I am interested in a few things that are in my local micro-environment:
- uses for sea kelp washed ashore, and scientific research on enviro benefits for manipulation or recycling
- ditto for the brown stuff that is sort of like sea mulch (can I use it as mulch in my garden?)
- what to do with the sandbox sand on my patio, illegal to put on beach? affect? effect?
- the benefits of THC slow extraction from fat cells
- psychoactive/metaphysical space, disassociation, symbolic modeling and therapy
I’ve been hard at work publishing all of my sister Heather’s genealogy research that she’s been completing over the last several years, focused mainly on our Hilton lineage.
Meanwhile, the Baxley’s come from the Anglo-Saxon tribes that ruled over Britain, and are from Sussex and Buckingham where they’ve held a family seat from early times.
Then he told me that one of my relatives lived locally in San Diego, Superior Court Judge Robert Baxley, or “Bax” as friends called him (see bracelet on the cover of “The Lifeguards, A Reminiscence of West Coast Beaches in the 1950’s” by Robert C. Baxley). Yes, “called” as in past tense. I’m once again heart broken to learn I won’t meet another legendary human on this earth.
However, I hope his friends will help me out.
Who knew I was coming home? Continue reading
“Boy they loves Hova.”
Illuminati, spirit-directed, or holy?
“Y’all religion causes division”
Who created religion?
“Only God could judge us.”
“Hovah” is a play on Jay-Hova, or Jehovah, one of the Old Testament names of God.
“Signs and symbols control the world, not phases and laws.”
Confucius (551-479 BC)
Some say Jay-Z got the nickname back in 1993, when he borrowed some studio time and was recording some of his first tracks. The other people in the studio marveled to discover that Jay-Z was improvising all his lyrics, and decided that his ability was nothing short of miraculous. So they dubbed him J-Hova.
Others claim “Hova” stands for “Hustler of Virginia” where Jay-Z “hustled” as a play on “Jehovah”.
The obscure reference may be the link of hovah (a Hebrew word meaning destruction) and the oracle of Revelation, “”.
“The psychological mechanism that transforms energy is the symbol.”
Carl Jung (1875 – 1961)
On my to do list lately has been to address Curtiss Parker, of the Wakabayashi Fund and the Parker family (see mother Patricia Zinsmeister Parker), and formerly Managing Director of Bear Sterns Co. (and prior to Bear Sterns, Mr. Parker was associated with the Boston Group, Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette and Lehman Brothers).
Curtiss Parker also happens to be my upstairs neighbor at good ol’ 6767 Neptune Place, La Jolla, California 92037. If you want to write him, he’s in unit #16.
The first day I met Curtiss was the day I was looking at the apartment below his. As I waited in the street to see if I could view the apartment he called out from his deck above and offered sangria with he and his pal John, and I could look at his apartment—the second floor replica of what would come to be my own.
I agreed, and asked if I could change in his restroom—I was still in my presentation clothes for the executive presentation I gave at Qualcomm earlier that day. Upstairs I accepted the sangria—quite good actually—looked quickly around the apartment to get a sense of it, and then excused myself to the restroom to change. After I came out I was a bit uneasy as his friend was no longer around. My momma taught me never to be alone with a man, let alone a stranger in his apartment. I straightened my back and sat on the couch. Somehow in the course of the absolutely bizarre conversation to follow, he leaned over (while I swear I somehow wasn’t aware?!) and kissed me full on the mouth. I recoiled, beyond grossed out. I will never forget those lifeless limp bulbous lips. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Let alone that he’s got blonde highlighted hair to his shoulder in a Fabio-esque style, and an orange tan to rival George Hamilton’s (who I later am to learn is his idol). Ew.
A few weeks later as my roommate and I move in, I tell Thanasi about what happened and warned him to steer clear of him. I don’t know why, but over time Thanasi decided to befriend Curtiss. He thought that he wasn’t that bad.
Then we fast forward to July. I’ve kicked my former roommate out for being a world class do nothing all day stoner, and now have to deal with Curtiss who find my apartment to be a mere extension of his own. I would “scream him out of the house”, a drunkard who is drunk from the moment he gets up to the moment he apparently slips back under the rock from which he must have come (sorry Patricia, I’m not a fan of your son, he’s a world class creep—then again I imagine you’re not so proud of what he’s done to your family name either).
One of the instances is a lovely evening when I thought I was indeed alone in my apartment. I come out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, and go to my bedroom. As I stepped over to my dresser, I dropped my towel on the bed and there, standing in all my naked beauty, I hear him coming. He’s entered my home, and is approaching my mirrored bedroom. I start yelling at him to get out, and he (in an act?) drunkenly misunderstands.
On another occasion I was looking for a neighbor with a truck to help me pick up the mattress I purchased from Macy’s. John, Curtiss’ roommate was always a nice enough guy, and I had left a voicemail to see if he’d help me. Instead, my world-class awesome neighbor Aaron helped. But I get home to find a disgusting used mattress circa 1980 which looks like it’s been pulled from the dumpster in my spare bedroom. He had entered my home while I was not there and put a used mattress in my home. I asked for help from one of the neighborhood kids and hoisted the disgusting thing back up to his door and blocked his door with it.
My landlord, Karen of Neptune Place, has done nothing to assist. She sits as gossip queen passing on the latest of the slander I usually hear first from my neighbor informant. She believes everything. Whatever it is, obviously rejecting Curtiss wasn’t the greatest idea for my residency here. However, you’ve all noted that I’ve been being patient for quite a while. You see, I believe in people doing the right thing, and second chances.
However, after having Karen alluding to there not needing to be neighborhood drama (when I suggested perhaps I should file a restraining order against him?) I acquiesced.
Hello?! Did you not notice that you’ve evicted me Karen? Where is there any reason for me to behave now?
So please, meet Curtiss’ Parker of the Wakabayashi Fund. He owes me $10. He passed a bad check to my friend, and there is a $10 balance left.
Yup, this is all for $10, well, that and the repeated molestations.
Curtiss Parker, age 51 of La Jolla, defrauded investors out of millions in a pump-and-dump scam. Continue reading
Why should the other guys get all the good stories? My version, Pandora’s Cuckoo’s Nest, brought to you in part by Dr. Seuss & Judy Blume, and my uncle Randy and my aunt Margaret.
My medical records from the San Diego Psychiatric Hospital are an excellent example of how bad our system of things has deteriorated…
Though I cried out in vain that I should not be given any drugs and begged for my Advance Medical Directive (and my Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care) I was handcuffed and prostrate on a stretcher when I went down into a sea of drug induced white—I was given three separate shots from three separate huge needles from three separate men all standing over me.
Stay Calm and Muppet On.
Here are my medical records in PDF format. Sorry I can’t make much sense of them for you. I’m busy trying to retain my home, calm my mother, and live in a sea of crushed dreams and a broken heart. You’re just going to have to help yourself.
UPDATE: Need to find new place to host files and add back links. angelabaxley.com is no longer.
And in the real life style of sound tracking, I’m currently listening to The Zack Brown Band play Toes on my “Chicken Fried” playlist off of my iPod via Dynax into my Bose PC Sound Speakers.
I was thinking, I should invite him to come hang at my beach. Because while they’ve worried about my sanity, I’m thrilled to hear “Prop me up beside the jukebox, if I die.” Yeah, that sounds about right. If they can’t kill me after sending me into the County Mental Health—twice. Sending my mother to kill me (seriously y’all, have you met my momma, I love her but man does she love to kill me!) and then killing my dog?! Yeap. I’m a redneck hippy and I’m sitting on my Windansea picket fence patio rocking Country music with a Nantucket Bike Basket sitting on my wrought iron high chair. Couldn’t get more picture perfect if I tried, but I then again, I guess you should have been here! 🙂 Continue reading
Published on: Aug 26, 2013 @ 12:36
I didn’t “allege” anything. Another man on my team, incidentally also British, walked up and saw messages over my shoulder…