Just a little warning- this is a long story. I swear it’s worth it though!
Last night my friend Christopher calls me while I’m still at work. He is not happy. Why is he unhappy? ohhhh I dunnnnoo… I may have fucked with his girlfriend through text messages on Sunday morning… and that may or may not have led to a huge fight between the two of them… that might have angered him. Possibly.
He really has no right to be mad though. I’ve known Christopher since 3rd grade. We went to elementary, middle, and high school together. He dated my cousin (the oldest one, my age but a year behind us in school due to a late summer birthday) for a good while; 2 + years . That means he was at every family function we had for almost 3 whole years. So we played footsie under the table at Christmas dinners (I guess I’ve always been a careless flirt) Thanksgiving dinners, birthday dinners, random BBQ’s… you name it, and saw each other every day at school AND partied together on the weekends… This kid and I go wayyy back. And I have pictures to prove it.
Christopher was actually one of the reasons the ex broke up with me. While visiting home one long weekend I went to a sports bar with some girlfriends to watch the Redskins Play the Eagles. Guess who was there? Well, lots of people, but the whole point is that Christopher is there and (this is important) at the time he had what I call “a crazy girlfriend”. I don’t know if this girl was crazy before she started dating Christopher but I think it’s safe to say that he has a lot to do with the mental state of this girl (lets call her Gemma). Christopher is a crazy maker.
Crazy Maker: A boy who pledges his love to you, swears to God he’s telling the truth, says he would never ever hurt you, tells you you’re the only one for him and will even give you a play by play of his day which doesn’t involve any girls while simultaneously texting other girls, hanging out with other girls and hooking up with other girls. Their motto: Deny till you die. They have the ability to make a girl believe she is completely insane.
“HEY!” You say, “That sounds exactly like your ex!”
You. Would. Be. Right.
As fate would have it, I was dating the ex at this particular time as well. I had not yet realized his complete crazy making abilities. So he was not one of my worries that night (that comes into play later). My deviously delicious plan was to sneak up beside Christopher, kiss his cheek and have a friend snap a picture. It played out perfectly. Christopher freaked out about Gemma seeing the photo since I post everything on facebook. He couldn’t even delete it b/c for some reason I had brought a disposable camera out that night. Brilliant, I know.
I did not give Christopher enough credit though. After my amazing stunt, I gathered myself and told him I wouldn’t post it and we should take a normal picture together. After all we have been friends since 3rd grade… boyfriends cant really get jealous of friends as old as that!… Can they??
So I get back home to boyfriend and a couple months later develop the pictures.
Oh No…
…Horror.
The normal picture is not normal. Christopher is licking my cheek with a devilish grin on his face. These pictures, I decide, must never EVER be seen. But how do you dispose of pictures in a house shared with the person who can never see them and who is so crazy that even trash isn’t sacred??
I put them in the middle console of my car to dispose of in public, away from the ex and his curious eyes. Problem solved right? Not if you’re a forgetful scatterbrain. Oh wait, I am.
And now ladies and gentleman you will learn of the events surrounding the night the cutest little white girl (me) went to jail.
The ones with brunette roots have already put two and two together and are shaking their heads at the ridiculous circumstances and their outcome. For the rest of you, I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible.
The ex needed a haircut. Where do boys go? Hair Cuttery. I needed one too (desperately) but refused to ever let them go near my hair. I’m a salon kinda girl. I was trying (unsuccessfully) to find a new hair girl in a town that caters to black people hair and rich white women. Not easy. So my hair is atrocious. But.. it’s.. Hair Cuttery. So I decide to go tanning instead while he gets his hair cut. I go downstairs to the tanning place and fill out ALL the new customer forms. It’s only then I realize that one tan is $20. ONE. Not even the high intensity or stand up beds, those are even more expensive. They try to get me to sign up for a VIP monthly program. I tell them I’ll be right back, and then I dip the fuck out. I didn’t even have a job… how was I supposed to stay glowing at those prices? I decide he loves me for me and not my tan. And pale is the way God made me. Only one of these turned out to be correct. But anyways…
I go back upstairs to the Hair Cuttery and at the realization that I wouldn’t have the money for a nice hair stylist even if I found one, I give in and decide to get rid of my split ends for $14. Don’t even get me started on that haircut, that’s not the point (but it was bad). The point is that the ex is done before the hair cutter has taken his first snip at my split ends. And he’s impatient. I throw him my keys so he can go buy a pack of cigs.
15 minutes later I go downstairs and get in the waiting car. Right off the bat it’s obvious that something is very very wrong. The air smelled like wrong. His face was allll wrong yet trying to be right at the same time. Which means that something is very very wrong. I rack my brain. My heart falls to my feet. I begin to tremble.
I open up the middle console pretending that I have something in my purse that should be put in there and act nonchalant as hell as I pull out the brown paper bag containing the photos. I start taking old receipts out of my purse and putting them in the bag, gum wrappers, empty cigarette box, you get the idea.
ex: “what’s in there?” (He already knows, the asshole)
me: “huh? oh nothing, it’s just trash.”
ex: “just trash huh?”
me: “yup, allll trash. I’ve been meaning to throw it out.”
ex: “it didn’t look like trash.”
me: “oh that’s funny… it is. I mean obviously since I’m putting more trash in it.”
ex: “what’s in the bag.”
me: “I said it’s trash. And you obviously already know what’s in there so spare me the mind games”
ex: “why are you throwing the pictures out?”
me: “because I don’t want them.”
I jump out of the car and throw the bag in a trash can. I get back in the car… silence… The silence continues as he’s driving.
ex: “Did you fuck him?”
me: “WHAT!? Did I what?! Are you serious??!?”
ex: “You heard me. Did you fuck him?”
me: “No! Are you kidding? That’s Christopher, I’ve known him since 3rd grade those pictures were a joke to make his girlfriend jealous b/c she’s crazy.”
ex: “So you’ve never fucked him?”
me: “NEVER! EW!”
(Side note: We did kiiiiind of hook up in high school but it was innocent enough. And since the breakup of the ex, we have, in fact, fucked. But at the time I was being honest, we hadn’t fucked yet.)
Everything is still wrong. Trust is gone (even though trust was never really there to begin with) and my ex is livid. I’m livid too but at the same time trying to make everything better b/c that’s what I do… I’m a peace keeper. I hate anger. It’s just uncomfortable. And in our relationship this kind of thing happened almost every day. Yuppp… every freagin day.
We pull up to a sports bar (the NCAA championship football game was that night) and go in and sit down. And then, of course, he starts drinking. Brilliant. Just what I need. In my denial I tell myself that he’s drinking b/c there’s a game on tonight and it’s Saturday and lots of people drink on Saturday so everything must be totally fine.
Nothing was ever fine when the ex started drinking.
We start out with vodka mixed drinks. Normal enough. Then he orders tequila shots. oooookkkkkk…. wellll it’s kinda early in the day butttt…. I’m still acting happy go lucky. Maybe he will get drunk and forget how much he loathes me right now. Yeah fucking right. Ever met a mean drunk? My ex was one. They are worse than awful. There are not even words to describe the hurtful things mean drunks can say and do.
I always tried to keep up with the ex when we drank. I always thought I was doing a damn good job too until, for an inexplicable reason, he would become completely belligerent. I’d be sitting there sipping on my third or fourth drink when all of a sudden I would look up and low and behold, my boyfriend would be wasted. How? I have no idea. I would know exactly how much alcohol he had consumed and it didn’t add up to retard face boyfriend.
At first (in our relationship) I was jealous, how unfair that he’s already mister drunk and I only have a slight buzz! I only felt jealousy a few times though as I began to learn that once the ex was wasty faced nothing he did or said was on the record. He would wake up the next morning as if nothing had happened. He refused to be held accountable for the drunk side of him. Scary ass thought huh? I now understand why my parents were mortified of our decision to move in together 500 miles away from them.
Where was I? Oh yeah, Drunk as shit pissed off boyfriend. In the whole year that we were together I only got drunk a handful of times. This is because when the ex got drunk, I stopped drinking. For a couple of reasons. 1. I guess to take care of him, gross as that may sound and 2. just watching him was enough to make me not want to drink anymore. He would make an amazing AA commercial. Mean drunks are not fun.
We decide to go home to watch the game with one of his few friends that has come hang out with us. Friend drives the ex and I’m told to go buy alcohol and snacks and to hurry the fuck up… he’s timing me (no joke). I get in my car and go to the ABC store to get alchy (I even buy his favorite baileys mint) as well as vodka and some whiskey for the friend. Then I stop by the grocery store and being the good girlfriend, I try to pick out things that I know they will love. Chicken fingers, chips, ice cream bars whatever, I go all out, b/c that’s what I do. I’m a happy maker and a peace maker. I’m a “pleaser” you could say.
My phone is meanwhile being blown up as soon as I step in the grocery store. He doesn’t believe I’m at the grocery store. What could possibly be taking so long? When the fuck am I gonna be home and who the fuck is that guy talking in the background? “umm honey do you mean the man announcing that the store will be closing in 30 minutes?”
I arrive home to him drinking beer already and being a complete asshole. After I think I’ve convinced him that I didn’t sleep with anyone while at the grocery store, I make everyone drinks and chicken fingers. I’m sick to my stomach from the events of the day so I don’t eat. (I really should have).
About an hour into the game things have calmed down and I get up off the floor to sit behind him on the couch to scratch his head (I know, I am such a good girlfriend). I’m thinking to myself “Phew! That wasn’t so bad. Maybe now we can just all have a good time and cheer on LSU to victory. This is gonna be a fun night.” 5 seconds later I realize I am more wrong than he was in the car earlier.
Mid scratch I glance down at him and he’s texting. Not only texting, but openly texting, which is strange. I look to see who he could be texting (while still scratching his head) and then I freeze. I know I’m not the only one who’s ever experienced this so lemme know what it felt like to you… He might as well have punched me in the gut and ruptured a lung… he’s texting his fucking ex girlfriend. Right in fucking front of me. The fucking nerve.
I say nothing. The texting continues. They’re planning a lunch date for the next day. He says he’ll call her tomorrow. I freak like a dog given adrenaline.
I storm back to the guest room, shut the door, lock it, and curl up on the bed. The tears start. So does the knocking.
ex: “baby what are you doing open the door.”
me: “no go away!”
ex: “OPEN the DOOR.”
me: “I said NO! Leave me alone!”
ex: “Ok I warned you…”
He begins punching through the bedroom door of our jointly rented apartment. I sit up, flabbergasted. The punching does nothing but put huge holes in the door. He gets frustrated and begins kicking. Kicking does the trick, the door splinters to pieces and I’m sitting there staring up at the drunk hulk.
Then, calm as can be, he motions at the door and says, “Look what you did.”
ME?!?!?! WTF do you say to a completely insane person.
me: “Are you fucking kidding me ex!? Why the fuck would you kick the door down are you crazy?!?”
ex: “baby, baby I did it for you.”
me: “for me…?! wha..”
ex: “I did it to protect you.”
me: “I’m sorry I”m not following.”
ex: “You locked the door and I just wanted to be with you, I had to get to you.”
me: “Well that’s a shitty reason to kick a door down b/c I don’t wanna be with you right now you asshole.”
ex: “Why not?”
me: “Because you’re texting your fucking ex girlfriend right in front of me. That’s why.”
ex: “No I wasn’t”
He always did this. If I didn’t see it happen… it didn’t happen. Text messages were deleted as soon as they were read and I had no proof of any wrongdoing. This alone is enough to drive a girl crazy.
A fight ensues. A HUGE fight. One that involves me leaving the apartment to get in my car to leave and cool off and one that involves him following me and standing in front of the car so I can’t leave. It involves screaming in the streets. It involves him wrestling with me to get my keys away from me b/c he says that “I’m too drunk to drive and he’s trying to protect me, for my own good.” His friend tells him to be careful to not break my wrist. It finally, but not lastly, involves me hiding his cell phone in the couch cushion so deep that even a metal detector wouldn’t detect it.
Then I layed down and began breathing again. I thought I had won. He was in our room packing up some shit because he had decided that he was leaving and I was calming watching football on the couch. (His friend had dipped out shortly after the fight started).
Ex comes storming into the living room.
ex: “where the fuck is my cell phone?!”
me: (calm) “I don’t fucking know. I guess you lost it. You should probably look for it.”
I’m smug. But not for long. He begins “looking for it”. Meaning he begins throwing furniture all over the place and breaking shit. I’m startled to say the least but remain calm even as he’s pinning me down on the couch and screaming in my face to tell him where his phone is. I’m calm. Until he picks me up off the couch with my little dog resting on my chest, and throws me to the ground. I almost crush my dog.
And I’ve had it. Don’t Fuck with my dog.
I pull out my phone.
ex: “Who are you callling?”
me: “The cops. You’re fucking insane.”
He tries with no avail to chuck the couch across the room and then he sits down against the wall… his face shows no sign of distress.
Convo with 911 dispatcher: (I’m crying) Yes? Hi My boyfriend is throwing all our furniture and breaking everything and I’m really scared. (sob) Yeah, we got in a fight and he started freaking out and I almost crushed my dog and…(sob) what?
dispatcher: “Does he have any weapons in the house m’am?”
I pause. I think. I know he does. He has a handgun in the closet somewhere. Sometimes he would pull it out and contemplate suicide out loud while holding it to his head…oh yeah, those were fun nights. One of the many things I had to worry about living with someone with borderline personality disorder or possibly manic depression… or both. But that’s not what I’m thinking about.
I’m thinking about how much trouble I want him to get in. His handgun is hot, meaning he bought it off some random guy at school. Sketchy. Not only that, one time over Halloween when I visited him he went postal and put a round of bullets into some poor girls SUV and they never even questioned him about it because no one saw anything. I’ve never told anyone that. So I look at him, he looks calmed down, maybe the storm is over.
me: “No… no he doesn’t.” (BIGGEST MISTAKE EVER)
dispatcher: “Ok m’am what’s he doing now?”
me: “He’s sitting. He’s just sitting ever since I called you.”
dispatcher: “Ok m’am a patrol car is on it’s way.”
me: “Thank you.”
I hang up. He looks at me.
ex: “You just made the biggest mistake of your life. You’re so fucked and you don’t even know it. You’re never going to see me again.”
I’m shaking.
ex: “You don’t know cops like I do. Trust me, you’re gonna regret that.”
He’s right about not knowing cops. They’re here to protect and serve right? I’ve never been in trouble in my life, how could I possibly be fucked?
He waits outside our door to intercept the cops before they can talk to me. He’s so mature. Loooooooong story shorter…. When he was pinning me to the couch and screaming at me I got an arm free and tried to get him off me. I failed. However, I did leave a huge scratch on his neck. I, on the other hand, have no marks from him.
Cops are not here to protect and serve. They’re here to meet quota. And in Georgia if someone calls the cops for a domestic dispute, someone’s going to jail.
The next two hours play out like a soap opera. The cops don’t want to take me to jail, they think I’m cute. (aww). They see our ransacked apartment and the broken doors and it’s obvious that little me could not have done this. Unfortunately all of that information is irrelevant in their report. At one point the chief (or whatever they call him) is called in and he suggests that maybe he’ll take the ex to jail for drunk in public since he was outside. This does not happen but the look on his face was amazing. I end up in the back seat of the po po car. Sobbing. Texting my BFF while in handcuffs (not an easy feat). She calls my mom. My mom has already been called by the ex. She later recounts that he calmly called at 1 in the morning and in a monotone voice explained that I was being arrested and taken to jail. My poor poor mom.
While driving to jail I’ joke’ with the police officers and tell them that we should just go get McDonalds and I’ll pay and then we’ll all go home. They find me hilarious but have already called me in and cannot break code. I honestly cannot believe I’m going to jail. How the fuck did this happen.
We walk into the jail building, people crane their necks to see the pretty white girl with swollen red eyes. I’m evidently, an extreme minority in this county jail system. And by extreme, I mean I’m pretty sure I’m the only one.
Random cops holler out to my cops curious about what happened and if they’ve arrested the right person. At least I’m not alone in my disbelief. They all chuckle and shake their heads. Poor girl.
I get put in a holding cell with two other girls. One was driving without a license and gave the cop attitude, the other is a jail regular… so I don’t really talk to her, she’s kinda scary.
The toilet is beyond disgusting. It’s metal for starters, and it hasn’t been flushed in weeks it seems. I start to realize that since I am the only adorable white girl in the building, I can talk my way into special treatment.
They let me come out to use the regular bathroom. I refuse the blood test after seeing the bruise that the nurse left on my current cell mates inner elbow and she doesn’t make me give blood (it’s just to scan your std’s in case you come out of jail with new ones… oh fucking joy. I’ll pass. I’m optimistic that I will be out in a couple hours). When we change into our orange jail clothes and they take all our belongings they actually let me keep my carmex. Thank God. I find out later that carmex is highly in demand and that jail staff don’t normally make any exceptions. I feel like Paris Hilton; except that I’m wearing underwear and sports bra that are 10 sizes too big for me (I’m literally rolling my underwear). Oh and my orange pants say Get Money down one leg and Fuck Bitches down the other in black permanent marker. This is my new conversation starter. They could not have given me better pants.
I make my phone call. I call, of all fucking people, my boyfriend. I know I know. Trust me I know now. I also knew, at the time, that whatever he had said at the house didn’t count. I was in jail now, everything else was forgotten. I was right. He went from, “You’ll never fucking see me again” to “Baby I’m so sorry I’m going to get you out of this I love you So much I’m so sorry”.
I’ll spare you the never-ending account of my time in jail and just hit you with some highlights.
-My mug shot is amazing. and by amazing I mean I look like a little angry serial killer. They wouldn’t let me keep the bracelet with my picture on it when I got out of jail so I have no souvenir =( but it was goooood.
- We get taken to our “pods”, I get assigned a roommate whom I later find out is a 50 year old homeless crack whore who hitchhiked all the way from Baltimore (to Atlanta!) and calls the woods her home. She talks to squirrels. She cant wait to get out and do more crack. She is a firm believer in Jesus Christ and prays more than anyone I’ve ever met. Go figure. “You’re in the right room honey. Jesus is in this room.” Great. I’m so lucky.
- I ask for pillows. I think this is a reasonable request. I get no immediate response because everyone is laughing at me. “HAHAHA what do you think this is?!? The Hilton? AHHAHAHA.”
me: “well… what am I supposed to put my head on?” (honestly perplexed)
More laughter… Hmmm, I guess they don’t give you pillows in jail. How rude.
- There is one other white girl. And she’s my age. At the first available time I approach her thinking we’ll become confidants. Again… I’m wrong.
me: “Hi!”
her: “guuurrrrrl lookit you. you pretty. what’s a pretty white girl like you doin in here?”
me: “I got in a fight with my boyfriend and I got arrested b/c I had no marks on me but I accidentally scratched him. You’re a white girl too!” (I really said that, like it wasn’t blatantly obvious. Thinking back… she did have her hair in braids)
her: “hah! yeahh but… you’re like reallllly white. I’ma call you my lil white girl. I like you, you’re cute lil white girl.”
me: “well if I’m lil white girl, what are you?”
her: “they call me Snow.”
of course they do. And that’s how I got my jail nickname: Lil White Girl. They really did call her Snow too. And she had a lesbian girlfriend in the pod next to ours, they would pass notes through the crack in the door and call each other wifey… but that’s another story.
- I get asked if I’m gay. I say no I’m not. Then I get asked if I want to be gay. No, no I don’t, but thank you for asking.
- I sleep through breakfast (it’s at 4 am)
- Wake up time was 6:30 am. Why? I have no idea, no reason to get an early start on the day… we have nothing to do. They make you clean your cell. By clean your cell I mean fold up the yoga mat you’re sleeping on, fold your top sheet that look 100 years old and the nasty wool blanket they give you and try to make everything look pretty. Fold hand towels, etc. I have no idea what I’m doing.
me: “Why do we make our beds? this is stupid we’re just gonna get back in them.”
crackhead roomie: “well you came on the right day. If we win cleanest pod, we’ll get pizza!”
me: “oh cool pizza day. What kinda pizza?”
crackhead roomie: “I dunno, we’ve never won before. Those bitches upstairs always be talkin and makin us lose.”
I glare upstairs at these girls. But obviously smile when they look at me b/c uhhh they’re kinda scary.
-After room check they lock you OUT of your cells. So you can’t just go back to sleep. Ohhh no, they want you to reallllllly suffer. I was thinking I’d catch up on my sleep. But really I just went basically insane. And you’re not allowed to lay down in the pod, or bring any blankets out of your room. and the seats are all metal little circles. and nothing is comfortable. It’s awful.
- Lunch comes at noon, I’m starving. Lunch is 4 pieces of bread in a baggie with either bologna or salami or some other meat that is just as gross with a packet of mustard or mayo (not both) and a piece of processed cheese. I stare at my “meal”…
me: “Excuse me m’am. I only eat whole wheat bread.”
EVERYONE stares at me.
jail guard: “Well then you’re gonna be gettin pretty hungry.”
me: “You mean there’s no whole wheat bread?”
jail guard: “no.”
me: “ok… well that’s not very healthy… I guess I can eat white bread if I have to… uhh What kind of meat is this?”
jail guard: “It’s bologna.”
me: “Oh ew no, I don’t eat bologna, can I get turkey instead?”
Everyone starts laughing again.
jail gaurd: “Ya get what you get honey, we don’t got no turkey.”
me: “There’s no alternative food plan??!?!? What if I was a vegetarian?!?”
jail guard: “Then you would eat the cheese and bread.”
I’m in shock. This is worse than the elementary school cafeteria. I skip lunch. Food is like sex to people in jail, they literally fight for my lunch. I would throw up if I had any food in my stomach.
-They lock you back in your cell after lunch from 12:30 to 4:30 PM. I dunno why. Most people nap or pray. I just stood at my cell door looking out the small window to wait for the guard to call my name b/c I didn’t wanna miss it when she did. And crying. And listening to my crackhead roomie ramble about Jesus. I know about Jesus lady, I’m a christian, and his “mysterious ways” don’t involve you trading sex for money ok. I don’t care what he said to you in a dream once, it’s not ok.
- Dinner is worse. Much much worse. I pass on the mystery meat served on a brown plastic platter. More fighting over my food. They all tell me I’ll start eating tomorrow “They all start eating the second day, you’ll see, this food gets mighty tasty when you’re starving.” I tell them, “You have no idea how long I can go without eating. I am a PRO. Watch me bitches.”
- I ask if the orange liquid in the cooler at dinner is Gaterade. More laughing. I must be hilarious to these people. They tell me it’s Tang. I have no idea what Tang is so I stick to water.
- I try unsuccessfully to figure out who won the NCAA football championship. This is the first question I ask when I finally meet with someone from the outside (my lawyer).
- I don’t eat the whole time I’m in there (2 whole days)
- I also don’t shit the whole time I’m in there.
- I also don’t shower.
- I go to use a pay phone and find no dial tone. I’m told that the phones are only turned on at certain times, and only if we’re on good behavior. I later find out that they only call landlines and therefore I have no one to call. Dagger.
- I’ve never been so bored in my entire life. I pace for hours b/c there is literally nothing else to do.
- It’s FREEEZING in there. (to keep germs at bay, yippee)
- A pregnant girl gets transferred to our pod my second day and she hasn’t showered in well over a month. She reeks of the worst B.O. I’ve ever smelled. They hose her down. She still stinks, but it’s bearable.
- Big black women get priority seating in front of the tiniest tv I’ve ever seen. (I know this b/c I got told to move… and I obeyed) The tv is all static b/c of a storm a few months ago and they have no intention of fixing it. It’s only turned on for an hour a day.. they watch Ellen. They love Ellen.
- They refuse to give me my pills (xanax) I am pissed. The one time I actually neeeeed it and they refuse me. I realize I am not Paris Hilton.
- I hear a lot of original rap songs.
- I meet with my mom through Plexiglas. It’s awful. I try to lighten the mood, “Look Mom, my pant legs say ‘Get Money, Fuck Bitches!” She is not amused. I thought it was hilarious.
- I write a heartfelt letter to my (now) ex. It’s pathetic. When we broke up I was in my right mind and took it with me. Thank God he doesn’t have that letter to show anyone.
- I miss my tweezers like hell. Even my crack head roommate tells me to stop picking at my face. I cant help it. At least my issues are small in comparison.
- I would not have survived without my carmex and I left it with my jail mates when I finally got out.
- I learn a ridiculous amount about street life. I had no idea how naive I was.
- I meet with my lawyer. I now feel like Paris again b/c no one else in my pod has a lawyer.
me: “OMG you have GOT to get me OUT of here! WTF are you DOOOing!? Get me out NOW!”
lawyer: “I’m trying as best I can. The process is slow and Georgia is even slower. It’s just taking a while to get everything worked out. You’re boyfriend asked me to give this to you, he’s helping us try to get you out.”
It’s a note. Now, if your girlfriend was in jail basically b/c of you. Think of what you would write to her… ok got that in your head? This is what he wrote:
Hey honey,
I know you’re in jail right now and you’re scared and pissed but everythings ok and I’m working as hard as I can to get you out. I love you.
ex
Seriously, that is all he wrote. Seriously. I’ll double check later b/c I kept the note but that was basically it. So I look up at my lawyer, “Is that it?” He nodds.
I show everyone in the pod the note when I get back. I get a lota “guuurrrll he aint no good” and “you need ta leave that asshole you too good for him gurl” and “you can do so much better than that! You dont even know gurl you need ta get ridda him”. The funny thing is that in the end, all those crack heads and street girls were right.
- In court getting bail set I am the first name called. Why? My last name doesn’t start with ‘A’…hmmm… I’m thinking it’s b/c I’m white. White and armed with lawyer.
- I get to sign myself out since I’ve never been in trouble before. They want to send me to AA meetings b/c they assumed I was drunk during the incident (I was not) but my lawyer has them wave that b/c “It’s really not necessary”. Girls… lawyers are your best friends, never forget that. (mine even sent me a Christmas card)
-I did have to do community service (16 hours, not bad), attend a domestic abuse class (just one, it was stupid) and complete an anger management course (which they let me do online and the way it goes is basically if you pay, you pass) I also had to reappear in court a couple times. The ex was never there, thankfully. And now everythings over and the case got expunged. =)
So I think that’s all the highlights, I may think of some more later. But that pretty much sums up my jail experience. 4 months or so later when he dumped me (I went back to him after jail despite my mothers pleading) he referenced Christopher as one of the many reasons.
Ok, where the hell was I? OH yeah, Christopher’s crazy girlfriend. So, I’m single now and Christopher and I hang out all the time. His girlfriend hates me even though we’ve never met and sometimes I’ll text him and it’s pretty obvious when he’s with her.
Like on Sunday. I texted him with “Hey smokey!” (it’s my nickname for him)
Christopher (from now on I’ll call him C b/c Christopher is a really long name): “I’m not talking to you.”
me: “What? Why?”
He doesn’t have to respond… I get it now. But he does anyways.
C: “cause I told you I wasn’t talking to you 2 months ago.”
me: “ohh. right. sorry I forgot. Well I need to get something from your house so let me know when I can come over.”
C: “What do you need to get?”
me: “It’s a secret.”
I can literally see her in my head freaking out at this point. It’s highly enjoyable. I giggle and wait for a response.
No response.
me: “Hello?”
…
me: “Ok well I’m just gonna come over in a lil bit.”
This is toooo good.
C: “What the fuck.”
C: “we haven’t been talking why r u lunching?”
C: “You know I’m with Gemma What the fuck.”
me: “B/c we’ve been friends since 3rd grade and you don’t just dump friends like that. Besides, I think your stepmom misses me.”
I am amazing. His stepmom hates Gemma.
There is no response. Until the next day. C calls me while I’m at work and he is not happy.
C: “Whhhhhhy would you dooo that?”
me: “hehehehehehee wasn’t it awesome!?!?!!? heheheheeh”
C: “No! It was awful! She freaked out and started searching the house for what you could have possibly left there. and then you said you were gonna come over and she totally lost it.”
me: “omg, that’s exactly what I had pictured in my head. That’s hilarious. What are you doing right now?”
C: “I just left Gemma’s work, she made me come eat lunch with her b/c she doesn’t trust me to be without her all day since you might just ’show up’”
me: “AHHHAHAHAHAHAHA oMg I cant breathe omg yes.”
C: “It’s not funny!”
me: “It is So funny.”
We decide to go see a movie that night (last night). While I’m at C’s house his girlfriend calls and they fight b/c he refuses to change his number (she says he has to get a new cell # or shes breaking up with him. She thinks a new number will solve the problem of me) So she breaks up with him (this has happened before) so we don’t have to worry about her for the rest of the night. I put on her pink juicy hoodie and ‘forget’ to take it off. I love my new hoodie. =)
We get to the theater. We’re going to see My bloody Valentine 3D and I am pumped about it. I go straight to the automated kiosk ticket center and we fuck with it for a few minutes until we realize it wont accept his gift card. damnit. We get in line instead. The whole time in line we’re talking about how awesome this is gonna be and how we’ve never seen a 3D movie before (he actually has seen Baywolf in 3d but I’m the only one that really matters here). The couple in front of us gets their tickets to see the 3D movie and finally we get to the ticket counter.
2 for My Blood 3 please.
ticket guy: “ohhhhh… that movie just sold out.”
ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?
SERIOUSLY!? yeah, those bitches in front of us stole our tickets. I’m left completely let down and Valentineless. C’s even sadder because he did just kinda get broken up with. We sulk back to his house. A failure of an evening.
On the bright side we watched The House Bunny when we got home and it was hilarious.
So that’s the story of how I went to jail, my huge letdown and how C got broken up with. I bet they’re back together already. I’ll keep you posted.
PS- It’s 8:40 PM and I’m still at work writing this. Holy Shit. Get me outta here.
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