i was talking to the Beacon Clubhouse chick who ran the meth and heroin for the cartel jalisco neuva generacion

 about her role at beacon clubhouse "advisory board"

i asked if she could advocate for me or other similarly discriminated persons

she said she never saw the behavior. (pontius pilate)

clearly she did not get the drift of the duty to investigate, and the duty to care and safeguard.

i told her i even smiled at erin (carlsen), bc he (osarch orak) wasnt there (to police her experience with his coercive control).

and then marsha from helping hands, walked up.

for the record marsha was doing her damnedest to save g's life during the snow storm when he was off his meds and awol after malachai's sick "wasp spray" "rat poison" meth.

number one, he needed the ER and an ambulance stat.

but since nobody comprehended that, i showed up by taxi, to get the life saving liver/kidney/heart meds re-ordered.

so back at helping hands seaside, im marvelling they even accept WHEELCHAIRS, unlike Lifeboat.

nobody is tying the gangrene to the xylazine, the tranq cutters.

yet.

so, some of the scariest domestic violence creepo's leading their too young for them exploited DV victim around shit, people smoking fetty onsite.

marsha confirms smelling something weird.

as the billowing clouds of fentanyl are booming from the bathroom, marsha declares the need to speak with me, in the back room, a projected dormitory for women.

she takes me back there, closes the door.

im finding it creepy.

she says  YOU BETTER NOT PUT MY SHELTER ON YOUTUBE.

i  can barely get a word in edgewise, yr doing a great job! positive drivel.

she is booming at me.

she will not reveal her source.

she then walks me back out past the showers.

she declares that if Alan Evans were here, i would be standing on the other side of the line, meaning the line separating the street from the place a sidewalk should be. (trespass)

i explain i know him, and we're cool.

i tell on her to Alan Evans, and he says, she's old and tells me her age.

one day Alan Evans witnesses me stand up to the anti-homeless bigot, and gives me a hug.

calls me sister.

so professionalism wise:

getting chewed and verbally abused and isolated in a back-room by Marsha at Helping Hands was wrong, it was abusive, and it was a bad business practice.

it was especially cruel given the terrible life-threatening nature of g.'s illness.

within 30 minutes we left and pursued other safer accommodation.

intimidating people who need caregivers, or medication, at the shelter is never a good look.

similarly osarch orak's preferential treatment for sex offenders, 300 pound felons, drug dealers at Lifeboat, pedophiles, etc

and discrimination against people who need support or medication or disability accommodation

does not go un-noticed.

what does BOLI want to talk to me about tomorrow?

court was too juicy, i had to postpone the meeting.

kirk wintermute was always a jerk, says his school buddy, and grew up on the washington side.

his mom used to drink with someone i know, and had quite the drinking issue.

so why do felons and people with federal drug trafficking charges have more rights to beacon clubhouse and Lifeboat?

why cant they just be upfront about their discrimination against sober people.

its almost like a meritocracy where crime is considered merit.

the more devious, deadly your behavior, the more likely you get to win at the Beacon Country Club over the Lifeboat dungeon basement, now walled off even from sunlight in the dimly fluorescent basement, hostile to wheelchairs.

i said to carlos, i miss you. one day we'll all be together.

speaking of a time in the future when osarch orak doesnt tell the Beacon clubhouse people not to talk to me and that i am a danger.

speaking of a time when Lexus-bro kirk wintermute does not tell fibs in emails that i am the abuser, and not to communicate with his vulnerable lifeboat victims, who have been winnowed down to the truly submissive doormats made in osarch orak's dreams.

so then osarch almost runs me over with his bike the other day, grimacing as if he wished it wasnt a good twenty feet shot at me, as i jaywalked to deals only.