Tuesday, May 29, 2007

certainly not his name backwards

Oh god so much shit has happened I don't know where to begin...

So the window of the motel room I was staying at smoking crack all Saturday night got shot through because the fuckers I was getting high with owed some scumbag trigger happy drunken spick crack dealer (lets call him "Bob" which is certainly not his name) $140. Well, we wanted crack but we could not going to call Bob of course, because of their debt. So we called another dealer (lets call him "PJ" which is certainly not his name backwards) who was more than happy to come get our hard earned money. Hell, I was the one who made the phone call. It's not like I was fighting off temptation with any effort at all. So PJ knocks at the door, we let him in, the exchange is made, great. Now get the fuck out of my motel room. I'm the only crack smoker tonight with ID, the room is in my name, I don't want your black ass here very long. As the guy I'm smoking with (let's call him "Enahs" which is certainly not his name backwards) goes to lock the door behind PJ, someone else comes to the door. It's Bob! And he's not pleased to hear that "Enahs" and "Ylrebmik" don't have his "$140". So he's trying to bust open the door while Shane tries to lock it, meanwhile Kim and I are fighting for the best hiding place in the closet. Bob doesn't fuck around. If he wants his money bad enough he'll beat it out of them. Or me. And I've never actually had the honor of meeting Bob. I certainly don't owe him any money. Not that I'm bitter. Long story short, while Kimberly and I cowered in the bathroom (she was still doing hits, I couldn't believe it) Bob fired a bullet through our window. The funny part is, we were scared about people coming to our room cause we didn't want the owner kicking us out of the motel or the cops seeing the traffic. But our window was shot out by a very angry dope dealer after he finished banging on the door screaming "Where's my fucking money?" for 10 minutes, and the owner didn't even wake up. I can't believe this happened in West Palm Beach without police intervention. Usually WPB doesn't let me walk from the gas station to the CVS (2 blocks) without searching my bag and writing some sort of a ticket or court summons. If I'm clean, warrant-free, and have a legit reason for being out, the cop will make something up just to hand me that gold paper with a court date on it. But that broken window is a bitch and a half. If Shane doesn't get that payed by Tuesday (note: he smokes crack) then I'm up that famous creek once again. You know the one.

But wait, there's more! I got home Sunday at 8am and slept thru till Monday morning. I woke up at about 330am sick as a dog. It was easily remedied, but oh god. I never want to sleep 18 hours again, it was my first time being really truly dopesick in months and it didn't last a half an hour. Talk about junky luxury.

So Monday was Memorial Day. Gotta do something special. Might as well go ride with a friend to (guess where?) West Palm Beach. God forbid I go to Lake Worth, Greenacres, any of my usual haunts. No, my bitch ass wants to trick across the street from that same motel room where the window (didn't need Miss Cleo to predict this) is still broken. I must've waved to the motel owner or something, cause the cops searched me twice. They didn't find anything. My needle was in Joe's car.

That's right, my needle. Singular, like I only have one. And I've been using it since Saturday. It's about as sharp now as the average ballpoint pen by now. Weird thing is, I won't let a nurse give me a tetanus shot because "it hurts". Whatever. What mattered was, several hours had gone by and by then I had finally made it to Lake Worth, and I had brizz-ead.

"Can't hit the scene if you don't have the green." -The Mask

or, modified to fit my lifestyle choices:

"Can't hit the town if you don't have the brown. I better make a little stop." -yo

So we went (why not?) back to WPB to score. All the fuckshit way up to the north end where I hate hanging out at. I swear if my dealer "not Bob and not PJ but somebody else entirely" had made me wait in addition to making me drive into some weird black neighborhood where I was scared because my window was stuck in the down position, I'd have lost my mind. Thank the lord for marijuana. We lost a bag though, not sure how. We didn't realize it until we had smoked a couple other bags though, so it wasn't that big of a deal by then. "It's weird how the weed disappears," Joe says 3 bags into it. I laughed for 10 minutes. Literally. I couldn't breathe in.

Then I went through the Burger King drive-thru with my titties hanging out of my shirt. Yes, yes, I did this entirely on purpose just because... well why the hell not. The guy with the headset didn't sound like the type to call the police on a titty-flasher. I got some free fries out of the deal, so hell. That's what I was there for anyways, the fries. Remember I was stoned and on heroin by this point. So I started thinking, it's late, I'm really fucked up, only one eye is open and I'm laughing at my cigarettes. Newports! What a funny name for cigarettes. Ha ha ha. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to get a beer, drive to Ft Lauderdale, and do a shot on the lifeguard stand. Perfect end to a perfect night.

the thick white smoke makes me choke in pain while this lake worth funk spreads through my brain so i break the law but i'm not to blame you only know my place you don't know my name so i break the fence and i bend the steel and i steal the car and i grip the wheel and i park the car and i steal it again cause i really don't know what's happening i wait for night to fall so i can go outside but quickly run back in cause i don't wanna die the lake worth air alone it can corrupt your brain the smoke fills the sky enough to block the rain and i pray to god to have me justified cause my eyes are glazed and my brain is fried i don't have a name i don't have a home i don't wanna lay alone on a bed of stone i see that death awaits me on this narrow path but when I stop to think i can only laugh because i'm not alone it didn't take me long to see that everyone's singing the same stoned-out song
some say i'm real and some say i'm fake but i really don't care cause it's far too late you see, my body is weak and i'm losing breath and with every shot i can taste the death if i have to go you better take me fast because i started under and i'm sinking fast and when the ace of spades is missing from my deck then you'll know the dope has finally cut my neck hey don't look now but there he goes again it's me and the grim reaper best of friends he's always hangin' around waiting for me to die we shot a game of pool he's not a bad guy feel like i'm in the corner of a circle room at about thirteen in the afternoon and i still feel the strain but as i walk along i notice everyone's singing the same stoned-out song
if my time has come then i'm ready to go shoot me in the face with your .44 and as i'm falling down to my sorry death i'll laugh with my very last breath lose some, win some, that's how it goes i've been down and out and taken many blows but there ain't nothing here i ain't seen before i try to balance and they ask me to juggle some more you wanna see the world you wanna work in town you wanna meet a man you wanna settle down you wanna raise a family in your own home while i run with a crew from the ghetto zone well i could be right and i could be wrong and if i ain't dead yet then it won't be long but it doesn't matter what side you're on tonight everyone sings the same stoned-out song

Thursday, May 24, 2007

avoid the subject

This will be short because I'm still sick so I'm going to bed.

I don't want to talk/write about dope so much. It bores the hell out of me to hear myself babble on and on about my bags, my dope, my rigs, my dealers, my collapsed veins, etc etc etc. I hate talking about it. So from now on I will avoid the subject as much as possible.

Didn't go see Micheal today, he slept too late and I felt too sick. We have plans on Saturday- his next day off. I miss him.

I might be giving up my junkylife blog, too many people talking too much shit.

this really speaks for itself

You Are Really Not Happy

You may have noticed that things aren't going too well for you lately.
Your life never used to be like this, but it seems like happiness is slipping away from you.
You definitely need a change, because whatever you have going on isn't working.
It's time for you to shake things up - even if it means totally changing your life path.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007


I'm siiiiiick. Got the flu, I think, got it real bad. And it came on in a matter of 15 minutes, last night. I was laying out on the porch, smoking a Newport 100, on the phone with Micheal, when suddenlly my nose started to clog up. By the time I finished that cigarette and a second one, I couldn't breathe at all and my head was killing me, so I took some Nyquil and went to sleep. I woke up with my nose running down my face, ran to the bathroom and proceeded to throw up my guts. A large chunk of heroin directly into my vein helped, but I was still feeling like shit.

Still, my addiction must be fed, and I was nearly out of dope. So off I went to Dixie Highway, where I made a measly $100 and spent $90 of it. I called my mom for a ride home and had a quick drink at the Sandbar with 'E' (a guy I date, who I had informed that I was in no shape to do anything) while I waited for her. I got home, banged another bag (I've been hitting veins perfectly all day! What a refreshing development!), and went to lay down which is what I've been doing since then. I got 5 bags left out of the 9, plus a chunk of the raw that I bought from my Westgate guy on Monday. That's not too bad, considering I'm going to town tommorrow for my date with Micheal. I gotta score before then, cause he won't want me to work or hook up with my dealer while I'm with him. Even if he said he doesn't care, it would still be disrespectful. I hope I feel better tommorrow.

They say we're going through a drought, but I'm always getting rained on. I don't know how both can happen simultaneously. Like today, I did a date with a guy whose passenger side window didn't go up, so the whole time I'm sucking his dick I'm getting soaked. I was pissed the fuck off.

I'm in the middle of reading Hearts In Atlantis by Stephen King. It's been out for a while, but I already read his new book (Cell) and I haven't yet read this one so who cares how old it is? People read Shakespeare, and his stuff is older than fuck.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

yes! awesome!

Your Life is Rated R

Your life is definitely adults only. While children accompanied by parents are welcome, they'll probably be scarred for life.

smells like the ghetto

I had court this morning over at the jail concerning an ancient drug equipment charge. I wasn't at all scared about the verdict (pled guilty, adjudication + court costs which I never pay) but I was pissed off about having to wake up at 8 in the morning after going to sleep, stoned, past midnight. It was exceptionally hard to do. I'm on the rag too, for the first time in months, so I feel fuckin' nasty in general. Then after court my dad drove me to South County, where I waited for almost 2 hours. It smells like the ghetto in that lobby. I wish I never had to go back.

On a more cheery note, Epic Movie came out on DVD today! I already rented it, along with Strangers With Candy and a Lewis Black stand-up special. I'm bringing all 3 of them with me when I get the room with Micheal on Thursday. Oh shit he's calling me now.


Monday, May 21, 2007

pay me for the privelege

I am totally excited! I managed to save $380!! In just 4 days!!! Hooray!! Also, I pissed Greg off enough that he's "taking 2 days off", which means he won't be holding onto my dope while I walk the streets and giving me rides places. But also, I won't have to pay anybody!!! Except possibly a taxi driver to get me home at 10-11 at night. But oftentimes I get a ride for free!!! And I get people to pay me for the privelege of it!! Hooray for Michelle!!!

Today I hooked up with a couple regulars that I hadn't seen in a long time. Sometimes I bitch about not being able to remember guys at all, sometimes I actually miss the guys I date regularly. You sleep with someone forty times or so over a couple of years and you really get to know each other, you know? Even if it only is a "professional" relationship. I have one customer, I'll call him 'A', who I've dated since I was 18. I'm almost 22, that's just about 4 years now. He's taken me out to dinner, given me thousands of dollars, driven me where I needed to go, handed out his phone number, and always treated with the utmost respect. After a while, he made me feel comfortable enough to talk about my life (at the time): my fights with my boyfriend Micheal, our IV heroin/cocaine habits, the motel ice buckets filled with vodka and a splash of soda that we consumed nightly, everything. 'A' never made me feel bad about myself for any of my problems. He just said he hoped things would get better for me.

I saw Trick today. I hadn't seen him in 6 months, I told all the girls to stay far far away from him because he's got full blown AIDS. Today when I saw him he looked like a fucking zombie. I've never seen anything like it. He's been sick for over a year, never getting any meds, smoking crack, running the streets. Made me want to go get an HIV test.

Micheal and I are talking again. I got to missing him, wondering if he was still missing me so I went to Publix on his day off and asked another bagger to tell him to call me on Sunday. I took the first step and waited to see what he would do. It was safer than going there and trying to talk to him, cause rejection hurts. I figured if he didn't call, I wouldn't bother him again. But he did call. Two days in a row. I don't know if it means anything, I really don't. I analyze everything too much. Supposedly we're seeing each other on Friday. I hope it works out. He's clean now! I'm proud of him, but that means I have to be careful around him with my dope, which kinda sucks, but shooting up in front of him would be more than cruel.

I just realized, I wouldn't want anyone in my family reading any part of this blog. Maybe I shouldn't have my name and photo all over it.

I found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you

[[Hoobastank- the reason]]

couldn't have said it better myself

Your Life is 91% Off Track

Okay, so you probably are living the wrong life. But the good news is, you know it.
You ultimately control how good or bad your life is - and it's time to get to work.
Get therapy, dump your significant other, or move across the country. It's time to shake things up.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

abortions and sex changes for everybody!

Jerry Falwell is dead! Abortions and sex changes for everybody!

I've been thinking, and the bottom line is this: Am I willing to do whatever it takes to stay clean? The answer is- sometimes I am and sometimes I'm not. And that's not good enough. I'll be miserable on the dope for days- I'm not even an IV user anymore, cause I'm out of veins so I skinpop- and decide once and for all that it's time to quit. And then I'll set up a shot, hit a perfect vein on the first try, and get a really good blast. 10 times bette3r than it should have felt, considering the amount I put in. And that familiar warmth envelops my body, my heart slows noticeably, my eyelids are suddenly heavy, everything feels so god damn GOOD! I remember why I started shooting heroin in the first place.

And suddenly all the misery of the past few days is entirely forgotten. I'm not gonna quit- why would I quit doing something that I love so much? But after that, I poke around and I can't even get myself to bleed, much less register. 15 minutes is my maximum for time spent fucking around with a needle- after that I give up and just skinpop it. I start spending too much on the shit. I stop enjoying myself. My arms start to look like swiss cheese- infected swiss cheese. I couldn't find a vein if my life depended on it. I decide that this time, for real now, I'm gonna quit. But then I get a couple really good shots in me, and quitting is the last thing on my mind. And the cycle keeps going on, killling me in the process.

I've done some pretty wacky shit to get my bags. You could almost say I'd do whatever it takes to stay well and get high, but at the same time I want to stop. I don't like needing it. So that brings me back to where I started: Am I willing to do whatever it takes to stay clean? And my answer hasn't changed much: I don't know.

If I traded it all, if I gave it all away
For one Thing, just for one Thing
If I sorted it out, if I knew all about
This one Thing, wouldn't that be some Thing?

[[one thing]]

When I ran I didn't feel like a runaway
When I escaped I didn't feel like I got away
There's more to living than merely surviving
Maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying
So forgive me for trying to relate
My will is something you can't confiscate

[[the offspring- staring at the sun]]

Saturday, May 19, 2007

the last 10 Joes that I fucked

My computer suddenly is doing this weird thing where everything on the monitor (type, pictures, etc) is bigger. I was typing in my other blog and it was the stupidest thing ever, the words were huge. It was like 3 times the size of the font I'm seeing now. Microsoft Word would call it... let's say 18. It was fuckin' big, and it annoyed me. I'm glad that Blogger still lets me type small. Not that the end results are any different...

I decided that if I'm gonna suck dick for a living, I'm gonna at least save some money. Ever since Greg went back to work (last Tuesday) I've had extra money due to Greg not taking it all. So far, from today and yesterday, I've saved $130. I'm gonna put at least $20 daily, cause it doesn't seem like much but hopefully it will add up quickly. Also, I'm cutting down on my dope usage because it's getting fucking ridiculous. I used to buy 5 bags of dope, go home at night, and be able to take a day off. That couldn't happen anymore, my fuckin' heroin use has escalated way past that. I have 9 bags right now, at 9:17pm and I might have to go back out tommorrow because I'm out.

Well, never completely out. I never run out of heroin, I always save at least one bag until I have more in my hand because I've been through the god damn ringer before because of that. Shooting my last bag cause I think I have more coming, and my connection craps out on me. In fact, the reason I have 9 is cause I bought 8 and I still had 2 saved from my last buy. Obviously I've done one since I made today's buy.

I got a free ride home, which is the best kind of ride home, from a trick whose name I didn't even know. I know him pretty well, it's just that names elude me. These guys who get all offended when I don't remember their names need to remember what I do for a living. I see guys. Hundreds of different guys with different names. In any given day I'll see 5-10 seperate guys, and that's 5-7 days a week. So I'm sorry, Joe, if I don't remember you among the last 10 Joes that I fucked. Same to Dan, Jeff, John, Bill, and Will. Sometimes weird names I'll remember but if you're a Latino guy named Jose or Juan, I will not remember your name next time I see you. End of story. I may be the only hooker you see but you are not the only customer I see. Greg says it's because I make guys feel important, like they are the only ones in my life. But that's part of my fucking JOB to make them feel important! GFE, or GirlFriend Experience. I just wish guys would stop getting pissed at me for not remembering their specific names. At least I remembered your face, all right? I didn't treat you like a complete stranger!

Today I hung around Dixie, but I didn't really work. Didn't feel like it, plus it was raining most of the time. I did spend a good 45 minutes by the wall behind the CVS at the corner of Forest Hill and Dixie Highway waiting on my dope dealer. He's such a big pain in the ass. "I'm just getting off I-95 now, at Forest Hill." Bitch prolly hadn't left his house yet, sittin' there playin' video games. It frustrates me to no end. Somehow I know that he will never find this blog online, hah!

Now I see the times they change
Leaving doesn't seem so strange
I am hoping I can find
A way to leave my hurt behind
All the shit I seem to take
All alone I seem to break
I have lived the best I can
Does this make me not a man?

[[Korn-alone i break]]

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

one step ahead of the game

It's time to move out. I'm always one step ahead of the game, seconds away from getting caught doing something wrong. And on top of that my brother's friends are a big pain in my ass and they're always fucking here. They're here now, and I was laying out back with the doors shut and all i hear is those little bitches screaming and hollering. Plus I got my mom up my ass to get all my doctor shit done and she's the most pissed off person ever. I wonder why she never takes her anger out on the brats in the living room. Fuck all of them. It's time to move out.

Last night I made $100 off the neighbor. I did him real quick, but I hung around for a while, snorted a little coke, shot a little dope, smoked a little weed. I figured out that I like snorting coke. Shooting up coke is like a bomb going off inside my brain and going all the way down my body. Snorting coke is... well, it puts a spring in my step. But I don't jones for the stuff like I do when I'm banging it. Snorting it is much better. And no chance of getting a real scary rush like you can with IV or crack.

God, those sons of bitches need to shut the fuck up out there!!

Today, before my brother's useless people came over, me and him went out for lunch at TooJays at the mall. I like hanging with him solo. He's a cool kid when he's not with those other losers. I'm waiting on one of my dealers who is delivering for me out here in Wellington. Awesome. I wish he would fucking call though, it's been like 3 hours. I'm about to call him.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

another perfect opportunity

This morning I woke up before anyone else did- what a perfect excuse to do a shot. Then my mom went to church- another perfect opportunity to get off! Then, she and my dad and my brother and his friends went to the International House of Pancakes. leaving me alone in the house. So you can imagine what I did. Then about an hour after they all got back, my mom had to go to Publix. Back I went, into the bathroom since I had 7 shots left and I'm going out tommorow.

By that point, I was 4 shots of heroin into the day and it wasn't even 1pm. This is where I figure I need to slow the fuck down. My brain and body can't handle all the dope. I've spent the entire day (until about 715pm, when I finally got in the shower because my mom was having friends over for dinner) laying outside, smoking cigarettes, nodding out and dropping books on myself, and scratching various parts of my back and arms and legs and ass. I haven't done a shot since 1 and I'm still nodding and itching.

The friend my mom invited over is the mother of this black girl who was my best friend when we were about 10 or 11. I don't know if she wants her name printed here cause she might be embarrassed to have ever been a friend of mine ("Hey, you know that heroin-addicted whore who lives with her parents and has scars all over her body? She used to be my BEST FRIEND! Aren't you proud of me?") so I'll just call her C. Back then, the two of us were totally infatuated by that stupid sitcome Step by Step. I can't understand what I ever liked about it! It's not even good enough for Nick at Nite for Chrissake. Full House, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Roseanne, America's Funniest Home Videos, Boy Meets World, Growing Pains- they all made the NaN cut. Step by Step was just too stupid. I think they still might play one episode at noon on weekdays on ABC Family. When you're unemployed or working nights, you watch a lot of daytime TV and when you take away news and soaps (both of which bore me to fucking tears) you end up watching ABC Family. And lots of SpongeBob SquarePants.

...I can't lie. I love SpongeBob SquarePants. I TiVo the episodes and watch them after my last shot of the night and drift off to the voices of Patrick, Squidward, Mr Krabs, Plankton, Sandy Cheeks, and good ol' SpongeBob himself. I know I'm legallly and physically an adult, but I never claimed to be mature, did I? I would never make a claim that I couldn't back up. It's just not my style.

Well earlier today I attempted to write on my other blog, attempted being the key word. I was nodding like a mother. I kept almost dropping the keyboard and almost certainly drooled on it. I kept having to backspace because my hand would land on the keyboard as I nodded, leaving something like this: lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll only 3 or 4 rows longer. Finally I got sick of trying and sick of fixing typos so I named the post "too high to finish" and left the typos at the end. I think it ends something like "thou loooooh" but I'm not exactly sure. Some sort of nonsense. I need to go somewhere where I can do a shot without feeling rushed. I'm needin' one. After being high all day then suddenly I'm not, it doesn't feel too good at all.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

fire engine red

I am way way much too high for my liking right now. When I woke up at 10am I did a monster shot, perfect vein on the first try, the best hit of heroin I've had I think so far this year. I was scared shitless, I was the only person in the house and I wads trying to walk itoff by walking slow laps around the pool and deep breathing and eventually I was ok to lay on the out back bed and burn a cigarette which I burnt my self with caus I kept nodding out and burning my book too which I really couldnt read at that point I was just holding it on the first page. My book was One Flew OVer the Cookooos Nest and I have read like 50 pages into it so far today its a pretty good book plus In ever seen the movei so I don't know whats' going to happen next. I like that.

Then my mom came home and by that time I was even more ok and we went to the Dreher Park Zoo which was a ton of fun. I haven't had such a good time with my mom in a long time, since she found religion. Jesus suckde the fun right out of her or something cause ever since she was "born again" she's been a very boring uptight judgmenntal lady! I love her though she's my MAMA!!! My favorite animals we saw were even the same as hers- a Tiger, a Florida Pathner, some birds that were literallly fire engine red (so bright and beatufiful), and I forget what else. But then while we were at the zoo I decided that I needed another shot- a BIG shot like before. I popped the same vein open first try in the zoo bathroom by the Cafe and just about fucking fell out again. It scared me all over but it wasn't nearly as terrifying as my wake up shot had been. And it was easier to walk it off because we were marching around the zoo looking at all the animals. I nodded out in the car the wholeway home.

Then we got home and at about 7pm (an hour ago) my mom left for an Al Anon meeting which she goes to because I'm a junkie. It's kind of ironic that I wait for her to leave for Al Anon so I can shoot heroin right there on her couch without having to hide in the fucking bathroom, no? Well I did another biggie. At first I poured out so much that it scarred me just looking at it so I put some back.

I'm so glad I put some back!!!

Now I'm worse than I was this morning, the rush was excellent and only slightly scary but now I'm overheating and can't catch my breath and my pupils are itty bitty small and I can't feel anything and my throat feels weird like my heart is pounding right in it and I'm on the verge of throwing up but I know I'm not going to. This dope is fucking powerful. I need to be A LOT more careful. There's about 2 shots left if I make em as big as I've been making em, 3 shots left if I just put enough to get me high. I think I should make it into 3. But when I come down enough to forgethow scared I was all thre times, I'm gonna pile that shit into the spoon and do this all over again. I almost hope I miss some of my next shot cause it seems Ican'tt help myself I always put too much. And when I go to put water I even KNOW it's too much and I do it any way. Why, cause I'm a stupid fu cking junky and Im willing to rish my life for a good high. Brilliant huh.

Monday, May 7, 2007

new or used or soiled or what

I changed my template, my font colors, switched all the pics from the right side to the left side, removed some pics, and changed the title and description of my blog. If it wasn't my very own, I wouldn't recognize it. But I needed a new look- this blog is my homepage when I go online so I'm sick of seeing it the old way. Now whenever it comes up, I smile. It's a darker look for my dark side... hahahaha Michelle's dark side. Do I have a side of me that's not dark? That's pretty funny.

Last night I went out with my family to Legal Seafood (motto: we charge you $29.95 for fish you can get for $8 somewhere else) because my brother just came home from his first year at UF and wanted to eat a 2 1/2 pound lobster. As long as they were spending like that, I ordered the $40 king crab legs and a $7 cup of soup. Hey, I don't want to feel left out. But on the way back I was talking to my brother and his girlfriend and I don't remember even what we were talking about. I just remember it was hilarious. One comment I made that cracked them both up was something like, "I'd feel like an asshole sittin' there punching a coconut." No clue what that means or where it came from but it cracked them up something fierce. My parents were trying to get us to change the subject by occasionally yelling into the backseat: "Lucas, come on!" "Michelle, please!" "You guys, that's enough!" I think by that point our convo had reached the fact that you can buy women's panties from a vending machine in Japan, and we were wondering whether the panties were new or used or soiled or what and my mom was flipping out trying to shut us up. Basically a good time, and I got to fire off a shot in the bathroom after devouring my crab legs. Hah, the bill was almost $250. Feels good to contribute to their AmEx bill. No respect, huh?

I talked to Greg and he's finally gonna stop taking all my money. I left a long rambling message on his voice mail where I told him that I'm gonna start paying a taxi driver to follow me around because he was more expensive that my dope habit. I seem to have developed a pattern with guys. They start out treating me like gold and paying for EVERYTHING. I don't even have to work, money is just getting thrown at me. Then at some point we kinda break even, where we are both putting in. Then all of the sudden, I realize that my boyfriend isn't working or even pretending to look for work aned... HE'S TAKING ALL MY MONEY! And I'm working my ass off and staying broke! How does it always happen! But whatever, Greg is a real adult, not like Micheal who was just a kid like me. He can float alone. I'm still gonna help him out, but I shouldn't be paying his mortgage. I don't even get to come over to his house, why should I pay for it?

And now, it's time for a shot.

Sunday, May 6, 2007


You Need to Grow Up a Little

You're definitely not a kid anymore, though sometimes it's hard to tell.
Your life is somewhat adult, but chances are, you aren't really satisfied with it.
Whether this means getting a better job or dumping a loser boyfriend...
It's definitely time for you to start living a fully adult life.

independent prostitute

I'm listening to Nickelback and eating a hamburger, celebrating the acquisition of my very own 'puter! Actually, it's the same computer I've been using the whole time (my younger brother's computer) but he came home with his laptop so this one became my very own. Now when I move out I'll be able to stay on-line (paying for web connection can't be that expensive, can it???) which is awesome. The funny thing is I don't have a desk. The monitor is on a bookshelf and the 'puter is down on the floor right next to the shelf and I have a wireless keyboard and mouse. What this means is I sit on my bed, put the keyboard on my lap and put the mouse on top of a composition book (I don't have a mousepad). I got headphones since I don't haave a speaker and still listen to LaunchCast, which is the best on-line radio out there because you can rate music. Hah, I guess I'm acting as a free advertisement for them now.

LAUNCHcast: music that listens to you!!!

I'm done being a billboard for now... I guess I'll talk about what's on my mind, that being DUMPING GREG. Out of every $200 I make, $150 of it (sometimes more, but never less) goes in Greg's pocket. Now, I understand that if he's driving me around all day then I have to pay for gas. I'm totally ok with that. But he's literally living off me, like Micheal used to. I pay for his gas, his meals, his pot, his ice for his cooler, he walks away with hundreds in his pocket for his bills- meanwhile I go home empty-handed having to be careful not to run through my meager supply of dope too quickly. I can't take it anymore. It's not worth it, even with the fact that he drives me around everywhere. I mean compared to Greg, a taxi to take me wherever I wanted wouldn't cost me shit. I mean, this is money that I'm having to suck dirty cock to get. I really don't like parting with it at all, especially when I'm seemingly getting nothing in return. He's not working, collecting unemployment, nothing. He's collecting on me, and that's it. It's his fucking turn to go walk in the 90 degree weather at noon for the privelege of sucking some nasty Mexican's dick for fifty measly dollars. And he works me HARD- I've been crying, too hot and tired to work at all and he says to me "make that hundred baby!" Not that I see any of that hundred. Last week he "splurged" on me so that I could buy a new cellphone (the cheapest one in the store) but that's only cause he likes being able to call me at every second while I'm working. I mean if he can't constantly check up on me, I could be doing something unspeakable like pulling over at Rich and Angela's house with twenty bucks to split a rock real quick. God forbid I rest for a second, God forbid I enjoy myself. I need to be out there on Dixie motherfucking Highway making him money. I can't take it no more! The thing is, I love him to death which is why I was so willing to accept that I was being ripped off. But I can't tell if he really loves me, or is it just the cash, blowjobs, and free meals that keeps him coming back? Oh, and with how good I treat him, he STILL gets to be the boss and order me around. I'm not allowed to whine or complain or say no to anything he says. "Give me that money, honey" "Wear this skirt" "You can't have a shot until 2pm" What the hell is going on? Why do I let ANYBODY pimp me like that? Who the fuck is he? Even Micheal didn't treat me like that! I started out an independent prostitute ((pimpless, for lack of an actual word that described my situation)) and dammit, that's what I'm gonna be. I just gotta do some downsizing in Michelle's Blowjobs Inc.

Oh totally off the topic- I'm listening to "Ol' Red" by Blake Shelton- the best country song in the world.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

a great justice system

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

So, now I'm sitting in jail with no way to let Micheal know about it, so I did the only thing I could do: I called his mom. I knew that he had been in touch with that bitch Connie so I figured she would let him know. That is, after the celebratory "michelle-is-finally-away-from-micheal" party that he undoubtably threw that night. We started writing back and forth to each other from one cell to the next. He was incarcerated in the "drug dorm" which is a program within the county jail. It is the predecessor for "drug farm" which is a 1-3 year program designed for people who are facing long prison sentences, or if you're just doing county time it still looks good when you go before the judge.

Two weeks later, I was moved to stockade into the drug dorm. Micheal was facing prison time, so he was on the drug farm waiting list. But now we really had something to talk about- both male and female drug dorms had the same DIs (drill instructors), the same therapists, the same stupid rules, the same time-outs, the same pull-up sheets, the same Quiet Time One and Quiet Time Two, the same classes and the same schedules. Now we had something to make fun of together!

But as it turns out, one of the rules was "no writing letters to the male drug dorm." I never heard that rule anywhere, I never even tried to hide it! But hell. I was moved out of stockade back to the main jail and to GP (general population) and he was moved to B Dorm, known throughout the stockade as "the Gladiator Dorm." His chance at drug farm was gone, and he had to go back before the judge.

I got released into the Drug Abuse Foundation (DAF) with a 6-month suspended sentence if I walked. Now I could write to Micheal with no problems. I hated it there and knew that if I threatened to kill myself, I'd be sent to the Mental Health Pavillion at Columbia Hospital which was a hell of a lot better than DAF. I knew I'd have to go back, but I was just killing time because I only had to be there 3 months. I had only been at DAF 3 or 4 days at this point. I went into the Pavillion, got put on meds, and was released back to DAF a week later.

But what I didn't know was this: somewhere between the jail, the county-sponsored treatement center, and the mental hospital, I had gotten head lice. They couldn't have me there if I had head lice! So they sent me home for 2 weeks. This is right before Christmas too. I was the happiest girl alive. I hadn't been home for 3 days when I got a phone call. From Micheal. And it wasn't a collect phone call. I didn't hear that he was an inmate at the Palm Beach County Stockade. All I heard was "hey Michelle, it's me." I rode my bike about 5 miles to his mother's house just to see him that night. He had gotten out with Time Served, which I was jealous of. Fuckhead robs a house and I just had a little dope and he gets out BEFORE me? What kind of justice system is that?

Turns out it's a great justice system. I didn't return until 3 1/2 weeks later, testing positive for heroin, cocaine, and marijuana. I was re-admitted. I never went back before the judge. And I got released after spending only 6 days, which is 9 or 10 total days, if I include the time I spent at the Pavillion it's about 16 days. Out of the 3 months I'm supposed to spend in treatment, I did 16 days. And I've never been arrested for drugs since. I was picked up once with some coke and twice with some dope, but I haven't been to jail for any of it. And that is called getting away with murder. I have a feeling that if I was a guy or if I was old and ugly, I wouldn't be getting away with shit.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.