Author: Dgbcfhn

Nancy Pelosi?

Hillary Clinton?

Sarah Palin?

Are these really the only women in the United States that are interested and capable of running for the Presidency?

You got to be fucking kidding me?!

In the entire United States is there not one woman if not several thousands of women who are more capable and electable than the current line-up of women in politics?

Guess what, I hate to break the news to you, but men and women are different.

Shocking as that may seem to people.  I say it for a reason.  So, I will say it again, men and women are different.

Of course, men and women should be treated equally under the law.  I am not going to waste your time discussing this any further.

If you are really interested in a woman becoming a President, you would listen to me.

Focus groups do not work.

Opinion polls do not work.

PR and publicists do not work.

We women.  We are really tough.  We are hardest on ourselves.

If I were to run for President, you would never see me in a pantsuit.  Ya, gotta be fucking kidding me, women.  Pant suits?!

If I were to run for President, you would see me just as I am.  I am not a carefully polished candidate.  Jeans, t-shirts, shorts, thongs, skirts, evening gowns, flip-flops, cardigans, make-up on and make-up off, great hair days, and wind-blown hair.  It happens.  Get over it.

I believe it would be a more accepted version of a woman President.

The Kennedy era is over.

The era of picture perfect over substance is over.

No wonder there is such dissatisfaction in this great country of ours.

I have met Americans face to face.  I have gone door to door, shared stories with neighbors and brought them to the polls.

I have gone door to door, canvassed neighborhoods, in the middle of summer in Florida.

Well, every day is practically summer temperatures in Florida.

I have gone door to door, sweat dripping out of every pore, stitched straight up my stomach, stitches rubbing on my clothing, sweat corroding my delicate newly-pulled together skin, walking up and down the streets without available toilet facilities as my bowels and intestines had been newly redirected, cut, cleansed, re-maneuvered, and emptied of its original design – the uterus I was born with.

I have gone with water bottle in hand, sunscreen on my skin, sunglasses and hat to have the face to face conversations that are the most important tool in politics.

The President is one person.

America is made of many persons.

Business skirts and boots, knit dresses and sandals, denim and cardigans I worked 10, 12, sometimes longer hours in a trailer with one bathroom used by the public as I and my body tried to recover from an unrecoverable loss, my brain was tired, my mind was weary, my body struggled to recover.

Some days I barely got to use the restroom more than once or twice.  Some days I lived off the left-overs people brought into the trailer.

Some days I had to lie on the sofa to make phone calls because I was in too much pain to stand.

Some days I stood for hours without a break speaking to a never-ending line of people within my county looking for freebies while I convinced them I needed their help.  Because Barack Obama needed their vote.  Because Barack Obama needed to be President.  Because Barack Obama was the President who would consider every person rather than a select few.  Because Barack Obama running for President had nothing to do with his skin color and everything to do with his decision making.

Barack Obama’s skin color was only an issue for the media to get coverage and sound bites and nothing more.  Do want to know why I believe so?  Because I have spoken with the American public.  All on my own.  Without pay.

I walked the streets, I worked the phones, I worked the long hours most of the time for free, and the last few weeks for less than would imagine.  The hours worked divided by the wage.  For less than you would imagine.

How many Presidents have spent more than a few minutes on their campaign trail meeting and talking with real people trying to live off of the real wages?!  On their own without the media?

I believe the days of public speaking as the means of politics are over.

The days where we voted for a candidate because of their speeches – are over.

The President must no longer be a figurehead alone.

The time for a President to take action and make decisions is long overdue.

Point, don’t point, look this way, blink, don’t blink.  Fuck off.  No one gives a shit.

Polite dinner parties as the means of creating a Presidential platform are long gone.

It’s about time politics listened.

This news story about Syria, I believe, is nothing but misleading.

What I believe is going on in Syria is far from what is actually being reported.  This is my gut reaction upon reading information about this story.

Here is what should actually happen.  We, the American people should not know about it.  We, citizens of the world should not know about it.

There is something else that is going on.  Very sinister.  Very far-reaching.  I have seen it.

Sometimes, news reports are not the truth.

What is going on in Syria should happen in the world of classified information, closed-door meetings, secrets, and the men and women we may never meet in real life.

War and crimes should not be happening in real-time.

Then, after the fact.  After the dead bodies are buried.  After dead bodies are buried at sea should we, the American people, know parts of the story.

President Trump: you should be reading what I write.  I already have more experience at this than you do.

That is why I did not open that door.

Stay away from me.

They invent ways to make and force me to do things like go to the movies.

I did not want to go to the movies.  There is no reason why I should go to the movies.

DKW and I are never going to speak to one another again.

James Franco and I are never going to speak to one another again.

That no-good “Edison” and I are never going to speak to one another again, he was never able to bring me to orgasm anyway.

Shots fired in my face at the movies, so my ears are plugged and urine in my panties.  Not to mention the filth they laid in my bed.

Am I supposed to say Thank You for that?!

They should have killed me in the first car crash, it would have been kinder than having to live this life-like this.

I will never have anything nice to say to the three of them as long as I live.

Every available man I found sexually attractive for years, suddenly becomes attached and unavailable for me.  So, that my reality is that there are no men in the world for me.  It is a level of psychological gruesome-ness, especially after losing over 100 lbs. to then also – again – not be attractive enough to men I find attractive.

I wish I was dead.

I wish they had killed me instead.

Because this has gone on for so long everyone that was once important has become meaningless.

I will not do it again.

Enough.

August 22, 2017

To the person responsible for allowing my supervisor to have access to google glass:

You have created a hostile work environment for me.  You allowed my supervisor to have access to the google glass without my permission.  Jesus Christ!!  What is he 23 years old?!  He is a fucking child!  Then, I get to understand that it was my supervisor on the other end of the helmet?!

Coupled with the fact that the _______ has been raised to a ______ that is not suitable for a positive work environment.

This feels exactly like The Container Store all over again.

I never wanted my supervisor to have access to my bed!!  OMG!  I can’t stop saying it!  He is a child!  Not to mention how inappropriate it is!

I did nothing wrong!  You deceived me!

Cherith J Gjestland

April 13, 2018

Yeah, I’m not stopping these posts because of a movie.  Eyes rolling.

Men Only.

I still stand by this decision to be a men only read.

Let me mention this, my men only read has nothing to do with women or women chefs.  It has everything to do with what happens to me that is beyond my control.  I cannot for the sake of my own security include women or certain persons as I have been threatened, been retaliated against leaving me unable to report or tell anyone.

For a change, I got to read today.  However, in nearly 10 hours of reading the news and otherwise, it is as if my brain, the delicate grey matter, is like a plant that someone simply snapped of a branch, a limb, a working organism.  It is gone.  Like coral dead or broken.  There is nothing but deadness instead.

I am sick to death of anger and angry people being the fuel used to write a journalist’s cunt as propaganda for the word, art.

I am sick to death of anger as the only means of expression.  It is a tired and worn out trick used to exploit women, women’s brains and intellect, a way to demean men and women in the process by creating false moments and sound bits that are baseless, untrue, unfounded, and erroneous. I am sick to death of angry people being the propaganda of the only measure for change, for truth, for freedom.

If you truly wanted to know the real truth – you would let me speak.  You would be so amazed.  You would never be the same again.

I am going to burst your bubble.  My maroon shirt had nothing to do with a black woman wearing a similar color the day previous as mine had been washed clean restoring it to its real ethnicity and nationality.

The anger ends with me.

How Benedict Cumberbatch must be so tired and over the connection of Sherlock and me.  Having worn t-shirts that read, I Am Sher-locked.  Simply, because I thought it was so clever.  How played out.  I see myself as nothing more than a burden, an eye-sore, and a disturbance to his career.  For I saw and felt the turtle glaring at me (2016), angry with me because he cares more for that car than my feelings or me.  So, do not wonder why you were evicted from my game.  It is my game, not yours.  You should have been thankful I included you.  Instead, you tried to kill me, break me, torture me, and ruin me.  You should have thanked me.

Turtle (nothing to do with a movie) you made a gross mistake.

I must write about this because I have no other way of letting people and the world know what is going on.  You created a personal situation, I must take it personally.  It is not merely a business decision.

It is not the child that teaches the parent.  You have fallen in my eyes.  Worse still, both the turtle and Benedict Cumberbatch are paired.  I feel nothing but their disgust for me.  I feel their disgust.

I do not like my body.  I have been working on that, however I am NOT ALLOWED my own course of action as EVERY product delivered to me brings me down, weighs upon me like a medicine ball furthering my own loathing for my body.

Worse still, I am unable to create the body I want.  I am forced through the food (having to live off nothing but beer and potato chips because it is all I can afford) and limitations of my activities into a body size and shape of someone else’s mind and idea rather than my own.

The damage done by DKW cannot be undone.  Good luck trying to correct that.  Courtney was the last straw.

Mysteriously, the letter I wrote to Facebook on my computer asking to have my account permanently deleted is missing from my computer, hard drive, and files.  I believe it was 2015 or the latest 2016 that I wrote to end all contact and delete my account.

The damage done, the harm, the hurt is beyond measure.

If you place me in contact with DKW against my wishes and beyond my control it will not go well.  It will not be a good thing.  It will not be a good conversation.

It cannot be describe this pain of having a God moment, having David’s name whispered to me in a hospital hallway only for him to call me delusional, place himself in front of me constantly, stalk me, keep me in jail, under lock and key, unable to ever be a part of the real world, have a real man and real man flesh in my life, to the creation of “Edison”, to even simple things like being able to create goals, find a second job since I am unable to manage on my own with this income, to find another job or career where I could live financially independent and on my own, it is a loss that is incalculable.  Incalculable.

The connection once felt with DKW has long since been severed.  I will never be able to describe the terribleness and pain that has become DKW.

I will NEVER believe those news reports as a single person’s true feelings.  I am more sickened every day I read them.

It is not now, nor is it ever, nor can it ever be solely, entirely, or in any other way a matter of black and white.

Listen closely, listen carefully as I understand my boobs get in the way of your attention span.

In my mind, my heart it will never, nor can it ever be black and white.  For there is more than one color of persons.

There is more than one color to a man, to a woman, to a child, to a person.  In every family, in every relationship there are varying shades of color, of tone and texture, of hue, of crispness, of sound, of laughter.

I am getting on my soapbox for a moment.

If I were President, the networks and newspapers wouldn’t like it as they would have to censor me more than they would like, so as not to be fined by the FCC.  However, there is an incredible flaw that no one seemed to notice when creating this on-going situation.

One cannot govern in isolation.

My brain is hurting, or I would go on.  Here’s our dinner, my men.

Dinner: Chicken Enchiladas and julienned salad.  Open wide.  You gotta know by now that I am spicy, love jalapenos.  I think it is possible to put jalapenos in coffee somehow and it would be delicious.

Chicken breasts (the most amount of white meat) with as much fat cut off as possible.  Slow cooked in broth, then transferred into another pot/pan with enchilada sauce – homemade – slow-cooked until the meat just falls away.  A combination of cream cheese, garlic, shallots, Jack cheese, with seasonings, chopped onions, herbs as a filling with the meat in the flour tortilla.  Placed in the baking dish, cover with enchilada sauce, bake, adding more cheese until golden brown the last few minutes or so.  Garnish with finely chopped cilantro and parsleys.

Julienne salad: red and green cabbage, iceberg lettuce, carrots, celery, various root vegetables, jalapenos super thin slices so as not too overpower with a yogurt cilantro dressing.  It needs a cheese in there, I can’t think of one at the moment, garlic, jalapeno juice, and spices.

I need to interrupt for a moment as I have forgotten what a rutabaga tastes like.  What a turnip tastes like.  This pressure to change my driving route – again – is debilitating.  I am trying to finish this, yet I want to crawl into bed pull the covers over my head and stay there for months.

Plate these two together, no corn or rice.

I was thinking of fresh, real, not canned watermelon juice with some fresh-squeezed lime, a dash of salt, lots of cubed ice and vodka.  Perhaps a flavored vodka.  Beer would be fine too.  But, I need a glass of ice water as well.

BTW, yes dessert is ok when maintaining your weight.

Dessert: Needs to be something gooey and chocolatey.  How about a chocolate chip cookie with hazelnuts, macadamia nuts, real vanilla baked in a thin baking dish rather than as a cookie.  Vanilla ice cream – homemade – with homemade warmed chocolate sauce cut with Grand Marnier or Amaretto, poured over top so the ice cream melts just a bit, fresh, real whipped cream, chopped nuts or grated cinnamon or both, no cherry.  Sound good?  I think you’d try it anyway.

My brain hurts, or I would write more details.

As I am writing this I am thinking of how I am writing about food because I am unable to have an untainted pantry, untainted food supplies, untainted condiments, and money for the purchases.  Otherwise, I would be writing about stories, and not just journal entries.

I haven’t forgotten you chicken soup.

No untainted soap, so I stink even after a shower.  Time to shower again.

No one is allowed to see.

No copy cats allowed here.

How do I make my garage door secure?

 

I still miss my cats Tuesday and Thursday.  The loss of my mother is beyond words, so much so that I have had to put it aside so that I cannot access it.  But, to lose my innocent cats…beyond grief.

2/22/2016

Today was not an all clear day.

Yesterday was bad, bad, bad.

I had to forced myself to get out of bed this morning.  It was so bad I could not open the blinds for anything.

Work was so bad – a kind of hell I can’t describe.

I feel trapped.

I feel trapped by that car.

I feel trapped in that car.

I feel trapped in this life where people can electro-shock me and worse on their whim.

When I worked at Disney before I felt I made a difference.  I believed I actually helped people and connected with people not just with their resort vacation packages and planning, but I got to speak to people as people and get to know them.  My current experience with Disney is so disturbing, disgusting, wrong, so unnatural, so bad, so perverse it is the exact opposite of Disney what I believe about Walt Disney World.  Instead of being a business that I believed in it has become nothing more than fast passes and forcing junk food on me or going out to eat and spending money – activities which are not a part of who I am.

I used to feel freedom when I drove – now it is depressing just to think about it.

Coming home to a piss-stained house is a tipping point.

My life is so bad and terrible I don’t want to be alive anymore.

I don’t want any more lime in my life.

This is the documentation I left Walt Disney World with when I left the company in 2016.

To push a button, creating a sensation in another person’s body that they cannot see while they do not have control to say, NO!  As a means of entertainment that a person neither agreed to nor was ever paid for should be an outrage for all the world to hear.

This letter should never have had to happen.  What happened at Walt Disney World the second time should never happen to any person, ever.

I am writing in regards to a conversation that took place on 2/28/2016 with John Chambers and someone else I did not get their name or introduction.  The conversation was in regards to conversations spoken by me with guests.  John was concerned and wanted to know if I was ok.

The truth is while on my journey at Walt Disney World the effect has been most severely negative therefore I am not okay.

The truth is there are elements that take place while I am working that I cannot speak to, define, name, or control, therefore leaving me with the inability to solve, bring a solution, or even communicate the problem.  Quite frankly it has violated the most personal and private parts of myself.

I do not understand in totality my Disney experience.

The truth is that if these occurrences did not take place I would never in a hundred million years speak poorly about anyone or anything.  My affinity for Walt Disney World the brand, the product, and the company is based not just on my personal experience, but what I have seen it do and be for others, is a very solid, formidable belief.  If these occurrences – which is the only way I am able to describe them – had not and did not take place, there would have been no way I would have said anything negative about myself or Walt Disney World.

However, since I am unable to communicate the problem in order to get it to stop, or find a solution, or anything productive for that matter, I did the only thing left to do which was to let the guest know there is a problem.  Because when there is a problem it has to be shared or it will fester until it kills in order for there to be a resolution to the problem.

The truth is I am most deeply hurt and humiliated by my actions.  Knowing that I’ve had to stoop to such low means in order to get help has made me ill.

I can only say that I do not have and have not had full knowledge of my Disney experience, therefore I have acted as a way to protect myself.

As I stated to John there are elements to my job at Walt Disney World that, “I do not seek out, I do not ask for, I do not want – it happens to me”.

How is any capable person able to deal with a problem they are unable to mention, or name, or share?

To get to the point and not drive this statement in endless circles I do not know how to get this reoccurring problem to end.  Since it is not something I seek, or ask for, it is constantly and continually happening to me without my consent, authorization, or approval.

It is my hope in calling attention to what I have experienced and gone through in my employment at Walt Disney World to document the great effort that I have made and given at great expense to my personal well-being.  Not a single person should have to live through what I have gone through in order to have a job at Walt Disney World therefore in shedding light on my ordeal I believe Walt Disney World will bring about the appropriate change(s) so as not to duplicate or replicate these circumstances and occurrences again.

There is no cast that could heal me from the harm and brokenness that this experience has caused.  I would not wish upon my worst enemy this experience.  I most truthfully believe no one should have to live or endure this experience.  Please bring about immediate change(s) so that myself, as well as, other persons should not have to endure such circumstances.

Reading this over I can see the destruction 2014, 2015, 2016 had upon my mind.  I see the difference in my writing from then to now.  To me this journal entry I wrote in my computer shows a slow mind, trouble connecting, it is at a different grade level.  My hope is that one day someone will take notice that listening to my mind, putting on the helmet, stepping into my brain has and is causing actual damage.  Actual damage.  To a real person, me.

If this was happening to your sister, mother, girlfriend, wife, neighbor, passer-by on the street would you find it entertaining?  Would you want it to continue?  Would you care enough to be outraged at the brain damage?

I am not an entertainer, an athlete, a singer, a writer.  I have never signed a contract, or in any way permitted any person, company, or organization permission to listen to my thoughts.

How is this acceptable?  To anyone?

This is written about Bob Iger, his ability to speak, to lead, to manage, to operate a successful company.  I heard him.  His brain, his mind has this youthfulness, not childish, youthful.  No, Peter Pan, youthful.

However, as I read this what I see is an inability to write and create simple sentences.

It should be horrifying to people around the world.  That a woman, by no fault of her own, has had her mind, her life taken from her.  Stolen.

2/28/2016

I was wondering when I was going to get my life back.

Not that it was much of a life to begin with, but I was wondering when I will no longer look as if I will look sleep deprived, exhausted, and emotionally beat up.

I was wondering when I was going to have the light and twinkle in my eyes again.

Maybe I never will again.

It’s just depressing to look at myself.

It’s depressing to have to be in my car at all anymore.

I never want THAT Yahoo again!!!!

I never wanted it to begin with!

Someone does THAT button pushing not to make me feel better but to humiliate, degrade, and further depress me!!

So there is a person I have spoken with before we’ll call him Paul.  It has always been a pleasure speaking with him.  There is a quality to him that I can only call youthful thinking.  Call it whatever you want the way I see people, read energy, understand people, but what I see in him or understand about him is what I call youthful thinking.

It is very interesting for a lack of a better word just to be around him even if it is over the phone.  Can’t help it.  There is a working of his mind that makes me take notice not in a bad way or anything terrible maybe because I have been surrounded by such bad or wrong persons, places, and things that all of a sudden I understand that something is different in a way that allows me to stop placing barriers in front of me to protect myself and allows to be to be more me in the present moment.

I remember Bob from Home Depot even with his – I’ll say funny nose – he was an enjoyable person to be around.  It was hard not to smile being around him even if I didn’t believe a good deal of his stories it was the other portion of what he was telling me that was enjoyable to be around.

Which brings me to Jim – crazy, funny, old man Jim.  Sorry, he was not that old.  Jim with his frantic, jerky mannerisms which made me take a step back internally just as a way to take notice which is I guess something I have done several times with him.  Sorry, I’m tired and I feel like I am rambling.

I am not trying to confuse the proxy Jim with the real Jim I’ve encountered in my life.

So, going back to the proxy Jim – even with his jerky, quick mannerisms there was a quality about him that was compelling.  His quickness did not affect me in that it did not make me want to hurry let’s say, but it had me notice him.

I guess they do go together.