Just ran into a local Church of Christ guy I met doing Looking for Mr. Good Bible. He insisted to me that Hollywood is run by the Zionists, and I said, funniest thing, I've been working on TV shows and film pres kits since 1998 and have never seen any sign of that. He says it's true, it's all over the internet. Not going back to that church... onward 

Preview

Posts related to story coming soon;

MONDAY, JANUARY 18, 2010

Watching the film 'Taken' brings up the time I got kidnapped in Paris and they almost sold me to the Arabs. But I escaped thanks to a genuine miracle

.
I watched "Taken" and got sick for a week, then dug up this story from City of Angels 1

An Extended version first appeared here: 

SUNDAY, JANUARY 14, 2007

A Miracle I made it through my teens - literally

I think I wrote it somewhere else.  It's all related to a post I'm working on now, titled "Looking for Mr. Good Bible."

-ke

Looking for Mr. Good Bible

Kay Ebeling added a new video.

5 mins · 

bizarre morning where i watched Spotlight, finally, for the first time, while waiting for a ride to a church bk I am writing a story for this blog, CofA15, "Looking for Jesus in South Lake Tahoe," which covers my journey to find a church I can stand in this town. Mostly for Bible study, as I feel a need to study the source of all this stuff right now. But for those who know my story, it is weird to do all this in one AM and to be honest, I could not sit through the service. will be writing a lot more soon both on what it was like for this very public and vocal pedophile priest survivor to finally watch Spotlight, and this project, Looking for Mr. Good Bible - still working on the title.

Posted by Kay Ebeling

Producer, City of Angels Blog

Not just L.A., the City of Angels is Everywhere

Kay Ebeling

Just now · 

As a person who does believe in something, not sure what, I almost laugh out loud though, when I hear people do prayer requests, I have to admit. I mean, if God is omnipotent, doesn't He already know Grandma is about to have gallbladder surgery?

Timothy Leary was alive and well and living in Laguna in 1969

Background, story coming shortly

Chapter One First Light
Chapter Two The Thud and a Nipple Dress
Chapter Three Considering Who We Are 

ALSO THIS: 

MONDAY, JANUARY 15, 2007

Timothy Leary was alive and well and living in Laguna in 1969

Timothy Leary was alive and well in Laguna in 1969

http://cityofangels1.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2007-01-21T10:13:00-08:00&max-results=1 

The story will continue here shortly

Coming Soon

I kept finding this note to myself around my office so finally opened that file and found a good way to get back into this story. So a post titled "One of the Last Times I had Sex was with Three Drunk Hungarians" is coming soon. It will hearken back to this May 29 2012 post about Marilyn Monroe and me

-ke

My Short Liaison with a CIA Guy

By Kay Ebeling

Men sniff out women like me.  I've always wondered if my encounter with Dave (I don't remember his real name) had somehow been arranged. 

Dave had an office at NASA in Houston in Building One, a ten story structure where the Administrator of the space center occupied the top floor. Dave was on six or seven. You got off the elevator and walked down bare walled hallways until you got to his office, where he sat at a government gray desk. There was nothing on the walls, nothing on the top of the desk, maybe a pen holder and calendar, but the room was barren.  With windows looking out at a panoramic view.

From here Dave was an “accountant” I think he said. 

From here Dave left on trips to mysterious places and then came back and called me and we’d spend more time together.

The way I lived my life, that was a long term relationship. 

At one point Dave was going to be gone for several weeks, so he made special arrangements for us to call each other.  By then it was obvious Dave was doing something secret for a living.  While he was gone this time, we held Looooong conversations, sometimes I would call him back, I can't remember the phone arrangements, but it was an unusual way to make a phone call. 

A few weeks after Dave returned, I got my phone bill and all the calls I’d made to him were listed on the bill, with no charge, and the number called just said 000 000 0000

All zeroes.

By that time I was not dating Dave anymore as he’d identified me as a risk to his cover.  When he came home from one of his trips, I was in his air tight bedroom naked between his brand new high thread count sheets, and he was in the shower.  So just for the heck of it, I looked in his closet and on the floor was this heavy woolen military uniform with foreign writing on the sleeves and ribbons.

Dave emerged as I was staring at the uniform on the closet floor.  I asked him what it was.  He spit out the words, “It’s a Syrian officer’s uniform.”

I did not know for sure where Syria was at the time, but I knew it was in the Middle East, so I said, isn’t Syria too hot for a uniform like that.  The coat was thick and wool.  He looked down at me and said, It’s for going into the cold parts of Syria.

I cogitated on that, dressed, and went in to work, but it really bothered me.  So as I waited in the tour guide office to go to my next assignment, I casually mentioned the uniform on the closet floor to my boss.  She had served at an enlisted level in the Air Force, I think she even had some intelligence experience.  She ran the tour guide office with the tyranny of a boss who was a smart high school graduate, and I submitted to her authority. 

She noticed something was on my mind so I spilled it out, without even thinking.  I told her about the uniform on his closet floor and him saying it was a Syrian officer’s coat, and just what strange a person Dave was.

Within seconds, SECONDS, the phone rang in the tour guide office.  The boss answered, and handed it over to me. It was Dave calling from his office that was almost in my view there in the building across the walkway. His voice came stern and cold over the line.

“You weren’t able to keep that secret for five minutes. I can't trust you with anything.”

And he slammed down the phone. 

Any time I tried to call him after that, he did not answer, he would not return messages, he vacated me from his life in that moment, and I don't think I ever saw him on the LBJ Space Center campus again after that.

Although I did not last real long there after that myself.

But to this day I've wondered, how did he know.  Did he put some kind of listening device on my clothes, in my hair, was he just guessing? Is there a "cold part of Syria"? The whole experience remains a mystery to me to this day nearly forty years later.

*****

I was so lost by the time I met Dave.

I was working as a tour guide then at NASA Houston for minimum wage.  Three years earlier I had graduated from The University of Texas and been hired as a public affairs writer- editor with all kinds of responsible assignments and now I was still working at NASA, but for minimum wage as a tour guide. It was around 1980, I had started my climb down the career ladder but still had parking privileges in the lot that connected Building One with Building Two, so parking for the main administrative offices and our section, the Public Affairs department, which housed the news room, the room where they mailed out photos of the Moon to anyone who asked for them, and tours for VIPs and the general public. 

That parking lot is where I initially met Dave.  I was getting out of the Karmann Ghia I had driven from Austin.

I was this oblique bubble headed character in the public affairs department who had been a civil servant for three years, then blew it, but could not leave NASA, so stayed around as a contractor for minimum wage conducting tours. I was so lost, so lost. And as I got out of my car on the way to work that day, Dave emerged from his car very close by and struck up a conversation.  He was handsome tall and fit, and me being who I was, I soon was spending nights in his apartment in Clear Lake City.

A sterile place it was where he lived, a brand new apartment complex where you had everything you needed, a terrace, pool, workout center, all new appliances, all new paint air conditioned from the moment you got up to the moment you slept again, as that is how people survive in Houston, all the amenities at just a little higher price and quality than average.  Here David lived in a one bedroom apartment that was furnished by Rent A Center or some other anonymous provider.

I think often about Dave for a number of reasons, especially in 2016 when Syria has become the focal point of several battlegrounds across the Middle East.

“Some who had been fighting in various wars since the 1960s, told us this was their fiercest combat ever. According to both Isis media and to leaders of the coalition forces, there has been a notable increase in Isis suicide attacks in recent battles. In September 2014 the US president, Barack Obama, endorsed the declaration of his national intelligence director: “We underestimated Isil [Isis] and overestimated the fighting capability of the Iraqi army … It boils down to predicting the will to fight, which is an imponderable.”https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jul/28/isis-hate-jihadis-recruits

Wonder what Dave was doing in Syria back in 1979-80 when I encountered him. Wish I had been more alert and trustworthy, I could have found out more. Instead that was my Little Annie Fanny period, the years when I conflated my sexuality with my brains to the point where I was at top level meetings in directorates at NASA with my nipples pointing out and didn't even realize it, thought the men wanted me around for my brains. Some of them did. . . 

*****

There is one other reason I remember Dave.  He had this enormous hard long … penis. In fact, my boss knew about him from the week I had to take off because his penis was so long I had damage, had to rest in bed to recover from one of our nights of sex. 
When I figured it out that he was working for the CIA or some organization like them, and I considered that with the outrageous size of his penis, I figured he must have been taking some kind of steroid for the job, and an enormous penis was a side effect.  That's why I wondered if our initial meeting had been a setup to begin with, because by that time people at NASA knew I was having a lot of sex, and troglodytes like farm boy engineers who never left Texas often mistake women who have lots of sex for women who like large penises.  Or maybe my cavern had become so cavernous that the farm boys engineers were discussing it by that time, so they'd lined me up with Captain Dave as I could accommodate him.

You can see I still have little self esteem even after all these celibate years.  I missed out on so much in my personal and career life because of my compulsion and the distraction it caused.  It did not matter how good a job I did, no one promotes a whore, especially not in 1970s and 80s.  I'm pretty sure if I had just not been so screwed up, I would have ended up with a top administrative job at NASA, as they originally hired me straight out of UT school of Communications, in a program where you were guaranteed promotions and entry into mid level management after just three years. 

I screwed that job up, literally.

On another occasion during that same time period, there was a guy actually recruiting me, or testing me, for a CIA job.  They told me after a few encounters that my sexual behavior would make me a security risk, it gave me a vulnerability that the enemy would be able to use against me and I could be easily compromised.

So like I said, my sexual behavior interfered with my ability to have any success in life. 

In today’s world, as soon as someone saw my behavior, they would recognize the cause of it and investigate where the sexual molestation must have happened in my youth, because I was so text book- so was my sister- of the sexual dysfunction that results from childhood sexual abuse.

The guy who got to us back in the 1950s was a popular handsome Catholic priest a celebrity in our small town outside Chicago.  Of course it screwed up my sister and me for life to have been sexualized when we were preschool aged by him.

A situation that has not yet been reconciled.

Posted by Kay Ebeling, Producer, City of Angels Blog

Not just L.A., the city of angels is everywhere 

Serendipity

After Lana almost burned down the building, I was about the only friend she had in the senior complex.  From the time the tenants gathered outside watching them fight the blaze, the ladies were whispering that Lana (not her real name) was at fault because she had been drunk at the time of the fire, drunk the entire week before, in fact. 

I wasn’t critical of Lana's drinking, I just wished I could keep up with her.  Now she sat on top of an unpacked box in my living room office admitting that because of the fire, she'd probably have to move.  She was worried about where she'd go, rents being so high in Los Angeles, even as far into the desert as we lived.   

Taking on the persona of friend, I said that even after her apartment was refurbished, if she continued to live there, the gossip would make her so uncomfortable she'd still want to move. I had barely been able to go to the mail room myself since word got out among the mainly fundamentalist Christian aparment dwellers that I'm a pedophile priest victim who wrote as a journalist on the topic. Now almost no one in the building spoke to me anymore except Lana.

I suggested: "You should move to a place where people won't mind that you like to drink," being my usual blunt self.

She shook a bit and said, Yes, I do like to drink.

I said, there must be a town in California where drinking and partying are part of the culture, someplace like Lake Tahoe. 

I was sitting at my desk at the time, as I always am, the laptop having become an extension of my hands that I'm attached to nearly twenty four hours a day, disconnecting only when I pry myself out into town.

So I said to her, you should move to Tahoe, and we turned to my laptop and went to Craigslist, where I discovered that apartments in Tahoe were about the same price as in Lancaster where we were living. 

I had said to her, You should move to Lake Tahoe. But after reading the Craigslist ads, I said, "Better yet, I should move to Tahoe."

And that was that- Lana started the fire in January, I was moved out in March. She still lives there, drinking enough to not notice the gossiping neighbors 

I've lived in South Lake Tahoe a little over a year now and lucky for me it's the kind of town where you can live in a state of serendipity, like the one I've been in all my life. I finish  work in this living room at the same desk as in Lancaster, walk out the door, catch the bus, and from there on it's Serendipity what I'll do with my day.

I've lived my whole life in a state of Serendipity.  For example when I found out in 1994 that there are others who were raped by priests as children, and somewhere in the Bay Area was a support group that does activism about the topic, what did I do? I packed up Lizzie and me from a wonderful two bedroom apartment in Eureka where we were almost putting down roots, and shipped us to San Francisco in search of SNAP. 

Chaos and anarchy replaced serenity from then on in my daughter's life and I am forever sorry for that.

However, I go to Lost Coast Outpost now and then to read the headlines, though, and do not miss living in Eureka at all.

South Lake Tahoe is a great place to live if you are, like me, a little old lady who wants to be in a metropolis, but does not like the way cities have developed in America. 

I go out every day- except when I'm too wiped out and exhausted which happens about twice a week- and because of my job, I never know what time of day I'm going to be able to get out the door.

Chaos and instability are written into my life. When I wake up around midnight every night, I go to my email. Often it is not until then that I know what my schedule is going to be the next day.

Now I've arranged it so I live less than a block from a bus stop near the boulevard.  I'm surrounded by trees and recreational vibes here in an apartment in South Lake Tahoe, but I can catch a city bus that goes up and down the boulevard a block from home and get anywhere in town. 

Of course the bus does end up in the traffic and boy is there a lot of traffic on Lake Tahoe Boulevard.  I may get a bike soon so I can even avoid the bus, take the back roads, even venture onto the trails.

Yes, a bike, I need to get a bike next.

Serendipity 
---
-ke

It's amazing how a pedophile priest can destroy the family dynamic, even among members who agree with you that it happened and was wrong, even after a lawsuit is settled. Somehow just having the issue in the family is like a cancer, a virus, that grows and destroys everything with which it comes in contact. At least that's what happened in my life.

Kay Ebeling

Just now

How my sister Patricia Vestey and a pedophile priest screwed with my life

Will probably add another chapter after what she pulled on me last week. 
Chapter One First Light
Chapter Two The Thud and a Nipple Dress
Chapter Three Considering Who We Are 

-ke

still too sick to work on this. Sigh 

Have to get back to this story have a file half finished, it is LOOONG and coming soon but

Kay Ebeling

Just now · Edited · 

i have this weird malaise, so tired, pain everywhere, wonder if others in our little crime victim universe are having same experience  as Pope arrives and corporate media goes gaga. mind-body connections are not easy to control even if you are conscious they are going on. Grateful for our times. Imagine what being shut in and sick was like before Netflix et al...

Dang PTSD. I didn't make the stuff happen, I didn't want it to happen, I just get to live with the dang repercussions the rest of my life.

So glad I can finally type again, not great, with this cast on i have to be careful, but typing, so I can write about what happened when I fell and broke my wrist.

I had a PTSD reaction and I've spent the past week trying to figure out why.  It finally hit me that the trauma of breaking a bone, and the connection of the nervous system to everything in your body, could have triggered the emotional episode I had.

I was alone when I fell and had no one to call for help.  My involuntary isolation has been dominant in my life now for so long, then to have this experience, it made the fall so much worse to be alone and have no one to call for help.

So when I went outside next day in my homemade splint and ran into a neighbor, one who I thought was becoming a friend, and he told me that the evening before people from the building had gathered around the barbecue and it had turned into a spontaneous party.  This while I had been in my room in tears after going out and spending four hours out at a place and not talking to one person. (My apartment is the only one that does not face the front, so I could not see from my window that a party had developed.)

I freaked.  It became a situation where they were all against me. 

And it ticked off a PTSD episode that lasted a couple days running and running this stuff in my head about me being left out of things.

I'm trying to find the connection.

The woman who stole all that money from my dad, and probably caused his death, used that technique.  She kept the rest of us out.  Twice lizzie and I were packed to go visit and we'd get these mysterious phone calls from her saying, "Don’t come," for some illogical reason that I had no way to contradict.  I later found out she did the same thing to my sister when she planned to come visit. 

Then after his death when she was determined to keep me from finding out what she did, she had said to me, "I have now joined the rest of the family and become a member of the I Hate Kay Club."  She repeated that then to me several times.  "the I Hate Kay Club" convincing me that everyone in my family was in the club with her. 

When I start to tell people the story of my life, I see their eyes glaze over when I get to item two or three.  They stop believing me.  I probably wouldn't believe me either.  What kind of karma do I have that I've had decades - DECADES - of bad experiences, each of which would make a Lifetime two-hour movie on its own.  People don’t believe this much can happen to one person, but

I was raped by a priest when I was five years old. He dumped my sister when she turned nine and got too old and he started on me. He got to us by banging my mother. The whole sequence of events apparently skewed my life and indirectly my whole family. 

Go figure

For example, thinking about going to the place in story below for help when it is connected to an Archdiocese with all those buildings and priests walking around, one a molesting one - 

Got Me Sexually Aroused.  

Clergy abuse victim, abuser want to create resource hub

MINNESOTA
KEYC
ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) - A woman who was molested by a nun is teaming up with a priest convicted of sexual misconduct to create a resource hub for victims of sexual abuse.
The St. Paul Pioneer Press reports (http://bit.ly/1Nz5vQW ) Susan Pavlak and Gil Gustafson are raising funds with hopes of buying the chancery building of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis. The building has been assessed at $6 million and is on the market as part of the archdiocese bankruptcy proceedings.

That's how screwed up I was in the beginning, still am, and will always be.
-
Kay Ebeling
Producer, City of Angels Blog
The City of Angels Is Everywhere
*

Worst part about being a pedophile priest victim seeking justice. (More from 2013 journal, Chicago)

Read a quote in a news story about St. Peter Damian Church from 2002, when two former priests at my perp parish, were removed from ministry. 

The parishioner says, ‘It hasn’t shaken my faith,’ or something to that effect.  Here I am eleven years later reading that in the archive at Bishop Accountability thinking, ‘Good for the parishioner’ then I realize, that's the worst part about being a pedophile priest victim seeking justice.

The bad guys are connected to the parishioners at way too high a level for me to reach them from down here on the ground. That's why it did not work when I went to the Church here trying to find other victims of Father Horne. 

Even I don't want to interfere with a person’s faith. 

That one small town church housed three pedophile priests, including my perp Father Horne-y, the parish founder.  The 2002 article was the one and only time that Bartlett parish outside Chicago had been in a pedophile priest news story, when Bernardin removed 20(?) priests all at once in one week.

Makes me so conflicted myself, can’t imagine how conflicted it would make a person who was inside the bubble of prayer and total belief when confronted suddenly with the harsh truth of pedophile priests. 

So now they all get to go on with their faith, in bliss, while I'm on the outside with no foundation at all.  

To me Catholics are attractive zombies. I wish I could be one of them.  That rote repetition of gospel twisted in with thousand year old religious tract seems like something I too would like to do.

But I can’t. 

"The ones who seem not to be counter agents are actually the ones who are counter agents. Or both!" (Quote found in 2013 journal to be used in future post on how paranoid I got doing CofA Blog)

Perennial Other-Ness

More Stuff Found in Old Journal

January 22, 2013

Once again my strangeness compared to the rest of the world is rubbed in my face by one of my loving neighbors. 

I'm at Mikey’s house having a smoke and he comments that I seem to be a person who has been through a lot. Out of my mouth pops the story of when I was raped by nine Shasta Indians and left for dead in the woods on their Northern California reservation in 1970.

About halfway through my story I realize that the other person in the room, Mike’s latest flame, has very blank eyes as she stares out at me from behind thick glasses. Still I feel a need to keep talking, so I continue the story. I was a naïve and entitled upper class hippie girl who hitchhiked to an Indian reservation, camped by their river, and swam in the nude in the middle of the day.  I ended up being gang banged by nine drunk Natives one night. 

It was my fault, I say out loud, trying to elicit some feeling from my listeners but now both Mike and Flame are just staring at me.  I want to add that I finally escaped the Indians and made my way down to Highway Five where I was picked up by a couple from Oregon, then, continuing my total sexual dysfunction, I ended up in bed with the husband, while I was staying at their home recuperating from the gang rape by nine drunk Indians.  When I saw the blank looks on their faces, I realized I had to leave out that part of the story. 

Everything about me is so way out there, no wonder I have only a handful of persons who I can even talk to now as I near age sixty-five.  

-
Posted by Kay Ebeling
Producer, City of Angels Blog
The City of Angels is Everywhere

Post Note: 

The sexual dysfunction was the result of being molested by a priest when I was five years old. I write these posts today to document how these crimes by the Catholic Church who kept these men in office, messed with the lives of victims like me.

Thing is, when the Indians entered my camp site, at first I wanted to do it.

-ke