to erase any doubt

Way back in May 2006, when "Jesse" was emerging from his own personal soap-opera-like hell, Janna and her best friend Annie Martel, who had once been "Jesse's" therapist, took him on a Memorial Day vacation to Beaver Island in Lake Michigan. After "Jesse" died, Annie posted this on his tribute blog.

Worth the Wait

My name is Annie and Jesse and I spent some time together figuring things out. I'll have some more things to offer about him once I determine what the boundaries are. I didn't know him like the rest of you did. I knew him in solely a clinical sense until Memorial Day of this year, mere weeks ago. At that time he was tired of talking about himself and his "little miseries," "all the time." So I dropped my guard and headed out into a social situation with Jesse and some friends.

The benefit for me was complete. I saw him as whole person for the first time, not just the sum total of his traumas. Of course I knew he was special, but there were moments that imbedded in me just how exceptional he was outside my office or a hospital room. I watched him entertain dozens of children in a skateboard park while fireworks fell behind them. I ate his delicious cooking. I watched him swim in big water with three horses he'd just met. I've been around horses for 35 years but would have never attempted that. He was a horse whisperer. A dog whisperer. A llama whisperer. A fire whisperer. A child whisperer. A people in general whisperer. 

One of the things that struck me the most was the fact I never really saw Jesse smile until that time we spent away from the office. I'd seen his famous wry smile. His famous devilish smile. I'd seen his sad little resolved smile. But never a full, easy, natural grin. Until that time we spent together in "the free world." Then there it was. All over the place. A 1000 watt smile. I chose to capture it with my camera phone. I don't really know how to use my camera phone. It took three people to get the picture from there to here, but here it is. Jesse's full, easy, natural smile. We don't know for sure, but we think it might just be the last image ever taken of him. It's just a bad, dark, grainy dinotechno picture phone photo, butI hope so, because in that instant he was comfortable being Jesse.

Isn't that fucking touching? Brings a tear to your eye.

Here's the other part of that story. One photo amongst several that have been sent to me since Janet Hopper's youthful indiscretions were brought to light.

Holy fuckballs. First of all, did EVERYBODY wear jeans in the 70s? Second, yes. That would be a photo of a twentysomething Janna with her husband John M. Ain't they cute?

And it's her psychotic attention to detail, the little embellishments like "We don't know for sure, but we think it might just be the last image ever taken of him." I mean, way to pile it on.

Janna's sleazy deception just gets grosser and grosser with each revelation. "[A] bad, dark, grainy dinotechno picture phone photo" equals "low-rez scan of a decades-old Polaroid which is grainy because I cut myself out of a photo with my husband and blew it up to torment an innocent woman for my own personal gain."

Whoops forgot the "while impersonating John Denver's ex-wife on a tribute blog to someone who didn't exist."

Happy New Year!

oh my.

Janet Hopper Myrtle St. James Priggie
lying her way through life for more than four decades
PS the Bay City Rollers called - they want their haircut back

Janna Priggie: club kid

Quill And Scroll pic
she looks so cheery

the future Janet Myrtle, cub reporter, on the school paper

and...Forensics. Still smiling. 

She'd place higher than third now, you betcha.

well, that was fast

News of Janet Hopper's ignoble life must be rushing like wildfire (heh) through the class of 1970. Should make for an interesting high school reunion next go-round!

J. Sterling Morton East High School. Class of '70. I guess it was the companion school to John's. How sickeningly cute is that? Almost like the boy next door scenario. So cute I could throw up.

And, no, nothing about success as a serial liar, but dig her specialties in HS: Art, modern dance, newspaper, library, Russian club, debate club, quill & scroll, and my favorite, forensics, where good ol' Janet placed third for original monologue.

I must get my hands on this yearbook, to flip through this and see the photos will be very interesting indeed.

But for now, let me break down the interests in high school which have featured so largely in her warped backstories for imaginary people and helped her hone her emotional succubus talents.

Art: it's undoubtedly how she's gotten in the door for many of these relationships. I'm sure her knowledge of art helped her form a bond with the ex-Mrs Fogelberg. Modern dance, oh my god, as the "Jesse" persona, she would never SHUT UP about dancing. Russian, another thing she wove into her story. Her mother was apparently Franco-Russian and never could lose her accent, kind of the way Janna could never lose her Fauxstralian/Brit accent. I'd pay good cash money for someone who had video of Janna speaking in her native Chicago accent.

But it's all the writing clubs she belonged to, especially the award for original monologue, that really crack my shit up. Oy, if they only knew then how original her monologue would get. Although it's not terribly original, I suppose - like Judith Krantz, it's the same old shit thrown in the blender and arranged slightly differently on the page for each scam. I'd love to know what her monologue was about. Perhaps I should see if anyone else in the forensics club can recall it.

And debate club?! Suddenly the reason why she's so fucking good at covering her ass, it all comes to light. She trained to be able to argue any point, whether or not she believed it.

Honestly, I'm surprised she wasn't part of an Irish or French club. I guess those obsessions came later.

More soon, I hope, with photos.

1970

...that's the year that John M graduated from high school. He went to Morton West high school in Berwyn, IL. Apparently his girlfriend Janet Hopper (aka the future Janna St James Priggie) went to another school in Cicero. Apparently John was a super-nice guy, and Janet was always a lying freak. His friends never understood their relationship, a sweet fella on the track team hanging out with someone even known back then as a serial liar. Even in the late 60s she fancied herself a creative writer. I wonder why that doesn't surprise me.

taken straight from the Morton West 1970 yearbook. John is on the left.

And, a few photos "Jesse's" sister "Alice" sent me of a young "Jesse."

Oh, Janna. What would John say? and what lie of yours was it that split the two of you up?

Anyone out there got a yearbook for Janna's high school? I'd love to see what her extracurricular activities were. Girl Most Likely To Become A Serial Liar?

the real "Jesse"

John M.

Those photos of "Jesse" are of John M, Janna's first husband (it is assumed he was her first, though certainly not her last). Back in the 70s when Jann Janny Janna Saint James St. James Priggie was still plain old Janet Hopper. Even back then she was lying like a rug, in Basalt, Colorado.

It sure is amazing what kind of folks come out of the woodwork. Who knew men read this blog?

Can't wait to hear where the St. James came from. I guess "Jann Myrtle, dogcatcher's wife" didn't have that sophisticated ring to it. Of course her lie about being the widow of a John Denver roadie isn't exactly aiming high, now, is it?

John M

yawn

So, Janna's lawyer has bowed out of the case, and she's got a new person who needs to get up to speed.  More delays.

But I want to address something else entirely, or at least as part of a bigger picture.

I had another blog before this one, the one where I rhapsodized about "Jesse" and all the rest of that happy crappy.   I had photos in that blog linked to my own personal server, and a few weeks after Jann Hopper St James was kicked out of my house, I got a notice from my provider that there had been some suspicious activity going on with my files, especially a section I had uploaded for potential legal action against Janna, called "evidence," with screen grabs and photos.  Ew.  So I closed it all down in March 2007 - website and blog, because that creeped me out.

A little backstory before I continue : my friend Sarah and I had decided at the end of 2006 to start a company which we decided to name after my dog.  Of course, I had to reserve the domain name right away, even though we weren't anywhere near ready to use it.  I hadn't even thought about it since Christmas.

Imagine my surprise at, not 24 hours after closing down my other blog and domain, receiving an email from this provider letting me know we'd just had a sudden huge spike in visits (like, as in from flatline zero to hit after hit after hit), and that, again, the activity seemed suspicious, with several whois searches as well as many unsuccessful file name searches.  Really?  I asked Sarah if she'd been checking out our domain, absolutely not, she'd completely forgotten that I'd even reserved it.  So...the only other person on the PLANET that knew the name of our domain?  Janna Saint James, because I told her about it over the holidays, before her duplicity was exposed to me.  And sho'nuff, seeing the "Jesse"-related search terms was enough to creep me the fuck out.  So, clearly, Janna was still monitoring my blog, and had wrongly assumed that I'd moved my photos to my other domain.

A month later, I was still paranoid about Janna's deception, because she was still, y'know, maintaining that "Jesse" was real and I'd received a postcard from "Aidan" and a package from "Krista" from fucking AUSTRALIA.  I contacted the post office in Australia, asking them if they could pull the slip and tell me who the sender of the package was since I wasn't expecting any packages from there.  They said they couldn't do that, but that they'd get in touch with the sender and it was then up to them to get in touch with me.  Well, a very nice chap sent me an email a day or so later - turns out he works at one of those mail forwarding places - this one, in fact.  Riiiiiight.  He gave me an address for "Krista" in White Plains, NY (that turned out to be the White Plains Mall).  He even remembered what was in the package.  Bravo, Janna!  Too bad I decided to investigate. P.S. have a look at the testimonials page for a good little snicker.  "Aidan B" in Illinois left feedback the exact same week I got the postcard.

So...after all that, I started a private blog to keep my real friends advised as to my whereabouts, as well as where my head was at.  But...I decided to do a test and not let my friends know about it for a week or so, just to see if Janna would try to find me, even though there was no link to the blog from my profile.  I did know there were other ways to find blogs that weren't password-protected, and since Janna's poking around my other sites clearly established to me that she was way way way more computer-conversant than she claimed (and still claims) to be, I decided to see how savvy she really was.

It took a day and a half for her to find me.  My blog tracker told me that, and then she posted something on her blog, asserting that one of my concerned friends had contacted her with my blog address because they were worried about my state of mind, or somesuch horseshit.  Wow, what a headfuck!  Imagine if I HAD told my friends, that would've just twisted me up in knots, making me suspicious of each and every one of them, would've made me question my own sanity.  That's how she operates, and that's what she was counting on.

I bring this all up because to this day, she tries to tweak me.  That's okay, because it hasn't worked a whit since early 2007 - well, it at least hasn't made me feel paranoid and crazy, like maybe "Jesse" really DOES exist etc. etc.   It still irritates the crap out of me, though, but I don't think that's the effect she's trying to have.  And in fact, the irritation is more and more mingled with boredom of late, like reading all the books in Barbara Cartland's oeuvre, and yawningly realizing that book number 101 is just like book number 1, except perhaps just that little bit more ridiculous.

So I hope Janna Saint James Priggie is happy with her new lawyer, because she's going to be seeing an awful lot of her over the next couple of years.  And since the tweaks don't really tweak much anymore, I guess it's a win-win situation.

PS  It's amazing how much all my vintage clothing and household items have accrued in value since I started collecting it almost two decades ago.  I could go on for years.

P.S.

A little snippet from a contest blog, about a month ago.



You "haven't made a pendant in forever." Besides for this contest, and of course the ones you keep getting positive feedback for on Etsy. Don't lie if there's incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. Janet.

gotcha

So, about once a month, I get an email, or someone posts a comment that says "I think I may have spotted Janna on such-and-such message board," or "I know someone who knows someone who may have gotten scammed by Janna," or, worst of all "I fear I may have been scammed by Janna." I ask them to give me whatever details they've got, and sometimes it's pretty clear it WAS Janna, but she's had time to cover her tracks, so there's little tangible going on.

This time, her scam got nipped in the bud PDQ, before she could do any serious emotional damage to her new targets. Yay! And...she was fast, but not fast enough to wipe away all the proof. Double yay.

Here we go. Keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times.

She pretended to be someone called "Janet Wilder," who was legally blind, who had a son who died two years ago at age 23. She insinuated herself on a message board for Johnny Weir, the figure skater, and, well, let's let her tell her own story.



"But Ephemerina," I hear you say, "how can you be sure this is Janna? Lots of people lose loved ones to cancer."

Well, dear readers, read on.



That's right, all the little "tells" - her fake masters' in psychology, Elvis fucking Presley yet again, and yet another tedious 70s band that really nobody gives a rat's ass about in this new millennium.

Still, I hear you say "it could just be a coinkydink, maybe you're just so paranoid you see Janna everywhere."

Well, doubting Thomases and Thomasinas, take a gander at this:



Nothing interesting to read, but holy cats! look at the avatar. It's those goddamned trinkets she makes.

"But Ephemerina!" you whine. "I really think it's just a whole load of coincidences. Just because reading this crap gave you a hinky feeling, lots of people make those shitty trinkets, and really, it could just have been that this ghostwriter person BOUGHT these trinkets, maybe even from Janna herself, after all this person is in Chicago too."

Christ, you folks are a pain in the ass sometimes.

Further poking around led me to a Twitter account, which confirmed a hunnert percent that this freakazoid was indeed nobody other than Janna Hopper Saint James St James Priggie. She had a Twitter account called WilderThinger, and she deleted it virtually moments after I read it. Way to go, lady. If nothing else woulda confirmed it, that sure as shit did.

However....

Because I nabbed her so soon after her outing, there was lotsa stuff still in Google's cache. Ha fucking ha ha.



That lady in the pic, the one who clearly doesn't know how to act her age? That tye-dyed twat, well, that is absolutely Janna. The looking up at the camera to disguise her chins, you just know she loves this photo.

But, the best thing was, her Twitter account came up with so many other leads. Like her Twitter name before it was WilderThinger.



Jesus tapdancing Christ, on and on with the goddamned crab thing.

It's all gone now, because one thing Janna knows how to do is cover her considerable ass. And I'm sure she's got another scam or two on the trot, with yet more Twitter accounts, so she won't be lonely. After all, pretending to be different people, well that's just like trying on a new pair of shoes, isn't it, Janna? Of course, in Janna's case, the shoes are often steel-toed jackboots, leaving people crushed in her wake.

But not this time. Not this time, Janet, you cunt. This time you got nailed just as you were casting your net. Because you've fucked with too many people over three decades who are not afraid to talk about how you fucked with them, and they've got an awful lot of friends. And there are an obscene amount of people who are Harlan Ellison and Josh Olson fans (and Styx fans too, judging from my data, go figure). All of that adds up to quite the anti-Munchausen-by-internet army, people determined to stop your nonsense by exposing you sooner rather than later.

This is the kind of result I was hoping for. I'm ecstatic that this blog has managed to save at least a small group of people from further heartache by this succubus. Today's a good day.

And Janna? Fuck you very much, from all of us.

remarkable, isn't it?

So, here's a few little tidbits from twenty-six-plus years ago. Back when Janna was simply Jann Saint James and even had the letterhead to prove it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This is an alleged letter from Tommy Shaw. We all know it's not. Even Janna knows. The person that Janna pulled the Styx scam on, well, that went so far as for Janna to actually procure a Siberian Husky pup from somewhere, and pretended that Tommy gave it away to her.





Note how even here, a quarter of a century ago, Janna was still making digs about her own weight through other personas. And "Tommy" calls her Janny. Ain't that sweet.

Now, here's a letter that I actually love. A tandem effort by darlin' Janny and "Tommy" talking about their impending wedding. I'm including the envelope so you can all see the date of the postmark, and the location. Even then, Janna was mailing shit from places she didn't live.












It's funny how her own handwriting is so elaborately girly, to detract from the other guy-like handwriting she uses when she's pretending to be a guy. "Tommy" had the same kind of fractured psyche that "Jesse" did. And the same handwriting. To keep you from having to do the fishing, here are some links.

HANDWRITING 1

HANDWRITING 2

I mean, really, there's no doubt here, is there? Or perhaps it's just a really big coinkydink. My ass.

And when Janna -- sorry -- JannY's target had finally become frustrated and suspicious that Janny had been lying, about some things at least, and got herself into a decent relationship with a real fella, Janna shot off this little guilt-inducing missive. She's so goddamned good at it, even more than half her life ago she was the queen of tweakitude.



Nice letterhead, huh?

There's more letters, way more, tons more, and quite a cast of characters, of course peripherally bolstering the validity of the person Janna was impersonating. Her MO.

Eventually, this person and a few other people JannY deceived spoke to her mother about this. So her mother has known about Janna's chronic lies for decades. This serial deceiver is surrounded by enablers - her mother Barbara, her daughter Jessica, her husband Bill, and all the other friends she has that know what she's doing and turn a blind eye to it.

Enablers at the very least, if not outright accomplices.

And considering the mad skillz she has in her skanky, rat-infested toolshed, the internet enhances them a thousandfold. Now, she doesn't even need to handwrite letters much; she can deceive dozens of people at a time, in less time. Thank Jebus for cut and paste!!!

It's sad for me to realize now that I will find it very difficult to trust strangers ever again. She really did take that away from me. I was hoping it would come back, but naw, it's gone for good. I know many of you will say that it's probably a good thing, but all the friends I do have, they were strangers once too. So I guess it's just good that I've got the friends I've got, because it's gonna be tough to get any more. Still, I've just gotta throw another "fuck you" out at her for this. Fuck you, Jan Jann Janny Janet Janna Hopper Saint James St. James Priggie, who is neither British nor Australian nor Russian nor French. Nor a man. Nor interesting.

Sigh.

verrrry interesting

So someone threw a photo my way today, a Pagosa Springs longtime resident. They stumbled across my blog, I guess because I mentioned their city in it, and they thought Janna looked familiar. They sent me this snapshot and asked if the woman in it was the same woman. Well, not only is the woman on the right Janna, but...

...that office, I'm pretty doggone sure, is the same office that "Jenn" "Alice" and "Bean's" wife "Connie" are in with "Jesse's" llama. Y'know, the office that "Jesse" said was the AP office in Aspen. Y'know, the one that Janna said AP asked her to open? The one AP says doesn't exist, never existed? This office is apparently of a little Pagosa Springs magazine called Connection. I'll have to look them up and see if they remember the llama.

Let's do a little comparison, shall we?

The photo I got today:


The photo "Jesse" sent me:

The angle of the roof, that drafting table. Ayup, same place.

And hey, that blonde gal looks mighty familiar. Something about the hair.

Today's photo:


The photo "Jesse" sent me.


I'd say that the woman on the left is "Jesse's" young would-be girlfriend, "No. 3" or "Lesley" in "Jesse's" blog. Lookit that hair, and the heart-shaped face. I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. I wonder what her real name is.

And hey, Janna, what's with the toupee?

(Edited to add: and of course, she's at a computer. Wonder who she's conning on it?)

in a nutshell

Looking back over all of this, there's a lot to process, even for me, and I lived through it. So I'm streamlining. No point in keeping up entries where I rail about what a mean, manipulative person Janna is, or talk about how I feel about what she did to me, at least not every single one. It's self-evident. Anyone in their right mind can see it. Enough of you have read this blog, and my links to hers in her various incarnations.

So, I'm keeping the posts that have actual evidence, and I'm gonna summarize a bunch of the facts here. Keep it as concise as possible.

FACT #1
There is no "Jesse Jubilee James," or any of his "friends" and "family." We're still digging up facts, so you never know what'll turn up next.

FACT #2
I know Janna's jumbled Brit-stralian accent is 100% utter bullshit, as are her stories explaining how she came to speak that way. As are most of her stories.

FACT #3
Janna's family is well aware of her hijinks, and chooses to do nothing about it. It leaves me with little sympathy for them, for allowing Janna's sociopathic behavior to be unleashed on the unsuspecting.

FACT #4
I choose to not disclose my name here, because I am not the one who misrepresented myself in this whole hideous charade, and there are other people who are close to me who really do not need the exposure. Plus, I'm a little gunshy about disclosing anything too personal about myself in a public forum, unnerstand why? Janna Saint James insinuated herself into my life, my head, and my home. I'm still washing her off.

FACT #5
Janna actually has admitted, over and over, that she has lied to me. The dispute is the level of her deception. But whether Janna covered for someone else who allegedly exists, or whether she's just made the whole entire damn thing up, the fact still remains that she accepted gifts and money from me under false pretenses.

FACT #6
If everyone that Janna is "protecting" was so afraid of me that nobody could bear to divulge a single true fact about themselves to me over a year and half, how is it that Janna St. James still felt so secure that she would take a vacation with me, or travel halfway across the country to position herself in my home? And why would she? And what gave her the right, as someone who had lied to me for twenty months?

FACT #7
I have offered, twice, to put this entire debacle to rest by having an impartial third party whose expenses I would pay in full, depose Janna and "Jesse's" people, and offer up an affidavit stating that there is enough evidence to prove that "Jesse" once existed (without disclosing any identities), and that Janna's stories about herself and others are not lies. She chose to ignore that offer, and has maintained over the past seven months that I am attacking her groundlessly, even though it would take far less time for her to set the issue straight in a legal manner.

FACT #8
Janna's first husband John didn't die at his own hand, or of cancer, back in 1989 and leave her with a tiny Jessica to raise. The photos of "Jesse" are all of John, and I don't blame him for leaving her, not one bit. But he didn't have to die to do it.

FACT #9
Janna St James is NOT a nice woman. At least I acknowledge my vindictiveness. Hers makes mine pale by comparison, though, you betcha. She also isn't missing any lungs, nor has she had reconstructive surgery for the rape/beating she never received

FACT #10
Janna was never best friends with Annie Martel, John Denver's ex-wife, nor was Annie "Jesse's" therapist. Janna perpetuated fraud for years with people on a Dan Fogelberg message board, as well as in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, where she lived for a time, and she spent enough time around Dan Fogelberg's ranch (and llamas) to take photos and use them a decade or so down the line as pictures of "Jesse's" home.

FACT #11
People lie. They do it all the time. I don't know anyone who doesn't lie. It's the scope and breadth of Janna St. James Priggie's lies that make her so, um, special.

video

Here's a bit of the video footage taken of Janna St. James the day she was evicted from my home. Most of it is just bullshit watching her pack, surrendering her drivers license for photographing, and stonewalling my friends, so I just pulled a bit of my friends trying to get her to explain, apologize, anything.

She didn't say much, but one thing she did take exception to was being accused of fucking with me for two years. She didn't seem to be concerned with the act of fuckery, but of the amount of time she was accused of doing it for. Newsflash -- lying about the existence of a man, pretending to BE that man, as well as his friends and relatives, screwing with the heart and head of someone you met online, sucks dead donkey dick whether it's for two years, a year and a half, or half a goddamned hour.

Newspaper article's on the verge of being published, apparently the holdup has been the haggling over movie rights. Funny, eh? They'll make any goddamned thing into a movie these days. Link forthcoming. For now, enjoy the video.

it's not just the feet that are clay...

I was thinking today, while I was driving, which is when I do my best thinking. I decided the reason Janna St. James is so vindictive, and so angry at my friends (and by extension, me) is because she was exposed, sure, but more because they suddenly made this beautiful story she concocted into an ugly one.

I'd use a best-case/worst-case analogy, but I'm hard-pressed to decide which one is best or worst in this case, since they all suck, at least for Janna St. James, and for me too, while I was on a bipolarcoaster with a complex man and subsequently grieving over his death. So let's just lay it out.

On the one hand, we have Jesse Jubilee James, or the guy I thought was called Jesse Jubilee James. Playing let's pretend again (after all, this is the land of fakey, so pretend is always comfortable here), if Jesse was real, he's been exposed as a lying shitheel who told not one ounce of truth to me or anyone else, so the George Washington-esque, noble, yogic, journalist-fireman-cowboy was nothing he claimed to be. And all his friends that talked to me were all in on the huge deception also. A conspiracy that fuckin' rivals the assassination of JFK. It ain't just the feet, this idol is clay from stem to stern. Soooooo, if that's the truth, it logically follows that Janna is a liar too, because she perpetuated the lies of a liar.

On the other hand, we have Janna St. James making all this crap up, which still makes her a lying sack of shit.

Funny how that works.

Either way, she's fer shure a lying sack of shit who watches too many soap operas (and Oprahs), and leads a life that leaves her unfulfilled, hence her fictions about Aspen and her life as a crack journalist/editor for the Associated Press, or wait, maybe not them. There was some smarmy snipe in her blog some time back about how AP wasn't the only news service out there, as though I inferred something that was not implied. But with Janna, obviously everything she and her Jannafestations spew forth are metaphors, just because she says she interviewed Ted Bundy for Associated Press and opened their Aspen office, what she really meant is that she interviewed Ed Gein for Reuters and opened their Fargo office. And when Jesse Jubilee James says his name is Jesse Jubilee James and his sister's name is Alice Aloha Toklas James Jameson Kuippfer, and his brother's name was, presumably, Starshine Saffron James Jameson, really they were Bob, Mae, and Jim Smith. Silly me for taking things at face value.

Still, because I know better, in this case, Occam's Razor is the way to go. There's no big conspiracy. A tiny one, all in Janna St. James's head, and as I've said before, quite badly written, but she didn't really have much time to hone it, not like the nearly-two years she had to string me along with hard-luck story after hard-luck story.

A sad but beautiful story of a starcrossed love was turned into a tawdry pulp fiction, but either way, it was one hunnert percent bullshit.

Fogelberg people? I have some photos I'd like to show you, just in case they ring any bells.

And by the way, Janna, Reuters don't have an Aspen office either.

Janna St. James = lying sack of shit.

checking in

Just in case anyone's still keeping track, there's been no response from anyone in the "Jesse" camp about furnishing evidence to my suggested impartial third party that there ever was a "Jesse."

And that's the thing that made me suspicious of her, that made me want to do my own research. The fact that a normal person wouldn't react the way Janna has -- if, say, her friends confronted me and asked me for proof that someone I knew existed, even if I couldn't answer their specific questions, I would protest, or offer an alternative avenue of proof, most likely by calling someone else known to be associated with them. I would have behaved reasonably. Unless, of course, I'd been lying about the person her friends confronted me about. Then, I guess I would have barraged her with the same kind of virulence I've gotten from her since she was confronted by my friends.

Of course, it was the real Annie Martel who sealed the deal for me, telephoning me in response to a letter I overnighted her asking her a few simple questions (I don't trust the internet no more). Nope, she knows no Janna St. James. Nope, has never heard of me, certainly never communicated with me via email. Information that she's not bound by doctor/patient privilege to keep from me. Of course, this privilege, even if it were all true, would have been moot at this point anyway, because she'd already discussed "Jesse" and his friends and family at length with me in a series of emails after his "death." But, no conversations with me, at least not from the real Annie Martel, who now knows that Janna or possibly an accomplice has been impersonating her on the internet. And while the laws may be on the fuzzy side for impersonating people who don't exist, it's pretty goddamned clear on impersonating people who do exist. It's fucking illegal.

So, once again, I have to stress to those out there who believe otherwise, through Janna's prevarications, to do their own research. I do think the next time my friend Val goes to Boulder to visit her (journalist) sister, I'll meet up with her there so we can take a little drive down to the lovely town of Aspen and its environs, see what kind of responses we get from the old-timers to the packet of photos we'll bring with us. Possibly no response at all, since I don't really know where Janna lived with her first husband, and maybe she was serious about getting the rest of the pictures off of Google Images.

Hey, I wonder what Dan Fogelberg would have to say about all of this? Hmmmm. Sometimes having a couple of contacts in the music business really does come in handy.

oh and

Obviously there have been no responses to my offer to resolve this, blah blah blah blah blah.

this is stupid

You know, I've been going about this all the wrong way. I write stuff and I get Janna or her Jannafestations asserting this or that with no real backup. I then try to respond to all the bitchery and psychological tomfoolery with logic while getting none in return. Just meanness and more bitchery and psychological tomfoolery. Fuckit.

Have I mentioned that I had no suspicions myself up till the day my friends got me out of the house, showed me their findings and confronted Janna? Have I mentioned that I was shocked to see all their evidence? Have I mentioned that I was shocked that Janna said absolutely nothing to change my friends' minds? They said "we know Jesse is fake and we'd like you to leave," and she said, calmly, "okay." They implored her to provide some sort of evidence that could prove them wrong. My friends love me (I'm seeing how much these days and I love them back), and they wanted to be wrong about all of this almost as much as I wanted them to be wrong, maybe more. But nothing from Janna. She couldn't provide the name of the hospital where "Jesse" stayed, but she could have done any number of things that day to show them they were wrong: she could have made any number of calls from her own cellphone, to "Annie," or "Cakey," or "Jesse's" lawyers, even "Alice" if it were just to disprove their theories. She did nothing, except to get pissed off when a friend pleaded with her "don't you have anything to say to her, about why you fucked up two years of her life?" Janna shot back, "It wasn't two years!" She started saying something else, but then shut herself up.

It's all on video. Maybe I'll post it here on this blog so everyone else can see it too and judge for themselves. It made me sick.

In any case, all I wanted was proof that my friends were wrong, that Janna was really a good and true friend. I did my own research, I talked to investigators, I got in touch with the real Annie Martel, who, despite whatever doctor/patient privileges there are, asserted that she'd never spoken to me via email, ever, and that she knew nobody called Jesse and nobody called Janna Saint James. So while doctor/patient privileges may indeed be in place when it comes to "Jesse" (although I'll be asking my own therapist about that, you betcha) - I don't think it would stop Annie from telling me if she'd ever contacted me, and it certainly wouldn't have stopped her from confirming knowing Janna, since all they were were bestest friends, all the way back to them good ol' John Denver days.

My point here being, the burden of proof at this point is on Janna, not me. The only proof I've been able to dig up is all stacked up against her. Janna lied about her life, she lied about the people in the photographs, she lied about ever being associated with the Associated Press. And now all I get is hostility from her and associated Jannafestations, telling me that I'm the crazy one. This is it, folks. Enough with that crap.

So let's do this. Since I really truly don't care what "Jesse's" real name is, and since I really couldn't give two shits about getting anything material from him, never did, I've got a proposition. Never mind protestations from people who claim to be real but hey sorry, I just can't fucking believe it. Not 'lest I've seen you and touched you and know certain facts to be actual facts. So cyber-ciphers, let it lay. I shan't respond to you anymore.

My proposition: I will provide an impartial witness: lawyer, law enforcement officer, or better yet, how about the editor who wanted to commission the piece on Janna for that NY paper? Journalists never break their word, right? The witness will take an oath not to divulge "Jesse's" real name to anyone, specially not me, ever. They will sit down with the executor of "Jesse's" estate, or with Annie Martel, who will show them certified documentation proving his existence, proof of their own existence, and aforementioned witness will sign an affidavit swearing they saw documentation proving that "Jesse" existed. Then, I'll apologize, take an ad out in whatever publication Janna and "Jesse's" family choose, and I'll delete all these blogs and apologize every day in that space for the rest of the year.

This'll have the added benefit of cancelling out any newspaper pieces being researched and written, since obviously an editor wouldn't want to print something that was untrue, right?

Can't get fairer than that, can I? If nobody wants to even come forward with this compromise, where I gain nothing but proof of his existence so I can put this to bed once and for all and get on with my life, and "Jesse's" "family" and "friends" gain peace of mind and are shut of me forever.

Till then, please excuse me if I continue to think that Janna St. James is a lying, devious sack of shit, and post my opinions about her and the rest of this fuckedupness as and when I see fucking fit.

And until I get this offer, just shut. the. fuck. up. And kish mir im tuchus.

so where do I go?

I'm at a place where, my therapist says, I'm reacting the way most victims do. So, please forgive my splenic ventings, but, y'know, Janna's probably been prepared for exposure for some time. I can't believe she didn't know this was coming, so now she's lying in a Procrustean bed of her own making. I'm sure she's as comfortable as she can be given the circumstances. At least she has a vintage quilt to wrap around her knees, the one I bought for Rhys's fifth birthday.

For me, however, this revelation was a roundhouse punch, and I'm still reeling on occasion. So, I've been reshuffling, but with reshuffling comes insight, for this navel-gazer. Ahem.

I've gotta say, the last few weeks have been interesting. I will take stock of my friends' opinions more seriously from here on. And friends, I know I do go on, so you have my permission to tell me to shut the fuck up. I might not listen, but maybe I need to be told more often anyway.

This was gonna go on the other blog, but fakey cakey is the place where fiction goes, and since this story was borne of so much fiction (at least on Janna's end), I wanna put it here.

These last few weeks I've had about a third of Janna's fictional contingent weighing in on what a horrible person I am because I, well, I don't know. She throws the word "vindictive" around as though it's some sort of bad thing. I did label myself vindictive long ago, because I know I can be, when the occasion calls for it. I can be creatively horrible to people I feel deserve horribleness aimed at them. So, I'm horrible because I called Janna a sick cunt in an email I sent her, and in public fora. I'm horrible because my friends who care about me confronted Janna, told her they knew Jesse was fake, that she'd made the whole thing up, and could she pack up her shit and get out of my house. They're the ones who told her not to contact me, that if I wanted a dialogue I would get in touch with her. They're the ones who asked her if she had any evidence, or if she had something to say to me. She refused to offer up anything. But okay, I'm horrible because my friends care, they gave me evidence and she gave me nothing.

So, angry at me why? I did get in touch with her and I did ask her to quit it, and I suppose in a way she has by disappearing from her blog. I do know that "Cakey" has another blog, a private one, so she hasn't discontinued the fantasy at all. But, at this point, whatever.

In the past few weeks, Janna St. James has, either through her imaginary aliases or as herself, usually quoting friends of hers (because Janna's character is always a very sweet, kind, too-trusting soul who'd never hurt a fly [right, Norman?]), spoken about what a horrid person I am. She's thrown up incredibly personal things about me in a revelatory manner, as though I'd never written or spoken about them myself to my friends and various other readers of my blog. Nothing she tossed out about my actions over the past twenty months was an untruth, but nor was it a hidden truth.

Her speculations about my motivations, what I did in my life or plan to do about my life from now on, well now, that's another story. That wacko stuff she cooked up about that, well, that's just straight out of the Julia Moon soap opera chapbook. It's funny, now that I know it's all a lie, I can see the similarities in her scrawlings, or maybe it's just that all her personas are blurring together forming a haphazard crazyquilt (emphasis on the crazy) in a desperate attempt at damage control. And the dissembling about her total lack of knowledge how to put my comments on another blogentry, as though something as simple as cut-and-paste is alien to her, it worked well enough when she'd send me snippets of Adventuregirl's emails to her. Lie piled upon lie piled upon lie, even when unnecessary, she continues to fabricate even her own persona. Kind, benign, totally technologically inept.

Where am I going with this? I'm just trying to get through the hurt and the anger and the, I dunno, gobsmackedness? Apologies for redundancy, you can stop reading anytime you like. I just have nowhere else to put it, and perhaps her reading enough of it will push her toward the doors of the nearest psychiatric facility. Ohwait. She's not reading my blogs. I forgot. Ah well, no hope of her saving herself, then. Perhaps "Alice" or "Cakey" will tell her to read it. Or who knows, maybe "Jesse" will rise from the dead and leave a message for me right here, hell, it's almost Easter, isn't it?

I was going through all the stuff I'd bought for "Jesse" and his family and friends that hadn't had the chance to be sent, sifting things out in to different piles (Goodwill, and foster care facilities for the kid's stuff, fuck knows what I'll be doing with all the pirate shit I bought for Janna that she didn't take with her when she left my house. Anyone want some pirate shit?). I opened the box I'd put together for "Rhys" and was holding onto since its return from Spain in November (USPS gets through, but not FedEx, hmmm). Mozart action figures because he loved "Mokzark," Lush bath bombs because his daddy loved them, little candles with wild animal pictures on them because I knew he liked giraffes, a little Buddha statue, a wobbly rubbery translucent dinosaur ring with flashing LEDs inside it, a smashed Pike's Peak penny because his daddy's most treasured items were smashed coins his deceased brother flattened on the train tracks when they were kids. Other stuff too. And a necklace for his mama, "Krista," a jingle ball lariat, one I'd bought for myself in NYC and reluctantly packed up to send to her instead because her birthday had been in July and July had been a really shit month for all of us.

All of this stuff was packed into a shopping bag that had a picture of a fire truck on it, and when you pressed the edge of the bag, a little red LED flashed and a siren sounded. Because I was worried the bag would go off in transit and that it'd be delayed by Homeland Security, I wrapped the bag and its contents securely, and packed it carefully in a bankers box full of tons of poofy styrofoam peanuts, and scattered craploads of sparkly foil confetti to make it seem more festive. I taped it thoroughly from top to bottom with colorful checkerboard shipping tape, leaving a blank space top center for the address, and wrote HAPPY BIRTHDAY RHYS in English and Spanish in various places on the checkerboard tape.

So, I wore the jingle ball lariat today, my puppy seems to love to chew on the balls (teething), and as puppy was gnawing away happily on my lap, I was thinking of all the stuff I got for everyone, from "Jesse" to Janna to "Cakey" and the rest of the imaginary bunch. It's not the money. Not one of my friends would ever say that it's about the money with me. But the thought, the care, the effort, and the chunks of my heart that went into it, I'm galled by that.

And the way Janna has conducted herself these last few weeks, the shit she's said, the lies she's still persisting in perpetuating, her armchair analysis of my actions (especially the golddigging aspect, since I earn more than I need when I work, and have never looked for a sugar daddy), and I can easily say now that this woman utterly disgusts me, on just about every level there is. She is a bottomless pit of devious psychological tricks.

I believed there was a man, with friends and loved ones around him who often didn't make the right decisions. I believed he had a therapist. I believed he had a son. I believed it all. And all of it was a lie. I'm not sure what it was that was making Janna cry when we were sitting there talking about Jesse in the house at Ojo Caliente, but I was crying at the loss of a beautiful man. A beautiful, fictional man, it turns out. Who were you crying for, Janna? John? Yourself?

So, I'm a big dummy for my wholesale belief in all of this, but the buck stops there for me. Janna Saint James bears the brunt of this, and let's just assume for a moment that I am at least 99-44/100% correct in my assessment of this situation, that Janna manufactured the whole thing. WTF does she have to be angry with me about? Because I found her out and have exposed her in the medium she works in? Yeah, I guess. Because I called her a cunt? Well, like she said, it takes one to know one.

Let's say for a moment I'm wrong about all of it, and that Janna really is protecting "Jesse," or whatever his name really is. So, this guy lied to me about his name and the name of everyone else around him, including the Irish side of his family. Okay. Even first names? Uh, okay. Those are lots of complicated email addresses then.

And it's allegedly because I'm a golddigger because I want something of his that I feel I'm entitled to. Despite being sucked into this drama for almost two years, I'm not a total nimrod. I worked for attorneys for over a decade. There's not a court in the world that would have awarded me anything. I had no claim. I didn't need to know my law to know that. And if I was such a golddigger, why was her first tack to criticize me for having no intention of ever marrying "Jesse?" I got that from "Alice" and "Cakey" and I think from her "daughter" as well (I can't remember, I've dumped the emails off my computer, but it was more than one comment about it). Surely if I was angling for his money, "Jesse" wouldn't have had to implore me to rush my divorce so I could marry him so his "father" wouldn't think he was going to hell. So, the golddigging shit doesn't really wash either. I was hopeful that "Jesse's" wish for a communal living situation at his "grandfather's" ranch would work out, and that I could spend some of my time in Colorado being amongst his friends, but that was a situation that Janna put forward, it was nothing that "Jesse" had spoken about to me. And again, I didn't really expect it to work out, fractious factions making the situation impossible.

To recap this possible reality: I was given proclamations of love by a man who didn't trust me enough to give me his real last name, or the real names of any of his friends or family. His friends all worked in sync and went along with whatever names "Jesse" told them to use, including his six-year-old son. I wanted his money, but obviously not enough to speed the situation along the road to marriage, despite his begging me to hurry up and start divorce proceedings. Nobutwait, what I really am is an internet freak that has set my sights toward destroying Janna. But for what reason? Because she says I don't want to be ignored. Because she says I'm an attention-seeking whore. Well, with that, I am what she made me. I wrote about "Jesse" in my blog because he encouraged me to, it made him go all squishy inside when I'd gush about my boyfriend, and he got a secret thrill at the way it tweaked all those other delusional women who were stalking him and didn't know how to take no for an answer.

I dunno. I would have a hard time believing all that, even if I didn't know I was 100% sure.

So here another nugget. I tracked down Annie Martel, the real Annie. I asked her about being Jesse's therapist and Janna's bestest friend. She don't know a Jesse. Don't know a Janna. No idea what I was talking about. And, I quote, "I don't think I want to know."

Amen. And hallelujah. Smart lady.

Of course, now Janna will just say that Jesse just made up the name of his therapist and that it really was just some other person, some other therapist wife of some other dead popstar. But there was so much backstory involved in so much of it, Janna worked the shit out of it. Too much to change it now to make it believable, at least to me. It probably works with other folks that don't have all that backstory.

So, I have to again reiterate. Janna lied her ass off to me from June 1, 2005 straight through February 20, 2007. And beyond, really, since she's still lying. I have a right to be angry. Vindictive? Damn straight I am. I have a right to be disgusted, at my own gullibility, sure, but mostly at her. I have a right to not feel sympathy for her illness, because she's fucked me up with stress and god-knows-what, for pretty much the full twenty months, and now beyond, as I struggle with the whys and what-the-fucks now. Plus, she's not copping to it, which leads me to conclude that's she's more in her right mind than she'd like me to believe.

It's a toss-up. Crazier than a shithouse rat, or just a miserable, lonely housewife full of soap opera stories and malice to spare? Which would you rather be? I guess her existence is wretched enough, since she's one or the other. That doesn't keep me from being angry, though. Not. By. A. Long. Shot.

I've packed up all the shit "Jesse" and the rest gave me, to get it out of my face. I'm not gonna toss or sell any of it just yet, in case I need it at a later date for legal reasons. If Janna wants to swap it for all the shit I sent "Jesse" and everyone else, I'd do that.

Did I say everything I wanted to say? I dunno. I guess I have for now. I can't promise I won't be back, but I can promise that I hope I won't. This isn't fun for me, you know.