Catching Up With Weed

I’m sure you all know Weed’s story but if you don’t.. or if your new here to my little insane world that keeps me sane, then here’s the down low:

Weed is my oldest stepson who decided that drinking and doing drugs was NOT the only thing life has to offer.. so he started dealing. And not only was he dealing from our house, he was also dealing out of our store. Along with the fact that one of his cronies robbed our house three times in a week ( the first week of December ’08) he was kicked out and has been living with the Crack Whore ever since.

The Crack Whore being his mother who drinks and drugs as much as he does.

Oh.. not to mention that he was arrested last year for breaking into neighborhood cars at 4am with no shoes on. The fact that he had no shoes on was disturbing enough. I mean, he literally walked out of our house and started trying door handles. But what was REALLY messed up was the things he stole.. a half roll of pennies, a shower cap, a candy bar, a car manual.

I mean.. REALLY!

So it’s been a LOOOOOONG year with him.. from trying to get him into rehab.. to trying to convince him to take rehab seriously.. but the straw that broke the proverbial camels back was when the things HE was doing caused Chief to get arrested last January.

Parents? Never name your son after their father if there is ANY CHANCE that he will grow up to be a drug dealing junkie with a vendetta for being thrown out of your house.

I honestly never thought that I would be able to look this kid in the eye again without dropping him on his ass. He still has no idea how much suffering he caused and how getting his father arrested almost cost us everything.. including custody of his brothers.

But that’s a junkie mind for you.. never look past anything that has to do with you and what you can get for what you need.

At any rate..

I, of course, have a different perspective on things because he isn’t my kid. And I had to give Chief a little bit of a lead because that’s his son and I don’t think any father could completely right off their kid. Well, maybe they can but I know Chief can’t.

I think a lot of his feeling had to do with not wanting to believe Weed was as far gone as he was… dunno. I wasn’t in his shoes but I did have to take a stance a while back and tell him that if he had any intentions of Weed moving back in that have him use the back door because I’d be moving my shit out the front door.

But time does make a difference and about two months ago, the Crack Whore contacted me in a panic because Weed needed to pay for his GED test before his next court date. Of course, the next court date was the following day and so to make sure he did what he was suppose to do, we put up the money.

He took the test and then he got another letter saying that if he didn’t pay his 1400.00 in fines, he was going to be removed from whatever program they had put him in for first time offenders and go to jail.

Of course, the Crack Whore was in a panic again.

And of course, it was me being the adult and stepping up to the plate.

I talked to Chief about what I was thinking and then talked to Weed.

Since he wasn’t able to get a decent job without his GED :: he has since been notified that he passed :: I told him that I would pay his fine BUT he had to work a few hours in the store for it. I wouldn’t give him the money.. I would send it directly to the courthouse. If he didn’t work, it didn’t get paid.

He readily agreed .. well, he really didn’t have a choice.. and I gave him a letter outlining the deal for him to present to the judge.

Everybody went along with it and I’m really surprised and excited to say that he’s been keeping up his end of the bargain. Without bitching or complaining or being a pain in the ass.

He comes in when he’s suppose to .. does things that need to be done without being asked.. and has taken a load off of both me and Chief.

He isn’t unsupervised .. not left in the store alone.. or has his friends in.. or is near the register without Chief being over his shoulder because let’s face it, neither of us really trust him .. but it seems to be working out and relationships are in the processes of being mended. Won’t say “fixed” because I don’t think they ever will.. but it’s gotten better so that’s a good thing.

Plus he’s been putting on a little weight and generally looking not as junkie-ish as he was:

April 08

December 09

Hmm.. he does look a little wasted in this picture, doesn’t he??

Anyway, I know he wasn’t because he was with us the whole day and there wasn’t really any opportunity or alcohol around to entice him.

He seems to be getting his life in order.. or at least straighter.. and for Chief’s sake, I couldn’t be happier.

This is another “keep your finger’s crossed” thing

My Mother’s A Bitch

Ok.

First let me state for the record that I love my mother very much. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have had the reaction that I had on Friday.

So Friday afternoon, Chief closed the shop early and we went for a ride out to a local farmer’s market. While there, my cell phone rings and it’s my mother. She immediately starts telling me something about my grandmother’s heating bill and some application that they never received from the gas company.

Had a great Thanksgiving.. thanks for asking, Mom.

So I tell her that I wasn’t home but when I did get home I’d call her and look up whatever information she needed online. She asks where we’re at and I tell her.

HER: Make sure you buy me something nice for Christmas.

ME: What are you Spaz? What do you mean make sure I buy you something nice for Christmas?

HER: Just what I said.

ME: Are you implying that I don’t buy you something nice for Christmas?

HER: Well, just make sure it’s from a nice store and not from the farmer’s market.

I was like, are you fucking kidding me? It may not seem like a big deal in print, but you had to hear the tone in her voice and the little sarcastic “hmph”.

And the thing is, I never shorted her on a gift.. regardless of what my financial situation was.. and now this year, since I’ve been laid off and money is tight I’m already feeling guilty that I have to be extra frugal and can’t go all out like I used to do. I figured people would understand.. I figured MY FAMILY would understand because really, when the hell did the true meaning of Christmas become how much money you spent on a gift?

IN FACT .. this year, I was going to get her one of those 200.00 laptops.

Key word: WAS

It just really got under my skin and really fucked up the rest of my day.

So when I got home, I called her like I said I was going to but was my usually chippy self. She picked up on it right away and asked me if I was mad about something.

But the WAY she asked it lit the neon sign that made it clear that she knew exactly what was bothering me.

So I tell her that I was upset.. that her comment about her Christmas gift had hurt my feelings.

Her reaction would have made you think that I was accusing her of smuggling drugs in puppy belly’s or something.

She said she was only joking :: of course she was only joking. .that’s EVERYBODY’S excuse when they say something that hurts somebody else’s feelings :: and that there must be something else bothering me. I told her there wasn’t.. she got all defensive again and pulled out her violin. She said that everybody can tease but her.. which is bullshit and I told her that. Then she said, “.. OH, GO FIND A JOB”.

Like.. what the FUCK?

What the FUCK does THAT have to do with anything?

By then, the wall went up and I was like, “.. yea. Find a job. Real nice.”

I didn’t even want to talk to her anymore. So I told her that the online application that I filled out was submitted and hung up.

Chief knew how upset I was.. and he was getting upset for me. Especially the whole job thing.. because she will never accept that working in the shop that I OWN is work. And that gets under his skin big time.

The thing is.. when your a child, you see your parents as “parents”.. but when your older and see your parents as the adults that they are, you also see their flaws.

My mother is, deep down, a good hearted person. She’s generous and funny and devout. But she’s also very judgmental, negative and opinionated on things she has no business having an opinion on.

She uses the fact that I’m her daughter as an excuse to say and do whatever it is she says and does and thinks it automatically gives her a free pass.

And it doesn’t.

Because there is never a justification to hurt someone’s feelings and not own up to it.

TMI Thursday

Ok.. so this is going to be a new feature, which I KNOW I’m going to regret somewhere down the line… especially if my mother discovers these posts.

Guess who’s not going to get the super tiny laptop for Christmas this year!!

Anyway, my blogging-buddy Mark :: his blog is the reason why I have to wear Depends :: does this and I figured .. yknow.. with as much info as I give out already why the hell NOT just strip everything off and run down the street naked.

Sorry.. not a good visual this early in the am!

So here we go.. my 1st TMI Thursday post.. and thanks again to Mark for the idea.

So flashback about 20 years or so..

In my area, there used to be “976” numbers.

“976” numbers were advertised by scantily clad women with breathy voices cooing .. call me and I’ll tell you my deepest fantasies … or .. want to hear what happened to ME last night? Call me …

Of course, they would ALWAYS leave out the “… you degenerate fuck who really needs to move out of your momma’s basement”

Anyway.. so 976 numbers were big money back in the day. I think it was something like 75 cent a minute or whatever.

So back in the day I was living with the Spawn from Satan’s Ass :: I don’t think we were married yet.. in fact, I KNOW we weren’t married yet :: and since he didn’t work but had this unsatiable desire to live like he did, I had to get a second job.

So I looked in the back of the local community paper and saw this add to write stories for 50 bucks a pop! Hmm… writing? Something I can do at home? 50 BUCKS???

That was a lot of money back then.. especially when you lived with someone who doesn’t work and had a habit of going to the store to buy ONE THING and comes home with a blown out credit card and a lot of useless stuff.

So I call the number and this dude answers and tells me what KIND of writing it was. I think he used the word “erotic” but after meeting him, I don’t think he knew how to spell it let alone say it so it just might be me filling the gaps of old memories.

Anyway.. he tells me that it’s for a “976” number and asks me if I knew what that was. I said I did and he asked me if I had a problem with it. Nope, I said. He then tells me that if I wanted to RECORD what I wrote, he’d throw in an extra 25 bucks.

Heh.

75 bucks for indulging in the little freak that I am?

Perfect!

So I set about churning out these one page, single space stories. I think I must have wrote maybe 5 or 6 in one day. Let me tell you, it isn’t as easy as you might think. Being the perfectionist that I am, each story had to be different (characters, scenes, etc.) with no two “experiences” (read as: the erotic part) the same. The local library didn’t carry a copy of the Kama Sutra and this was WAY before the internet was at my finger tips so it was a challenge.

Finally satisfied, I called the dude and told him that I had the stories. He had told me that he started this phone line as a secondary source of income and in fact, he owned a jewlery store. He had set up a recording studio type thing in the basement of the store so we set up a time after hours for me to record my stories for the phone line.

Of course, The Spawn from Satan’s Ass wanted to come with.. for my safety, of course.. so we set out for the joint and pretty soon we were in the dusty basement “studio” which consisted of just a wooden table.. an old fashioned type microphone and some kind of recording thingy.

I sat on one side.. he sat on the other and the Spawn from Satan’s Ass sat on the end. Dude was wearing head sets.. gave me a cue.. and off I went.

Just let me say that I don’t know how porn stars do it… well, maybe that’s not the right analogy because after all, they ARE getting fucked.. maybe legit actors and actresses are a better comparison. I mean, here I am reading these stories and having to put in the “ooooohhhsss” and “mmmmmms” and “yes! yes! YESSSS!”s and make them sound convincing.

I didn’t think I was doing a particularly good job of it until maybe after the 3rd or 4th story, the Spawn from Satan’s Ass yells “YOU’RE GETTING A HARD ON!!”

Dude scrambles to turn off the recording machine as the Spawn jumps up from his chair. “You son of a bitch! You’re getting a hard on! We’re out of here.”

And being that the Spawn was the Spawn, I got up too. The dude shoved a wad of money in my hand and off we went.

Spawn was ranting and raving as we got to the car. The INDIGNITY OF IT ALL!! He thought Dude was PROFESSIONAL!! He couldn’t BELIEVE it! He should have PUNCHED IN THE GROIN SO HARD HIS BALLS WOULD BE IN HIS STOMACH… or some nonsense like that.

Then he started getting pissed at ME because I wasn’t bothered by it. Well.. DUH!!!.. I mean.. I would have been insulted if he didn’t get a hard on because THAT was the point of the whole thing, right?

Anyway.. of course, I wasn’t “allowed” to do it again and therefore ended my highly profitable career as an erotic writer before it even started!!

Me + Jury Duty = Contempt Of Court and A $400.00 Disorderly Conduct Fine

Ok…

So my girl Jen512 wanted to hear about this.. this.. um.. “experience” :: for lack of a better word :: so while I have some time to kill before starting dinner, I figured I’d tell you about my day of civic duty in the new county I live in.

Before moving into suburbia, I lived my whole life in a very large urban city. Jury Duty in the city was simple. You basically showed up.. indulged in the burnt coffee and stale donuts they provided as a “thank you for showing up”.. sat.. waited.. waited.. sat.. collected your 9.00 check and went home.

I really have no idea who the people who actually sit in the jury box during trials are because as God is my witness.. NO ONE was ever picked from the huge room of potential jurors that sat there with me each time I went.

But anyway…

So here’s the thing… I may grumble about going. It may be an inconvenience to go… but I really don’t mind it. It’s like going to the gynecologist. You don’t REALLY want to go.. but it’s a necessary evil that once you get there, really isn’t so bad.

On with it..

So I moved into this county in November 2007 and in less then a year, I get the jury summons.

In the city, it was basically a post card that asked if you were a citizen.. if you were ever convicted of a felony.. if you understood English and if you needed someone to help you answer the questions.

Honest to God.

Here in the county, the questionaire is SIX FREAKIN’ PAGES long and includes questions about how exactly lives in your household.. what they do for a living.. how old they are.. what their relationship is to you.. if they’ve ever been arrested..etc.

So I fill it all out and mail it back it and then am given a time and date to show up. Oh.. and a number. I’m given a number. My number was 104 or something like that.

Anyway.. the day comes and there is a torrential down pour. It was a miserable fucking day but I have my handbag full of snacks and puzzle books and reading books and magazines and everything else I can think of that would stave off boredom for the 8 hours I was going to be there.

So there are about 120 people sitting in the holding cell potential juror’s room and we watch this video and get lectured a welcome speech from one of the high judges.. all the shit, basically.

It just so happens that on the day I had to go, they were starting to pick the jury for an abnormally high profile murder case. I can’t go into anymore detail then that for ambiguity sake but believe me.. it was an abnormally high profiled murder case. In fact, it was so abnormally high profiled that I would have actually LIKED to be in this jury.

That is.. until I found out that the trial was probably going to be about 3 or 4 weeks long and that because it was so abnormally high profiled, the jury would have to be sequestered.

Hell No.

Not doing that.

A point of the case was that it dealt with homosexuality… and although I am in no way a homo-phobe, I figured that my good Christian values would dictate that I SHOULD be and that would be my out to be dismissed by the defense team.

One day.. One trial and I’m free.

NOTE: Before you start typing hate mail, save the time. I don’t believe that my good Christian values dictate that I should be a homo-phobe. I was just trying to get out of being sequestered into the Thanksgiving holidays!

Because this was a big case :: I promise I will never say “abnormally high profile” again in this post, they brought all 120 potential jurors up into the courtroom. Where we sat.. unable to eat.. or drink.. or talk to the people sitting next to us.. or read or do ANYTHING until we were dismissed.

Wonderful. There goes my handbag full of diversion, huh.

The worse part was.. in an attempt to hinder you further from maybe whispering to the people sitting next to you.. they had white noise playing on the speakers.

You know the “shhhhhshhhhhshhhhhshhhhshhh” noise? The sound that the “snow” channel made on old tv sets?

Talk about cruel and fucking unusual punishment for people that a few hours before you were welcoming with open arms of thanks :: no stale donuts, though ::

Anyway.. they pass out a set of questions that they want you to answer. These will be reviewed by the judge, defense team and prosecution team.

One of the questions was:

WOULD YOU HOLD IT AGAINST A DEFENDANT IF THEY DIDN’T TAKE THE STAND?

Something to that effect.

HELL YEA I wrote.

And I would. Definitely.

So all the papers are collected and then the questions are read aloud for which everyone who answered a certain way has to stand to acknowledge their answer to the question.

Not sure if I’m explaining this right. But like, they would say:

All those who answered YES to Question 5 regarding a friend or family member convicted of a crime please stand up with your juror number displayed.

Personally, I think that sucks but as you will find out I think about this sucked.

Anyway.. so they get to the question about holding it against someone who won’t take the stand in their own defense and I promptly stand up. So did the girl to the left of me.

Remember, we’re not able to talk to one another and there’s enough flying monkey’s from the Wizard of Oz trolling around making sure we don’t.

So after they get done all that.. they start speaking to the potential jurors one by one.. up at the judges side bar.

Remember, there are 120 people in there. They are interviewing people NUMERICALLY. It’s almost 3pm by this time.. I am number 104… they are on number 23 or something and I’m thinking.. Welp.. court ends at 4.. there’s my one day / one trial thing done and over with.

NO.

SUCH.

LUCK.

4:00 rolls around… then 4:15… then 4:30… THEN 4:45.

The judge then tells us that we would ALL have to come back tomorrow.. no IFS.. ANDS.. or BUTS.. because to NOT come back tomorrow would mean serious.. serious consequences.

Here’s were things get dicey. I really should learn to never leave my house without a filter on my mouth or at least learn how to control my impulses because as soon as the Judge said, “… you all have to come back tomorrow” all ANYONE heard coming from me was OH. NO. I’M. NOT!

It was kind of like that old EF Hutton commercial.. the one where EVERYONE stops to listen? Yea.. well.. that’s kind of what happened. And since all eyes were on me I, of course, had to stand up for the rights of citizens everywhere.

Right?

Um.. yea.. they didn’t think so.

Anyway.. so I start ranting about how the jury summons had said ONE DAY or ONE TRIAL. This was our ONE day because we certainly weren’t involved in a trial. You cannot tell me that NO ONE in this court room figured out at .. like.. Oh, I don’t know.. 2pm? 3pm, maybe? that they weren’t going to get through ALL 120 jurors. Could they have NOT let anyone know then so that they could make the appropriate arrangement for say.. oh, I don’t know.. they’re JOB maybe? Because as of NOW.. my office and certainly OTHER people’s offices were closed so how the HELL am I suppose to notify my boss that I have to come back HERE! again?

Every body started fist pumping the air… chanting my name.. comparing me to Norma Rae!

Well.. no .. actually they were just agreeing with me with a head nods and mumblings of “yep, that’s right”. But hey, a girl can have a fantasy right?

All of a sudden, one of the flying monkeys rushes towards me and tell me that I better “knock it off” :: really. He said that :: or he’d give me a fine.

“A fine?, “ I asked making that smirky face I made once in a while. “For WHAT?”

“Disorderly Conduct,” he said.

I think I responded with OH. COME. THE. FUCK. ON! and added something about him being a kindergarten drop out who couldn’t get a real job as a policeman.. and if he DIDN’T know, I was a United States Citizen who had every right to oppose the sanctions placed upon me BY the court when I was here doing my duty TO the court. How fucked up was that??

One thing you need to know about me… in situations like this, I tend to pull out the big 10 cent dictionary words and go into “lawyer”-speak, as my psychotic ex husband used to say.

He had about enough of me, I’ll tell you what!

He whips out his little citation book and tells me that I am definitely getting a fine and incredibly, asks me my name and address.

I tell him in my most billowing Norma Rae voice that:

I AM JUROR NUMBER 104.. LOOK IT UP IN THE GODDAMN PAPER WORK

And then I walked out of the courtroom… down the hall.. down the steps.. across the courtyard.. across the street.. into the parking lot and into my car muttering, “… what the fuck did you JUST do you simple ass mother fucker?” Quickly proceeded by “.. dammit, I need a coffee STAT!”

So the next day comes and I head back to the courtroom :: like instructed :: taking the same seat that I had before.

All the flying monkeys were giving me the hairy eyeball and the other potential jurors were sneaking me smiles and nods.

Again they put on the white noise.. and again you have to sit there with no source of entertainment or access to caffeine. This was going to be a LONG day!

There happened to be some kind of issue with Juror 103 :: on my right ::. I’m not sure what it is because you know, we aren’t aloud to inter act, but at some point she grabs hold of one of the flying monkeys and tells him that there is no possible way she can continue to sit in the court room because the defense attorney was the same guy that her old babysitter used when she was on trial for shaking her :: the juror’s :: baby to death. She got off and apparently, this woman held it against the defense attorney.

DAAAAMMMMNNNNN!!! The things you find out when white noise doesn’t work as well as you think it does!!

Anyway, the flying monkey tells the woman that she cannot leave the court room but that he will speak to the judge. She gets all hysterical crying and asks if she could use the ladies room. The flying monkey then gives a not to the crypt keeper and a set of doors rivaling the beginning of Get Smart opens and she leaves.

She eventually comes back and about an hour or so later, when the judge and all were finishing up grilling Juror 87 or 88, the unexpectedly call Juror 105 :: the girl on my left ::.

Immediately there is a buzz in the room. What did this mean? Is everyone else going home? Are they going to keep everyone else? WHY. THE. HELL. WOULD. THEY. SKIP. OVER. ALL. THESE. PEOPLE? What was so special about HER?? Why did SHE get called next? Did she have naked pictures of the JUDGE?

It was craziness. Pandemonium would be a better word. All the official court people start shushing everyone and the judge is banging his gavel and calling order and all this stuff and finally, everyone calms down.

Juror 105 was questioned and then released.

Lucky bitch.

Anyway.. so fast forward to when they finally call my number.

I go up before the judge, the prosecution and defense and the judge asks me about the answers to my questions. But before he could get to any specific one, I tell him that I didn’t answer one question truthfully. I told him that it would be difficult for me to serve on the jury because I morally opposed homosexuality and the reason why I didn’t answer truthfully is because there were obviously people around me who were gay and I didn’t want to either offend anyone or make anyone uncomfortable.

The defense attorney poo-poo’d that sentiment. Which.. okay.. he TECHNICALLY was right about but he really didn’t know that for sure. I mean, I COULD really feel that way.

The judge then asked me about THE question.. the whole defendant taking the stand thing.

I said to him that I understood that it was a defendants constitutional right NOT to take the stand but I firmly believe that an innocent person had nothing to hide and that if I were accused of something I didn’t do then I you wouldn’t be ABLE to keep my mouth shut about it.

The defense attorney huffed at that but instead of cutting my eyes at him I just remained with the persona of a dutiful potential juror.

I thought this was it… given what I said, no one in there RIGHT MIND would want me on a jury and I would be excused. I figured it was early enough in the afternoon that I could get some shopping done.. maybe check out Border’s… go to DSW… I had it all planned out.

But they shot me a curve ball.

They told me to go back to my seat.

WTF???

I gave a grin… and politely made my way back to my seat.. mentally calling them ever curse word in English AND Italian!!

And I sat.

And sat.

And sat until they finally got everybody interviewed.

It was then that the judge called on me to go to his chambers.

All eyeballs on me.

Fuck.

As I made my way back.. escorted by a flying monkey.. I swear I was waiting for the cuffs to be put on and was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to 1) let Chief know that I was probably the only potential juror ever arrested and 2) explain to Chief why I was the only potential juror ever arrested.

I get to the chambers and the judge and both attorneys were there. I sit down and the judge tells me that the reason why I’m being called back there is that the defense attorney feels as though I was not being honest about my answers.

Are you KIDDING me?

This is already 2441 words so I’ll cut to the chase.

Remember that juror that they interviewed out of order? Well apparently, she said the same thing about THE question that I did and he was convinced that we had some conspiracy thing going on between us.

Are you KIDDING me?

I asked him if he was insinuating that the flying monkeys didn’t do their job and keep us from talking.. because there was no way in HELL you could have a conversation .. even with mental telepathy.. with them around.

The defense hack also said that he didn’t believe my rant on homosexuality and suggested to the judge that I be held in contempt of the court.

Are you KIDDING me?

I was getting really REALLY pissed at this point so I turned around and told him why it was so damn important to have me on this jury? Obviously, his client wasn’t going to take the stand because he was guilty as hell :: yes, I did say that :: so he wasn’t going to win me over on that.. and he definitely isn’t going to win me over on the gay thing… so why was he wasting MY time, the JUDGE’S time and the COURTS time by grilling me unless, of course, the reason WHY he wanted me on the jury is so that WHEN his client is found guilty as ALL HELL, he’d have an out to get him another trial.

I have to admit that that came to me at the last minute but I can tell you that it did peak the Judge’s interest.

The defense attorney said that that was ridiculous and told me that I was making a mockery of the law.

That really inflamed me. I told him that on the contrary, HE was the one mocking the law. That even though one may not always agree with the law.. it is the LAW and he was the one trying to dance around it. And as far as the constitution goes, I’m sure he didn’t agree with everything in it.. but even though it preserves certain rights, that doesn’t me that I have to agree with those rights.

The judge asked me again if there was any shadiness with the other potential juror and I told him that he could look up every single juror sheet that I ever filled out in the city and the answer to that question is always the same.

He seemed satisfied… the prosecution was literally getting a kick out of all this and the defense guy was all twisted up in knots.

The judge told me I could leave and as I was walking out, I remembered the fine. I decided to be bold and ask him if I still have to pay it. He seemed a little taken back by my boldness but I told him that considering the defense attorney basically wanted me drawn and quartered, wasn’t that punishment enough?

He told me he would see what he could do and if I got the citation in the mail then to just mail it to his office.

Ordeal over.. I made my way home.

Quickly.. before anyone changed their minds!!

BTW … the guy on trial? Yea.. they found him guilty as all hell!

You Never Get Away When Dancing With The Devil

Heh…

I know that getting some semblence of joy from the following may be wrong. And I know that it is going to have an adverse affect on Spaz… but y’know… so fucking what?

A few things happened today that I’ll post about later :: I have dinner on the stove and Chief will be home soon :: but I couldn’t put this one off any longer.

This morning Chief told me that Bubba relayed to him that the Crack Whore had an appointment today with her parole officer.

The PO told her that if she didn’t get a job soon, she was going to jail.

<< INSERT GIGGLES HERE >>

She, in turn, went back to her apartment and told Spaz what the parole officer had said and finished with, “… so I guess I’m going to jail.”

The sad part in all this is.. as Chief pointed out.. is that Spaz is the only one who cares about her. And of course, his over-worked nerves are going to go into yet another tail spin because of her.

Chief said he was going to talk to her about saying stuff like that to Spaz :: but we already know that if he does, it isn’t going to be with the same intensity that he tells me he’s going to speak to her ::

That aside… I can’t help but laugh at her simple ass.

You would rather go to jail then find your lazy, junkie ass a job.

Incredible, isn’t it?

Even the most brain-dead junkie I know whould rather to whatever it takes then to be hauled off to an 8X8, right?

AND to pass this on to a child?

Do you SEE what I’m dealing with here?

I think the chicken is burning so I gotta run…