When we left off, I had just realized I was being followed by some stranger in a beat-up pickup truck with dark tinted windows. If you missed part one you can read it here: The Time Martin Sheen Saved My Life. Part three (the conclusion) coming soon.
Trying to lose the strange vehicle stalking me, I quickly drove around corners and waited for him to pass by. Whenever he realized I was no longer in front of him, he would search the short streets for me. When he’d spot my car, I’d pull out and speed off in another direction. After one such turn, I got stuck in a dead end culdesac with him right behind me! I think it surprised him, too. Oddly enough, he didn’t block my exit, instead backing up to let me out of the narrow dead end.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, after passing him I sped down another street.
Thinking I’m safer in this small neighborhood of nice houses, I’ve become afraid to return to the main highway that pretty much goes nowhere for 27 miles. But I’m frantically trying to call the police. Cell service on Point Dume? Damn near non-existent.
My calls to 911 kept getting cut off part way through. Unlike the police in Northern California, the 911 operators in LA just don’t give a shit, probably jaded by the many horrendous calls they get. They made no attempt to call me back when we got cut off. None. Had this been Northern California, the 911 operators would have blown up the phone trying to call back a terrified woman cut off during a 911 call. (To give you a little better idea of the police mentality down in LA, if you ever get pulled over for a DUI, just make a $2,500 donation to the police department and there will be no DUI. Heard stories of police brutality? All true. You’re not famous? Oh, no help for you until after your murder. That’s the treatment I was getting from 911. This probably also explains the high rate of homicide in LA: 911 is apathetic to your pleas for help.) But, wait! There’s more…
I’ve been promising you all this post since I started this blog up again several months ago. I’ve held off until now because it was a terrifying experience for me, one that’s hard to relive. There’s another reason, too. This event is like a scene straight out of a movie, and includes a very famous actor. Most of you don’t know me personally (not that I hold much back on this blog! heh). So, up until now I worried you’d think I made it up, determine I’m prone to flights of fancy, and potentially even more bonkers than I admit to. But if you’ve stayed with me this far (and through the Holiday Letter From My Cat), I figure you’ll be with me after this. However bizarre it seems, this story is quite true. The Malibu Sheriff’s office probably has some record of it, too. And I’m no more bonkers than I’ve told you outright.
By the way – this is fairly long, so I’ve broken it up into a series of posts. I don’t know how many, because I’m still writing it. (Not quite the pro-blogger you thought I was, huh? <— dripping with tongue-in-cheek sarcasm) I’ll post one every few days or so. Probably ‘or so’.
‘Saved my life’ might be a bit of an overstatement, but that Saturday night nine years ago I was terrified for my life like I have never been before or since.
All I knew was this complete stranger was following me – everywhere. At first he kept his distance, following my car as I ran a few errands and headed for a 30-minute drive to Point Dume in Malibu. I could see he was male, with dark hair and skin, driving a beat-up white pickup truck with darkly tinted windows. (Beat-up cars, with darkly tinted windows were not at all common in Malibu.)
I couldn’t shake him. I tried evasive driving maneuvers, quickly turning corners, hiding down the hill. He searched the neighborhood until he found me each time.
Before I continue with the details of that terrifying night, let me provide a little backstory… But, wait! There’s more…
Ok, I sobered up and posted this for you all. You're welcome. It looks normal now (two weeks later), but I have a hard lumpy little scar now. WTF?! That's worse than BEFORE. Just waiting to see if vision returns.
Eye surgery is not for the meek.
Or for those prone to panic attacks.
If this post doesn’t make sense and has more typos then usual, its because I’m on valium while I’m writing this. And I’m too high and tired to add pictures right now. Sorry.
Well, you can add this puppy to my list of Big A** Panic Attacks.
No, it was not lasik surgery, or elective. I had to have a bump removed from my eyelid. I was quite fine with the small bump on the top of my lid, about the size of half a green pea, until it started causing astigmatism (loss of vision in what was once my good 20-10 eye). Yeah, totally sucky situation.
The good part is looking out of that one eye gives everyone a lovely soft-focus filter kind of look.I use that eye when I’m looking at myself in the mirror… it smooths out the wrinkles.
Not that I have any many.
The doctor said they could cut the bump out and my vision would probably return to normal. Oh, goody. Needles and knives NEAR MY EYE. I asked the doctor if I could just get eye glasses instead. Obviously.
I made it rhyme, though. Pretty good, huh? I outta be a poet.
Wait, don’t go!
So, I went to Spain a several years back with a boyfriend. We’ll call him Lugnut for purposes of anonymity. Mine, not his.
This was my first time overseas. I was flying alone and meeting him there. I’m already a nervous flier (no shit? there’s a shock). I had several transfers to make, and was nervous about flying alone into a foreign country. (The importance of this will be relevant later.)But, wait! There’s more…
Do you panic before you check something out and get the facts? Do you decide to confess all before you even know if you’ve been busted for the crime?
Yes? We should be friends.
A dear, dear friend called last week in a major panic. The reason for the call isn’t important, but he was ready to make MAJOR LIFE CHANGING confessions to another person based solely on fear. Fear about what MIGHT happen. Not about what is true, not about what else it could be, but about IF this and IF that, THEN THAT will surely happen!!
OMG. I love him, but gees.
This is known as F.E.A.R. – Fuck Everything And Run, or False Expectations Appearing Real. Also known as FEAR stemming from V.B.T. – Very Bad Thinking. But, wait! There’s more…
Not even Starbucks, which is EVERYWHERE in the world, dares venture there. (They weren’t there then, but they may be in the area now. I hear Starbucks is going to take over the world by winning the Franchise Wars.)
(No, this isn’t what happened – but it could have. Photo courtesy of blackarmor.com.)
Picture this: A darkly lit and filthy street, bordered by run-down and abandoned warehouses covered with graffiti and broken windows, and shiftless people (who hopefully don’t read this blog) lingering on street corners.
In the middle of this: A flashy, shinny black Mercedes driven by an older, well-dressed gentleman wearing a flashy Rolex. Seated next to him is a tow-headed white gal (that would be me) dressed in a suddenly-too-revealing little dress. Also flashy.
There are no other cars – parked or driving – on the street. There are no hookers on the streets. Not even hookers want to be here. But, wait! There’s more…