Update: I’ve been a bit harsh on Reive, because I failed to read his mind through a string of characters on a screen. I’m sorry, Reive.
So, you’re what, stalking my blog now? The police phoning you up last year to tell you to cut the shit so they don’t have to do paperwork and drag us both through court proceedings to charge you with criminal harassment, wasn’t enough for you?
For the record, I think what you did, outing your former colleague to her employer in 2007, was plain fucking wrong. And for the record, in the event that you did actually provide personal contact information of three other people to law enforcement, I believe you were doing what you felt was right. But feeling it was the right thing to do does not make it the right thing to do. I hold you, a business owner, to a higher expectation than I hold myself, a random person most people don’t even believe because people like you spend all available time and energy to smear me as histrionic and “crazy” (remember that?) and lacking credibility. But people also don’t believe me because I don’t have money to buy them with (but you do — and all the people you’re buying with that money actually handed it over to you). And people also don’t believe me because I was born, like you, with two X-chromosomes into a culture characterized by systemic sexism and latent misogyny. And people will find reasons to not believe anything I say because believing me means being uncomfortable and vulnerable. Since you already do such a wonderful job of terrifying them, they need to hide under a blanket and pretend they didn’t just hear or read what I just said.
I’ve given personal contact information to law enforcement without asking the other person(s) first, when I was reporting a horrendously graphic film that I was convinced was evidence in a double murder that may not yet have been solved. I had anxiety about how my friends, who had given me the space for a single conversation on the matter years earlier, would receive this unsolicited attention from investigators (the investigators told me, by the way, that my friends were glad I finally came forward, even though that film turned out to be pseudo-snuff).
All the questions they asked me brought up horrible, horrible emotions and all sorts of repressed memories that left me curled up in a ball sobbing for the remainder of the day every time they came to my door (and they returned more than once). I worried (irrationally) that their interrogation would go the same way for my friends (who hadn’t even seen what I told them about, so why would it?) But these people aren’t perfect, either, and had violated my confidentiality years prior* (I guess that goes around a lot). What I did wasn’t quite right, but I don’t think in black and white like you expect everyone else to — being not quite right doesn’t make something categorically wrong and immoral. More on that momentarily.
* Update: They may not have. In fact, they may not have had to at all. The rumours that I found out about after I disclosed sensitive information to them about someone else, not knowing what else to do, may very well have preceded my presence in this province.
But first, you’ve already read about it in my blog, and you’ve then posted my blog posts all over your status updates. In case you start pulling your hair out over how I know this, I don’t have to be some sort of hacker or stalker who deploys a series of minions to find out for me — if it wasn’t made transparent enough to you in 2007, or every time you were reminded of this transgression (among many others) since, or when you started being a complete dickshit to me last year, you don’t control people. Your actions have consequences. Even the ones you wish didn’t.
You’ve also been telling people that I’m the one who provided contact information for three people to the RCMP, outing them as Libido Lounge members and perverts. Well guess what, Detective? That wasn’t me. Of the three people you are alleged to have “outed”, I don’t even know who one of them is*. Of the other two, I have only known the real first name of one of them, because they dated one of my former friends years ago, and he frequently referred to them by their first name back then. As for the remaining one (who came forward and declared that you phoned them to tell them you gave their real full name, phone number, and work information to the RCMP) I know nothing about this person that would be useful (he’s what you call “smart” about his conception of privacy, unlike the man at the centre of the current investigations). I couldn’t even fathom a reasonable explanation for why the two people I do know about had their information passed on to the RCMP. That is, until Reive outed** one of them to thousands of confused readers online yesterday (LOLWHOOPS!)
* at the time I wrote this, I did not know who this person is. But since then, he phoned me and made sure I found out — straight from the horse’s mouth.
** by outed, I mean wrote something that outed someone as the wrong person, even (LOLWHOOPS!) and it has since been corrected.
The people whose first names — first names only — I dropped in that recorded statement include yours, Reive’s, one woman who was one of his former lovers, and one person who he essentially repeatedly sexually harassed (that’s four, in case you need someone to count for you). You ran the business in which my last contact occurred with the individual I was being asked about, and you had already made efforts to appear as fast as possible in both the news and everywhere in print — either they already knew about you or you’re just recklessly stupid for thinking otherwise. Reive had written three articles about the same individual and the multiple investigations currently proceeding (which he seems to think are just one completely baseless and unfair investigation — while he is entitled to his opinion, I’m entitled to think his head is buried in the sandbox), and he also made efforts to appear immediately in the news; at least in print.
As for the woman who was one of his former lovers? Take a guess which one — I dare you — it’ll be a fun game that should occupy you for a few weeks (you made sure of that). She had been indirect about her involvement with him in a semi-private conversation in front of two of my friends who each could only spare a half an ear, and a woman who was present with us but not paying even the slightest attention to anything we were saying. She then later disclosed unambiguously to me in what was actually a private conversation at the time (and still is). The details of that conversation were never fully divulged. At the time, I wouldn’t have been able to show them anyway — I had no internet connected, because SURPRISE! I’m losing my housing again, and here you are harassing me again. RCMP were satisfied simply taking the gist of what she told me. It is not my place to speculate any further into the nature of their relationship, or to put words in her mouth. So I just didn’t.
I asked her the next time I saw her if she has gotten any strange calls from the RCMP, and she said no with a perplexed look on her face. I told her that I had passed on what limited information I have, of her contact information. We discussed my statement and the officers who took it. We agreed that it is strange she had not yet been contacted. When I had the opportunity later, I passed on the contact information I had been given for the RCMP who came to my home and recorded my statement while I was interrogated.
And that’s it. No one asked me if any of these people were associated with your business in any way, or to what degree they might be, if at all. I wasn’t probed for whether any of these people are perverts, or what they were doing behind closed doors while operating under positive consent with each other. Everything else I was asked about concerned what I have written about my direct experience. Which you have also read by now, I’m sure. And I’m sure you’ve found ways of contradicting every detail of it, even though I deliberately left out a lot of detail, and you were absent for 90% of it and therefore couldn’t possibly know what the fuck you’re talking about.
Just like you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about when you posted some hearsay about a drunk minor at a swinger’s party, and quickly lost control of your attempt to smear a business that was competing for the interests of people who were getting a little fucking tired of you talking about, oh, jumping off the high level bridge to try and commit suicide.
Or a little fucking tired of you talking about the horrid method your hip brand was done with.
Or maybe they’re tired of you talking about when you were an underage exotic dancer.
Or about when you were sexually molesting the girl next door when you were children, and then pointing at her and outing her in front of an entire fucking conference as the woman who once was that little girl.
Because hearing Nickelback shouting at me when I’m trying to get kinky isn’t enough of a turn-off, now I have to hear about you dealing (rather inappropriately) with your past traumas too. As if I don’t have any of my own that I just don’t want to have to think about when I’m trying to tie someone up and safely hang them above the floor! As if no one else in this community full of broken people and regular fuck-ups has any of their own trauma! For the sake of fuck, Jennifer!
You also didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about when you answered my concern, that you seriously disrespected me by blowing me off to talk about the texture of your shit after a colonoscopy with all your guests, by raising my mental health status (about which you clearly don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about — it certainly has fuck all to do with the words that come out of your mouth).
Just like you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about when you told everyone I was lying about my unreasonably early Friday morning psychiatrist appointments (and guess what, Detective? He’s still my psychiatrist and he thinks you’re a fucking lunatic).
Just like you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about when you started telling everyone on Twitter that I’m a danger to myself and will be locked up in a mental institution.
I actually really disagree with the way you’re being treated like a scapegoat for the quick and dirty fucking-over, or how you’re being accused of “outing” people for allegedly passing on personal contact information to RCMP. I especially resent that anyone is suggesting that passing on personal contact information to RCMP during a criminal investigation is a form of “outing” anyone, or that this should be met with pushing that person out of the community. We’re not analogous to the LGBTQ rights movement, and threatening people for even thinking of cooperating in a criminal investigation is called obstruction of justice.
But Jennifer, you are so fucking wrong, you don’t even know which way gravity operates any more. Cooperate with the cops before they start looking at whatever it is you’re trying to cover up (LOLWHOOPS!)
As for re-circulating my blog posts (thanks for the extra traffic to my site?) in an attempt to brain-wash people into thinking whatever the fuck you’re telling them about me, why don’t you go take a long walk into the forest somewhere — don’t bother bringing bread crumbs to help you find your way out again — and just fucking get lost.
Update (August 29th): While I have learned of a tragedy (for which the English language lacks a single word to gesture at) that impacts Jennifer and her family, in light of which, my instinct would be to hold myself down, it is still neither an excuse nor a defence for the behaviours this blog entry is concerned with. It is not a Criminally Harass Jamie For Free® card. While no one should have to know this grief, relief is not going to come from attacking other people — especially someone such as myself, who had not addressed her at all for nearly a year — and it most certainly isn’t going to come from campaigning to restore the public reputation of a man at the centre of a police cover-up.