Friday, September 28, 2007

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?

Thursday, September 27, 2007

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.

Monday, September 24, 2007

"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!

Saturday, September 22, 2007

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.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

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.

Friday, September 14, 2007

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.

Monday, September 10, 2007

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...

Friday, September 7, 2007

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!

Saturday, September 1, 2007

lots of cop-related posts lately

It's been a while since I published any "workplace" anecdotes, and a lot of funny things happen, so here goes.

I was walkin' along my usual stroll when a fat guy in a truck gestured me over. I got in his truck and he asked me how much for a blowjob, which I told him. We rode in silence for a few minutes looking for a place to park, and then he says, "You know I'm a cop, and you're under arrest." Figures, right? I was thinking to myself that at least this time I had a decent amount of heroin on me, and I could hide it while in the police station holding cell and maybe wean myself off and not go through the HELL I went through during my last county jail adventure. But this has happened before, and the first thing they do is show a badge or some sort of police identification. This "cop" didn't show me a damn thing. He says, "I know you don't want to go to jail, so I'll make you a deal. Just give me a blowjob, and I'll let ya go. This whole thing will disappear." Ohhhhhh, now I get it! He's a con man, trying to rip off a li'l working girl such as myself! That fucking bastard! So I asked him to show me his badge. He goes, "if I show you, I'll have to take you to jail. Is that what you want?" I just smiled. I bet that routine has worked on dozens of jail-fearing hoes in the past, but not this one. Not in a million years. I said, "I don't believe you." He goes, "So you want to go to jail? If I pull out of this parking space, we're going straight to Gun Club [the county jail is on Gun Club Road, so locals just call the jail itself Gun Club]. You better just give me a blowjob and nothing will come of this, because I don't want to arrest you." If I had any doubts before, they were gone. Most cops love arresting people, at least the ones I've come across. It's the reason they became cops- to arrest people and/or give them shit. I just got out of his truck, still laughing. What a jackass. Pretty slick though, I gotta give him props for trying. I've heard people say that not paying a prostitute is RAPE, which I think is a load of bulldookey. I'm offering something for sale, and if you take it without paying that's called STEALING or RIPPING ME OFF. Rape is something completely different. At least that's my opinion, but if you can't post your uncalled-for opinion on your own blog then where does it belong? At least my opinion isn't on a sign marching anyplace. Hah!

Later that night, I got in a truck and a REAL cop saw me get into it. He pulled us and told us both to get out. The cops on my stroll all know me, so he called me by name. The potential-date (who wasn't a regular, I'd never seen him before in my life) starts babbling on about how he was just offering a ride, he wasn't trying to fuck me, look, he didn't have any money in his wallet even, blah blah blah bullshit galore. "Did I ask you any fucking questions? No? Then shut up," says the cop. "So, you're driving around on Dixie, picking up local prostitutes-" at this point he turns to me and says "no offense, Michelle" to which I replied, "hey, you gotta call a spade a spade." He continues, "-and expect me to believe that you're just giving her a RIDE? How many times have I heard this story? I don't like when people lie to me." He ran both our names (I was warrant-free, like I knew I would be, hooray!!!!) and told the guy that he was gonna tow his truck and that he could pick it up in the morning. You shoulda heard this guy! "No! Please don't tow my truck! This has been a learning experience! I'll never pick up a girl again! I'm so sorry I lied to you, it's true, I was planning on picking this girl up but I wasn't gonna have sex with her, I just wanted a hand job! This is a company vehicle! I might lose my job! My girlfried is gonna kill me! Is there anything I can do, I mean within the law, like community service? Just PLEASE don't tow my truck! I'll do anything!" God, he was crying. It was so funny. My phone was ringing, all I cared about is whether or not I could answer it because I knew he couldn't take me to jail. Finally he let the guy go with his truck, and then turns to me and says, "that was pretty funny, wasn't it? That guy almost passed the fuck out! Now get off my block. And answer your fucking phone."

It should be against the law to enjoy your job this much. Oh wait- my job IS against the law! Haw haw haw! Lots of cop-related posts lately. I hope I don't go back to jail.

After all of that, my friend from Miami came over. She took me to 45th street and copped 2 bundles from speed dial #5, which she pretty much split down the middle with me while staying the night at my apartment. Okay, now 2 people know where I live- Greg and her. Whatever, she doesn't know anyone I know anyway since she lives in Coral Gables. Not exactly a stone's throw from L-Dub. We stayed up all night- well actually I passed out for a couple hours during which I had scary-ass nightmares. Something about cops and a bunch of ni-, heh, I mean black people at a crackhouse beating my ass. Scary shit. Then she copped another $280 worth of heroin from sd #3 and gave me some before rolling on back to Miami. What a generous girl. Then I went to sleep and proceeded to make a killing. Friday nights are the best money-making nights. Hooray! I copped from sd #5 and it took me 30 years to hit a vein, but I finally did so whatever.

Woke up with my rent payed, cigarettes, dope, food in the house, clean towels, and almost $100 in my pocket. Perfect chance to go chill at the library without having to worry about getting sick or getting hungry. From here I'm going to Saito's for some delicious sashimi lunch specials. Hooray again!

I'm gonna go to the methadone clinic on Monday. Wish me luck... oh and by the way to the people who leave comments on my blog, please don't leave mean comments about other people who left comments. No fighting on my fucking website. If you have something mean to say to me, well then that's a different story. But no shit-talking to each other. That's what instant messages are for.