Ashley

I have no words to write any kind of meaningful coherent thought provoking brilliantly witty post today.  And so, I give you Brian’s Daughter Ashley, who was kind and generous enough to allow me to force her to sit still and show me a ‘serious’ face so that I could practice some shots I’ve been imagining in my head.

Personally? I think she nailed it.

You Know There Must Be Something Wrong with the Judicial System When I am the Orgainized One

I was in jail for 23 days.  On July 31 I will be out as long as I was in. Since I got out I have been to 4 court dates.  Of those 4, only one of them has gone smoothly.

The first court date, I showed up on time, had all my paperwork from all four counties and thank Elmo I did.  My name was called, I stood before the judge, and he was looking at my case, which showed I had been released, then recommitted.  Confusing, yes.

When I was taken to court for the arraignment, I was transferred from the jail, to the courthouse for the day.  Since the CO’s at the jail were absolutely sure I would be released that night on my own recognizance (OR’d) they did the release paperwork. The judge apparently didn’t consult with the CO’s and didn’t release me, but did reduce my bond to $100 which luckily I could pay (if not I would sitanother ten days).  The problem was, I didn’t have cash, I had a debit card.  The courthouse didn’t take debit cards, but the jail does.  So, I got transferred back, so they could process my bond.  It took a while (like 2 hours) for the paperwork to get faxed to the jail, and I was waiting (it was close to midnight by this time).  They booked me back in, so that I could bond out, and also so I could sleep in a holding cell instead of on a bench.  My bond was posted at 3:00 AM, and I was released at 9:00 the next morning.

So, that explains the re-commitment.  The problem was, the bond money hadn’t been transferred to the courthouse so the judge had no record of it.  I wanted to say “Hey Buddy, clearly I posted the bond, I’m standing here in front of up.” Instead I just showed him my bond sheet and was on my way.

The 2nd court date, I showed up at least 20 minutes early, and looked over the 20 page docket for court that day.  Alphabetical beginning to end and absolutely not a single HOOD on the list.  Great.  I’m not on the docket.  So, I went to the clerks office (I knew the girls, the had helped with a lot of paperwork for my divorce and custody case) Explained to them I was not on the docket.  They checked their computers, and sure as shit, not there.  Once again, I had all of my papers with me, showed them my bond sheet, time and date of court appearance and the put me on the docket for the day.

Today was court date #4.  Last night I couldn’t find my papers for this court date, and I wanted to verify the date and time.  I was lost.  I’m checking on line, and there is nothing.  I am checking CaseNet, not there.  I find a website that has the next day’s court dockets listed, nope, not there either.  I call the courthouse, they are gone for the day.  FUCK.

In a stroke of good luck and OMG I’m going to need this, I found the papers I would need.  I get to the courthouse 20 minutes early once again.  Two courtrooms hold court today.  Check with the first, and I’m not on the docket (Shocking I know), so I check with the 2nd courtroom and guess what? Not there either.  I’m starting to see a pattern here.  I go to the court clerk’s office, and she can’t find me either (because by now, I’m beginning to think I really don’t exists, and if I’m not one any docket then why did I spend 23 days in jail if I can’t be found in anyone’s computer system.)

She calls the prosecuting attorney who politely informs her that their office hasn’t even processed the case, or filed the tickets yet.  I’m not set for court yet.  Two hours on the road this morning, for this???  The clerk gave me a continuance and I have a new court date further down the line.

So, I have been to all my initial court dates for everyone, now there are four dates left, but with those, the lawyer will have worked something out, and I will just plea and be done.

You know, that is, if they can find me.

My 'This Shit Ain't Happening' List

Once Upon a Time, Morgan Freeman made a movie, because, well that’s what Morgan Freeman does.  And in this movie there was another actor who’s name was pretty well known, but when you’re in a movie with Morgan Freeman, nobody remembers you, even if you are Jack Nicholson, because well… Morgan Freeman.  And so, it came to pass that The Bucket List should get made, and make a few pennies, and start a crazy “Let’s Make A List of Our Own” craze across the nation.  And all the obsessive compulsive people who basically spend their lives making lists and crossing things off of lists and makings lists of lists, rejoiced because finally the world got it and they weren’t the crazy ones anymore.  And then, because there isn’t a fad in the world picked up from movies that can’t be turned into a good blog posts, the blogging world exploded with Bucket List posts too.  Because hello?!?! Morgan Freeman.

So, I set down to write my own bucket list, because hello!?!? not jail.  Then the thought occurred to me, Bucket Lists are great in theory; here’s a list of things I would like to do, places I would like to go, before I die.  The reality of bucket lists are, here is a list of things I would like to do, places I would like to see but will never get to due to, money, kids, jobs, tubal ligations (Having Johnny Depp’s baby was on my list, you see) and restraining orders (see previous reason).  What the hell kind of fun is there in making a list of dreams that will never come true.  That’s putting a picture of a million dollars on your bathroom mirror as a daily reminder that you are poor house broke.

Turns out, Shauna Glenn, made a kind of reverse bucket list on her blog.  So, without Morgan Freeman, because, hello!?!? He’s Morgan Freeman, I give you my Ain’t No Fucking Way list.

Mountain Climbing. I can not for the life of me find any logical reason for anyone to climb up the side of a mountain. First of all, hello!? Mountain. Second, they wear such ugly shoes.  Third, they’re hanging by a rope that somebody had to anchor to the mountain above them.  What if that person is pissed off?  What if they have ADHD and a bird flies by?  And fourth, why climb up the side of a mountain when really there is nothing waiting for you at the top?  Just lie and say you did. And if someone asks for pictures? I’m sure you can find some on the internet.

Perform on Stage. I can play RockBand, in the privacy of Brian’s house, with family and only a few friends around to witness it.  I play the bass guitar. Know why? Because I can stand in the back and nobody really gives a shit about the bass player.  I can sing well enough to sing to the radio in my car, or score in the 90’s on RockBand, but that’s it.  I am a photographer because I belong behind the camera, and I blog because I belong behind the computer screen.

Write a book. Ok this one is kind of iffy.  I was convinced I could never write a book.  I mean, I can’t get 1000 page views a week here, the closest I’ve come was 785, and that was the week I got out of jail.  See what kind of drastic measures I have to take to get readers?  So, writing a book was on my list of things I’d never do.  But now I have to question that, because 50 Shades of Grey is the Lindsay Lohan of literature and that series makes up the top 20% of book sales in America.  If that train wreck can sell millions, I just might stand a chance.

Hunt for Bigfoot the sasquatch, not the big ass redneck truck.  There are people within a 100 mile radius of my home that believe Bigfoot exists and that they are just the people to hunt them down and bring them in.  And by them, I mean the whole Bigfoot tribe (Herd?) You know, because 1 isn’t enough,  you need a whole group in order to make your discovery legitimate.  So, while it’s fun to listen to their stories, I’m not suiting up to hunt these… whatever they are.. down.

Run for Public Office. This ranks right up there, and could possibly be combined with Perform on Stage.  I have no desire to run for public office.  That means I would be in charge of things, or worse yet, people.  I’m already in charge of 2 people besides myself and well, the verdict is still out on how well I’m doing with our three lives. There is no way any sane person would entrust me to being in charge of anything that effects so many people’s daily lives.  Unless it means managing a McDonald’s; I might be able to do that.

Join the military.  Jail sucked. I made the most of it, but it sucked.  For 23 days, my life was at the hand of someone else.  They said when I could eat, they said when I could socialize, they said what I watched on television, they said what I wore. I imagine the military is some variation of that.  Also, I have a real problem with authority.  My first husband was in the Air Force (Aim High) and tried to talk me into joining.  He said that because I had a college degree I could go in as an officer.  I told him it would really be unfair to him for me to outrank him at home and at work.

Drive a Lamborghini. Or a Maserati.  I am no stranger to the car world. I have worked at car dealerships, I’ve been married to a mechanic, and well, most men love cars.  The louder, the faster, the more expensive, the better.  I get that this is hard wired in most guys DNA. And should the opportunity arise I will be appropriately excited about the experience, but saying “I drove a Lamborghini” is like saying “I drank Louis Roederer Cristal Champaign”.  I understand the appeal of the Lamborghini and Maserati. I get that they are very expensive, European cars.  I know this.  Hell, I LOVE BMW’s.  I just have no desire to drive one, either one.

Sky Dive. I have yet to find any reason (good or not) for me to jump out of a perfectly functioning, still in the air, engines still running, airplane.  Now, if you’re in the military (see above) I get it. If you’re a fire jumper (who jumps into forest fires to put them out from the inside) I get it, I still think you’re insane jumping from a perfectly functioning plane into a forest fire. Hello!?! FIRE?? But if I get on a plane and they hand me a parachute, I’m giving it back and turning around to walk right the fuck off that plane.

Read The Hunger Games or 50 Shades of Grey.  I read the Harry Potter series (I was given the books) and loved them.  I got sucked into the Twilight series and read the books. Once.  I had no desire to read The Hunger Games or 50 Shades.  Neither series interested me, I wasn’t curious, and now, now that the hype is waning it’s now a matter of principle.  I am determined to be one of the last 10 people in the world to never read either series.

Swim in an ocean.  I have been to Panama City Beach, I have also been to Daytona Beach.  I have put my foot in the ocean at both beaches.  But I never went any further than mid-calf deep.  I hate slimy things.  I hate slimy rocks in oceans, lakes, rivers.  I hate bodies of water with creatures living in it.  I will make the exception for Mark Twain Lake.  I’ll get in the water there because that’s the only way to tube or wake board. But I don’t have to touch the bottom. Ever. I will never swim in the ocean, because A) I refuse to touch the bottom and B) the creatures that swim in oceans can eat a person.  I’m nobody’s dinner.

Now for a list of things I do want to do.

• Own a pair of Louboutins
• Weigh 115 again
• Get my nose pierced
• Get 1000+ page views a week consistently for 2  months.
• Have a relationship with my son again
• See Ireland
• Spend a week at an all inclusive resort that has beaches and margaritas.
• Not grow old alone
• Make a living with my camera or my writing, probably my camera

What’s on your Fuck No Way List?  Or your Bucket List?

Court Date #2

I have court tomorrow. 9:00 AM.  I have an attorney for this court date, so I know I won’t be standing alone.  Still it’s nerve wracking not knowing exactly what to expect going in.

I have called the attorney and am waiting for a return call.  I just want to know, before I get there, what to expect.

And that’s the worst of it all.

The not knowing.

So, say a prayer, offer up sacrifices, send good mojo, whatever it is you do.  I could use all the help, good vibrations, positive energy I can get.

 

Text Messages

“Hey, xoxo Lv U”

I looked at my phone and read the text message I never expected to get.

“Hey, xoxo Lv U”

Three weeks before, the last thing I heard from him was “I’m not going down this road with you.”  And just like I turned my phone off when I went into jail, I turned off my heart and believed he had walked away.

Ten days later, I was able to convince an officer to allow me to use my cell phone to check my bank balance.  While I had my phone, I checked my text messages.  There were none from him.  Ten days of ‘radio silence’.  That confirmed what I had believed all alone, he had walked away.

Eleven days after that I was given use of my cell phone to make phone calls to get bonded out.  And again, I looked for text messages, and again, there were none from him.  I spent the 22 hours I had to wait in jail thinking about what I would say to him when I got out.

The girls dad picked me up from jail, I had my cell phone and again, checked for text messages, still there were none.  I still felt I owed him something, so I sent him “I’m out, home tonight sometime”.

It was as if I had opened a floodgate.  The texts started pouring in, Where are you? Who’s got you? When are you coming home? How are you getting home?  When did you get out?  Why didn’t anyone tell me you were out? Can you call me?

And then, “Hey, xoxo Lv U”

I had just spent three weeks believing it was over. I had spent three weeks not even thinking about him.  I had spent three weeks building walls around my heart and believing when I got out, he would be gone.

And then there were more.

“I missed you”

“I kept tabs on you”

“Let me come get you”

“I really want to see you”

“I am ready to go, truck cleaned, car hauler on, getting to see my girl”

I stared at my phone as each text came in, more and more unsure what I was seeing, more and more unsure I could believe what I was reading.

In the midst of all the texts he was sending me, I started receiving texts he had sent the entire time I was in jail. He had sent me text messages every day while I was gone.  Knowing I wouldn’t have my phone, but hoping they would be there when I got out.

He picked me up that night and brought me back to his house for the night.  A buffer between jail, and the real world.  I stood there looking around at a house I never thought I’d stand in again, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I was out of jail, and in his house.  He walked up to me, wrapped his arms around me and just held me.  I could feel how much I had hurt him, I could feel how much he had missed me, I could feel how relieved he was I was home.  I felt how sorry I was, how it hurt me to know I had hurt him, and I felt like a total shit for not trusting everything that was right in front of me.

And yet, I had spent three weeks building walls, keeping him out, believing he was gone.  Those were no easier to undo than the hurt and disappointment I had inflicted on him.

It’s been a week.  He’s still here.  He still says I love you every day.  I have learned in this past week, that he called and texted Muri several times a day to find out where I was, if anyone had heard anything new.  He watched posts on Facebook from my girls, and my family hoping for some sort of news.  He was there within hours of me being released and has asked about court dates, has offered to help out until I get completely back on my feet again.

I never did get all the text messages he sent in those long three weeks I was gone, but I got the important one

“Please get out soon.”

It told me all I needed to know.

Questions and Answers About Jail

I’ve been asked a few questions by family and friends since I’ve been out, about what it was like to be in jail.  I am sure there are a lot more people who have a lot more questions, but who don’t want to ask for any number of reasons.  I could write blog posts about each place, but they would seem so clinical, this way, it just gets it all out there.  If you have a question I don’t answer here, feel free to email me or ask in the comments.

What is jail like? In a word? Jail.  Each one is different.  There were some basics that were the same everywhere; lights out/television off at 10:30. Food sucked.  Minimal privacy (you swallow your pride quickly), and nobody looks good in orange. The universal truth is ‘We’re all in jail. Let’s get along to pass the time. I’ll respect you, you respect me.”  One of the things you learn early on, is that no matter how bad you think your particular situation sucks, there is always someone in jail who has it way worse than you.  Oh, and everyone is a jail house lawyer.

Did you have a cell to yourself? At times, yes.  I was in 4 different county jails.  (Never prison, just jail) and of the 4, two had cells, 2 didn’t.  When I got to a new cell, there was already a cellmate there, but they left like the next day.  Both times, I would have a cell to myself until the day before I left.  Some people had the same cellmate the entire time they were there. In fact, Casey and Kelly had been cellmates for 4 months, and their cell looked more like a college dorm room than a jail cell.

Were you in County Jail, or PRISON? I was in County jail. 4 of them to be exact.  But in every single one of them, there were girls waiting to go to prison.  I learned that prison, after the first 30 days, is considered easier than jail.  In prison, you can buy soda, and cigarettes, you can have your own television in your cell, you can work and get paid, you can go outside (in the yard)

Were you allowed to communicate with family other than writing? Oh sure, you can make phone calls all day long, but they are all collect calls.  That’s not entirely true.  You can buy ‘phone cards’ from the jail, or some places use phone systems that allows your family to buy phone time for you which means the calls are still expensive, but cheaper than collect.  Collect calls cost $9.99 for a 7 minute phone call.  I only made 2 phone calls, A) because they were super expensive, and B) I wanted minimal contact with ‘outside’ because it was easier that way.  Plus, there was visitation, some places had visitation every week, others it was every other week.  If anyone had showed up, I would have refused to see them. I didn’t want anyone to see me in jail. Nobody.

Did you make any ‘friends’ or at least alliances? You can’t be locked in the same room with other women and not make friends.  But we all knew we were just jail house friends.  That if we had seen each other out on the street, we wouldn’t be friends.  We used the saying “The buddy shit ends at the door”.  They were all important and meant a lot to me, while I was in jail.  They helped me get through it, but I don’t think we’ll be hosting any jail mate reunions or sending each other Christmas cards.  We all exchanged emails, and Facebook names, and Twitter handles.  I haven’t heard from any one of them.  There were some girls in there, who had been in for a while, or knew they were going to be there a while, and well, they were ‘gay for the stay’.  Everyone needs a little love and affection and attention now and then.

Was it as bad as I’m imagining? Probably not.  The first 48 hours are hell.  It’s like withdraw, cold turkey.  One minute you’re free to do/go where ever you want, to see and talk and call family and friends, and the next, you have very little freedom and the outside world is gone.  So you go through a 48 hour detox, adjusting to the reality of you’re in jail.  It takes a little longer to stop fighting to find a way to get out faster.  Once you just accept that you’re going to have to sit a minute, and wait it out, and ride through the system at the system’s pace, it gets easier.  I was never outside unless being transported to court or a new county.  I never looked outside any of the windows because it was easier to not think about outside.  I had to live in the moment.  I couldn’t think about what my family and friends were doing.  I couldn’t think about what I was missing (Father’s Day, my birthday, 4th of July).  That could all be faced and dealt with once I was out.  All I could think about was getting through each day.

What did you do to pass the time? There are limited options to kill time in jail.  One girl went to the doctor every single day (at $10 a pop) just to get out of the pod for a change.  There was a television in the day room and it was on from 8:00 AM to 10:30 PM.  Majority rules when deciding what to watch.  Or, in one jail, each cell got the remote for a day, and they were in charge of what to watch.  There were books to read, you could sleep, play cards, or write letters (if you had paper and pen).

What were you given when you were booked in?  The basics.  2 sets of orange tops/pants, 2 white tees (always 8 sizes too big), 3 pair of underwear (always brand new), 2 pair of socks, 1 pair of boxers, and a pair of shoes.  You were also given a mat (about 3 inches thick and hard as wood) and a mattress cover (sheet) and a blanket.  A toothbrush (3” long), the nastiest toothpaste ever, a bar of soap (hotel bar soap size) and a comb.  Some gave a bottle of baby shampoo, others didn’t.  We were given disposable razors on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, for about 2 hours.  They checked your name when you took it, and checked you off when you returned it.

What was the food like? I don’t really know because I ate so very little of it.  I learned early on that everyone wanted what I didn’t eat, so I could use it to trade for things.  I would trade my bread from every meal to Ashley who would in turn, give me a cup of coffee every day.  (jail coffee is instant, and decaf, and gross, but it’s coffee).  I could give Scoob my tray and she would find me some paper and a pen, or an envelope with a stamp.  For $5.00 worth of phone time to call her boyfriend, Nicole gave me half her peanut butter that she got for her night snack (she was diabetic).  I usually only ate 1 thing from every meal, and there may have been only 5 meals out of 23 days, that I ate the entire meal.

What is Commissary? If you have money on  your books, every week you can ‘go shopping’.  You can place a commissary order for shampoo and conditioner, candy, kool aid mix, instant coffee, paper, pens, envelopes with stamps, among other things.  It is ridiculously expensive, but a bite of chocolate, or even a cup of really crappy instant coffee is heaven.

How long were you in, and what’s it like to be home? I was brought in on June 15th at approximately 8:30 PM, after being pulled over.  I was released on July 8th at approximately 12:15 PM.  Roughly 23 days. When you’re inside you focus solely on being inside, and getting through the days.  I allowed ‘outside’ to occupy a small part of my head.  It was there, in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t focus on it.  I knew I was going to be bonded out 24 hours before I actually left.  So I had to spend 24 hours in jail, knowing I was just hours away from being free.  Those were some long ass hours.  But once I was out, (and the girls’ dad was there to pick me up, that man is a saint, and I probably should marry him again just to make up for all he did for me.) it was really overwhelming.  It was like waking up from a coma, where everything was familiar and yet somehow different.  The girls and I went grocery shopping and I walked the aisles, and thought, I don’t even know what I need to buy besides milk, eggs, and bread.  I don’t even know what to cook, or make for dinner.

23 Days, $650 of My Own Money, and 12 Pounds Later, I am Out of Jail

The note reached me even before I was in my last pod of the gauntlet I was running to freedom. “Bond at noon Sunday”.  Looking at the clock, I thought, I can sit 22 more hours. After 500+ hours, what was 22 more?  Sunshine, shampoo with conditioner, coffee, freedom were all just a few long long hours away.

In those 23 days, in 4 different counties,  you have limited options to pass the time.  You can read a book, watch television, sleep, or write. (if you can manage to finagle paper and a pen).  I learned early on that the fact that I ate very little in jail, my food was a valuable commodity.  “You want my breakfast? I want some paper and a pen.”, “You want my dinner? I need an envelope with a stamp”  So, in those 23 days I had plenty of time to think about what I would write when I got out.  How would I explain my month-long absence online. You can’t come back from social media suicide without some sort of explanation.

I have wondered how much, or how little I would write.  It would be easy to just gloss over it, sort of‘personal issues in real life’which is true, but my online relationships are as important and as real to me as my real life relationships, so why would I be any less honest, or spend any less time repairing those relationships?  I wouldn’t.

There were semi minor traffic issues that I didn’t take care of when I should have.  I could give you a long list of excuses as to why not, but basically I was stupid, scared, and poor, but had I reached out and asked for help, I could have gotten it and avoided this whole mess.  So, you can only run from your mistakes for so long before Karma steps in and kicks your ass.  June 15th, on my way home from dropping off the girls with their Dad, Karma made me her bitch.  Several matters stacked on top of each other leaving me with $3000 in bond money standing between me and freedom.  [It was $3000 cash only, so I couldn’t ask for 10% or $300.  It was not a $30,000 bond, and I only needed 10% ($3000) to get out] I called everyone I could, texted everyone else, I Tweeted, and Facebooked it too.  Those who might have helped, didn’t have the money, and those who might have had the money wouldn’t help.

I was left to figure it out on my own.  And in jail, you got nothing but time to do nothing but think, and if you haven’t spent more than an hour inside your own head, you can’t imagine what 23 days is like.  I spent the first 12 days trying to figure out how I could get out sooner, if I could find any shortcuts.  Could I post bond here and save myself a few days?  Of the $650 spent out of my own pockets (every last penny I had) only $150 of it made any kind of difference.

It took me until June 27th to accept I had to sit and wait this out.  I was their bitch, and there was precious little I could do to hurry this process along.  Accepting that is one of the hardest things about being in jail.  You have hours and hours to think, and of course you think about home and family, and friends, and outside, and to have to accept you won’t have any of that until the judges and courts say so, is very difficult.

Now that I am out, I still have court dates to go to.  I will be making the rounds into August.  If there is any good to come out of the time spent sitting, all that time will count, and I will be able to go to court, and just get time served.  I will have done the punishment up front.  There were several lessons learned in this, besides the obvious.  I learned that I am too damn old, too damn smart to be doing this shit.  I’ve got quite the legal mess to clean up, relationships to heal and rebuild.  None of it will be easy, and nobody out there has any reason to believe or trust me, but I am determined.