Footnotes Vermont and Nevada, who is worse?

So Friday morning…

The first news article I see is about—dun, dun, dun—the Division of Insurance and how rates have skyrocketed. I do take some personal responsibility for this because there was no administration at the Division of Insurance for a while. The people in charge of negotiating these things all resigned. I fired off an email to the journalist. Crickets. As always. Such is life.

Next article: some schizophrenic man was found guilty of harassing and stalking Lombardo. He had been held on a one-million-dollar bond, and his sentencing is November 25th. The “crime,” as far as I can read, is sending social media messages because he thought Lombardo killed his neighbor. First of all, the article doesn’t mention if the neighbor actually died—because if they did, I’ve lived in Vegas long enough to know that there is actually a chance someone at Metro killed someone while Lombardo was sheriff. That shit happens here.

But that was the crime. I don’t know that he made threats, directly or indirectly—but social media messages should be covered by the First Amendment when you’re talking about political figures like the Governor or the AG. So I got fucking scared.

Somewhere between the bug on my phone and them punishing a mentally ill man who needs psychiatric care—not prison—so severely, I am terrified I’m going to be arrested. Nothing I’ve done is illegal under the First Amendment. I have not made threats; I have just messaged. I could go to prison. There is now precedent in the law. Fuck.

So I’m in tears, and I’m trying to decide what exactly I should do. Like, do I just give up? This shit is killing me. I’m not getting anywhere. Nothing is going to change. {D} is never going to be punished.

Then I figured out how unpunished {D} is. But first, I needed to go to my one-on-one meeting with my boss.

My boss is an amazing guy. He has been the only person encouraging me to keep fighting. But it’s fucking me up at work. I’m on a performance improvement plan. I’ll be lucky to have a job at the end of the month. But he’s rooting for me.

I was already in tears when the meeting started. We never really talked about work. He told me I was the coolest fucking person he knew, that I was brilliant and hilarious and had the best stories, and how artistic and creative I was—and he stopped himself because of HR—but he almost called me beautiful. Not in a creepy way, but more like a brother or a friend. It was funny watching him try to correct himself on that one. He told me this job is beneath me and I shouldn’t be having any issues, and that this fight is killing me. He said if it takes your soul, he is winning. And he said I was losing myself. I’m not being who I am, and it’s not worth it. As much as it hurts to allow this to go unpunished, it’s hurting me more to keep going. He told me he just wanted to see me happy again.

He’s such a good guy.

Now I have been researching. I’m known to research just random rabbit holes I find myself in—mostly politicians. I pour through data and look for things that tie together and who is doing what. I have focused my research on {D} recently admittedly rather obsessively, but I research obsessively And please know—it’s research. I do this. History is a research degree.

Job posting: Deputy Insurance Commissioner in Vermont. Department of Financial Regulation—aka the hole {D} crawled off into. So I’m looking at organizational charts, and there is movement at DFR. The Deputy Commissioner of Captive is acting as Deputy Commissioner of Insurance. So let’s play the people game. She moves up—who takes her place? You can see the chess game I’m playing here. Now Vermont has an employment type that lacks transparency. It’s called “limited.” The only record I’ve found is that there is exactly one limited employee at DFR—but limited employees are not listed in employee salaries, so there is no record of who this person might be. Back to the organizational chart: there’s a vacancy in their Director of Insurance Regulation.

Interesting.

So I read and I read and I started looking through the recent orders, bulletins, and regulations. Quite recently I noticed a change in a few of them: footnotes. I’ve seen a lot of footnotes. I love footnotes—I write with footnotes—but most people don’t, and most legal filings don’t use them.

So I was like, where did I see the other footnotes? And it was in {D}’s Supreme Court case, which I read when I met him and he said he wrote. Footnotes are used, upon my Googling, almost exclusively by appellate attorneys in filings, if they are used at all, and in legal writing like bar journals. So the person writing these documents for DFR would probably be a person who is a certified appellate trial attorney who was an editor of the bar journal. Who could that possibly be?

And I’m looking at a fucking regulatory guideline on what is covered in mental fucking health—and if you don’t see why that specific topic is infuriating to me, I don’t know what to say to you.

He was never fired. He was shuffled. The new DFR commissioner took over within days of me being told {D} got fired. It just looked bad, so they shuffled him over. Vermont doesn’t give any more of a shit than Nevada does.

No one cares. I will say it’s dumb because when {D} starts fucking someone in the office—as he always does—the public records of them knowing are fucking there, and that will be one hell of a sexual harassment claim.

Oh yeah, but the public records aren’t there. Requests I made don’t exist in the database.

And that is how David Cassetty got away with raping a woman on video with the help of two state governments and is now determining and influencing policy for mental health and substance use—the one topic he knew everything about: alcohol abuse.

No one. Cares. Your tax dollars pay his bar bill and afford him the luxury of beating women to make himself cum.

Congrats, Vermont. You are as bad as Nevada—if not actually worse.