Sunday, July 19, 2015

Bobs on Bob

More high strangeness at yoga yesterday. The perps had me take a mega shit just before heading there, and what a toilet blocker it was. I gave it the bleach solution and took off as I was running late. I got there four minutes before class started, and lo, everyone was there, ready to go. Lots of new faces, and it almost looked as if class had begun as six of 12 or so were doing the same lying down butterfly pose. Image that, half the class independently (har, har) performing the same pose on their own volition while the instructor sat oblivious to it all, reading her lesson plan.

Every so often, about every four months they pull this, where instead of being the first, or almost so, I was the last to arrive. And lo, if my usual spot was vacant, and in the mind fuck world I am in, why, I didn't "see" any other locations available. And lo, if this fugly male wasn't at the mat next to me, someone new and featured it would seem, as he had a most peculiar hair-do. A two level cut with the sides being a half inch or so (with visible scalp), and the middle strip long enough to have his hair in a tight bob. I get these ridiculous male hair-dos every so often, more ridiculous than male ponytails even. And I have had at least four such male "bobs" on ambulatory gangstalk duty this past week, so why not plant one next to the victim for his yoga class to gross him out for the whole session?

And so in the vernacular that takes hold in any sustained different circumstances , all the males that wear this bob-do get called "Bob", just as the ball cap wearing ones get called "Ball Caps". Nothing original there of course, but it helps to concisely frame the category of freak to which I am being visually subjected. And too, to engage in the male-female games of "gender bender" appearance, where for example, the cute young babe wears a fedora. (There have been more than a few in the last 13 years of this abuse-athon).

And why is it at yoga with such a large class am I so often the first to exit while everyone else makes busy with their head down and their mat cleaning activity? And I am almost furthest from the door.

But all wasn't gangstalk gloom at yoga; the darling pixie instructor is always easy on the eye, and this time "happening" to wear identical black spandex shorts as my own. Her yoga wardrobe is highly variable and I don't view these occasional "clothing look alikes" as a coincidence. One example has been having gangstalkers in "just stand there" mode wearing the same shorts as me near the checkout at the grocery store.

And also at yoga, a first; after attempting for two years to do the wheel pose and not being able to push myself off the floor, I could today. That is a seeming consequence of taking iron supplements for the last four weeks, having found that I was low in iron and it likely being a life-long condition that all those compliant doctors somehow failed to mention/look for.

The normally freaky hair stylist school where I get hair cuts and leg waxes went to extra lengths to ensure a freak-stream (aka, a parade of the Unfavored) while captive in the stylist's chair. It began with a wheelchair clusterfuck at the entrance, one coming through the door with an adverse grade and my stylist "happening" to be passing by and helping out the woman in the wheel chair. The regular wheel chair receptionist woman with revolting armfuls of tattoos at the front desk couldn't help any, having just arrived from a break. (When I arrived only 60 seconds a different woman was on reception duty. It is very common for the perps to arrange reception and cashier staff while at the counter, or shortly afterward).

Then once seated with washed hair and having explained what I wanted done, a 6'6" negro (rare as hen's teeth in this town) male arrived at the next station, putzing with head models. If that wasn't freak enough, a red haired stylist student paraded behind me, as seen in the mirror, making chat with my stylist for more loiter time. The known-to-me very over-sized spa training supervisor also jumped into the freak parade, making at least six passes. Then a woman stylist student set up at the opposite adjacent station, with a chest and arms chock full of tattoos. Add in a chummy stylist student with green/blue tinted hair for more loiter time in the mirror. The hair stylist's instructor came a couple of times too, being way too frosty when I had met her at least twice as she was the receptionist then. She had a two level asymmetrical hair cut, something I find a little perturbing for some unknown reason, though not enough to be classified as a Freak or more correctly, one of the Unfavored. And she did have a substantial butt, another borderline Unfavored feature. The perps like to plant almost-Unfavored/freaks on me to test my reactions. The only "normal" looking (non-freak) was my stylist student, being one of the Favoreds with a blonde hair do.

While in the vineyard and working a row that has a sight line on the busy two way arterial rode, why, a negro male stops his truck in mid road and chooses exactly the location I see the road. Some 3' further ahead or back, and I would not of seen this particular specimen of an Unfavored demographic group. He sat in his vehicle looking straight ahead and with no apparent reason for about 20 seconds and then proceeded. Like WTF; who would be so inane to stop in mid-road (that has 8 to 15 vehicles per minute during weekday daytime), and to top it off, makes himself visible to me with a narrow sight-line (7') from 70' away). I assume this was a negro `warm up`prior to visiting the hair stylist, per above freak show.

A variety of vineyard work; weed-eating, herbicide-ing, dead plant material removal and making sure I stay out of the view of customers as they arrived.

An end of the work day irrigation repair job, as this leak got worse over the past few days. I was using a turquoise colored PVC glue, and my boss arrived to give me a belated birthday card in a turquoise envelope. We chatted for a minute, and I got back to my pipe work. And lo, if a few minutes later, the perps had me knock over the glue pot onto a rounded stone, but thankfully there was sufficient remaining to finish the job.

After work, depositing my much needed paycheck in the bank ATM with a strangely low gangstalker count, some four vehicles converged on me while I was about to start my vehicle. An ambulatory negro in a turquoise T-shirt and dark shorts was also part of the visual arrangements. I took a route to avoid all the gangstalker action, and lo, if the negro, now running on the crosswalk doesn`t cross my path while I was stopped at the traffic control light. Can we get enough turquoise going, and especially a before and after paycheck deposition.

Saturday,  at my alternate vineyard employer. (I was told before I was hired it was a 7-day per week crew, but it has turned out to be Saturdays only. Probably a good thing to have one day off a week to thwart perp harassment exploitation. The crew is mostly Punjabis, and I have worked many farm jobs with them over the past seven years. And the inevitable turbans, a much Unfavored head wear item. The four women are the most curious, as they wear long flowing garments with oversized ball caps. One even wears a scarf across her face, just below her sunglasses. I find this get up just ridiculous, but again, for reasons the perps know better than me, they like to plant this kind of nun garb around me, save the dark colors. The Sound of Music might of been one of their first such Unfavored exposes, as it began in a RC church with the maladjusted junior nun played by Julie Andrews. And why do the perps like to bring on RC clerical garb as Unfavored freak shows.

The reason maybe that I was placed in an RC church with the Duplessis Orphans during my stay in Montreal during my recall-deleted years, aged 2 to 5. My father was taking his PhD in Geology at McGill at the time, and of course, that brings in another Canadian atrocity, the clinical machinations (aka patient mind trashing) of Dr. Ewan Cameron. He had a Scottish accent at the time say the witnesses, and lo, if the perps don`t stalk me with Scottish accented gangstalkers. My ex-wife was from Scotland too, though without the accent for the most part.

And all day long, the perps harassed me when using clippers while doing bunch thinning; I could not be allowed to used them like anyone else, my fingers were directed to place the clippers above and below the intended cut location before I was allowed to cut the extra fruit bunches. This went on all day long.

Anyhow, now Sunday night, and time to get this posted.

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