Sunday, April 29, 2007

"junky strategy"

Some days I feel like I live this wild unpredictable life, and other days I feel like it's just the same shit repeating itself over and over again. It's true that if you hang out in the "cracker 'hood" anything can happen. And I get to meet new people every day, and I like sex and I like giving head, so I really don't know what I'm complaining about. It's just sometimes... I look over on the past 3 days and it looks like this:

1-2pm : wake up
2-3pm : get Greg to take me to Dixie
3-6pm : make money
6-7pm : cop dope and eat dinner
7-10pm: make more money
10-1am: go home, take pills, pass out

What does that song say, "Life is one big party when you're still young, but whos gonna have you back when it's all done?"

I still don't know how I'm getting back...

Well anyways, I was going to fill this with the non-excitement of the past few days, but I can summarize it: Thursday night I smoked too much coke, didn't sleep until Saturday at 1pm and woke up this morning almost out of heroin. Blah. I have stories from the past, so I'm gonna start writing my Past Adventures for the amusement of my readers, especially the ones who I date (and there's quite a few of y'all) and read my blog(s). So here it is:

The Tale of Drug Court, or How I Got Off Easy

Okay, the story begins at Okeechobee and Military, where Micheal and I used to cop (I can say this cause the dope girl doesn't live there anymore). The police in the area knew both our car and our intentions, so they fucked with us on pretty much a daily basis until we figured out a little "junky strategy." Micheal would drive up to Burger King and park while I ran the money around the back, down Indian Road to the house, sprint down Spafford, dive in the car, and floor it until we hit I-95 (it really helped that we lived literally less than a minute away from our exit on 95, so once we were on the highway, game over.

So one day we were attempting this same maneuver, I was running down Spafford to the Burger King and saw the cops crawling all over Micheal. I guess I stepped onto Okeechobee at the wrong moment because the cops, suddenly finished with my boyfriend, rushed over to search me. The female cop pulled the heroin out of my bra and cuffed me in what appeared to be one motion, and I went to jail. My bond was 8 grand.

The next morning, I went before the judge with no prior felonies. He sentenced me to Drug Court, which is like super-mega-probation. Twice-weekly drug tests, mandatory group and individual counseling, an AA/NA meeting signature sheet, weekly court appearances... super-mega-probation. Worst of all, I'd have to stay out of ANY sort of trouble for a YEAR. Fuckin' right. But by the time I went to court I was dopesick and I would have agreed to just about anything that would get me out of jail that same afternoon.

While I was awaiting release with my Drug Court paperwork, Micheal was getting my bond money by robbing his parent's house. While they were home. I'm not with that man anymore, but that was an act of love if I'd ever heard one. Twisted, but then again so were we. I call the cellphone and told him to come pick me up, but it wasn't until after he scooped me up at the gas station across from Gun Club Jail that he told me what he had done. So we did what any junkie couple would do right after a big lick: we partied. We bought a ton of heroin, a nice motel room, pizze, fresh stickers, etc. We were about to leave the room to buy cigarettes when the SWAT team showed up.

Okay, so it wasn't really the SWAT team, but from the way they handled us I say they wished they were SWAT instead of punk-ass street cops in virtually crime-free Royal Palm Beach. They slammed him against the wall and ripped his pockets apart looking for dope, which I had shoved up inside myself because I had a bad feeling about 10 minutes before the cops showed up. They took Micheal to jail for something he did to bond me out, so now I'm obligated to bond him out. But he has no bond. Oops! I got T-netix minutes on my phone so we could keep in touch and I promised I'd send $100/week
(which I did). I went to my first Drug Court appearance where they explained the rules to me. I never went back.

It was a week later and I was trying to get home. All my money had gone into Micheal's commissary account, because if you're in jail and you can't get out, it helps to have Fritos and Little Debbie cupcakes. I was waiting on the ride with 2 crackheads when the cops pulled up on us. I went to jail, for the second time in less than 2 weeks, for possession of heroin.

That's all I feel like typing right now... my next entry I'll finish the story.

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