Week; Aug. 02-08, 2011

08-02-2011
Picking raspberries at the farm, then pick weeds in the carrots, but everyone but me and the dippy black haired Caucasian (I think) girl got called to clean potatoes. But after 20 min., we too got called in to help cleaning potatoes, like this was a set up of incrementat introductions. And lo, if the conveyor belt didn't go squeakiy, which then served as the excuse for one Mexican and one turban wearing Punjabi to putz around me. And do I know that squeaky conveyor sound, having sorted daffodil bulbs in the prior three years? Also a flattened cardboard box was placed near me for no reason after potato washing was done.

08-03-2011
Farm work again; raspberry picking, strawberryt picking, potatoe washing (production line), weeding, wash more potatoes. Possiblly all to keep me wearing my pants over my shorts, as the weather didn't cooperate for me to wear shorts while raspberry picking. This seems to be a big deal of late, along with the "need" to get a tan on my legs. I got fooled into thinking it would be tanning weather this morning so I put my shorts under my workpants. But the clouds closed in and so no tanning possibilities. So it would seem, along with the perps' underwear fetish/control, that they wanted to work me through many different jobs today, with shorts under my pants which were worn all day long.

08-04-2011
Picking strawberries, then pick raspberries and then weed strawbs while rest of crew, save the raven haired girl and an add-in girl from the farm market store work nearby. They seemed to be paired for some reason, and the add-in girl isn't a farm worker as she works in the store only. Then I was working  on the potato washing conveyor line,  with the exact same hassles as past conveyor work at another farm jobsite. The person next to me was frequently obstructing my access to getting the items off the conveyor. The perps like to set up these fucking games where someone grabs something I was set to grap, and the offending co-worker makes no bones about not being unapologetic. In another stunt, when I was walking the farm road between the potato line and the raspberry patch, the supervisor drives by in her BMW within 12" of me for no fucking reason, as there was at least 4' of road width availible to her with no obstructions or potholes. And it seemed to be a set up, as an oncoming vehicle was stopped and waiting some 80' away, with headlights on. And we do know how the perps like to put TI's in lighted conditions, except this time it was in broad daylight and with the asshole supervisor pulling this stunt, surprising me from behind by driving so absurdly close. Fucking rude.

My missing watch was found by the farmer's son, though he didn't explain how he did so.

I got to wear my shorts while picking raspberries today, but the tan line came out all wrong by dint of of some perp fuckery, 6" further down my leg than the bottom of my shorts.

Evening beam-on-me games from the E. apartment towers in turn. The Pink Tower was beaming me when in my apartment for the prior 40 min. prior to going to the LD store. And when entering and exiting the store, why, the Pink Tower faux reflections were beaming on me there.

Another new jerkaround at financial transaction time was a reflectance off the card reader panel that was strobing. Don't I get enough stroboscopic fuckery (dappled light through trees) in any given day? Seemingly not. The dudes in their baggy low cut shorts were out and about, and I suppose this is seasonal wear, not unlike six months ago when this "dress code" was prevalent among the male gangstalkers.

08-05-2011
Picking strawberries after an hour of potato washing work on the conveyor line. And for raspberry picking I was given S. side row picking, excellent for leg tanning while wearing shorts. And a decent tan too, to the top of my shorts this time.

On the city bus ride freakshow ride home; a bald (skinheaded), baggy shorts wearing male in commercial painter chic, having paint splats on his shorts, shirt and hands (what commercial painter takes the city bus for crissakes?, and what commerical painter wears shorts on the job for crissakes?). Said dude plants himself in front of me for most of the bus  ride.

A tanning session tonight, and lo, if the stalkers aren't in place once I exit.

08-06-2011
A little more evening time as I left work at 1600h, per sort-of prompting from the prevaricating supervisor. She said that everyone was going to stop at 1530h, and I said I would too. And at 1600h we were still picking weeds in the carrots, which had begun at 1515h after picking raspberries since about 0900h. After finishing a section of weeds and meeting up where someone had weeded ahead of me, I decided that 1600h was plenty enough. As expected, whenever I finish something a confluence of noise and co-worker/gangstalking action erupts. The strangest was a flock of Canada geese overhead, flying only 20' above the field and them divebombing each other and squawking in a sorting out their V-formation territorial/status positions. Then one of the Mexicans who took off 15 min. earlier for no seeming reason returned as I was packing up, essentially in lead-ahead gangstalking mode.

Then at the warehouse, some 4 minute walk away where I clocked out, two Mexican workers were also posted there. In addition was a red welder's service truck, "putting on the red", and I assume, serving as a color reference inside and out as it was parked broadside to the open garage door to the warehouse. The two Mexicans coursed around me as I changed up my boots for my street shoes and put on my coat. Withouth fail, someone is hanging around or over me whenever I change my footwear there, and all the more so since I now leave my heavy hiking boots there and wear my street shoes commuting. All last year, and for the past two months, I wore my hiking boots to work and back, only exchanging them for gumboots if it was wet out.

08-08-2011
1830h
I was slinging compost for most of the day at the First Feral Family house, putting it through a sieve and piling the sieved material, the screenings and coarse debris separately. And another pile for the plastic trash that somehow gets in and I am compelled to remove. I got screwed into a 10.5  hour sleep at the FFF house and was witness to my perp-abetting mother digging in the compost pile ahead of me when I was at breakfast. She explained that it was to put some on top of the active food compost pile, in an adjacent box, but as she did such a poor job of it I assumed it was more of a "pre-stalk", going through the exercise ahead of me. Funny, I hadn't told her I was going to do the compost until she came back in the house.

I got my regular fly-overs from aircraft, and the neighbor noise of chainsaws and leaf blowers. The stream of hotrod muffler noise was duly started up while I was outside. I didn't finish the job of screening the large composte heap today. This was due to a smaller sieve that "showed up" three years ago when in the prior year there was a larger one and I was making good progress with it. I asked my mother who took the larger sieve and supplied a smaller one and she blew me off. And of course, as the perps have such an insane interest in compost, and sieving it through metal screens, it makes more sense that they fucked with the sieve to slow down the job. Which is what they routinely do for all activities; slow or disrupt work all the time, especially infrequent ones. It makes one wonder about the larger context and to the level of engineering jobs and projects, and problems they have over work completion.

A city bus freakshow ride into downtown, and lo, if the commercial painter act wasn't doubled up this time. The dude with paint splats on his clothes and then on his hairy legs, one of those fuckwit dudes that "needs" to wear shorts no matter how ridiculous it is. This dude went through four relocations on the bus, one being a "buddy" chat with the driver, then back to his original seat, and then on sentry duty for three stops before he got out. Just before he made his trip back to his seat, why, another painter dude got up from his seat and went to the rear door before his exit from the bus. Like WTF; this is totally absurd to have these paint splattered tradesmen (har, har) on a city bus, and then to have two on one trip, and then to have two such events (per above) in one week. Who writes these absurdities?

1930h
I got screwed out of my Monday tanning session by two minutes; the place was locked up. And that was caused by getting screwed out of attending to my laundry soon enough, as the bedsheets were in the dryer, and I pulled them out beforehand to get the bed made up. No regular habit/appointment goes unfucked for long.

I stopped in the LD store on the way back and was treated to my freakshow at at the chocolate, with at least one Asian man on his second gangstalking in recent months in idential circumstances. I got a three negro loose cluster gangstalking outside and inside my apartment lobby. One sauntering female negro in purple for crissakes some 30' ahead and coming toward me, then suddenly a negro dude in white and red steps into view, apparently exiting from the lobby, and on the inside, the regular lollygagging negro holding court on the couch was at it again, talking to an Asian male. I got screwed out of the elevator for the third time in a week, reading "M" when I went to press the button, why it took off for an upper floor request. Taking the stairs for six flights isn't too much of a bane as I do it quite often now to avoid the gangstalk clusterfucks in the lobby that seemed to be stacked with freaks from the Unfavored classes.

I got a telephone message from a person with a very robotic and uninterested monotone voice, indicating that they are interested in having me in  for an interview, making reference to my past work history with an aircraft maintence firm. So I look up this outfit, and they are a financial services outfit. Translated, it spells bullshit call, though I will return the call to find out if I am dead wrong, a state the perps like to put me into very often.

Enough of the routine and onto posting this blog for the week.