Thursday, April 30, 2009

Stories from the pokey, volume two.

If one time in jail taught me anything, it was that I definitely did not want to go back. It also taught me drugs are bad and don't steal. The following story has nothing to do with the previous one, except for the bad timing and another trip to the county jail...

I was on my way home from a bar about three years ago, and wanted to drive the back roads to avoid the interstate construction (okay, I really wanted to avoid the cops, but whatever). Earlier in the evening I had a date, but it ended early and some of my friends were out at a bar so I decided to go meet them after he dropped me off. I had a couple drinks with dinner on the date, then at the bar with my friends I had some more, but I stopped drinking about an hour before the bar closed because I knew I had to drive 30 minutes home by myself. How responsible of me, right?

Anyway, back to driving the back roads... I ended up going through the tiny town I called home for 18 years, where there is literally one stop light and 2 gas stations. I got to a four way stop, stopped my car, then proceeded through the intersection. That's when it happened. This tattered black minivan smoked through the stop sign across the road, and I clipped his back bumper. I should probably mention that it's about 2:30 in the morning at this point, it's really dark, and there are no people for miles. I stop for a minute, then decide to drive a little way up to the school where there is a huge lighted parking lot to examine the damage.

All of a sudden, the minivan busts a U (I heard the tires squeal, he turned that fast), and the guy starts chasing me, swerving all over the road and flashing his brights at me. I'm freaking out, thinking there's a psycho behind me (I was actually right), and make it to the school, where he skids to a stop and jumps out of his car, waving his cell phone in the air, yelling, "I'm calling the cops!! I'm calling the cops!!".

Ok. So I'm 5'4", half the size of this dude (let me also mention he had to be at least 60 years old... what the hell he was doing out at that ungodly hour, I'll never know), and he's screaming at me like I'm gonna hit him or something? When HE ran the stop sign?? I walk a couple of steps closer to him, which was still about 8 feet away from him, and ask him to put the freaking phone down, since he was the one at fault, and he starts yelling to the 911 operator, "She's attacking me! She's trying to attack me!! Send help now!!". I shit you not. Let's just say there were two squad cars there in less than a minute, because all I'm sure they heard was that some huge bitch was attacking some innocent senior citizen in a parking lot.

The cops start to question me, and the guy is telling them that I was the one that ran the stop sign, then I fled the scene and once he pulled me over, tried to grab his cell phone and throw it across the parking lot. I swear, I've never met an actual lunatic until that night. The cops are kinda looking at him funny, and I can tell they believe me over him, but they still have to run our licenses and whatnot and file some sort of report since there was a collision. Fine, I hand over my license and the cop goes to the car to call it in.

You probably can figure out that I had a warrant. For an unpaid speeding ticket that had happened while I was evacuating from Hurricane Rita, two years prior. I had totally forgotten about it!! The cop was really apologetic as he told me I'd be taking a ride with him down to the slammer.

So, in the midst of me getting cuffed and stuffed, my friend shows up who I had called when the crazy guy was yelling at me before the cops got there. He's completely in awe... here he is, pulling up to a school parking lot to help me out, and he sees two cop cars, me getting cuffed, and a lunatic still yelling at me (but now he was laughing/yelling because I was getting arrested and thought it was justice being served). I just told my friend to somehow get my car and please come bail me out, like, NOW.

So, I get to jail, and the cops are nice to me and don't make me actually go in a cell. They do make me take the bobby pins out of my hair, in case I wanted to fashion a shank or something out of them, and then lead me over to take my glamour, I mean, mug shot. But for the 40 minutes I waited for my friend, the cops were all talking to me and being cool, and I didn't have to sit in a cold dirty cell, or even have cuffs on. I'm thankful for that. I'm also thankful they didn't make me do a breathalyzer... that could have made for a much more interesting story.

As for the batshit crazy old man... well, he called my house the next day and demanded I pay for his ancient minivan's damages. Said he had a copy of the 911 tape and everything, and I better pay up.

I told him to eat a dick.

Monday, April 20, 2009

What kind of bird doesn't fly? A JAILBIRD! (Part 1)

After my last post, I decided to fill you guys in on my jail stories, since a few of you seem curious. Let me begin by saying I have only been to jail twice, not three times, so that was the false fact about me. Not that ONLY twice is something to brag about...

First time, I was 21 years old, and had just returned from South Texas where I had helped my boyfriend pack up and move home (he went to college down there). We went over to Mexico (about a 10 minute drive from where he lived) to look around and shop, and I wanted to get some liquor because it's super cheap over there. Well he had the bright idea to go into one of the millions of "pharmacies" (I use that term loosely because they sell everything without prescriptions) and purchase some medicines. People in my hometown were big into taking Xanax, Valium, and painkillers and spacing out at parties (the allure of this, I'll never know), and DAB (dumbass boyfriend) thought we should get some of them so he could sell them for a profit, since there was such a demand for them at the time. I was stupid and didn't tell him that was a really bad idea. (I WAS only 21...)

So we get the pills, and get in my car to drive back across the border. I had bottles of pills in my bra and in my knee-high boots under my jeans just in case we got searched... thank goodness I did that, because as soon as we crossed the bridge back into the U.S. the border patrol motions us to the side of the road to search my car. (Apparently, young people go across the border all the time to score prescription-free meds, and obviously that is illegal). So they search my car, take out panels on the sides of my consoles, go through backpacks, luggage, EVERYTHING, but don't actually search our bodies (thank God).

So, we get back and go to a huge party that Friday night, and DAB's selling Xanax like hotcakes for $5 apiece. I was off enjoying the legal intoxication of the keg, and didn't know that he put the bottle of pills in my purse once he was done being Mr. Salesman of the year. Fast forward to the next day... I meet a couple of girlfriends to tan, have lunch, and shop at the mall to find an outfit to wear out to the club that night. Little did I know, my friend shoplifted panties from Victoria's Secret, and then my other friend stole a shirt from JC Penney. What idiots. As we were leaving JCP, the security guards stopped us and asked us to come with them. I was clueless at this point, and was all, WTF do we have to do that for, and they informed me that the security cameras caught one of us shoplifting and they needed to search our bags. When we get to the back, they find the shirt and panties on my friends, and nothing on me. Well, the cops had already been called, and when they got there they re-searched us all.

And that's when they found the pills in my purse. I had no idea they were there, and then it went off like a lightbulb that DAB must have put them in there the night before. There were a total of 54 pills in the bottle, so obviously it looked like I was a drug dealer. I of course tried to explain, but I knew there was no way out of this, it was so obvious what it LOOKED like. So, one friend and I got cuffed and escorted THROUGH THE MALL (not embarrasing at all) out to the waiting cop cars, and taken to the pokey. (The other friend got to leave, because the panties she had were less than $50, and not a misdemeanor).

Once we get to the jail, they make us strip down, and squat and cough to make sure there was nothing, um, hidden. That was the most mortifying moment of my life, lemme tell ya. We had a phone in our cell, and we were the only ones in it, thank goodness, so we kept calling our other friend, who had promised to come back and get us. I finally get ahold of her, and the bitch is at her HOUSE, taking a BATH, and getting ready to go out to the club!! I yelled and cursed at her for everything she was worth, then hung up and called DAB. He says he'll be there in less than an hour, and he did as promised... but had my parents with him because he couldn't come up with bail for both of us. That was an awesome ride home.

I ended up having 6 months probation, 100 hours community service, and a drug awareness class. And I had a curfew, which meant I couldn't leave my house before 6AM and had to be in by 9PM. I lived with my parents at the time, therefore they strictly enforced the curfew. I also had to go to weekly probation meetings with the bitchiest woman probation officer in the world, and get drug tested (peeing in a cup in front of a woman officer, again, mortifying) and couldn't drink alcohol. Let's just say I learned my lesson. Thank goodness I got deferred judication, which means it's not on my permanent record. That's one of the things I'm most grateful for, because I doubt I'd be employed with the company I am now if that showed up on my criminal record.

Moral of the story: don't hang out with theiving bitches and/or boyfriends who want to be frat-boy drug dealers. You could end up in jail, naked and coughing in front of the large lady cop who looks like she likes girls...

**I'll post about my second jail experience later... this one went on a little longer than I thought it would.**

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I'm still alive...

... but I am an awful blogger. I read everyone else's daily, but I have nothing new in my life to talk about. It's been two weeks since I last posted, and I have come to the realization that I'm just boring! So, in order to have something to post (and to prove I may have at one time been interesting), I'm totally jacking Samsmama's idea and posting a list of ten random things from my past that I've done...with one thing listed that I didn't do. See if you can figure out which one it is!

(oh, and Sassypants, you can't comment until they figure it out, because it's just not fair... you've known me for 24 years).

1. I was an egg donor after MP was born... I only planned on doing it once, but ended up doing it 7 times because my baby makers were apparently a hot commodity.

2. I got busted driving drunk (yes, I know, no lectures please) when I was 19 (again, underage, I know) and my parents had to come pick me up on the side of the road. 3 miles from my house. On a Tuesday. At 3am. The cop was nice enough not to haul me to jail, though.

3. I had scholarship offers to dance in college (not strippering, dance teaming) but stayed in my hometown for a boy. We broke up 5 months later.

4. I've been on the bar at every Coyote Ugly bar I've been to. And Hogs and Heifers.

4. I have never, ever, flashed my boobies... even before I had a kiddo and they were more, um, perky.

5. I had to ride a Greyhound bus from San Antonio to my hometown twice because I totaled my car and had no other way. It was one of the most awful experiences ever, and I cried getting on it every time.

6. I've smuggled prescription drugs and steroids into the US from Mexico.

7. My first kiss was under my parents' trailer, and he tasted like bubblegum. He also tried to put his hand up my shirt and I freaked out. We were 5.

8. My friend once spilled red nail polish on her white comforter when I spent the night at her house in elementary school, and when her mom saw what happened, my friend blamed it on me and I got in trouble. I still carry that grudge. :)

9. I've been to jail three times.

10. I spent every sunny day (and some rainy ones) during the summer in the late 80's/early 90's jumping on my trampoline and listening to tapes of New Kids on the Block, Paula Abdul, Janet Jackson, and MC Hammer... from the time I woke up until the sun went down. I LOVED IT.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

The week in stressful events, so far...

I know I've been neglectful of my blog, but let me give you a quick rundown of my week thus far:

Monday - Get to work, and realize that the day of vacation I used Friday for my kiddo's birthday ensures that people will inevitably have fifty bajillion urgent things on my desk and in my email when I return. Go home, find that the puppy has escaped the barricaded kitchen and shit in my living room. Feed kid and dog, bathe kid, and all in bed by 8:30.

Tuesday - Get to work with same shitstorm as day before, since with my actual body in the office they can come in and bark orders at me instead of wasting precious time writing an email. Leave to pick up kiddo to go to the dentist. Said dentist takes over two hours for both of us. Feed the kid, drop her back at school, then go home and clean (because there's no way I'm driving all the way back to work for only 30 minutes of work). Jail-escaping puppy has upped shit pile count to two. Dinner at BF's house, home, bathe kiddo, everyone in bed by 9.

Wednesday - Didn't start out bad at all... had an offsite teambuilding event where we went to College Station, TX to the George Bush Library (eh, it was okay), to lunch at a nice restaurant, then to ...get this... a WINERY. And we got to DRINK (well, taste) some. When I got home is when trouble started... puppy escaped AGAIN (yes, I realize I'm the one who's an idiot and not learning my lesson), two piles of shit again, hyper kid who won't listen is running around like a heathen and lets puppy out of the front door, I have to chase it, some Mexican is at my door trying to see if he can mow my lawn, all while BF is on the phone telling me to calm down and go drink a beer for Godsakes. Screw the bath tonight and everybody in bed by 8. Wake up at 3:00AM to puke. No idea why. But that's always fun. (totally kidding)

Thursday (so far) - Wake up to be at work by 6:30, have 4 visas and 5 expense reports to do on top of the other crap that's still piled up from earlier in the week. Boss makes me run and buy 11 $100 AMEX gift cards for employee recognition (yes, I realize that's $1100. None for me though). Stop by TM's house to bring her and her little one lunch (she was working from home and I needed a little TM in my day). Get back to work, resume churning out work requests, and prepare for the banquet our group is having tonight. 250+ people, dinner, etc. with a lot of boring presentations...and I can't get out of it. So I won't get home until about 9. At least I get to drink. And at least BF is picking up MP and basically running my house for me until I get there. I'll have to thank him properly, if I'm not too tired. :)

This, my friends, should sum up why exactly I titled my blog what I did.

Okay, off to the hotel to get stuff ready for the banquet... And following in the footsteps of Calicobebop, I will not bitch ANY MORE THIS WEEK and will promise a happy and thankful post next time. :)