Gangstalking Chronicle: psycho. bolognese

CHRISTINE FARANDA, Attorney, Cleveland, Ohio
Part 2

(When I first moved to New York, I stayed with friends in Long Island City. Not Long Island. Long Island City. Long Island City is a Queens neighborhood not far from Manhatten. After that, I moved to Hell's Kitchen. I walked back and fourth to my first TV job at CBS.)

I should note here that after figuring out what my family had done to me, especially my father and my brother, I saw where Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio was coming from when she said she didn't care about what might happen to her sister. The steady stream of subtle mental and emotional abuse my dad subjected me to over the years, while preaching familial obligation pretty much put me in the same frame of mind once I figured it all out. At the time, I was living with him--keeping him out of a nursing home (Those are nice places, right?)--so it was an odd situation. Once I completely figured out the unseen negative effects of the years of verbal abuse, naturally, in the name of self-preservation, I decided that it was critical to avoid him at all contact with him for the remaining months I had to live there while saving money in order to escape at least the harassment at work and get away from the intense public stalking I was subject to. I get the feeling that people think I stopped talking to him to punish him. That's not it. It was a self-preservation and healing response. I'd tell myself, "Go up and talk to him. Go up and talk to him.", but having become aware of the systematic abuse inflicted upon me by him and my siblings, I absolutely could not do it. The mental abuse and attacks on my self-esteem went on for years. So, naturally, after figuring all that out, the thought of his death became more of a pleasure than a bummer. I understand you on that point, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio, and you know it's true. You saw it.

So...shat haven't I covered about Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio? She had a couple cats named Vinnie and Rufus. Vinnie was pretty much in his prime and Rufus had two paws in the garden. Fufus didn't use it much, but Vinnie loved that cardboard scratching thing (Seen here). He'd be on on top of it dragging his claws across it like it was the last time he'd ever get to do it. All things considered, I didn't mind Vinnie or Rufus for that matter. They were both good cats. Then, on one occasion when Vinnie was tearing away at that thing, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio walked over near him, bent over slightly, held out her fists and shook them tensely while saying, in probably the most psychotic of all the psychotic tones I'd heard her use, "That's it Vinnie... fuck it up! Fuck it up, Vinnie. Tear one up and move on to the next."

Early in the time I was living there, she went on an Alaska cruise. I got up and drove her to the airport. When she got out of the car, she said, as usual, in psycho voice, "Enjoy the solitude."

Remember that part about the grapefruit tree and the Hummer? After leaving that place--I think it was Cracker Barrel--she wanted to stop of to pick up some nitrus from a local record shop. (It just dawned on me... I can just let my lawyer read these posts instead of having to explain it to him.) There was a little turning tower of novelty refrigerator magnets on the counter. Most of them were kind of 50s retro with clever

little acidic jokes and messages. There were 2 guys behind the counter. There was one magnet with a woman's face who kind of looked like Rosie the Riveter with the text, "Get in there and clean up the kitchen." or something like that. (Seen here. (Not the specific magnet, but you get the idea.)) Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio pointed it out and cackled like a witch from a class-b horror movie. The guys behind the counter gave me an odd look. Every instance like this was still a bit of a shock and still difficult to admit, but I was still in the process of adding things up.

While I was living there, various aspects of my life just happened to start going bad. First, the radio got stolen out of my car. Then, because of a couple speeding tickets I got before I moved in with Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio--when I was making the 90-minute drive to see her a couple times a week--I got a notice of suspension of my driver's license. We discussed it and throughout the discussion she maintained a facade of concern. As people naturally do when discussing a document, I looked at the document occasionally as I held it. Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio must not have known that while I was looking at the notice I could see her with my peripheral vision. During one of those instances, in the midst of a conversation in which she was so concerned for me, I saw a wide, toothy smile flash across her face for an instant--less than one second--before returning to her usual sad look. She thought I didn't see it. She did the same thing when the head gasket blew on my car.

What else?....Oh, yeah... we were coming home from somewhere and she turned left in front of oncoming traffic and intentionally applied the brakes, I presume both to merely show the oncoming traffic that she could, and to cause me a little anxiety. It dawns on me now that I accredited certain incidents in chapter VI with being "major" points, or the "first" this or the "first" that. The fact is the whole thing was something that had to be added up, the characteristic which makes it largely invisible. All the little instances indicating Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio's pyschosis were just as bad as any others. The first major sign, though, was indeed the repeated bragging about the knives' sharpness.

Again, we were in the car and she need something out of the console between the seats. I had my arm on top of it. She grabbed it and tossed it off violently.

Why did I take all this? My car had broken down. My license almost got suspended. Every time something new went wrong for me, she would increase the mental torture.

On her birthday we went to an Italian restaurant that she hadn't been too even though it was 2 blocks away from her apartment. (I'm an expert at sniffing out not so well-known restaurants with rockin' food.) I believe it was called Venezia and I got the Bolegnese with shredded pork. (Seen here.) It was so good, it tasted like something my grandmother would have made. My car had just broken down, and for some reason I had to get my license updated to include her address. She complimented me for pulling it together for her birthday. Awwwe... isn't that nice? I told her I'd gotten the address changed on my license and she asked to see it. I handed it to her across the table and as she looked at it the psycho look slowly spread across her face, crescendoing until peaking as she handed it back to me.

(This is going to be a really, really good film.)

Oh, yeah...the spiders on the balcony. Have you ever known a woman to like spiders, or not despise them for that matter? I guess I come from an extreme experience because my mother was an arachnophobe, but still, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio is the only person I've ever known who not only wasn't viscerally effected by spiders in a negative way, but actually seemed to like them. Her balcony was barely deep and wide enough to hold about 3 or 4 of those basic plastic outside chairs. She had two of them out there with a bench made out of half of a log. There was a railing spanning the front of the balcony of that top-floor apartment. During a serious breakdown one morning, she mentioned that she didn't know how she keeps herself from taking a dive off of that balcony. Anyway... there were spiders--good size spiders--taking up house-keeping on and around the balcony. The railing was covered with their webs. She would sit there, just a couple feet from them, like it was nothing. We talked once about why she doesn't kill them or take other steps to keep it clean and she seemed confused, sad, even.

As I said, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio's libido was out of control. She's a lawyer. She made it clear once that she has no reservations about performing a sexual favor to get what she wants and specifically mentioned judges in that regard. I didn't confirm until much later how she was eavesdropping on my calls. It turns out there is computer software anyone can buy to both track and eavesdrop on anyone else's cel phone.

While there, when I finally had everything added up and decided I needed to escape this psychotic man-hater, I called my uncle and asked him about jobs back in my hometown and told him I might need him to come pick me up. I'd suspected that there may have been audio and even video surveillance in the apartment, so when I made that call, I went out in the hallway outside her apartment.

That night when she got home from work, she packed a bowl, plopped down on her bed, to a big hit and said, in her usual psycho tone, "So...makin' some plans, huh?"

Christine Faranda, Part 3

Joseph C. Zoccali, Clearwater, Florida; Rick Wilson, Niles, Ohio; Christine Faranda, Cleveland, Ohio; Len Spector; Marc Greece, A&E Networks; Reverend David Plank, Palatine Bridge, NY; Carrie (Plank) Bruno, Queens, NY; Cynthia Green, Tech Recruiter; Sioux Logan, Red Stream Technologies; Mike Tricario, MTV; Sean Newman, Columbus, Ohio; Jim Reed, Columbus, Ohio; Zynga; Marty Eggert, Cleveland, Ohio; Kathy Haxton, Cleveland, Ohio, St. Joe’s Medical Center, Warren, Ohio; Coleman Professional Services, Warren, Ohio; Laura McCormick

Kathleen Kashay; Erica Agyeman; Darcy Estes; Alison Victor; Tracy Dietz; Kaitlin McGaw

Gangstalking Chronicle

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Sunday, February 7, 2010

"So...makin' some plans, huh?" / My Story, Chapter VII