entire ordeal-and she was hacking and sending me packet-sniffers and boot-virusing my poor lil’ computers until them shits’ hard drives were toast. She wasn’t going down without a fight to make sure I wouldn’t be able to write and pre press another word-especially about what she was currently doing.
Into 2004 with a printed book (detailing everything from 1998-2000) and 965-paged chronicle [+ a 365-paged condensed version of that chronicle which detailed everything from 2000-2003] traveling with me, she turned this ordeal turned up in ways unimaginable-unthinkable that made mere hacking and wire-tapping look minor as gossip. She started fighting, terrorizing, taunting, and going government intelligence high-tech on me. She and her people spiked the notches on this sha-bang that made my head roll this time. And unless you work for Lockheed-Martin, the CIA, the FBI and any other sensitive intelligence government agency that would be familiar with the contents and know-how of the shit I went through, knew, and lived to tell; I wouldn’t even bother explaining to your: “Living In A Matrix Happy-Go-Know-Nothing About The Uncomfortable Side Of Life That The Only People Who Can Afford It Can Do And Get Access To” ass. I wouldn’t even want to disturb your innocently ignorant and special kind of peace. You probably wouldn’t sleep at night and begin to piss in the dark and live in a tent in the middle of your living room. Trust me on that one. You couldn’t even begin to understand or comprehend the sophisticated intelligence she had access to (as written, explained and contained in the 2003/2004 details of those 365 and 965 pages). I couldn’t believe it myself. She fucked my peace of mind and my head up so badly. My preference for buying a black shoe and making sure I could find that same shoe in brown had me stepping out the house in a left black shoe and a brown right shoe. My equilibrium and senses were so screwed that I was fucking colorblind and distraught.
As if I was the one who had any power, control, resources, money, and malefic intent and came into her life turned it upside down; she handled me-one person-with the force of every single paparazzi, celebrity stalker, and non-celebrity that ever caused any and all celebrities since the beginning of time-any harm or stress. She handled me like I was the ambassador for the paparazzi and harassers and she was the ambassador for her colleagues of the world of celebrity-who, in her warped mind, were routing and cheering her on. She kirked out and made no rational sense of anything, and her employee-buddies were working overtime to assist her.
I was the only “regular person” within her reach who for starters, she was very upset and hurt about, and who (in her warped and irrational mind) she saw as the catalyst to all her problems that seemed to connect, come against, rise up and conquered her. Her man was gone and had sued her for money, and took her home. As a result of that, her chef had regurgitated to the courts and sued her too. In addition (and also during this time); the L.A.P.D and media was back at Michael’s crotch, and she had been many months ostracized and ridiculed by the media since Nipplegate. She turned that all on me: everything she was angry about. In addition to her technological gangster (that I had no way to combat), she was having the windows to my car busted at least once a week for about a month-just because (and laughing about it).
If she could have me come home to a boiling rabbit in a pot every day that I walked in the door, she would have. She methodically repulsed me with mental, sexual, deviate vulgarity and at the mind (her mind); she turned rabid, like “Cujo.” She was fatalistic, diabolical, and ruthless. She needed to be put to an abrupt stop. I had to get her done.
She knew how much I valued my privacy and it seemed like she was purposely turning things up (to force me to turn things up) so that I would resort to the very thing that would take my privacy away from me too (and put me in a position to force me into a corner where to expose her would mean to open the floodgates of the world onto me and undo the comfort of having-no more-the privacy that she knew I valued with my life). She got me good. Her master plan was magical. She predicted my every move like a board game of “Sorry!” that she watched and manipulated like a “Ouiji” séance. She wanted to layer that shit-layer that feeling, layer that sense of loss and security for me (like she was feeling).
“Say no more biiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttcccccchhhhh because if I have to go that route, I’m going to handle you. All bets are off!” eventually became my thinking, my fight, and my doing. I had endured her kind of pain for half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I made the decision to turn this thing over in ways that I knew would affect me; but having no clue or way to foresee the effects of what it would have on my life.
Those four weekly window busts for that one month were reminiscent of my anxiety and nerves half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I could remember the first window bust (well, second one-but at least the very first one she had done way back in ‘99 was because she wanted me to ask her for money). These next four times, she had done only to fuck with my nerves-interrupt my resistance and my methodically trying to get away from her, but this time, it cost her money to have done. She was paying, out of pocket, for her own evil that she was too irrational to see had become a habit that she could not break, which gave she and her buddies much ado about nothing. By this time, she didn’t have priority in my life like she once did with me. I had to keep going despite her craziness. As many places as I had been going with all my goings on in my life and living; these four weeks, she never had the window busts done anywhere else but on my street and in front or back of my house-methodically. Each time I stepped out to the vandalism, I was jumping around like bare feet on hot coals. I was basket case.
The first one, she had done while my car was parked out front, I got it fixed.
My street was constructed such that it could have very well been gated but it wasn’t.
It was a long [about a mile] stretch of street that looped into a “U” shape at the end of the street’s one-mile stretch, where the back of the right side of my street’s homes and apartments (mine included) all had back doors where we could be on the other street behind [us that connected to the “U” from the dead-end].
The second time I had my car parked back there, she had the window busted back there too. The job was so quiet and so professional. No one had heard or seen a thing-not even me-and my bedroom door where I slept, sat adjacent to the back where my car was parked. All I had to do was lift my blind and look up a few steps to where I could see my parked car’s side where the job had been done (but I didn’t hear a thing). When I stepped outside to the broken glass mess, I was amazed-standing there at my car doing the same hot-coal dance and swinging my arms in the wind. It was like I was some psychological Pavlov Dog Experiment where she would pay for physical, tangible, stressful, and costly shit to be done in my real world (whenever it became apparent to her that for any length of time, that’s where I was trying to remain-while leaving her to her own fucked up world with her “people she was hanging out with”). She knew how to make her presence known in ways that she knew I could not afford to financially fight, and in any way should I try to; I would look like I was chasing my own shadows and sleep-walking.
The third time, I parked up the street from my house, mid ways up the one-mile stretch. When I stepped out and walked up to it-same thing. It was as if these motherfuckers wanted to send a clear message: “I could give two shits where you park your car, understand this: You need to know that we know it’s on the street where you lay your head, we’ve got the right car that belongs to the right person who’s going to step out of their own house to begin their day but get this work-first. Understand what the fuck we’re trying to do.”
The fourth window bust (to window number four) was unique. It happened one day I had just gotten in for the evening. I hadn’t even gotten into the house good enough to crank up the television, only my computer where by this time; we had been in the habit of annoying one another and talking slick if I would log on. This day, she laughed and told me to look out the window. My car, parked right beneath my second floor window, had its inside light turned on. I ran downstairs to that fourth broken window. It was a totally quiet job, too, I heard nothing. I couldn’t believe it.
Anticipating week number five scared the dog-shit out of me. With having four busted windows and a police report basically telling me: “Fuck you. Get your domestic life together. Lady, you’re not the First Lady. No ones going to guard your Honda all day and night,” I was on total edge just knowing this professional was going to come for the big ones now: the front and the back windows. My nerves and anxiety had reached levels unbearable-she made it very hard to resist, fight, and ignore her. And the fact that I could do nothing about it or tell it to a sole (without looking crazy) was absolutely tormenting inside. As long as I could keep moving and going on about my day, things would be fine. But if I so much as slowed down and stopped and stood in one place too long; I would break out and cry where coincidentally, whatever stranger was near and close enough to see me, would offer to pray with me or ask me to recite the Serenity Prayer behind them without a conversation or knowledge about the hell I was going through in my life. I was just that broken.
The intelligence she had possession of and could work from was movie-like astonishing; I wouldn’t wish that on my worse enemy-wait-yes I would, it was that tormenting. The anxiety and stress in my life was reminiscent of those punches and swings into the air with hot coals under my bare feet, and she enjoyed every minute of it-the torture of knowing I couldn’t do anything about it without looking like a nut. She took full advantage of the fact that I could tell no one without looking insane.
Half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005’s mind-fuck consistency was enough to let me know that this rabid “Cujo” of a bitch was not going to stop barking, growling, and biting until something drastic [but untraceable, un track-able, and un-pinpoint-able] happened. She meant business about making me pay for what she was feeling about everything, and had fun having it done because she didn’t even have to put her hands on it or move a finger for it. She only had to move her fingers to type on a keyboard and fight me-catching my disses or pleads of olive branch extensions that she was not trying to hear, or trust trying. She herself, knew she had gone way too far to try trusting anything, and had experienced enough of my not cooperating (because of she and their “waviness”) that to this 2005 date; yielded nothing to her desire or favor that she set out to do, have, or intended to happen. At this point, none of her craziness was going to end, considering the plethora of diabolical things she could afford to do and have done (unseen).
I had to gather my head faculties, emotions, and senses and make some big decisions and a plan. I considered the fact that if all it took was for me to write a book that told the story about that “Room of Hell” to shut it down, that proved something pivotal and key: That (by way of that room) they must have been doing something that sinister that a nobody (like me) could shine the spotlight on it such that some person on her team felt they should close it altogether when, if nothing sinister was going on as written about, it would have remained opened. Innocent is as innocent does. If somebody who was merely “delusional and crazy” said some things that were impossible and untrue, then any spotlight being put on [an innocent room run and hosted by “innocent people”] could have very well been beneficial to further publicity for Janet as well as it being a vehicle of honest and harmless intent to stay connected to her fans on her turf. But the truth is, that was never the room’s intent from conception and startup. And even before the book could be published (because of their watching its production every step of the way)-they closed the room down (because they knew everything in the book as all true).
I figured that if I got that part done, I could get her, and all this handled too. Maybe not to the extent of truly making it, her, and them stop what they were doing and completely and really go away; but I knew I could get accomplished what I had been trying and make happen for many years: make she and all of them go away stop what they were doing so that I could at least disillusion myself into thinking that they really were gone-so that I could had some disillusioned denial and semblance of normalcy and privacy back in my life that since 1999 to date-was null and void.
She needed to be handled in the most abrupt and unexpected fashion that (because she knows how private I am + how the truth and details of this whole story would make me look crazy) she underestimated would ever happen. She underestimated the fact that I would not take it to court with nothing but [the truth] and words on paper against big ole untouchable “her” despite how crazy it would make me look. I gave up that narcotic about caring how I “looked” in the eyes of a world full of ignorant, bedazzled, celebritydrom-disillusioned people and instead; began giving a damn about being heard. Janet’s bragging and laughing about how she couldn’t be stopped is what stopped dancing around in my head as if she was some untouchable force with the power of a God. Hell no. I had to put an abrupt stop to her and this thing, in a way that as private a person as I was, I knew it would affect me. I just didn’t know how badly it was going to affect my life and ability to make a living. I didn’t predict that. My desperation in getting it dealt with and out of my life was my only hope and aim. So I took it to the judge to get it crackin’: PRO BONO and one-paged raw summary of details.
I knew that if I remained quiet and continued to finger wrestle with Janet and her buddies, I was merely doing nothing but giving them lots to do. I knew that to continue fighting with them was doing nothing for me but helping them pass time that only they and Janet had the money to waste, doing. And although diabolical, I knew that doing so only afforded Janet’s [concept of a human being ass], something tangible to sink her teeth into in order to feel, know, hear, and see what normal life was like in the lives of others-a stark raving difference from her real life that because of who she is, she was never going to have. So she got life breathed into her by being privy to knowing and peeping into other people’s life, lifestyles, and living (whether they knew it or not).
If she or they (her buddies) did not like you-low and behold, what worked and became fun for them-was their efforts to make you think all your taunts and “coincidences” were the result of you thinking you were crazy-all the while, they would watch and listen to you chase your own tail until they got bored and found someone else to play with. And well if they liked you, and Janet wanted you…then like me-she got up in your life and patted it down by listening, watching, researching, and investigating and (like me) if you passed the test-get it crackin’-”Viola! Look who you get to meet!” The best way to do it was to already know your interest in her by your coming to her room: her turf-that is where the games would begin.
What seemed like magic and kismet for us was yes indeed, the fact that I met, talked, and sat with Rene. Yes, my friend and I laughing with two gay guys while I yelled flirty rhetoric up to the stage to Janet that caught she, Tina, and Shawn’s attention that eventually (three/four months later) was the premise that brought me to her room that (upon Janet and Shawn’s remembering); is where this whole thing began. But even with her right hand man and bodyguard (Hugh) standing right next to me [during my yelling flirty rhetoric], no, I did not ask him to allow me to go and meet Janet. (And too, with her man sitting right in my face, legs crossed and in cozy conversation with me, no, I did not ask him to allow me to go and meet her then, either). So when I showed up in Janet’s room, her turf and world of unforeseen trouble (three/four months later with she, and Shawn remembering who I was), yes, it may have very well seemed kismet and magical. She knew what she does in her room, I didn’t. I merely wanted her to make an appearance in the room-and show up, not show up in my personal and private life-no, that wasn’t in the plan (of mine).
I very well could have [with Hugh, Rene, or my being at arms length of she, Shawn, and Tina]; asked to meet her then. But never in my life, no matter how much of a fan I was to anybody; have I ever been, or had any interest in being a stage-door Annie or an ego ornament-it’s never been my pursuit or thing. I knew well over too many girls having got caught up into situations with celebrities and ballplayers and found themselves chasing them and chasing that lifestyle for their life and it was oh-so-sickening and pathetic to witness and hear about. I have never in my life fought to get backstage to meet celebrities or put myself at venues, events, or situations to be all up under ballplayers or celebrities in hopes to befriend, hob-knob, hang-out out, or have intimate relations with them. That has never been my interest or thing-ever. I’m not even rich or “well-to do,” but I’ve always been (what I call) a bit of a “sep-ar-a-classist” who always felt that hob-knobbing with [the financially] rich (should be) for the fellow financially rich. The modest-humble and all else: party with the fellow modest-humble, and not to be mixed unless it was for business, a specific purpose, or for a cause. And if a relationship of any kind ensued from then-then fine. But just mobbing all up in somebody else’s world of glitter that’s not yours when the clock strikes twelve (in my opinion) was just Cinderella moments that I never understood (girls especially) putting themselves through. I do business with people from all walks of life (financially lesser and greater), but I’ve always been content in my own lane-I have countless Cinderella moments in it. I know how to go to a concert and be a loud, screaming, cheerleading fan and have fun without begging to get backstage. I know how to cheerlead and be excited about my favorite artist’s talent and love all over what they do without being borderline fanatical and imposing.
In my eyes, celebrities have always been regular people who happened to have occupations that paid more money (than a nonprofessional doing the same thing). They just happen to be well-known through television-not some untouchable enigmas, and unreachable stars out of the sky. From a small child though adulthood, from the very moment my dad never stopped telling me that I was a “star,” I truly believed him. All the mentors and special people in my life working hard to keep my self-esteem at a healthy level too, convinced me that I was special (I believed them as well). Their hard work was not in vain, I assure you. I never felt the need to put anybody on any automatic, or undeserving pedestal simply because they “glitter,” no matter how zealous I could be about their work or talent-it stops there.
Celebrity or not, I definitely have a “type” that I would shake it with-get intimate, or sexual with. And unlike the average girl, those facts and that feel is gathered way before I would even consider sleeping with you. Yes, I believe in the power of lust-and for me, it’s a necessity beforehand that I have to feel strongly (both ways). I respond to being uninterruptedly and wholeheartedly lusted, desired, and courted; but not being a lusted convenience (there is a difference). A lot of women do not understand that, especially when faced with the spontaneity of being summoned or propositioned by someone with fame, money, power and especially by what seems like love, the remedy for their loneliness, or fantasies of a certain kind of life. Your looks, money, fame or whatever else that shines about you (at bare minimum or plenteous maximum); is only enough to arouse and moisten me, not prepare me to shake it with you, that’s a whole other thing. I’m a very simple girl but with old-fashioned rules of courtship that never left my heart and mind-for nobody. My “getting to know” process with a celebrity would be no different than the average person I’d meet in a grocery store. As I became sensible about sex and don’t waste time or my fucks; my “type” is something that definitely won’t be discovered via a spontaneous invite via text, phone, email or asking to hook up with me in a few short hours of meeting my acquaintance. That kind of spontaneous “let me get to you in 3 hours” is something I don’t do with strangers (celebrity or regular person-just the same).
Even Janet, at the beginning of this-when she said she could get to me in “3 hours,” was still a “stranger” to me. I do intimate spontaneous things with people I know-not strangers. Her “getting to know” process (unbeknownst to the ignorant), was not only illegal, but high-tech in such a way that not only does her celebrity catapult her into that kind of spontaneity and presumption, but the high-tech stuff she does as well (over and beyond her being a celebrity) takes how she is (as a person) to a whole other level (even beyond the typical celebrity). So yes, when she took it there-in her chat room by showing up [as “QueenJanet”] and getting her flirt on, heavens yeah I flirted back with her. She is sexy, let’s keep it real. But I didn’t have any fantasies in my head, or hopes, or plans on taking it beyond that (or there-in her room). And sure as hell didn’t know that was how she got down.
So in considering all the chain of events that led to this point, heavens yeah-it does seem magical and kismet. But it’s not magical to perform magic on someone’s personal and private devices and life without their permission (or invite), then begin your pat-down by listening, watching, researching, and investigating without having first even uncovered whether what seemed kismet was what they too, wished to do: kiss and be met (by you).
Regardless whatever side and walk of life you are from; you have a right to, and cannot help who you like, love, and fall for. If you’re on the humble and modest side of the fence, you have no right to intrude upon and make a mess in the life of a person from your side of the fence any more than you do a person on the fortunate/opposite side of the fence (all for the sake of having or creating an opportunity for yourself). Likewise, if you’re on the fortunate side of the fence; you have no right to intrude upon and make a mess in the life of a person on the modest/humble side of the fence simply because you can, or because your life may be such that you feel you’re missing out on opportunity of a life of normalcy [but because you have the resources, power, influence and money to intrude upon someone else’s; dig in it, ridicule it, and take from it: everything, even down to what money can’t even buy back: their privacy]. That is where I drew the line with Janet (time and time again) and with countless tries of being ok with it-she kept taking it higher and more brutal, and she needed to be stopped at some point, even if it was in the middle of an “I love you too.” Because as if that wasn’t enough, even when I uncovered and discovered what was going on, I eventually put my guns down, cooperated, and surrendered to her-in every way, even in the ways she desired. It was amazing to me how she managed to fuck that up! And she had me right where she wanted me but kept taking it higher--to levels of torment and disrespect unbelievable and unheard of-at the switch of her emotions.
If she was truly for all the right things, all these wrong things would not have happened and brought us to this very point. She has herself to blame. She, with the help of [let her mother tell of her own concerns]: “people she’s hanging out with” took it to drastic and evil levels that did not have to be-because I meant Janet no harm, and they all knew that. I extended my understanding to her well over my boundaries and until she broke my back and forced my hand. This is all the results and consequences of her doings and misdeeds-period. And she deserved it. She should be glad that this ordeal is happening with me-somebody who loved her (and still doesn’t mean her any harm)-just a lesson being taught, a literal poetic justice and special kind of ass-whipping being delivered to her ass. I really feel like this whole thing with me-was an interruption of something greater and far worse [down the line for her], because this Internet thing was her “life.” That Room of Hell was her “life” (since ‘96/‘97-years before I even entered). And by way of that room being the vehicle that afforded her a way to be able to peep into other people’s lives and living; it became an obsession and habit of she and her buddies, and when she lost that room, she lost a very big part of herself and a habit that she developed that was too hard to break. I told her many-a-day in many-a-conversations and arguments, that what she was doing was unhealthy and sure to take over her life. I would explain to her that even if I had access to doing it, I would have no interest in monitoring hers or anyone else’s life in those ways because it’s never-ending, and one in which the one to lose will eventually lose themselves-because there’s no way to stop a habit like that-with that kind of access. That’s a habit that I wouldn’t even want to begin, and one that had already been a habit of hers even before she and I began. I knew that to be a
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