There Is No Such Thing As A “Restraining Order”

Today was my scheduled hearing for the Order of Protection that Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives Agent John A. Stoltz requested the court grant him.

Back in August 2010, prior to my arrest at his behest, Mr. Stoltz had gone and gotten an Emergency Protective Order (EPO) against me.

Lemme explain the deal with these gooftard EPO thingies. Essentially anyone can get an EPO against anyone -- without notice to the other party. Pretty much all the alleged “victim” has to do is tell a compelling story to a magistrate. The tale doesn’t really have to be true, merely believable enough to get the chosen authority to sign off on the object. It’s not uncommon for vindictive people to venally embellish or out-and-out lie to get an EPO and considering the magistrate never needs evidence or to verify anything spoken or shown to him, there’s nothing to induce honesty or reasonableness in the procedure.

Case in point: according to records, Mr. Stoltz misquoted, in writing, things I published on I HeArTE JADE. It had to be deliberate; it’s not as if my words aren’t preserved here to be quoted verbatim. Hell, he could’ve carried in a printout if it was too much trouble for him to ink the exact comments down on paper by hand! Ya gotta figure if I’m as bad as he tried making me out to be, he wouldn’t have had to make stuff up. Plus, the magistrate could’ve adequately read my site to, at minimum, have some context, yet he did not. Shame on both of them.

Honestly, take yourself a close, serious, look at it and it’s not hard to understand how and why this what-otherwise-could-be-beneficial legal procedure is often abused.

Oh, did I mention an EPO is valid for only 72 hours? That’s right. Apparently it can’t go on, like, endlessly. Because somewhere along the line the person whom the EPO is not in favor of, gee, has to be afforded the opportunity to defend himself or herself in front of a judge. Isn’t that swell?

In my case, by the time The Game actually got around to slinging silver bracelets on me, the Emergency Protective Order Mr. Stoltz was granted had already expired without ever being served on me! Then due to the arrest, the conditions of my bail/bond, in addition to the interminable courtroom drama, basically I was subjected, with no objection from me, to an ongoing temporary Protective Order. Once my trial was over -- aw yeah -- a date was selected for my entitled full hearing on the issue.

Lemme explain the deal with these Order of Protection thingies. They can last for up to 2 years. They can contain any conditions and restrictions, imposed all at the discretion of a judge. Chilling. Yeah, that about covers it.

So. I arrived at the Greene County Courthouse at precisely 9:12AM.

The estimable Mr. Stoltz didn’t. even. bother. to. show. up.

I’d like to believe that after Agent Stoltz revealed himself as a fool, and a manipulative yellow-bellied government hire, during the past trial, and worried I would, in front of the, yes, same judge as always, debunk his antecedent prevarications to the magistrate, he was too embarrassed and conscience-afflicted to be present. Probably, though, the real reason is that he was just plain too dang lazy to come.

Regardless, guess this matter wasn’t as grave or important to him as he’d implied.

Well. The only thing the judge needed to do was release me from the binds of the temporary Order of Protection, which he did.

Wondering where this leaves me in the grand scheme of things relating to the spectacular ATF Agent Mr. John Stoltz? Right back where I started, I suppose. Free to ridicule him as I see fit. And post concomitant images. I’m free to do that again, too.

A Change Of HeArTE

A black linen pencil skirt paired with an emerald green shirt, matchy-matchy patent leather skinny belt and sling-back pumps...

Today was my arraignment for the charge brought on by Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives Agent John Stoltz. There was also a hearing for an Order of Protection -- incorrectly but better known as a “restraining order” -- scheduled by the same officer. Oh yippee. Law Enforcement members must be safeguarded from being made fun of on the Internet, don’t-ya-know?

When I caught sight of the Greene County Courthouse, a flashback hit me full force: four years earlier anxiously glued to a rear bench inside that awful courtroom, me, in a multi-colored polka-dot shirt, jeans, a red rabbit-fur pom-pom scarf looped loosely ‘round my neck. The suited, decidedly-Irish-looking JADE TFO Mr. O’Donnell seated next to me, his knees relaxed apart, fingers comfortably intertwined, calmly reassuring me in whispers that facing down my accusatory husband would be okay -- that everything would be okay.

I vigorously shook my head to clear the reminiscence, pulled into an empty parking square, and appraised the surroundings. Mr. Stoltz’s eye-catching blue Dodge Charger was nowhere to be seen.

Once I was situated in the General District Court building, I noticed the Commonwealth Attorney, Ron Morris, and more memories of Mr. O’Donnell exploded like landmines in my brain. To distract myself, I focused on the many uniformed men muddling about. Checked me out some handsome Troopers. MmmHmm.

I was briefly entertained by some LaWanda Drama; the lively narrative of two local women beating “the devil” out of one another had many of the occupants in the room snickering.

By time I was called -- both first and last name pronounced wrong -- before the judge, I had learned Mr. Stoltz’s Order of Protection request had already been granted on a prior day. I’d been officially summoned to appear for the dang thing on this date. Not only did the ATF guy deliberately misquote and mischaracterize me, he’d circumvented me from defending myself from his malicious asseverations. How underhanded! I was informed I could appeal the decision, but, still, what the hell?

Due to the circumstances of my arrest -- my current Albemarle County attorney being a potential witness -- I was appointed another representative for this case. Good Lord, this is gonna get confusing.

As if I wasn’t feeling poo enough, to make it to my next destination I had to drive through an area where my estranged nearly-fifty-year-old husband would take the ten-year-old girl that he was sexually pursuing. Bile swirled in my stomach at the reminder and I raced to get out of the town before emesis.

For solace, I went all the way to Richmond to hang with the State policeman I’ve been seeing for months now. Only to have him tell me he could no longer swing cheating on his live-in girlfriend. Ho hum. Okay.

I was unsure whether I wanted to hear raging tunes or melancholic melodies on the ride home, so I opted instead to listen to the music of my thoughts.

I have ongrowing court costs and fines, two lawyers, one less lover, no GPS, and a website I’m afraid to update lest I be hooked-up and hauled off to jail.

Not exactly a Chart-topping song, is it?

Mutual Grumpin’

Cryptic Grape Juice

So I’ve gathered that members of the ATF can be identified, in, uh, certain places, under lowercase first initial/middle initial/last name. For example:

jastoltz
mamoore
jrhealey

While US Attorneys go with capitalized first initial/last name:

AGiorno
NHealey

Hmm… I wonder if Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms Agent David Stone finished that report of his yet. I think he should email me a copy.

Jeez, You Don’t Have To Make A Federal Case Out Of It!

I’ve gotten a few inquiries about my fresh string of John Stoltz posts. I know it’s completely cheezball to quote oneself but sometimes I kinda do feel like pressed curd surrounded by nuts, so this is one of my responses from last week to a reader to semi-explain the esoteric entries:

John Stoltz is the local ATF agent who works with the JADE Task Force -- whenever JADE is investigating dealers and there are guns and such involved. I found out Mr. Stoltz has files under my name on his computer so I thought it'd be funny to let him know that I know that -- much like I'd carry milk and cookies out to an undercover officer if I caught one watching me.

Apparently one girl’s humor is another guy’s affliction?

Through a couple of inerrant sources I’ve confirmed the ATFer is now resorting to filthy tactics in response to the modicum of attention I’ve recently shown him. I should’ve realized it’d be the route he’d take, him being a Detective Brian O’Donnell knockoff and all.

Since Mr. Stoltz is not a member of the Task Force, I am free to contact him -- both directly and indirectly. This would be the direct approach:

Dear Special Agent Stoltz,

You must be aware you won’t be able to have me locked up forever nor is Google going to cyber-assassinate I HeArTE JADE merely at your whim and behest. Please settle down and reconsider your strategy. Seriously, I really don’t want to have to pick on you for the rest of eternity. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m not interested in concentrating on you for even like a whole month. I mean, I’m already spread thin keeping up with JADE, tabbing the Virginia State Police, teasing various City of Charlottesville and County of Albemarle lawmen, et cetera.

You could keep trying to handle me the very same way your buddies did, but, c’mon, anyone can see how that worked out for them. I don’t believe you’ve yet crossed the line into bullying -- not me, anyway -- thus I’m not opposed to backing off if you’re not opposed to being reasonable. I’ll give you some time to think it over. You decide to truce, have your people call my people. ‘Til then, expect my minute occasional, one hundred per cent. legal, tweaking of you to continue.

Love My Little Birdies

What do you do when you learn somebody in the United States Department of Justice (USDOJ) has an active file with your identity on it, last name first? You roll your eyes, laugh out loud, and post another “Charger photo” for his jastoltz collection:

Hideaway

New Category

Ffffffzt!

Four Things You Would've Heard Me Say If You'd Been With Me On This Day. Ready, Set,

Go. Go. GO. Gooooooooooooo -- stupid-worthless-you’re-going-to-make-me-lose-‘im-mother -- Go!

_________________________

Don’t go. No! Wait for me. You. Old. Deaf. Punk-Bitch.

_________________________

Rain, rain, go away; come again another… time when I’m not trying to take pictures ‘cause they’re gonna come out like THAT. Uck.

_________________________

I’m tired, cold, and soggy wet. I don’t care if the Task Force is about to make their best bust EVER evereverever, and I’ve been given a personal invitation to it, and Spot will be in shorts at it mmmm... great legs -- if you fold me in half and twist, you could wring out enough water to wash the JADE van. This is where I go home.

Once Upon a Time, Long Ago...

SeeSee’s Dodge Charger pulls off in a fuzzy blue distortion. I’m reminded once again that one of the many things adult male Task Force officers and teenage boys have in common is the maniacal way they drive through parking lots. Heaven forbid someone steps off the sidewalk when any one of these guys is behind the wheel.

Once on the road he doesn’t actually seem to be in as big of a hurry. This is a good thing; it may make it easier for me to keep sight of him. I give him plenty of room, slowing down as I notice we’re coming up to a red light. SeeSee and I have met and I definitely don’t want to get too close to him just in case he remembers what I look like. Last thing I want is for him to tell his superhero, Longhead, he caught me following him.

SeeSee pulls into the left turn lane. If he’s paying attention, he probably won’t miss my reluctance to get behind him. Maybe he’ll think I hesitated because I’m lost. I nudge my car up near his.

On the chance he’s looking in his rearview mirror, I lean across the passenger seat as if the stopped traffic has afforded me the opportunity to find something I need. From the corner of my eye I see the light display a green arrow and I sit back up. SeeSee flips on his blinker in the midst of his making the turn.

Still concerned about being seen, I get this brilliant idea to let a car or two get in between us to somewhat cover me. It takes only two blocks before I’m reminded that I’m not as smart as I sometimes like to think I am; SeeSee moves into a right turn lane and seeing as how the other cars go straight, I’m left practically parked in SeeSee’s back seat anyway. Well that worked… not at all.

I can sort of make out his shadow through the heavy back window tinting and from its positioning it appears he’s on his cell phone. Good; distraction. Please don’t let him look back here.

The road we turn on has four lanes and plenty of room. I leave about three car lengths between us. It’s enough of a distance that my fear of losing him and my fear of being spotted by him is bizarrely balanced. I’ve shot several photographs -- accidentally getting one of the sky and streetlights, and one of a portion of my steering wheel. Driving and picture-taking do not go hand-in-hand.

We wind our way through the city. About half the time SeeSee courteously lets me know which way he’s planning to go. He’s using his turn signals roughly fifty percent of when he should… he favors his right blinker, using it the most out of the fifty percent… the left one -- on the rare occasions he uses it -- seems to be like an afterthought in nearly every instance…

It suddenly occurs to me that because I let my mind wander in Minutiaeland, I have no idea how far we’ve gone and I don’t have a clue about the area we’re in. I start worrying if I’m ever going to find my way out or if I’ll be circling around these industrial-type buildings until vultures start circling around me.

Wherever we are, the roads are narrower and the blocks seem shorter. With no feasible way to avoid it, SeeSee and I are bumper-to-bumper both in motion and at several stops. I don’t know if SeeSee is affected by it but there’s no way he can miss the fact that my vehicle has been behind his for a very long time.

It’s hard to think with the drums of my heart beating at full volume. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. Three lefts? And a blinker every time? That’s, like, around a block. Umm… yeah. The spigot controlling my adrenaline twists open and in a freak out, I go right instead. Guess I won’t be finding out what he’s up to.

The farther away from SeeSee I get, the more I relax. Now that I’m calm, I think I overreacted. Argh! Curse paranoia! I’m annoyed that I let my imagination run amok and I berate myself for giving up too soon.

For, I swear, the hundredth time, I’ve gotten myself lost in the process of tailing. For, I swear, the hundredth time, I hear eight words roll through my head. I really need to get a city map.

Multiplicity

To reiterate: SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead.

I find that to be even truer today than yesterday -- than the day I wrote that -- than the day I first thought that.

Recently I followed SeeSee from the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office to the Albemarle County Police Department. This was after I’d, unseen, shadowed SeeSee and Longhead earlier.

I’ve got a new, let’s say, rather unconventional way to tail these guys without them noticing; it works but it is so not easy, at all.

Anyhow, once SeeSee left the Task Force building by himself I resorted to my traditional means of following. In other words, I pulled up right behind him. I figured with me driving down the road in my (now infamous, I guess) car, blatantly holding a camera up in the windshield, I’d pretty much thrown covertness right out the window. I took enough pictures in a couple of minutes to make me happy, and he went his way and I went mine.

Do you know what that… that… that invaluable instrument of the ATF did? Oh. My. Gosh. I’s startin’ to think what I seen on teevee ain’t fo’ real. ‘Cause on teevee, y’all know they's always showin’ how those fellers from dif’rent A-gence-cees don’t git along? I’s tellin’ ya, it jes ain’t true. No siree. Know what I reckon change ma mind? You got it. SeeSee went whinin' about me to a FBI guy! Just. Like. Longhead. Can’t any of these hotshots handle things on their own?

Ah, well. It so happens that his pal at the FBI is one I actually like and respect. It also happens that my poor car is in dire need of a bath thus most of the images I got of SeeSee’s Dodge are slightly less than perfect.

Remarkable

When you drive a remarkable vehicle, there’s a chance someone is bound to remark on it. When you park a remarkable vehicle, and walk ½ a mile away from it, there’s a chance someone is bound to take pictures of it.

Although, the distance between driver and vehicle is irrelevant when the someone taking the photographs is me; I’ll snap shots at any given time.

I think I’m the only one who counts SeeSee -- the operator of that cute blue Charger -- as a full-fledged member of the JADE Task Force. He doesn’t work at the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office but he’s down there too often to not connect him to it. I imagine he’s got the Untouchables poster tacked up on the wall in the place where he does work since SeeSee’s true calling is as an Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.

SeeSee, I was told, is 39 (or maybe it was 40) years old. That’s around what I would guess his age to be. The exception to my estimation would be any time he’s got a Law Enforcement Officer as a passenger in the Dodge. Then I’d have to put his age at, oh, 17. You ought to see the way he drives when he’s got Longhead with him: like a punk kid who’s trying to impress his buddy. It’s remarkable.