getting us paying custies north

Well, nothing really has gone down since yesterday but I update every time I have internet access (since I'm not, you know, living anywhere at the moment) so here goes. I got some fun presents yesterday, including a portable radio/CD player which will be fun to carry around during work. Now all I need is some CDs, which I can get for mad mad cheap at the Lake Worth flea market. Hooray!

Last night, after getting lost in Ft Lauderdale with Lorry (my cousin) and Lucas, I got dropped off at the McD's over on Lake Worth Road since I had $15 worth of "arch cards." Greg met me there and we had a decent meal. He let me do a shot first, of course- wouldn't have been able to eat otherwise. Then we went to the Lake Worth drive-in and saw some movie with Nicholas Cage called National Treasure Book of Secrets. It was a decent movie, but I was high on weed and heroin and I was full from a big meal and I had been running around all day so I fell asleep and missed the ending. Whatever. Greg was bigtime pissed at me cause I was sleeping and didn't give him a Christmas bj at the end of the night. Hah! I love that man.

Today I went to work and didn't make very much. I was given some hash and bought some more h, which is cool, but that left me with 70 shitty-ass dollars, $60 for Greg. Then when I tried to make more, police chased me out of town. Now I'm up at the downtown library with 5 minutes remaining online. Glory.

This lady stopped the damn bus! Said she was having a heart attack, I think she wanted attention. Homeless ladies LOVE the hospital, you get a bed, food, doctors, nurses, medicine... all that shit. He sat at the bus stop where she was sitting (she wasn't even a passenger, just chillin' on the bench) and called 911 and waited for the ambulance. I don't know why suddenly it was the bus driver's responsiblity to take care of this old lady- I figured that the only thing he had on his plate was getting us paying custies north on Dixie Highway. Whatever.

come a-knockin' when 3am rolls around

Christmas day and I have writer's block. Last night was a ton of fun. Me and Greggie went to Hops and stuffed our faces with steak and beer. Well, I had beer- Greg's never been much of a lush. Hah, night before last we were sitting up at our campsite (our spot by the intercoastal where we park the truck and sleep in the camper) drinking Captain Morgan and Pepsi, I emptied my second drink so I asked him for his drink (he was saying, "I can't drink anymore") and it was the weakest drink under the sun. He's such a lightweight, it's so cute. Anyways, I've been drinking far too much lately, between hanging at bars and hanging at our campsite and hanging in the city and hanging in downtown. If it didn't fuck with my heroin so much, I'm sure I could be a full-blown drunkie. But we still had fun yesterday. I made tons of money (when you consider the fact that I only had like 2 hours to gather it all, and on Christmas Eve to top that) and found out where my d-girl lived. I just rode by and noticed all 3 of her vehicles parked in front of a house in the area where she always wants to meet me at. So now I know, whether I'm supposed to or not. Doesn't really matter- it's not like I'm gonna come a-knockin' when 3am rolls around.

Today I woke up and immediately started smoking pot. Not sure why, it just worked out that way. Went to Greg's house this morning and took a shower. He cut like 5-6 inches off my hair yesterday, at first I was traumatized but now I like it. Makes me look older- I didn't get carded at Hops last night, or at the store last night after dinner, or at the store in Miami today. I'm 22 and look younger so not getting carded is a new feeling.

So me and Greg smoked pot and went to Dennys for breakfast, then smoked more pot. Lucas picked me up over on Forest Hill and Congress to take me to Miami too see my mom's side of the family for Christmas. We shared a joint on the way over, and this is what we said:

Lucas: do you think they'll get mad at me?
Michelle: they wouldn't suspect you in a million years, not of getting high. I could tell them and they'd think I was lying.
Lucas: you're right, I could probably tell them myself, me and Michelle shared a joint on the way over. They'd be like, yeah right whatever.

So, he's safe and I don't give a damn. Perfect combination. So we got here, exchanged presents and candy and food and Merry-Christmas-to-yous with the relatives, and now we are getting ready to go home. So I gotta go.

Ho ho ho from the biggest ho of all...

it didn't go *thud* and break

Lots to write about today!

Rob, the guy formerly known as The Jailer Dude, kicked me out on Thursday. Let me explain what went down. Okay, so there it was, Thursday at about 8am. I had just woken up (sick like hell, of course, although I hadn't even seen a bag of dope since Monday right before court) and Rob had talked to Greggie the night before and decided that Greg was gonna pick me up at 1230pm and I was gonna be home for dinner. But at 930am I wasn't doing good and I hadn't left the house since Monday, so I really needed to get out. The walls were closing in on me! So I told Rob that Greggie was getting me early, at 10 or 1030. That was when all hell broke loose. He started screaming and ranting and raving like a 12-year-old: "Greg isn't a real man!" "why are you always trying to fuck me over?" "you both gave me your word!" "if you leave now, you better not come back!" blah blah piss piss moan moan. The funniest part was that we had given OUR WORD about 1230pm. Now, I don't know why he thought that we were bound by his timetable. I don't remember writing out a schedule signed in blood, nor do I recall submitting it for his approval. But apparently, in his little Rob-world, if things don't happen at the exact planned minute (even though there wasn't SHIT going on between then and 1230) the universe will just collapse in on itself and we will all die.

So he starts throwing my clothes and shit out the door, but refuses to give me back my cellphone. To quote him, "I'm keeping this in exchange for all you took from me." The stupid part was, I never took anything from him. Anybody can take, that makes you no more than a common theif. I'm a hustler legit- I make people hand me shit with a smile on their face. But he wasn't gonna give me my phone back. Now, I'm not the type to take that type of shit sitting down. I grabbed his cellphone, which is his money-line. He went to grab his phone without letting go of mine, and that was when I punched him in the face a couple times. [Side note: he's been telling me for months how he knows karate and kung-fu and whatever, but he couldn't block my simple punch to the face, or the kick to the nuts that I gave him later while he had his hands around my throat. Karate master my ass!] We fought for a minute and I ended up with a teeny scratch on my right thumb from where he grabbed the phone away from me, and he ended up with a busted lip from my ring. Hah! Then he threw me out the door not once, but twice.

Greg was on his way, and so were the police at this point. I was so pissed off that I wasn't thinking clearly, so I started vandalizing. I squirted shit all over his door, I knocked over the trash can, I keyed his car with his own house key, I ripped up his fence, I pounded on his door screaming about how he owed me money for the sex last night. Greg would have gone in there and beat his ass for me, but not if the cops were coming because a $100 cellphone (which didn't work too good anyways) wasn't worth going to jail over.

Wow, I've been writing a long time about the same half-hour. Let me make a long story short- the cops came and no one went to jail but he didn't give my phone back. I gathered my shit and went with Greg, and although I was very very sick by that point he made me walk a trail with him at the park. Then he bought some rum and I drank till I could sleep. Woke up in HELL, went and picked up some money, went and picked up some heroin. We made an agreement that I could shoot 2 bags a day while I found, bought, and collected enough pills to taper me off. Then I made some more money and me and Greg got in a huge fight.

Let me say this: I talk a lot of shit about Greggie on here, and it's all true. But I never talk about the good things. He is always, always, ALWAYS there when I need him. He drives me all over the fucking city even though gas is like fifty million dollars a gallon. He makes me breakfast every morning. He lets me sleep in his camper when I'm homeless. He does my laundry. He makes sure I eat, shower, have cigarettes, etc. He always listens when I need to bitch about something, and he pretty much goes along with whatever I want to do. He wants me to quit doing heroin more than anything but he's willing to look the other way because he loves me and doesn't want me to be dopesick. So he takes my money- but really, I give it to him. Trust me, if I didn't want him to have my money, he wouldn't have my money. I'm not the type of bitch to put up with a theif. Greggie is a wonderful awesome boyfriend and I love him. I just bitch about him on here because... well, I'm a 22-year-old girl and if I can't complain about my old man on my own blog, then where the fuck can I? Just had to clear this up... and not because he JUST started reading me, either. (I will admit I'm pissed that this sonofabitchin' blog has been up for over a YEAR and he just asked me for the url a couple days ago). But because he is unfairly portrayed on this blog, I had to fix it.

Anyways, we got in a fight, made up, and went to CityPlace where we drank at a bar and I found a $20 bill (ground score!). I had so much fun, I don't know why I never go to downtown West Palm Beach anymore. It's a fun place to be as long as you stay in the CityPlace/Clematis Street part of town. Wander too far in any direction and there's a scary nigger with a gun to your head! Aaaah! Shit, I'm almost out of time on the computer! Gotta shorten this up. Okay I slept in his truck that night, woke up at Greggie's house sick as a fucking dog Friday morning. Waking up is the worst when you're a heroin addict, let me tell you. He let me suffer for a couple hours before throwing me a bag. Hell, if I'm gonna quit I gotta go through it at least a little or else I'll forget how shitty it is. Hung out all day, worked a little, bought a shiny new cellphone that bounces like a fuckin' SuperBall when you drop it. I love phones that bounce because I am high and clumsy, and if the phone bounces, that means it didn't go *thud* and break. I looooove my new phone, if it gets stolen (which seems to be the fate of most of my cellphones, unfortunately) I will cry cry cry.

We went to the Golden Corrall for dinner Friday night, which is awesome. I don't know how to spell "corrall", that looks wrong but I can't think of a better way to spell it. I gave some choice people my new metro number, which is hard to remember : ( but I'll get over it. I slept in the truck that night again, and this morning he took care of me right away. I started my period today which SUCKS! When I was on heroin real bad, I never got my period. I liked it better that way.

Only 11 minutes remaining! Oh no! I am typing from the Clematis Street library (in downtown, amazingly enough) cause I just got a library card from here. I've read all the interesting shit at the tiny little Lake Worth library anyways, so I needed a change of scenery. I seen my d-girl at the store and gave her my new number (she won't answer if she doesn't recognize the number, it seems) and was therefore able to hook up with her today. I don't get my next shot for 3 more hours, but I can't wait to try her dope. It's always been the bomb diggety. <--- who the fuck still says that, besides my lame white ass? Hah!

By the way- I have a link to my little brother's blog on here, but I read him today and couldn't stop laughing cause it's just so... perfectly him and perfectly hilarious. So I have no choice but to direct my readers to his latest entry:

http://ramblings-of-luke.blogspot.com/2007/12/in-which-toast-can-be-found-in-my-pants.html

I love ya Lucas!

not gonna make it

I haven't done any drugs today or yesterday. I also haven't really done fuckshit since my last shot.

Feel like shit...

...not gonna make it!

cross-referencing my own life

I need to begin by apologizing if I don't make any sense in this update. It was actually supposed to go up on Saturday night but it was past midnight all of the sudden. But I know my writing isn't up to it's usual awesomeness because I'm pretty blasted on Cisco and beer and pot and far too much heroin. So... yeah. That's what's going on with the retardedness of the following.

I went to my grandparent's house yesterday, tons of fun. My brother drove me because his stoopid mama has decided that she doesn't wanna see me anymore. Dirt off my shoulder though- she's kind of obnoxious to begin with. So it was just me and Lucas, all the way from Lake Worth to Key Largo (the northernmost part of the Florida Keys, right below Homestead) and when we were almost there we stopped and smoked a joint. It wasn't much, but I was already halfway there and Lucas isn't exactly a huge pothead so we were laughing hysterically at just about nothing by the time we got to the house. We were riding in the Tracker with the radio (which worked perfectly, and we had the same favorite station with perfect reception) turned off while each one of us had one ear bud in so we could both listen to his mp3 player. Then again, we're both weird.

The "family reunion" went well. I think I wrote about the whole "gag gifts and/or candy among the relatives" tradition last Christmas in this blog... yes I did. For the explanation, click here:

http://michelleldub.blogspot.com/2006/12/family-reunion-and-still-no-photos.html

I got a throw blanket and chocolate and money, so I was happy. Me and Lucas clung to each other in the sea of old people like the champs we are. God I love my little brother.

...this is Monday afternoon now...

Today was Judgement Day! Which, in more precise terms, means that I had to go to court for sentencing today, for my arrest on November 10. For that story, click here:

http://michelleldub.blogspot.com/2007/11/parlance-of-prostitutes.html

God, that's fun. It's like cross-referencing my own life story! Anyways, my first offer was 30 days and my second offer was 90 days. I served 13 before bonding out, so I was pissing-my-dideys-scared that I would have to spent Christmas and New Year's Eve in that fucking hellhole on Gun Club Road. So I show up for court today with my own cheering section- Greg, Lucas, and Rob are all there, and (this must've been a Christmas miracle) they were all getting along! Bullshitting amongst themselves, no less! Make no mistakes, they all dislike each other. Well actually none of them dislikes my brother, but then again- he's fucking awesome.

Anyways, I was late to court, then I had to wait in line at the clerk's office, then I couldn't find what courtroom I was sposed to be in. After all that, I still had to wait and wait and wait for my public defender to get to me. When she did come over, I was ready to beg for a continuance so that I wouldn't be in jail for the holidays and she tells me I'm nolle prosse. What that means is, the case was stupid and all the charges are dropped- the shit won't even be on my record. The reason? Because my charges are, according to my court paper, "not likely to be proven." If that's not the judge calling bullshit I don't know what is. I was so goddamn excited. Freedom! Judgement Day has come and gone!

I would never have made it through court if I didn't save a bag from all the ones I did last night. I'd still be sick now.

Yesterday- that was Sunday. Sunday really sucked. I told Rob that I was going out to see Greg whether he liked it or not, and that I was moving out unless he promised to STOP talking shit about my fucking man. I walked out to meet Greg, and Rob followed me in the car. He was yelling out the window, pulling back and forth in the street I'm trying to cross, waving his arms at me, getting out of the car and running towards me, and my personal favorite: "I swear I'm gonna ram Greg's truck with my car and we're BOTH going to jail!" I wanna know who he meant by "both"- is that him and me or him and Greg? Either way it's not gonna happen. "Maybe you'll go to jail, Rob, but we won't." I guess he expects me to go into quiet, fearful submission when he speaks the magic word [[...jail...]] but if he does, then he obviously doesn't know me very well. What an asshole, huh.

So I go hang with Greg. He takes the $20 my grandma gave me. He sends me out on the street and takes the $90 that I made. God forbid he leave me ten fucking dollars! He gives me dope, tells me to go in the back and do my shot, then yells at me for being high 30 minutes later. He does the same thing a second time, only this time we've been playing chess and smoking pot with a black dude down by the intercoastal. He goes into a temper tantrum over how many cigarettes I smoke. Then he says, "I'm taking you back to your boy's house, it's amazing that anybody still wants you" before throwing the last 2 bags of heroin in my hand and dropping me off. What an asshole, huh.

It must be asshole season.

also, the crazy ground score!

It's hard to type with a joint in one hand, and it's too small to hold it in my mouth (I don't like smoke in my eyes, especially pot smoke). I'm sittin' here, listenin' to Eminem, smokin' my pot, typin' with one hand, itchin' from my pain pills. Usually painkillers don't make me itch, and with the exception of large doses of methadone or name-brand OxyContin I only get opi-itchies when i shoot up heroin. And the scratch-scratch-scratch is my main tell. I could be walking straight, eating, driving, not nodding out, no one would ever guess I was on dope. But I can't stop the scratching when I do that damn shit. Gives me away every fucking time- even people who don't know me that good will watch me scratch like I have crabs all over my body for about 5 minutes before asking, "dude, Michelle, what the hell are you on?" Not that I'm complaining- dope itchies kick ass.

I bet Rob $20 that I could go out to West Palm today and not get fucked up., He defined "fucked up" as using any drug other than marijuana (and hash counts as pot for sure) or drinking more than 3 beers (or 1 shot of liquor). I guess he figured it'd be easy money because I been getting fucked up non-stop when I go out. Hell, that's the main reason I want to go out! Acid, dilaudid, heroin, coke... I be finding that shit. I came THISCLOSE to copping, I actually walked by "my main d-boy's" house 2 or 3 times. But I didn't call, I didn't knock on the door, nothing.

Also, the crazy ground score! Now, to those unfamiliar with the wild junkie - baser - bag lady - hustler - bum term "ground score", I shall explain it. A ground score is finding something that you need or that is worth money. There are ground score rules though. Like, if someone you don't know drops a $20 bill and doesn't notice he dropped it and walks away- that's a legitimate ground score. But if it's your friend that dropped it, it's not a score, it's just being a theif. Or if you see something you want but it's sitting RIGHT NEXT to someone and it obviously belongs to them, that is also stealing. Ditto for "ground scores" inside people's houses or cars- that's big-time stealing.

Anyways, I was walking around by the d-boy's crib (like I said before) trying to decide if I wanted heroin or not when a bum on a bicycle rolled up next to me and asked me for a cigarette. He was asking me if I smoked rock, if I partied, he knows where to get the best rock, etc etc etc. Just then, I spotted something on the ground. A little bag, enough to hold about a gram and a half of powder of any sort. I always be spotting things like money (I've found Ben Franklin twice in the same month) that's laying around because I walk looking at the ground. It has paid off many a time. So I picked it up and it was about half-full of white powder that looked very much like cocaine. I didn't taste it or test it so it coulda been fake. Now, my first instinct was to stuff that son of a bitch in my pocket and shoot -it up later, if it proved to be real coke. But instead I called the bike-bum over.

me: "dude, look what i just found on the ground."
bike-bum: "wow, lucky! Is that real? What is that?"
me: "could be anything, I told you I just seen it right there in the grass. Looks fucking real to me."
bike-bum: "that's pretty cool"
me: "do you want it?"
bike-bum: "I ain't got no money."
me: "I didn't ask for money, I asked if you wanted it. I don't want it but I can't walk away from a perfectly good ground score."

Of course he took it off my hands. Didn't think I'd hafta twist his arm. It would have been nice to do a big fat juicy bell-ringy coke shot. But fuck that shit- the seizures/overdoses on that shit are scary as hell. If you shoot too much heroin, they can hit you with narcane and it reverses the overdose. Bt there's no narcane for coke shots- if you cross the line, there's no coming back. Scary as hell.

So I didn't buy no drugs. God I wanted to more than anything and I was sick as shit at 4pm (thought I was gonna DIE!) but I didn't. I just took the medicine and smoked more pot and it made me so starving. I ate a pound steak and rice with asparagus and cheese bread and beer. Glory.

breaks into your house and puts shit in your socks

Now I don't wanna get off on a rant here, but...

...25-year-old felonies. You didn't apply for the job because of your 25-year-old felonies. Who cares? I know that George Bush has destroyed the economy, and "unemployment is down" (since he only counts people actually receiving unemployment checks and makes them damn near impossible to collect) but come on now. You say you want $20/hr but it's apparently not gonna fucking happen. Minimum wage sucks, but $7/hr beats the hell out of $0/hr and bumming off me, like you're doing now. Not only do I hafta hear about your broke-ness the whole time we're together, but you put me on the street in the hottest part of town while I'm out on BOND to put cash in your fucking pockets! I haven't left your vehicle with over $10 since leaving Gun Club Jail! Today you didn't leave me a buck. Walk into McDonalds, man up, swallow your pride, and go flip some fuckin' fries. It'll suck, but I had to do it and what are you, better than me?

...free from heroin. Oh, if only I wasn't stuck with this horrible crippling habit, imagine all the things I could accomplish. It'd be marvelous, said I, but I can't do anything or go anywhere because I'm scared to kick. That was nothing but a fucking excuse to avoid shit I didn't wanna do. I didn't ever want to end my love affair with the needle- who would? Well, I'm not physically addicted no more. I'm "free from heroin!" But fuck, I'm miserable and I don't want to to fuckshit but smoke pot and play on the internet all day. When I was shooting up, it wasn't constantly in my head because I had some and knew where to get more. But when I don't have, it's all I can think about! No h all day, but I get one tomorrow. I can wait that long.

...Santa Claus. He sees you when you're sleeping? He knows if you've been bad or good? Kinda creepy, no? And who made up Santa Claus, anyways? Why do parents tell their kids a big fat whopper of a lie every single year, why can't they just give the kids their presents? St Nicholas was a saint, but now he's been perverted into a cookie-chomping fat dude who breaks into your house and puts shit in your socks. I hate Santa Claus.

...but that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.

[[yes, I ripped the intro and ending from Dennis Miller. But the rants are 100% me]]

Good points- get out and walk bitch, eggs for breakfast, pirate coloring book, rain, round pencil sharpeners, sudoku, a lot of half-a-joints, getting lost in Boca, CiCis pizza, West Palm Beach!

yer daddy can't save ya now, sum-bitch!

Lots of shit has gone down since I wrote (twice!) yesterday...

Okay, when I left the library Greg dropped me off and I went to hang with Jughead and his sister (A) and his girlfriend (N). A and N are best friends, so them 3 always seem to hang together. They were talking about some big score and then turns out, they were all planning on tripping together that night, and would I like to partake? I can't say no to free drugs, so even though I've had terrible nightmarish experiences with hallucinogens, I dropped half a hit of acid.

It was a mistake.

I didn't freak out or anything like I have in the past, no monsters came out of the wall to try and kill me, no drowning in the club or my flesh dripping off. I know I refused to remove my sunglasses, even though it was dark out. I was at the beach with Jug and the girls and I'm scared of sharks and giant squids and "sea monsters" so every few minutes Jughead would point out at the water (which we were all about knee-deep in) and yell, "look out, Shelley, there's a sea monster!" Hilarious. They drove me back to Rob's and I swear we got in 3 fucking car accidents on the way there- although no one seemed to notice but me. Rob was cool, he made sure I didn't freak, and he took me for a drive so I could see all the lights exploding like supernovas as the car went past. The worst part about acid is that you get sick and tired of it, start to get scared, and the shit just refuses to wear off. Finally I was able to go to sleep, but I woke up every 15 damn minutes and I'd open my eyes to see a swelling of colors and shapes that were just impossible and shouldn't have existed. That was scary.

Here's the shit I wrote while I was tripping, all spelling and grammatical errors are left as they were written in the notebook:

Some acid notes:
-I can't take off my sunglasses.
-Fuck a rat who can cook, better for the fooood to be shitty than filled with stuff a rat touched.
-But where are the WMDs the real ones? It isn't fake we just like to kill brown people into parking lots. I'm gonna fucking kill him! Who? That asshole! Yer daddy can't save ya now, sum-bitch! <-- I think this means Gorege Bush
-him"the brown ppl" me "Fuck em"
-How can my mind me flying everything I love will soon fade away unconscious or not it doesn't make no changes so just fucking lay back light one up and listen to the screaming of bloody fucking fear. Fear takes us to the next level of crazy. I'm not scared but maybe I'm crazy! What will become of this? Does this story have no end? Conclusion? Fuccking fairy tales killed them all so maybe I will next! Oi oi oi <---skinhead moment
-Why did I do this to myself

I woke up dopesick. Glory hallelujah. Not just dopesick, but completely DRAINED of all my energy, like I was a car battery that needed a jump. I took a pain pill which took the edge off slightly, but I was still draggin' ass. Finally I went out and made my way to Westgate with intentions of copping h. I was all set to go see my d-boy, but then realized that I couldn't be gone for weeks and then just show up at his house with no money demanding drugs. Life doesn't work like that. So I went out to see Jughead again. We drove out to Boynton Beach (aka B-Town, just like Lake Worth is L-Dub) and I tried in vain to beg some dilaudid off him. He said that he wasn't giving any out, he wasn't selling any, and that we were all sons of bitches for even asking. He did give me a fat shot of heroin though.

It sucks so bad, everyone can tell when I'm high. EVERYONE. Even if I can control the nodding and wear sunglasses (during the day), I can't stop scratching. That shit makes me itch to rival the fucking chicken pox. I'm madly scratching right now. I almost went into alcohol DTs today. I chugged a beer the second I got to Rob's and feel better now. Isn't that a son of a bitch, I shoot heroin and am STILL sick because of the damn hooch. Cross addiction is a big fat pain the ass.

Gonna eat steak and watch The Mist, which is a Stephen King short story-turned-movie. I've seen bits and pieces of it on Lucas' computer while I was in Gainesville, but only a couple monsters and I've read the book so I knew chronologically when the monsters were gonna pop up. Awesome monsters. We were gonna watch it last night, but Rob thought that acid + horror movie + a chick that tends to freak out on hallucinogens because of her own weak grasp on reality = trouble.

I am officially a South Florida girl, through and through. I can't make it through a day without going to the beach at least once, even now "in the dead of winter." It is 830 at night and it can't be under 75 degrees. I have become... a beach bum. I guess there are worse things in life to become, no? Today LW beach was covered in jellyfish and those blue fuckers, them man-o-wars. I stepped on a couple (barefooted) but the heroin was so glorious that I didn't feel a damn thing. Maybe it'll hurt tomorrow.

Good points- sunglasses at night, sea monsters, WMDs, delicious heroin shot, throwing money around the vehicle, having money to throw around the vehicle, major decision to be made, steak for dinner, The Mist, a jump-start, a second website film, jellyfish and Portugese man-o-wars, "I can't tell how cold the water is cause I can't feel my fucking FEET!!!", heroin itchies that never fade away, "I think our designated driver just passed out with the key in the door- what do we do now?", Wicket aka babydog aka snuffy aka fluffy stuff aka nooners, Derrick!

that's me not the whole internet

I guess I can finish this tonight, so here's a "quickie." Greg was applying for a job and even passed the pee test, but there are extenuating circumstances and he won't be working there. That really sucks, man. I was all excited over him working, too. I'm not gonna write why cause it's his business, he told me but that's me not the whole internet. He wants to see me cause he's all upset. Hope he has a bag- no, no, I know he fucking doesn't. Plus if he's pissed the last thing he's gonna want to hear is that I'm a junkie and want to get high.

I woke up SICK this morning and didn't even do any h yesterday. I went with Greggie and we had "sober fun" cause he couldn't even smoke pot cause of the UA for the job. We went to the library and went online so he could see where he has been mentioned in my blog. There was one blog entry on here, from like 6 or 7 months ago, where it says "it's fucking Greg's fucking fault." He laughed for an hour at that. He was like, "I don't even know what happened, but apparently it was my fucking fault!"

Then I came to Rob's house, bought a 6pack of Sam Adams, drank. Rob got all pissy because I wouldn't fuck him, made me sleep on the couch. Jesus. I gotta get in the shower, there is a beer left, might have it.

...hours later...

I dunno what else I was gonna put. "I'll finish this later," I said. But really, what I put was pretty much it. Blah blah blah. I'm getting sick and tired of my dangblasted situation. There's always someone there telling me where and when and how to do everyfuckingthing. I miss having my own apartment, somewhere to stretch out and do as much dope as I want without someone yelling at me about I needa quit, or watch whatever I want on TV without someone telling me that they hate King of the Hill, or wake up at 630am without having to worry about waking anyone else up, OR wake up at 230pm without anyone having poked me all day. Shit. I need some space. I need some heroin. I need some space and some heroin, because the two go together. I don't like getting high with people watching me, and after doing it I like being able to nod and smoke and drool and pretty much do whatever I want. Nothing is illegal behind closed doors, ya know? I'm damn tired of people always there, blah blah blah, running their fucking mouths. Like the stupidity last night. I was like, "when you're done crying me a river, would you build yourself a bridge and get the FUCK over it?" I guess that wasn't very nice of me, but I never claimed to be nice! I am fair. But I can't take people thinking they are above me somehow, like I have to ask em for permission. WHAT'S YOUR NAME? That's what I thought, you ain't my daddy, now get the fuck outta my way.

...rant over...

Whatever. I can still enjoy the day, right? Argh, 99 problems like in that one song. I burned my fucking finger on the toaster. That was pretty gay. Had lunch at Wendy's today with Greg, that was fun... ummmmmmmm I guess that's long enough.

nothing like a little near-OD to put you in that holiday spirit

Yesterday was a ton of fun. I got to talk to Micheal a lot but not see him, which was slightly gay. Those sons of bitches treat him like a prisoner! Hah! So I spent the day in Miami with my friend Jughead. I call him Jughead (which he hates, not that I care or anything) because of the character Jughead from the old-school Archie comics. He was always hungry and ate EVERYTHING and lots of it, kinda like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. That's like my friend Derrick so I call him Jughead, not always to his face though.



Unless I get drunk, which we did. First we went to Biscayne to cop some h (Jughead is a worse junky than me) which was so goddamn incredible that I could only do half a dimebag at a time and even then it was scary-good. The best heroin high is the one so fucking intense that you're terrified that you are seconds away from dropping dead on the floor, yes girl. Nothing like a little near-OD to put you in that holiday spirit. I walk the line, I walk the line. Then we smoked some pot (how unusual for me- hah!) and went to the liquor store, where we bought a 1.75L of Jack Daniels and a 12pack of Sam Adams (the best beer in America, hands down, no one else even comes close). We hung out on North Miami Beach all night getting drunk and stoned and hiding in the backseat of the car banging small amounts of the" DOA dope." DOA, for those who don't know, stands for dead on arrival. We started calling it that because Jug said that by the end of the night one of us would be DUI from the booze and the other would be DOA from the dope. Was he kidding? Was he kidding? I think just trying to make light of the seriousness.



Woke up this morning with neither booze nor dope, feeling like hell. We each lit a joint and walked down to the open-air market to get some brown and when we got back to the car and got right we realized that this shit was stronger than last time. Jughead did his half and passed out on his own steering wheel, unable to be woken up. Glory. I shot a quarter of mine and THAT shook me. I wandered around Bayside Park trying to clear my head (and killing time before Jughead woke from the nod) and came across an all-you-can eat breakfast buffet for only $6 apiece. I dragged Jug over there and his eyes opened when he smelled the food. As I said, the boy is an eating machine. He went back to the buffet 8 or 9 times with 2 full heaping platefuls each time. He'd have every hot buffet item on one plate with syrup and cheesy hash browns all over the whole mess, because as he liked to say, "fuck, it all ends up in the same place anyway." I went back to the buffet 3 times, but that was damn plenty. I had grits and corned beef hash and cheesy hash browns and scrambled eggs and a ham/cheese/onion omelet and pancakes and yogurt and 2 apple danishes and coffee and more than one helping of most of that. And look at me, calling someone else a pig!



We went back to North Beach to "shoot up in the lifeguard sand and go in the water, or whatever" in the words of Jughead. That goddamn ocean is freezing. It doesn't matter where I'm from originally, I am turning into SUCH a SoFla princess. Here it is, the middle of fucking December and 85 degrees outside and I'm in the beach tanning in my 2-piece swimsuit complaining about how cold the water is. It's not July anymore. Also the waves were surfworthy and kept smashing me into the rocky sand when I tried to swim. Not the best beach day, but the sun still felt good when we lay on his towels that had been in his trunk for god knowns how long. We were both at least two shots over the line and knew it, so we just went straight home. Well, we stopped twice to go through Burger King drive-thrus and once to eat at Pollo Tropical. They have FAJITAS now- glory hallelujah. I scraped my fucking plate after the fajitas were gone- I wish I could eat those things every day. Every goddamn day. But for Jughead, only 3 food stops is a non-stop trip.

We ran into a friend of mine and I split the last of my heroin with her because I knew I couldn't handle the whole rest of it but I wanted to run out. I really don't want to get myself stuck on that damn heroin again and I have a feeling it's a little too late because this is the 3rd day in a row completely blasted on opiates. FUCK!!! I really hope I don't get re-hooked. Shooting dope when I haven't had any for a while is awesome! The shit hits you in waves, like you start to come down a little then BOOSH, it's as if you did another shot but there's no need for another shot- it booshes you 6 or 7 times. Boosh boosh boosh, brown wall after brown wall. It doesn't work like that when you do it on the daily. That wave effect stops after about a week and a half of daily use, especially since most "daily" heroin users don't exactly use once daily. More like hourly or minute-ly. I guess I'll see how I feel in the morning. Right now I'm pretty lit between the h and the pot and the booze and the xanax and the hypoglycemia hunger making my diabetic ass dizzy. I've never actually been tested for diabetes, but I have all the symptoms and my family is always on my ass about getting the damn test. I guess it'd be easier to buy needles at pharmacies, no?

Today I ate something I was allergic to until I could actually feel my throat closing up. My breathing was getting fucked up and I forced myself to puke out all the garlic (even though I also lost my fajitas). It was scary, but hell. I didn't survive fatal overdoses, gunfights, homicidal tricks, car accidents, alcohol poisoning, knife standoffs, driving drunk, 18 months in juvy, cirrhosis, the roughest neighborhood in my home city, 4 surgeries, getting jumped, being married to Micheal and multiple suicide attempts to die at the hands of a bag of FUCKING GARLIC PRETZELS. I'm a survivor! Hells yes!

I'm now at Rob's house about to eat dinner. I miss my Greggie. I know Jughead has more dope, he bought at least 3 packs. Maybe I should give him a call... hmmmm. Oh hell I'm gonna be shooting $100 worth a day by fucking Christmas.

I hate Christmas... but that's a story for another day.

Good points- good friends, my public account vs my private account of the same situation, North Beach, DOA dope, waves and waves and waves and waves, no death by garlic, Pennywise the Clown saying "beep beep Richie", controlled drinking, Barbara Butts, no cocaine for my veins, Kimmy is a big liar, chicken dinner, wet sand, belt-whuppin, the whole damn internet!

85 million years (give or take)

It's so glorious to be back in my city. Well, I really haven't spent any time in L-Dub but maybe that's for the better. Greggie picked me up at the bus station, as I was approaching he called me and said, "there's a skinny bald dude here with 2 police, is that about you?" Of course he was kidding but still- what an asshole. I asked him for a bag (he's holding at least 3 for me) and he said hell no. Instead we went to the intercoastal (where the water-cop was, hah!) and smoked pot and then went to Burger King (after I made a little scratch, that is). This one black dude was following us into BK and when we got a table, he ignored allllll the empty tables and came and sat down with us. I guess he had to have known us... which eventually we figured out he knew me. From where, the world may never know. I thought he was trying to sell us crack.

I spent the night in Greg's camper and the next morning went to his crib to shower and have breakfast (he makes kickass scrambled eggs) and smoke more pot. He did my laundry whilst I was still sleeping. What a nice guy. Then I worked for a minute before we went and ate lunch at the Southern Kitchen in Lake Park/North Palm Beach, where I had eggs again. I hafta work up in the north county if I need to "hit the block" because I am too damn well-known in Lake Worth and south-side West Palm. That sucks, cause all my regulars are south. Gay! Anyways, after lunch Greggie and I went to Singer Island and discovered that just because it's going on 90 degrees outside doesn't mean it's not still December. The ocean was fucking freezing. Then we had dinner at some sports bar right there on Singer Island. I'll be damned if that isn't the prettiest beach in Palm Beach County. Fuck Lake Worth beach.

After dinner he dropped me off to make more money with a promise that I'd get heroin after I was through. I am such a conniving bitch though, I ended up ditching him and going to Rob's house. I took mad pills, smoked mad pot, and continued the drinking (beer, not liquor, although I did pass the 12-pack limit) that had begun while I was with Greg. Glory hallelujah. I didn't need the dope- I was chillin'. We hit the drive-in and seen the new Vince Vaughn movie. I fucking love Vince Vaughn, even in a cheeezy hippie-dippie feel-good Christmas movie like this one. He's such a hustler.

I woke up this morning feeling like dogshit. I kinda regret ditching Greg last night and my phone is just about dead. I'm gonna go see Micheal today! That's kind of exciting, since I haven't seen him in 85 million years (give or take). Need a beer- god I'm such a lush.

My brother and his woman broke up! Argh! That girl was gonna be my sister-in-law and I love her to death. Hopefully, they get back together. Shit, they have 3 years in... hope it works out with the 2 of them. He does kinda act like a jackass.

Good points- Victoria's extra bus ticket, Greg has a sense of humor, "fuck cute and whore", Magic players are flaming homos, gorgeous game-meister, free food, pterodactyl from The Mist, bus hamster, being home again, good sex and good scrambled eggs, the cop on the water, "he must know us!", painkillers, the other side of the fort, Taco Bell for alcoholics, honey ham, me and Samuel Adams!!

if you don't count the baseheadiness

For the past few days, I've been staying at a motel in Gainesville, which has been fun. My first night I found a group of bums (self-proclaimed "tramps") and got drunk and high on crack. Lucky lucky me. I only really smoke that shit when I don't have anything else, which certainly applied in this scenario. Whatever. They were pretty cool people, if you don't count the baseheadiness. Hah, new word.

Tuesday would have been a boring day. I was sitting in the room, watching TV and writing in my notebook. [[Important plot point- when I was packing to come up here, I couldn't find my current notebook so I just grabbed a random one that was less than half full. It was a comp book that I had been writing in between April and May when I was a full-fucking-blown super junkie]] I was laying on my back (on the bed) with my knees up to support the notebook, wishing I was high, when something fell on my shoulder. I thought it was a bug, but when I went to look I seen a dime bag of fucking dope.

"Well hot dog..."

I bet you fuckers think I snorted that bitch up right away. Nope! I called Greg and told him that God had sent me a bag of h and that justified my doing it. I didn't even THINK that it had come from the notebook until I recognized it. Hell, it had been a while since [name deleted] had them gold bags so it took me a second. I wasn't thinking, "where did this come from?" What I was thinking was, "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!" I hope that's understandable, in my current situation. Greg told me that having shit makes it easier to stay off it, because the hunt is off. There's no need to go find it, cause it's right there. It just takes real discipline.

Well, I have no discipline... at least not when it involves heroin. Everybody knows that. Jesus!

So I decided to go on a mission to find someone that would sell me needles. I was kinda hoping it'd be harder than it was. I was thinking I'd hafta go all over town, but in reality I walked directly across the street from the motel to a Target, walked up to the pharmacy counter, and dude there sold me rigs no questions asked. The 10-pack was even a buck cheaper than it is in West Palm/Lake Worth. Next, I needed a cooker cause its too ghetto to cold-shoot out of the bottom cap on the needle. If I was gonna do the shit, I was gonna do it right. Usually I cook up in Altoids tins but I wasn't about to use my limited funds in that manner and I couldn't afford a restaurant that had metal spoons I could steal. I hadn't even made it across to the motel side of the street when I seen an empty beer can with the bottom not crushed at all.

People, God really wanted me to shoot this damn bag of dope. I procrastinated it as long as I could, what with eating lunch at Wendys and hanging out for a couple hours at Barnes and Noble. Then I went to hang with the bums on the hill (same bums as yesterday) and didn't even smoke crack this time. I drank beers. Lots and lots of beers, because every professional knows not to mix alcohol and heroin. Then I went back to the motel and went to sleep. I slept better than usual, just knowing I had a wake-up.

Wednesday morning, I couldn't believe I still had that bag. Boosh. I didn't have it 5 minutes after waking up. Brown wall. Then I did the rinse later. That was the fucking relief I'd been craving for the past few weeks. I'm not gonna say it was the first bag I've done since leaving jail, but it was the best. Then I hung out at Barnes and Noble, killing time. Time dies easy when you're high on heroin. Now I'm at the college hanging with Lucas. This is the most time I've spent with Lucas since fucking '01. It's ridiculous but true, so I've surely been enjoying myself. Surely surely.

Well, I'm going home tomorrow!!!!! [Lucas says that's how you spell tomorrow, but I'm not so damn sure.] I'm excited to see Greg and even Rob, the one I called The Jailer Dude. Me and him are on good terms now, I know I know but we are. I'm gonna enjoy this last night with my brother since we prolly won't see one another till Xmas. Why I wrote Xmas instead of Christmas I'll never know.

LAKE WORTH OR BUST!!!!!

a re-nigger

Oh my god, I have been having just the bestest time. First, I thought I was in the toolies because I couldn't find a McDonalds. Then I found downtown and it was all good. I bought beer for a bunch of kids (18 and 19 year olds) and they payed for my bottle of Captain M's in exchange. Me and my brother gulped the entire bottle in one night, it was fun. "Why is the rum always gone?" The next day was spent trying to get arrangements for me to live here, but the person I was supposed to live with re-neged (which makes her a re-nigger) so I got a motel room until I'm ready to go back to West Palm Beach. There are so many hot guys in this town it's ridiculous. Oh, I don't care if anyone knows where I am NOW. I'm in Gainesville! I wasn't originally, but now I am. I'm visiting my brother and he's so much fun to hang with, every fucking word out his mouth is hilarious. I don't know why that is but it's true. Last night we watched the Futurama movie on his laptop because the internet was broken.

Still no drugs- just booze. Whatever...

safe, sound, and free

It would not be prudent to discuss my location at the present moment. I am safe, sound, and free from tyranny of Lake Worth Police. If you are reading this Rob, yes, I am planning on going to court so don't try me. I'm clean and craving bad. My phone doesn't work where I'm at. Email me if you want to talk to me.

breaking and exiting

I want to eat a bullet. One silver pill should do the trick.

Just kidding... I guess. "Dude" has now been upgraded to "The Jailer Dude" because he thinks he's a police now. All talk about calling his lawyer and getting me 6 months for my lil ass misdemeanors and new charges and bond revocation and "your goin back to Gun Club, hyuck hyuck, I'm a snaggle-toothed fruitcake", he thinks he's got more game than Scrabble but he doesn't know me very well, huh?

So, I took OxyContin yesterday. Sweet fucking relief. The Jailer Dude didn't stop calling my phone the whole time I was out. I have a BOYFRIEND. He needs to understand that I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. People out on bond are allowed boyfriends. Criminals are allowed boyfriends. So are hookers. So why the fuck not me? Was my [victimless] crime so bad that I deserve what I'm experiencing? I've never even thrown a first punch in my life. So, finally Jailer Dude comes and gets me, and then tells me that he's taking me back to jail. I called his bluff (he didn't take me back to jail, obviously) and so I knew for a fact that he is all talk. If I'm in jail, where's the money at? Where's the white girl pussy at? On the other side of the glass, bitch! He doesn't want that. He wants CONTROL!!!! Oooooh big scary word, control.

For example...

This morning, I called my brother. I had a pressing question to ask him about getting me the fuck up outta this bitch. Who do I have to turn to, no one here in Palm Beach County that's fer damn sure. After I hung up with bro, I deleted the number so that The Jailer Dude wouldn't have it because it's my brother not his. MY cellphone, MY money bought it, MY money pays it, MY family, why not do what I want with it? Right? Right? Well, first he did the whole "yer-goin-back-to-county" spiel which was kinda gay but I can almost say his speech along with him by now so whatever. Then he left to go do a job- and locked me in the trailer and took my cellphone. I am locked in the trailer right now. See why he's The Jailer Dude???

He told me I better not break the door. But... I know there's a law against breaking and entering. But is "breaking and exiting" illegal? I remember one time, when I was with Micheal (my ex) we got in a fight, and he locked me in a bathroom and wouldn't let me out. My friend (not my friend no more) called the police and his charge was "false imprisonment" aka second degree kidnapping in the state of Florida. God, if only I had my cellphone.

I wanted to turn the gas on last night when The Jailer Dude went to sleep and just walk out the door. Sleep... sleeep... don't bother waking up bitch! Just kidding about that too. I would never kill anybody. I will kick a bitch in the nuts though if he runs any more god damn game with me. He doesn't know how to play CHESS and that is the game. In chess, you anticipate their next move and stay ready for it. Ribbons and ribbons of possibilities. I can play chess, motherfucker. Your move.

So, goodbye friends if I do end up back in county jail. At least there I'll have people to talk to that don't constantly threaten me. Cause I am CUT OFF. He deleted all my numbers, changed MY number, keeps me in, and won't allow me contact with any of my friends or family. Except my stepmom, but only cause she's a bitch and she's on The Jailer Dude's side. Not that she knows the whole story or anything...

the dollar bills

RESENTMENT

by: Michelle Angelina

you see all these people say they coming to my aid
i either pay it back in lockdown or i pay it back in trade
cause you don't know me well enough to know i'm cold as ice
and though i hook up half the block but not because i'm nice
so you infiltrate my hear, sympathize with all my hate
i see the bared-wire fish hook but i still took the bait
but shit don't work like that cause no one is for real
it's all about control, the dollar bills, and copping feels
i know it's sposed to show you care each time you tell me 'no'
but enough of this and trust me, i'mma tell you where to go
there's always an agenda, ain't nothing 'just because'
if you wanted me on lock you shoulda left me where i was
it's not cause i'm ungrateful, it's not cause i'm a bitch
but i gotta figure out a way to scratch this itch

person who keeps me

Shit's just going from bad to worse. Still no heroin though... yuk. Whatever. I can't talk about it... hell, I don't even have a damn journal to write stuff down that I can't post online. It's catharsis ($0.50 word) to write all your shit down, and usually I use this blog, but certain things wouldn't be prudent to discuss on an open forum such as this.

You know that song by the Smashing Pumpkins, that old-school song 'Bullet with Butterfly Wings'? That's me right now. Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage and there's some who would say what is lost can never be saved, despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage. I feel so... kept in. It's like when I was in jr high and I'd get grounded for dumb kid stuff, such as shoplifting lighters or cutting class or smoking pot. Every time I got grounded, I would sneak out my window first chance I got. Hell, I haven't "snuck out" of a place since I left boarding school. It's always been more like. "Yo, I'm going out, I'll be back at blablabla time (or I dunno when I'll be back)" Now...

...ummmmmmmm.....

I pretty much had to sneak out this morning just to see my damn boyfriend. Person who keeps me is soooooo uber-concerned with me not seeing my boyfriend that it's just ridiculous. Did I spell that right? Who cares. Today it was like, "I'm revoking your bond. You're going back to jail cause you don't do what I say and you have a mind of your own and are acting like a grownup instead of the little kid I'm treating you like." Ahhhhhh.... everybody's someone else's nigger, I know you are, so am I. But I wasn't born with enough middle fingers so I don't need to choose a side.

I am the property of no one. Shit on a damn biscuit. Shit, I can't even spell that word! I'm not doing so good.

"I'm taking you right back to the jail. My lawyer told me yada yada yada. Revoke your bond. Sit in there. No bail. Blatta-blatta-blatta." Frustration abounds. I know that I am doing somewhat good, no needles but everything has a price. I just dunno if I was willing to pay and still don't know God damn! Nother song quote: "tonight I can't sleep, we livin' in hell first they put us to work then they throw us in jail."

I guess that's my vent. I got more but... silence is golden. But my eyes still see, yo...

Drinking beer in the hot sun
I fought the law and I won
I needed money and I got mine
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I shot George and Harvey's brains out with my six-gun
I fought the law and I won
Pretend I'm like the leader of the Ku Klux Klan
Cause my fat friends think it's fun
You can get away with murder if you got a badge
I fought the law and I won
I am the law, so I won

-Dead Kennedys (semi-cover)

pot smokers and serial killers

Oh lordy, there is so much going on that I am not at liberty to discuss on an "open" forum. I wish I could say everything that is going on, but so far only one person knows all the "deets" and frankly, I can't trust a motherfucker I never met. Basically my legal situation right now sucks. I'm scared of getting my bond revoked, which this bondsman I/we talked to said that dude who bonded me out (from here on out: Dude) couldn't revoke my bond without talking to a judge, and even then he'd have to have a damn good reason. And I'm not on dope, I'm not on crack, I'm not on meth. I'm drinking like a sumbitch and smoking pot, but who cares? I'm not on probation or anything, and even if I was, I'm not a drug offender. Well, not this time around at least. But since I'm out on 2 different bonds for 3 different misdemeanors (prostitution, resisting arrest without violence, and withholding information) all my cases are gonna come up at the same time next year. Yeah, I said next year. Those bitches CALENDAR-CALLED me so I could sit in jail till halfway through January. Now I'm glad my court date is far- I got Christmas and New Years Eve, bitches!

The one thing I'm bitching about more than anything is the fact that I can't leave. I'm stuck in Dude's house for most of the day and when I finally do get a breath of fresh air, I'm forced to swear on a stack of Bibles not to see anyone I care about. Why? My boyfriend doesn't get high, it's fucked up shit. I got plenty to bitch about, all about my legal sitch but maybe I should just shut my damn mouth.

I called the person I didn't snitch on and left an "anonymous message" telling them what was up. I guess my voice was recognized and they called my phone and promised me a freebie just for looking out. I dunno if I'm gonna take it or not. Yeah, this is me talking. Michelle, turning down free heroin. I'm not sure if I want back on points, I mean yeah a shot would be fucking lovely but... I don't like waking up with the feeling that someone just kicked your ass an hour ago, stomach in a knot, every tendon and nerve and muscle and vein in your body screaming FEED ME YOU STUPID WHORE!!!! So at least if I go back, I won't be going back blind. I'm a junkie, and I've been a junkie for a long time. I know what I'm getting myself into.

But now, I guess I gotta write about jail. All county jails are basically the same, pot smokers and serial killers chilling together and awaiting their sentences. But I didn't have as rough of a time as I thought I would, after the withdrawals slowed down. I would say "after the withdrawals ended" but I'm still fucking dopesick. I still wake up sweating and crying, god I'd suck a thousand dicks for ONE BAG!!!!!!!! Any volunteers? Hah, just kidding... but not really. (That's from the movie Dodgeball, the best comedy of all freakin' time!) Too many exclamation points, no? Anyways, I went to jail and I had some open sores (fucked-up track marks) so they threw me into the medical unit. That sucked. You sit in your cell for the whole day, on your bunk by yourself. At 8am we got out of the cell to shower and make legal calls (attorneys, public pretenders, court clerks, bondsmen, etc) and then at 8pm we got out of the cell to make personal calls. So that makes about 22 1/2 hours of bed-sitting a day. And let me tell you, that heroin withdrawal doesn't make it easy to sleep. I was up for my first 9 days. Finally I was cleared by medical and allowed into general population, aka GP. That was more fun, cause at least there were bitches there to talk to and I knew half the dorm. Hell, I had hooked up half the dorm when we were on the outs. I never sold heroin in my life and I was still known as the "dope fairy" cause I hate seeing people sick so I was always like, "pay me back if you can" and now I'm sitting in jail with these same hoes, sick as a dog, and not a BITCH is gonna offer me a piece of chocolate. Two-faced whores.

Oops, I think my ghetto is showing. Let's get back to reality.

I need to do something differently. I'm not even allowed to go make money!!! I'm claustrophobic as it is, and I can't be inside inside inside. Ever see that movie 'Cabin Fever'? Well that's me if I stay inside long enough. I told Dude that I wasn't an easy person to live with, that I need my own... well, I really need my own everything and that's why I usually live by myself. I mean, my last "roommate" before Dude was Joe, and he was the perfect roomate and after he overdosed on that fucking smack I decided I didn't want another roommate. Just another fallen soilder in the Dope War. Sometimes I wish that was me, you know? I could just take that one shot, out of the blue, through the black, and into that shining white light. Oops, I better watch myself. They might put me in the looney bin which won't look good in front of the judge.

So anywayz, even though I write this mostly for myself, I'll keep on posting as shit happens just in case anybody out there in cyberspace gives a fuck about The Misdemeanors of Michelle.

the parlance of prostitutes

Would you believe, I spent the last two weeks in county. I wasnt out for a damn week this time.

The real reason I was in there was because I possessed knowledge about a situation which I refused to tell police about (that's all the detail I'm giving). But it is a hell of an "arrest story" and I heard a comedian say once that when you're at a crossroads in life, always do what makes the better story. So now I will share my newest tale of wackyness.

OKAY, so I'm walking down US-1 when a cop pulls up (liutenant) and asks me, "are you working" which to those unfamiliar with the parlance of prostitutes means that he wants a date. I knew who he was, he used to bust my balls over at my old coke-copping place (I don't do coke no more) so I kept walking. Realizing that he's not gonna get me that way, he rolls back alongside me and says, "Michelle, we just wanna ask you a couple questions." and pulled out a set of cuffs. That's all I had to see, were those metal bracelets- I took off running like Dracula was attacking. Looking back I dunno why I ran- I was riding clean with no warrants even. So he jumps out of the unmarked and chases me and grabs me by my tanktop, ripping it mostly off then wrestles me to the ground. Then he tazered me in the stomach (I still have a scar, 2 weeks later) and yells "NO ONE RUNS FROM LAKE WORTH POLICE BITCH I'M THE GODDAMN LIUTENANT!!!" (btw I can't spell 'liutenant' from now on it will be Lt) But see, I already knew all of that. He cuffs me and thauls me in and writes up a ticket for "resisting arrest without violence" and says I have a court date on Dec 11 and I'm free to go on my merry way.

...IF...

me: Okay, what do you wanna know?
Lt: [asks about a situation that I'm not stupid enough to post about]
me: Well... am I under arrest?
Lt: Damn straight you are.
me: Then don't I have the right to remain silent?
Lt: (all pissy now) No, you have the right to go straight to county
me: So what else is new?

So I went straight to county. That damn police pulled strings with the state, they are trying to give me 90 days (I'm out on bond right now) and when I pled not guilty the state fucking calendar-called me and my court date isn't until January. NOW do y'all believe me that L-Dub PD is riding my ass? I'm staying with a friend right now who made me an awesome Thanksgiving meal last night and even brought ciggies to the jail when he picked me up. I'm 75% detoxed but the dragon is still biting me...dunno what I'm gonna do. I guess I'll try to be good, but no promises. I've never been too good at being good.

Free all the hookers and pimps out the clink! -ICP

giving me the ol' oogie eye

Well, it's officially "winter" here in SoFla. The weather is getting all screwy and confusing. Ever since the 3rd the damn weather hasn't made any sense. It'll be freezing cold (55 degrees) early in the morning, but all of the sudden at around 8am it jumps to 90 again. Then sometimes it gets cold again at night. One time the cold lasted all day- until about 9pm, when it jumped to at LEAST 80 and with no sunlight. Cold day, hot night out here by the Equator. What the fuck is that shit? Global warming, car emissions, blah blah blah. All I know is, I like being able to wear my hoodies. Not only are they awesome, sexy, and I have a billion of 'em, but they also have long sleeves, which make people stop giving me the ol' oogie eye that I get when people see my nasty purple tracks. Hooray for hoodies!

That was supposed to be quick. I'm actually on a mission which is not even close to completion. Just had to bitch about the weather. For example: right now it's 2:14 in the afternoon, and it's about 90 degrees outside. But 3 hours ago it was 60! Do you see how this just should not fucking be? Do you realize how HARD it is to pick out an outfit?

dreams of incarceration

I apologize to my loyal readers for being "away" as long as I was. But now you may rejoice, fans of me! For I have returned to entertain and titillate with my tales of junkydom and poetry of woe and anguish. Hah, I'm just kidding. I swear I'm not that full of my damn self. Just bein' a jackass, I guess.

So, yeah, I got arrested on Halloween. I didn't actually, you know, break the law. But you don't even have to break the law to get arrested by Lake Worth Police. Convinient, no? When's the last time you sat back and thought to yourself, "hey, I sure would like to go to county jail right now, but I don't wanna go through all the trouble of actually committing a crime." Well, you're in luck! Just head on down to Lake Worth's south side and walk down the street. If you see a cop, completely ignore him and don't do anything wrong. He will pull up on you and your dreams of incarceration will become a reality!

^bitter, no?

My official charge was Loitering with Intent to Solicit for Prostitution. I wonder if they can do that for other things, other "intents", when you get caught Loitering. Like maybe... Loitering with Intent to Rape a 12-Year-Old Boy or Loitering with Intent to Climb Up the Church Steeple and Shoot At Everybody. "Well, we finally caught them breaking a minor city ordinance so we can arrest them (hooray!) but if we just hit 'em with a loitering charge, they'll be out come morning. How do we keep 'em in there? We don't have anything to plant on these people. I know! I know! Let's add what we think she might have been planning on doing later! That'll add at least a couple more days. Seriously, does Miss Cleo work for LWPD now? How in the FUCK would they know what I intended to do? I thought I was just hanging out in the Burger King parking lot bullshitting with someone.

But anyways, they took me to jail where I stayed for 4 days, which is long enough to go through hellish heroin withdrawals but short enough so that I was still going through them when I got released (broke) at 11pm. I can't cop at midnight with no money. I camped out at a friend's house that night, and he ended up shoving pain pills down my throat cause I was so sick and couldn't stop crying out. God I hate coming off in jail.

So the next morning I managed to borrow a Grant from Greggie and copped from somebody pretty early in the morning. But I had no needles, and it was Sunday morning so none of the pharmacies were open until 10am. At that point I snorted a bag of dope for the first time since I was about 18. I didn't care. I needed to get well. Then I got my apartment back and we picked up Kitty from my family's house where she was staying.

I couldn't BELIEVE who bonded me out... hah!

protect and serve my ass

Went to my mom's church today for a change. Just got back, now I'm at her house and getting ready to have lunch.

I'm gonna quit doing h if it's the last fucking thing I do, which it just might be. Whatever. What doesn't kill me can still maim me and break my spirit, right?

I had to move into a new apartment. I'm in a giant pissing match with the cops. Protect and serve my ass, who are they protecting by kicking me out of every place I've ever lived? Stupid pieces of shit. I'm keeping it on the DL where I'm staying now, but (haha) it's still in L-Dub. Fucking Lake Worthless Police. It's a 1br and the bed is very uncomfortable, so I sleep on the couch so I can watch TV. Kitty claimed the room, and has turned pretty antisocial ever since. She scratched the shit outta me, that bitch. She deserved a smack on the head but instead I just gave her lunch a couple hours late. Ha ha! I can't hurt Cat, I love her too damn much. Also the fridge in there didn't work, and all my fucking food went bad. Good thing my folks brought over a mini-fridge and are taking me shopping for milk, eggs, cheese, etc. All the shit I lost. Hooray for my folks!

No more heroin. For god's fucking sake, no more heroin.

then you decide

Dem updates be gettin' shorter 'n' shorter, no?

God, I wrote some funny fucking shit last night! I was bombed on delicious heroin and Valium and far far far too much mj and I was watching Me, Myself, and Irene when I decided to start writing. Was gonna type it up and post it when I got to the library but forgot the notebook. Whatever, it doesn't make any fucking sense anyway, although it is pretty fucking funny. Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaah lordy I guess I'm still fucked up. It's fucking Greg's fucking fault! (note to self: too many effwords) He keeps bringing over weed and pressuring me to find people to buy some from. So I been smoking his guy's weed (oh yeah- and paying for it even though he gets to keep the bag and leaves me jack shit) which is decent, but then I found a dude who sold me a quarter for a dub (from Greg's dude we pay $30) and it was FIRE so I give Greg a little tiny bit since that's what he always does to me and he got all pissy. "Shelley, come on, what the hell is that? That's not even half a joint!" Not that we really smoke joints anymore, but it was still funny as hell. He has a little metal weedpipe that he's fallen in love with and my friend gave me a bong which is cool. Cigars, those I like. Mostly when I smoke weed it's in cigars. Hell, I've been doing more weed than heroin at this point. Sucks to be back on the shit, but whatever. I'm not doing lots (except last night, but what can I say) mostly just tiptoeing through $50 worth a day and not always finishing it that day either. I figure there is a middle ground between shooting 2 or 3 Benjamins in my arm every day and being sick and writhing in the bed, there must be, cause I'm doing it! At least for now... "but it gets worse. It always gets worse, addiction is a progressive disease.. That's right, the DISEASE of ADDICTION."

I realized I've never on here shared my views on "the DISEASE of ADDICTION and the Holiest of Holies, THE TWELVE STEPS." My views are that calling addiction is a disease is the biggest load of crap ever except for the twelve steps. So they've proven a genetic link- whoohoo. Everything that defines us is genetic- like how fat parents tend to have fat kids and red-headed parents tend to have red-headed kids. If you're fat and want to be skinny, it's not a genetic disease. If you're a junkie, and you don't want to be a junky anymore, it's not a disease. I read that one book that Oprah said she liked then later she said it was a lie, and fuck what Oprah says I liked it! Addiction isn't a disease. aids is a disease!!! If you have aids, you can't just walk into a smoky rented rooms with a bunch of charged-up folks and talk about having aids and expect it to get better. You can't choose to quit having aids, or go to a special aids center for 28 days where you talk about it and write about it and at the end of the month you're testing negative, or slow down your aids, or decide when you can't handle having aids anymore and you have to stop! Jesus! Addiction isn't a f***ing disease, addiction is a choice. Every time you pick up the needle or the beer or the prescription bottle or the rockpipe or the deck of cards or whatever the fuck it is, you make a choice. Am I gonna put this shit down and do something with my life? Or am I going to continue to live like a fucking pathetic loser? Then you decide. Addiction is nothing but a whole crapload of bad decisions all in a row.

I'll go into the Twelve Steps later. I hate them too.

a little break from the needle and the chase

Ran out of methadone.

Back on heroin- yeah, yeah, I know...

Me and Greg have been fighting for weeks. Over MONEY. I was sick as a fucking dog having run out of methadone day before yesterday and he knows I need a minimum amount to cop from my dude and I was going over to the d-boy's house and Greg took all my money that fucker! Well he did leave me twenty bucks but the minimum is more than that so I had to hit the block when I could barely fucking stand up! Jesus!!!!!

It was nice to have a little break from the needle and the chase. Whatever. It's kinda nice to be back. I got some dope today that rocked my fucking world. It burned the shit out of my arm from my hand to my elbow, but what the hell. I didn't feel it after a couple seconds, so...

Business is booming. Since I wasn't using heroin for a straight week, I went SHOPPING and lordy was it fun. Smoked a little crack but what the hell, not more than a 40-piece. That's not bad... is it? NO!

Ummmm.... yeah

four days

Four days no heroin.

Somebody kill me please...

get out there and make some fuckin' money

I haven't done any heroin for 50 hours.

But I have done.. let's see now... 210mg of methadone since day before yesterday at 230pm. Is that too much? I was terrified of getting sick. There's only 3/4 of a wafer left (30mg) which means I'm gonna have to make a buy tonight even if I don't touch it until tommorrow. I can't start out the day with nothing, I just fucking can't, and I know I'm gonna take the rest of that 'done before I go to sleep. That's just my junkyness in action.

I stepped on Kitty today. Not on purpose but I still got pissed at myself.

Greg is a dickwad. I don't owe him shit and he needs to stop. Bursting into my house, telling me what to do with MY shit, yelling at me, laying on my spot on the bed, annoying the hell out of both me and Cat, hiding my drugs, telling me to "get out there and make some fuckin' money bitch" when it's 90 degrees outside, storming out (I guess to prove a point?) and coming back in 2 minutes later, not sharing the weed that I bought him which he smokes out of the bowl that I bought him, demanding money!!! Bitch I suck dick for my money! He needs a job or a life or something to do because I'm sick of listening to him.

I'd do anything for a shot right now. I probably wouldn't feel it, but I miss "the old familiar sting".

free plug

Fred Marsh, a close family friend, died earlier this week. His funeral is this weekend and my parents and brother are going, but I can't afford to go. I don't have enough money, I don't have enough days paid in rent, I don't have enough dope to get me through the weekend. And what about Cat? I guess Greg could come feed Kitty but still, I can't go out of town longer than overnight. Whatever.

I have terrible staph infections on both my feet and can't wear shoes at all, not even fuzzy slippers. Goddamn they hurt. I remember once when I had staph I got an IV port for antibiotics and i didn't have to stick myself at all for a week. Having a direct line was awesome. I hope I get another one, my veins are sons of bitches. But shit, my feeties hurt.

Kitty keeps tearing up toilet paper rolls. What, am I not feeding her enough?

I've been drinking nightly with the other people in my building. One thing I've noticed- there's a couple advantages to living in the poorhouse. When you live in a suburban house, you have the same neighbors for years and you get sick of looking at their faces. The poorhouse (motels, weeklies, crack-huts, etc) have a wonderfully transient population. People stay from 3 days to 6 months before moving, so you're bound to find at least one cool person among them. And if someone moves in that you simply can't stand, you know they'll be gone soon enough and if they aren't, it's not too much trouble for you to move. I've lived in at least 50 different poorhouses just in the city of Lake Worth, and that's not counting all the places in West Palm, Boynton, Greenacres, Royal Palm, Palm Springs, Riviera, Lake Park, North Palm, Wellington, etc.

The movie '1408' kicks fucking ASS!!!!! <--- free plug

judge people until the sun implodes

There isn't nearly enough shit-talking going on here! I figured that out when I read some comment someone left yesterday calling me a piece of shit or something cause I'm a heroin ho. It doesn't piss me off reading/hearing stuff like that, maybe it should but it doesn't. It makes me laugh. Like, if I'm online and I read something I think is boring or terrible or disgusting or badly written, I go look at something else. But apparently this guy/girl (who I've never met) hated me SOOOOO MUCH that he created a blogger profile just to leave some shit-talking. So for a couple minutes, I was on his mind. I don't know if I'm explaining it right, I just know I think it's funny. Plus, I'm a big supporter of the First Amendment which allows you to talk shit wherever and whenever you want to whoever you want however you want. Some other said, "if you don't like it, don't read it" but that's not what this country is about. We all have the absolute right to look at others and say what we want! People say, "you have no right to judge me!" Sorry, hon, yes I do. I can judge people until the sun implodes and there isn't anything anyone can do about it, except judge me right back. That's the American way. But the good thing is that if someone DOES judge you and talks shit, you have the right to not give a damn what they said. God bless America. So if someone feels like shit-talking on my comments section, don't even bother defending me. Not saying I don't appreciate it, but it's a waste of your finger muscles cause I think shit-talking has it's place.

Well it's Friday and that means it's Money Night. Hooray! I went to a noon NA meeting which was kinda boring. Still don't know why I went, just seemed like a good idea.

God, these updates are just getting shorter and shorter, no?

get my driver license and steal a car

They have free internet everywhere now. K-Mart, Lake Worth, Lantana, the community center in West Palm... everywhere I go I get online. Woohoo! Still don't update. Why not? Maybe it's cause when I'm online I'm too busy fucking around on Opiophile.org which is tons of fun or because I'm too busy with Greg telling me, "let's go, you've been fucking around on the computer long enough, call [my connect] and let's get out of here." Also still nothing in particular to say. I just don't want to stop writing, it's just that nothing is fucking happening. Seriously! A big boring pile-o-nothing. It's been raining for a straight week, which blows donkey nuts. When it's not raining it's thundering and lightning-ing and threatening to rain so we still can't go out because we know the minute we leave it's gonna POUR DOWN so we stay home and it stays not raining for 3 more hours until we decide fuck it, let's go outside, it's not gonna rain and then it pours for the rest of the night as soon as we get far enough from the crib. Okay, there are some exciting things coming up though because it's almost October.

1) Halloween

2) Halloween specials on TV

3) Horror movie marathons on TV

4) Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios, Orlando (I'm going I don't care what anyone says even if I hafta go alone)

5) My driver license was suspended for 2 years and the 2 years are up in October

I'm gonna get my driver liscense and steal a car and drive up to Orlando! I guess if I'm gonna steal a car, why bother getting a license? If I get pulled I'm fucked either way.

"Is she joking? Is she joking?"

I went to the methadone clinic and got turned down cause I'm on SEIZURE MEDS. Those turtlefuckers. Whatever, I wasn't really gonna quit anyways.

"yo, you straight?"

Ummmmm...... writer's block.

Kitty cried for a straight day and now she's cool. She's even using a litter box! I've never had cats before, so I didn't know how much a litter box stinks! : ( FYI she's already fixed, at least I'm pretty sure or else there'd be male cats all the fuck around my apartment, no? I have to leave her inside all the time so she doesn't run away but when I go I turn on the radio so she doesn't feel alone. She comes when I call now and sleeps right on TOP of me. Kitty loves Shelley, hah!

The only reason anyone is still calling me Shelley is 'cause I call myself Shelley. Plus it's my s/n on Opiophile.org and was my s/n on Junkylife.com. Kinda hard to get away from. I still hate that name. Michelle is prettier.

Ummmmm.......

I made like $275 last night in 2 dates. That was pretty cool.

My new 'hood (south-side Lake Worth) is scary at night! I went to the store on US-1 to go buy a pack of smokes last night and there were dope boys and scary Mexicans everywhere! I must've heard, "yo, you straight?" 5 or 6 times on the 10-minute walk to the store and back. I need me a bodyguard. Looking back, I should've copped myself a rock and smoked it off a Pepsi can or something. Oh well. It's not like I won't have another opportunity to do so. Maybe I'll geek out tonight. Hooray! Haven't smoked in a minute...

Goddamn writer's block!

sure as shit, there you are

I'm addicted to tattoos. No really. I don't know what it is about me and needles, but we just get along famously. I went to get the evil jack-o-lantern done on my (non-rose) ankle yesterday and Tat (the guy who does 'em for me) added a witches hat on its head and gave it red eyes. It's my favoritest tattoo of all. Next (probably today or tommorrow) I'm getting the heart on my back filled in to cover Micheal's name, it's gonna be pink with a black crack in it like a broken heart. Then he's putting big tribal wings from hip to hip on either side of it and adding a halo on top. It's gonna look fucking awesome. After that I want a horse or a unicorn with a mane made out of fire somewhere. And an infinity symbol on the back of my neck. And the first Joker's Card drawing (Carnival of Carnage) from the Insane Clown Posse CD but instead of saying ICP I want it to have my initials. Yeah, so many ideas for awesome tats! Any more ideas would be welcome...

I had to walk 8 blocks to get here to the library. 8 fucking blocks down Federal fucking Highway just to go online and screw around. Why did I have to walk 8 blocks to the library? Well, the downtown Lake Worth building that I was living in is getting "closed for repairs" (what really happened is my landlord puts all our rent money in his pocket and now the building is in foreclosure, hah) but out of all the people who are getting evicted, me and one other person were offered apartments at another building that he owns. Why us? Well, we're good tenants, we don't cause trouble, no traffic, both cute girls, and both pay CASH!!!!! No checks or credit cards from these chicks, and who doesn't love straight-up cash? I'm grateful I'll still have the same landlord because the cops came to the old building to get me thrown out (they don't like me living in Lake Worth, the fuckers) and my landlord said that he wasn't gonna kick me out, and that until I did something illegal (which I hadn't done in the month or so that I'd been there, at least not where the cameras can see) the cops couldn't tell him who he can or can't have living on HIS property. No one has ever stood up to the police for me like that! *swoon* I had to tell that same cop off on Dixie the other day. I was standing talking to my friend (who has the exact same don't-give-a-fuck attitude that I have so we get along poifect) when Officer Dan drives up in his unmarked and yells MICHELLE!

Officer Dan: "I'm sick of you acting stupid, like you don't know nothing about nothing although I'm sure you know more people in this town than I do and I've been working undercover here for 12 years. I told you I didn't want you living at [old building] and we come to bust that rock dealer there and sure as shit, there you are."

Me: "Well my landlord said I didn't have to move out cause I haven't done shit wrong. In fact, Lake Worth hasn't even seen me fuckin' JAYWALK in 8 months or so!"

Officer Dan: "I'm not somebody to play with. I'll make sure you take a ride for every needle I find in that purse of yours."

Me: "Let's make a deal. I serve 30 days for every needle you find in my purse, right now. But afterwards you gotta agree to leave me alone for the rest of the week."

Am I clean, or is it a good bluff? Either way it works! He drives away without searching me (after telling me to go on the West Palm Beach side of the bridge) which is cool cause I don't like anyone going through my stuff, badge or no badge. PS- I didn't have shit on me that time but I have bluffed before. As in, "HERE search my fucking bag, there's nothing in it I don't want you to see!" when I know for a fact there's 9 or 10 used needles and a cooker and a bunch of Valiums in a cigarette cellophane.

ANYWAYS, now I live on 8th which blows donkey nuts because I'm far from everything and I HATE THE SOUTH SIDE OF L-DUB!!!!!!!!!! It's all pimps and dope boys out here (dope boy = crack dealer, yech) oh yeah and mean ol' cops like Officer Dan. That bitch. I guess once I get to the library, I'm almost on the north side. North side 4 life, yo! I'm sorry my writing is so... ummmm, off today. I am HIGH as a KITE and I just might come to check you out. I'm also on my peroid which I get maybe twice a year and it still sucks!

Let me tell you, Kitty had a hard time moving. We had to put her in a cat cage and she scratched the shit out of me and then opened the cat cage latch herself. I thought you needed opposable thumbs to do that, but she did it. Then she opened a cupboard by swinging at the handle with her paw, climbed in, and hid. Kitty is a fuckin' genius.

Oh, and I don't have the clap. False alarm.

watch me after a red ant bites me

To answer the questions:
1- I don't say my prices or how much money I make on here for tax reasons and because I'm very much in debt, but it's quite a fucking bit.
2- Yes, I graduated from top of my high school class. No college though.
3- I'm in a weekly efficiency, kinda like a motel but I like not having an anchor. As I tell my boyfriend when he points out a mess in my apartment, "I don't clean, I trash and move."

Okay, yeah. Well I moved to a new apartment in the same building because it's bigger and has a big ol' couch, but it confused Kitty. I had to lure her over to the new place by dragging a plate of cat food along the ground. Now she's always chilling outside the new room waiting for me when I get home, just like I want. Hooray! I yell her name while I'm feeding her and when I give her cat treats, so now when I stand outside my door and yell KITTY!! if she's around she'll come. It's fucking awesome, just like a dog. Hah!

Greg almost killed an old man the other day. The guy was crossing the road (not a crosswalk or anything, just the middle of US-1) and for some reason stopped right in the middle of the lane, I guess he was pickin' his ass or something, and Greg didn't see him and put the pedal to the metal. I had to say, "Greg, don't kill that old guy!" He slammed on his brakes just in time, it actually would have been too late but the old man took off running when he realized that Greg wasn't gonna stop just cause he's old. "Wow, that's a huge truck but I don't care, I'm a little old man, hyuck hyuck!" Retard. His mama should've taught him to look both ways.

I got a tattoo! The people in the apartment next to my building always have their door open, which possibly means that there's someone friendly living there, so I decided to go over and introduce myself. I just walked in and said hi. There's something a pretty girl can get away with that a guy would get his ass kicked in for, no? I love being female. Anyways, one of the guys there was a tattoo artist, and he asked me if I wanted one for $10. At that price, how could I say no? I ended up with a rose on my right ankle, tattoo #3. My first one was a butterfly on my shoulder and my second one was a heart with my name and Micheal's name on my lower back. Yep, I got a tramp stamp. Rose, heart, butterfly. Could my tats be any girlier or generic-er? My next one is gonna be an evil jack-o-lantern just cause I've never seen anyone with a tat like of one. He said come over any time (with ten bucks) and he'll draw whatever I want. Fucking awesome, no? When he started doing the rose, though, I had forgotten how much it HURTS getting tats done. I don't have a high tolerance for physical pain. When it comes to emotional pain I'm Superwoman, but watch me after a red ant bites me. I'm in tears. He was doing the tattoo, I'm biting on my hand and yelling and crushing my pack of smokes. Whatever, it was totally worth it. Greg likes it too, I didn't know if he'd like he idea of me getting another tat but he says it came out great. I want more now. Story of my life, no? My first word as a baby was MORE, my mom loves to tell me that story. I believe it.

Some asshole was calling me ALL NIGHT from a motel in Lantana (not the one I used to live at). It started at about 230 am and ended at almost 6. Fuck that noise! I didn't answer not once. Probably some crackhead anyways- "can you get me dope? can you get me this? can you lend me money? can i come over your house?" I hate that shit. I'm already the dope fairy of Palm Beach County, what more do they want? They won't be satisfied until I fall over dead- and even then they'll go through my purse before calling 911. Ha!

I am so high right now, I got hooked up proper today. My dealer gave me almost twice as much as I payed for and it didn't fit in the little bag I had so I poured shit into the cooker until I could close the bag and it blasted me to Mars and back. Blastoff! I'm scared to do anymore, at least until both my eyes are open. Fuckin right nigga. I mean nigg-errrrrrrrrr, hahahahahaha that's what my friend says. He's an asshole though.

Oh, and I think I have the clap.

a couple practice swings

I got left a list of questions on the comments section on my last post, so I thought I'd answer them. Why? Two reasons. One, they're legitimate (sp?) questions. Two, I have writer's block and maybe this will lead me somewhere...

1- Your family. You have pictures of them on your blog and you've mentioned them occasionally. Do they know about your lifestyle - your profession and your drug use?
They know I'm a dopefiend, yes. It's hard to hide that from anybody, what with the glazed half-shut eyes and the tracks and the constant giggling and all that noise. They don't particularly like it, so I don't talk about it in front of them and they don't ask. My mom will never ask me if I'm still shooting up because I'd only have two options at that point- lie to her (which she doesn't want) or tell her the truth (which she doesn't want). It's a sort of don't ask/don't tell policy, like gays in the military. The hooking, I'm not sure what they know. They are aware that I've done it before, especially during my crackhead "stage", but as of now I tell them that I work in a strip club. Maybe not the best thing to tell your family, but they would never believe me in a million years if I told them I was waitressing at Denny's. ((note: I'm not saying there's anything wrong with waitressing, I'm just saying I've tasted the kind of money I can make by taking off my clothes and getting on my knees and there's no going back.)) There's just certain things that I don't talk about when I'm with them.

2 - Your introduction to drugs. How did it start for you? How fast did you move on to the harder drugs?
I'm realizing that I never wrote on here about the Before Time, about where I came from. I've mentioned that I live in south Florida (which is true) but I've actually only lived here for about 4 years. I'll go into more detail at another point, but here's the short version. I'm originally from south Birmingham, Alabama. [[well I'm a redneck woman, I ain't no high-class broad!!]] One day in junior high I was pissed off about something or other and a schoolmate offered me a hit of crystal meth, which is as big in 'Bama as coke and crack is here in SoFla. I wanted the anger to leave (plus I was curious) so I tried it and instantly fell in love. Me and a small group of friends (we called ourselves The Associates) started smoking crystal all day every day, and at one point we started cooking it and selling it. We got to be pretty big-time, hundreds of pounds being sold from our labs. I'll call the 2 guys in The Associates "S" and "E" and the other girl "V". The cops ended up having a stand-off with V in front of her lab when she was 16 and unarmed and shot her 26 times. A week after that I blew up my meth lab (and my dog) and S and I ran to Florida (we're not wanted for anything, so I'm not really saying anything incriminating here). Me and S dated for a while once we got here, but meth doesn't exist down here so we got into crack, then weed, then heroin. It kind of went in a weird order for me. E is now the biggest dope dealer in Alabama, and we're still friends.

3- Your profession - are you a prostitute because you can make a lot of money quickly to score drugs or is there another reason? Do women become prostitutes because they want to or out of some need for quick money?
I'm a prostitute for many reasons. One, the money is great. Two, you meet a lot of cool people. Three, you get a lot of stuff for free just by dating local business owners. Four, you get a ride anywhere you want to go. Five, you can choose your own hours. Six, you can work high, drunk, half passed out, however you want, as long as your head can bob up and down you're straight. Seven, I don't have to give Uncle Sam his cut. Eight, I enjoy sex. Most chicks join the Pussy Parade because they need the cash and that's it. Some hoes enjoy themselves, some hate every second of it. The ones who enjoy themselves do a much better job, and they're less likely to kill themselves.

4 - Your future - Where do you see yourself when you are 30? Do you ever think about your future or your mortality?
I don't even know what I'm doing tonight, much less in 8 years. Jesus. If I think about my future, my head starts to hurt so I stop. I'll worry about it when I get there. As for my mortality, I'm not really scared of death. Sometimes I'm more scared of living then I am of dying. Not always, but sometimes. That's not to say that I'm in any way suicidal, just without fear. I don't welcome death, but I don't run from it either. Me and Death have met and he's a pretty nice guy- he let me take a couple practice swings before joining his league full time.

5 - Your health - how do you manage to stay alive and functioning with all of the drugs and cigarettes? I ask because, if I smoke 1 cigarette - it's too many and I end up with a sore throat.
I have no earthly idea. I should have been dead 1000 times over. Luck, skill, tolerance, God's will, resourcefulness, strength, all of the above? That's a mystery for someone else to solve, hell, Sherlock Holmes would be baffled. "She shoots up HOW much heroin? And she's WALKING??? Watson, I give up." I do, though, have HCV (hepatitis C) and polyps in my throat and severely diminished lung capacity and terrible circulation and MRSA (chronic staph infections) and collapsed veins and brain damage and been through several overdoses and finger-sized holes in my brain and a seizure disorder and terrible eyesight/hearing (from seizures) and terrifying nightmares and 4 ulcers and scars all over my body. So it's not like I came out unharmed...

I'm almost out of time, but hey! I answered all the questions. Someday I'll write more about the Before Time, when I lived in 'Bama. After all, I spent most of my life there. It's just that it's a closed chapter in my life. I'm not a speed dealer/speed freak anymore. And as bad as heroin is, it doesn't tear me up NEARLY as bad as the crystal did. I shot that shit up ONCE and went into immediate cardiac arrest. Now I do it when "E" brings some over to Florida, which isn't often (praise the Lord for that, no?)

And I'm done.

KITTY!!

Okay, now that I have 7 minutes left on the internet I should hurry my fuck ass, no? I have a cat now, her name is KITTY!! just like that with the capital letters and the 2 exclamation points. I was sick as hell forever yesterday cause my dealer didn't show up Saturday night. I wished him dead. Then I shot some dope and smoked OPIUM for the first time. Yum! Have more at home, wish I had some pot to put the opium on. No pot though, boo! Smoking opium is almost as good as shooting up, not that I'd ever thought I'd say that. God, I've been fucking around on Opiophile and my e-mail the whole hour I was allowed on the computer. Gayness! I guess I'll take my broke fuck ass home now and shoot another bag. I got 4 shots left and a big chunk of opium as well. What the hell am I doing here? Bwahahahahahahaha!

(I did crystal meth last night)
((and I didn't go to the methadone clinic this morning cause I passed out at 4am after smoking crystal meth last night))
(((between the weed, the hash from Saturday, the 3-pack-a-day Newport 100s habit, the crack from yesterday, the meth from last night and the opium from yesterday and this morning- my fucking throat hurts: there, I said it))

'Till next time...

I hope I have the ovaries

I had sex in the back of a refrigerated truck! I love being able to add to my list of weird places that I've done it. Makes me feel like I'm winning at something (weird, huh?).

Well, it's Friday again (hooray!!) which means this is supposed to be my last weekend shooting up. I was gonna go to the methadone clinic last Monday, but it was Labor Day and they weren't doing intakes like they do every other Monday. So this Monday for sure. I don't know if I'm bullshitting my readers, myself, or both. I kinda hope I have the balls to go. Hmmm... I don't really like that expression coming out of a girl's mouth. "I hope I have the balls." Because, well, I don't have balls. We should make up our own expression of courage using our own reproductive organs. I hope I have the ovaries to get clean. Yes! There it is!

Everyone in my apartment building is trying to pimp me, including my landlady. I had been waiting literally 3 hours for my dopeman to show up, I'm drenched in sweat, and finally he calls and tells me to walk down to our meeting place (since there are cameras surrounding my apt building) because he's almost there. I grab my money and my smokes, and *knock knock* there's someone at the door. Motherfucker! It was my downstairs neighbor, telling me that she had a couple guys in her room and would I like to go make some money. I told her I was on my way out the door, and no, I don't shit where I eat. I go pick my shit up and come back up, sicker than hell by now, and start setting up my shot. *knock knock* it's the boyfriend of the girl who knocked earlier. He wants to know the same thing. I said no, and that I'm busy right now. I tie off my foot and *knock knock* it's that same bitch again!!!!! I opened the door and said I've been trying to do the same shot of fucking heroin for 15 minutes now, and why won't you people leave me alone for one goddamn SECOND!!!! I let her in and she watched me shoot while doing a couple hits of crack. She offered me one, but that shot got me in a good place and I didn't want to fuck it up. *knock knock* it's her boyfriend again, wondering where she went. Now they had my landlady in on it, they were all trying to make money off me, I won't get in any trouble for it, I can even do it in their room, and if not, could they please borrow 20 bucks, just until 8pm? I live amongst a bunch of moochers and wannabe pimps. I've been working for myself and myself only since I broke up with Micheal. I'm not about to let total strangers get a piece of the pie. Hah, that could be read more than one way.

I don't really know what else there is to say. Someone emailed me and said he had been reading here and had to know if I was for real or not. I think there's too much detail in here, too much "inside info" to really be fiction. I don't want to be thought of as some stupid rich girl, probably sitting in a mansion, writing about her imaginary life on the streets so people will feel sorry for her. If a bitch can't be honest on her own blog, where can she be honest? Shit! I'm the real deal, and that's for real. Why would anyone lie and make themselves a dopefiending street ho, anyway? That's not what I used to daydream about becoming when I was a kid. If this was fiction, I'd at LEAST make myself a homeowner instead of a motel-dweller. Christ have mercy.

And thanks guys for stopping the comment-section brawls. How sweet.

My boyfriend says I bitch too much and well, he's right, it's true
So I'll just smile and make a list of things I love to do
I love to pet my kitty, I love to shoot up dope
I love the smell of taco meat and Irish Spring-brand soap
I love leave-in conditioner and playing with my hair
I love smoking fatties and going to the fair
I love writing in notebooks and updating my site
I love a shot of coke that gets me higher than a kite
I love an ice-cold Pepsi and books by Stephen King
I love the color pink and my half-k diamond ring
I love living in Florida, I love my damn Newports
I love wearing miniskirts and itty-bitty shorts
I love to watch cartoons, even stupid Elmer Fudd
I love to watch my needle fill up with dark red blood
I love being on heroin, the nodding and the itch
And I love my boyfriend Greggie, so I'll try not to bitch!