Manscaping (NSFW)

"Listen, Ester.  I had some funny shit happen to me today.  It seems that even I can still be uncomfortable.  Truly amazing, huh? 

Before prison, I was ‘playing the field’ as often as possible.  I try to be a well-groomed man in every way. …Manscaping being a big part of that.  Since prison, I have let things go.  

(Jonathan Kitchen/Digital Vision/Getty Images)

...Do you have to vacuum your bed every day?

I do, however, still shave my balls.  Between exercising, running and sweating, it’s more a cleanliness thing for me now.  Why I feel the need to explain, I do not know….

So it’s time to shave the nads.  Nobody is in the shower, so I jump in, lather up, grab my balls and begin to shave.  You may have guessed… oh yes, here comes someone else to take a shower as well. 

Surprise, Dude.

I am a convict.  You have to follow the code and respect the other man.  If I had been jacking off, I would have needed to say, “Give me a minute to finish up.”

However, I’m just shaving my balls.

Well, this is a first for me.  What to do?  Follow the code.

“Hey, brother, I’m shaving my balls, just so you know….”

He says, “Oh, no problem” and steps in.

Then he says, “I prefer to shave it all off – why stop with the balls?”

Two full-grown men, feet apart, in the shower, naked, one shaving his nuts!  What’s the very first thing that comes to my mind? ‘Oh my god, I have to write about this!’

Ester, I’m going to hell! 

I know this guy is watching me, but it’s not sexual!  He sees I’m nervous and trying to rush.  He says, “Slow down, man, slow down before you cut yourself.”  …That’s when I realized he was watching.

Then I just gave up…decided to take my time and do it right.  He then recruited me to play on his softball team.  HA!  Softball!  W.T.F.?

I’m thinking, ‘I have to blog this,’ and then I’m thinking, ‘Is this how women are?’  I mean, you all go to the bathroom together.  Do you chat about masturbating and shaving private parts?  (Note: You don’t need to answer that).

I just wondered if this is normal, or have I been warped?  Eh… probably warped."

Free Art & Free Advice (NSFW)

“This is amazing!

My sister wrote me today.  I am about to address a whole pile of stuff, so sit back, buckle up, and for the love of god, keep your hands inside at all times!

Both of the art winners should have their art.  The sailboat picture just popped in my head.  I went to the library (our prison library – duh!) and looked at some sailing books to get an accurate feel for the boats and nautical charts.

Next, our other request was to draw a piece for a tattoo.  Not a problem.  …A tattoo of a 35 mm camera.  Well, this is a first.  I have never drawn a camera in my life!  That’s OK.  I got this!

My mind was drawing a blank.  This one was my big challenge.  So I think about it and I begin to see some cool ideas.  The idea that I had was to throw a small section of the strip-film used in old-school cameras into the art piece.  So I did.  Then I need some filler.  How about stars?

I send this to Ester yesterday and her update comes today.  Ester says, “Angie said you could use either film strips or stars as fill.”  Well, little lady, today it seems you and I are on the same page!  As you look at your art, know it was drawn before I got those last instructions from Ester.  I hope you like it!

Something I want to point out: I plan to open my own tattoo studio when I get out.  I hope to see some of you come by so I can hook you up.  I did this art thing because I wanted the challenge of drawing you a custom piece that you don’t just like, but that you LOVE.  Don’t get a tattoo unless you LOVE it.  So, Angie, I hope I brought you a piece that you will love.

One part of Ester’s updates is ‘Search Keywords’ (terms somebody typed in to Google which resulted in them clicking on a Jailbird link).  

(Here's a sample, in case you couldn't imagine it)

That should be self-explanatory.  I tend to cruise over this section.  Sometimes there are some funny ones, like a while back, somebody typed in “prison-sex-shower-scenes.”  PERV!

HA!  But the funny part is that it sent them to this site, so who is the real perv?  My question was, ‘I wonder if that was a guy or girl?’

Well, this update had a few more:

1.       1.  How to take sex prison photos

2.       2.  I want to fuck Michigan strippers

Seems there are at least two people out there who want the low-down on prison sex and how to photograph it.  You can’t have a camera in prison.  My best advice to you?  Go rent Butt Buddies and use your imagination.

And now to address this other ‘gent.’

…So you want to fuck Michigan strippers?  My first reaction was to laugh out loud.  No, really!  Everyone looked over at me wanting to know what was so funny.  Your secret is safe with me.  What kind of douche-nozzle looks for these instructions on the internet?  Tell you what, go rent Butt Buddies and you can kill two birds with one stone.  Oh man, don’t tell me you typed in those other key words too!  Oh, shit!  Now I’m really laughing!    

OK, let me be serious.  You want to catch you a real, live, Michigan stripper?  Go to Wal-Mart at 3 a.m.  Hell, K-Mart should do just as well.  For real, dude.  You’ll just lose all your dollars at the strip-club anyway.  Save your money and pick her up at her home away from home.  Just look for the chick who is wearing sweat pants, flip-flops, and pushing a cart with two little kids in it.

(Will it look something like this?)

You can buy her and her kids Happy Meals at the McDonalds, conveniently located in the front of the store.  Then pick up one of those boxes of wine and have a party!

…For the rest of you…

If this just went over your head, then don’t worry about it.  However, I know for a fact that there are a few working girls on here.  Right now, you’re going, “Mother fucker….”

Yeah, I just put your ass on front street!  You can take this one of two ways.  Actually, I can think of three ways you could take this, but right now I’m trying to help out this other guy.

I know I just offended you.  Get over it!  When this homely little dork sees you in Wal-Mart, do what you do!  Take him for every dollar he’s worth.  See, I’m actually helping you!

Dude, if you have to look for instructions, then you are out of your league.  These women are lean, mean, hustling machines.  Go find a nice girl, bro.  Those girls learn to hustle top-notch within three weeks of stepping in the strip club.

You need to be at the local dive bar at closing time.  Look for the chick that’s stumbling across the parking lot.  That’s a little more your speed."

Getting My Rear in Gear

Hey guys and girls!  Have uh… have I mentioned before that I live in an 18-foot camper?  I’m not kidding here.  I’m not super materialistic, but have you tried moving all of the crap you’ve accumulated from a 3-bedroom house into an 18-foot camper?  It means you have to throw away (and by “throw away” I mean donate) all those awesome clothes you swear to god you’re going to fit into again someday….  It means you have a garage sale where you have to look away when somebody buys your favorite chair for hundreds of dimes less than you paid for it, lest they should see you shed a tear.  It means you try like hell to cram all the rest of your stuff into a tiny little space you’re gonna share with one grown man and one grown bulldog, and then a month later, go through it all and somehow find another couple industrial-sized trash bags full of donations.

What does this all mean to you?  Well, it means my paperwork is a clusterf$*k, strewn from a pile on top of the scanner, across the table top, over to the couch, and tucked into plastic drawers.  It means that I am a little more prone to losing things now than I ever was before.  And it means sometimes I lose posts, don’t even remember that I have them, and then suddenly find them on Saturday morning when I’m going through everything I own, and I go “Oh, damn” and find a way to post it where it belonged.

Hence, there is an update for the Amy Winehouse portrait, a post written by Michael and I neglected to even notice at the time, let alone post with the portrait, so please go check that out if you’re interested.

…Also in case you’re interested, living in an 18-foot camper means that when you possess what you consider to be a collection of priceless artwork created by your brother in prison, any fears you may have of your house flying off a snowy mountain and those pieces being lost forever are actually a little legitimate, and you’re totally not a paranoid freak.  Can I get a “word?”  Word.

After you’ve ditched me to see what Michael wrote about Amy, come on back here and check out my next post, which was also misplaced for probably about a month.

Cheers!

Men Vs. Women (NSFW)

Not long ago, I wrote about some books I was reading, like the Twilight series.  Did you think that was a little gay?  Well, screw you!

I guess there are four books in the series.  The first one, Twilight, I read and liked.  Next one was New Moon, and I flew through that as well.  Then I started the third.

My god, lady!  Around and around about some damn vampires!  The first one inspired me to write “Matters of the Heart.”  …But by the third one, I’m thinking, ‘Will you get to the point already?’  After about 100 pages on book three, I put it down and picked up a real book: American Gods by Neil Gaiman.  Now, this book has promise.

(To purchase, see Amazon.com)

My aunt sends me Men’s Health, so each month I learn new work-outs, see food I can’t eat, and learn sex tips I can’t use.  Still, I love that magazine.  Where else can you learn the best new work-out of the month as well as sex tips to drive your woman wild?  …Anything to sell a magazine.

Men’s Health tells you one way, then you read a magazine like Redbook and it totally contradicts the other.

So I start to look into this.  Well, looks like Men’s Health is a man’s view on what you women want, where Redbook is a woman’s point of view.  Here I sit, ladies, wanting to know the truth!  Let’s get to the bottom of this!  Men’s Health says 60% of women love to give oral sex and get gratification from it.  Redbook says 60% don’t like it, and 40% do.  However, that 40% only like it because they think their man does (which, by the way, YES, we do!!)  …So it’s clear one of these views is wrong.

Since I seek the truth, I’m taking my tips from Redbook.  During my research, I have found one thing both men and women like.  They say the way to a man’s heart is with high heels and fish-nets.  Oh, wait!  …Wrong study.  Food!  Yeah, it was food.  The study said that you women like a man who can cook as well.

This photo is an excerpt from Porn For Women 

Men’s Health says you should learn to cook at least one meal to “woo” a woman with.  I still think this is false advertisement.  Then again, false advertisement is yet another thing men and women have in common.  Aww – come on – we both do it!  That’s why men still think 60% of you like to give head.  You’re lying to us!  (Note from Ester: Maybe they’re interviewing porn stars, who are faking it like, 99.9% of the time…).  …Then you marry us and we find out the truth: 40%... and only because you think we like it – which we do!!

I dug deeper and learned even more.  This shit is weird.  Check it out….  Men wake up with a boner and want to ‘get to it.’  Women are more like a diesel truck in the winter.  You need to start them up, let them idle and warm up some first.  That’s basically what Men’s Health says.  Of course, I made up the truck part.  Women aren’t trucks.

Redbook paints a clear picture.  It says to do the dishes.  Yeah… really!  A woman’s sex drive runs off emotion, not Viagra.  So they say, after dinner, help your lady do the dishes and clean up the place.  This must come after all the false advertisement and marriage.  I used to just take them to the bar, feed them drinks, and… well, you get the point.

But dishes?

(According to this study, men become more aggressive when asked to do work 

traditionally associated with women.  Want to get laid?  Wash your own damn dishes!)

So does this really work?

Men’s Health says to build larger biceps and work on the V-shaped upper body.  Another one I found that works… keep a lot of cash in your pocket.  Is that why strippers always followed me around?  Maybe I should do more dishes….

There is one thing I have: Humor.  That’s the one thing both Men’s Health and Redbook agreed on.  Women love a man who can be funny (Ester's note: women also love women who are funny - go figure!).  Woo hoo!  …Or do I just piss you off?  Guess not – you’re still reading.  …Uh, hello?  Anybody there? (Is this thing on?)

I told my girl that the other day – Me being here lets her get to know me.  Sucks because I can’t pull off the whole false advertisement thing.  My life is all right here for the world to see.

…Her comment to me?  “At least I know where you are every night!”

Thank you, dear….

So are you the 60% or the 40%?  No, no! Don’t answer!  See, that’s the problem with many men.  They don’t take the time to ask.  That’s probably women’s biggest problem with men….  We can’t stop and ask for directions.

But I don’t want to be that guy.  I’m spending my time getting to the bottom of the issues that matter.  Sex!  Duh!

I’ll continue my research.  Can I ask one question? Spit or swallow?   

Kid Rock Portrait

(Copyright M.S. 2011, All rights reserved).

Remembering Amy Winehouse (UPDATED by Michael)

This morning, I [Ester] had to look up Amy Winehouse.  Of course, I was one of millions who woke up to a Facebook wall filled with comments about her, when she died July 23.  But I didn't know much about her.  I remember her single "Rehab," but had never really seen photos of her.  I had heard Chelsea Lately crack a few jokes at her expense, and it was the first time I had ever seen her face.  Winehouse was a wreck.  I don't spend much time looking at celebrities or looking up celebrities, don't really watch much TV, etc.  So, unfortunately, the only images I have seen of Winehouse were devastating.  I didn't know all the gossip, or rumors, or truths about her drug addictions.  I have never followed celebrity business.  However, when Michael sent me this portrait, I did not know who it was just by looking at her face because I had never seen her looking... healthy.

This morning, when I scanned in this image, I looked up some articles and images online.

       

(C) 2006 Universal Island Records Ltd. A Universal Music Company.

I'm not posting any "after" photos because I am sure everyone has seen them.  ...Skin hanging off her bones, bruised and bloody.  Guys and girls, this woman was 27 years old.  I am 27 years old.  How does this happen?

Once I had looked at a few pictures, I was thinking about what her family must have went through, must still be going through.  How do you cope with losing a child at 27?  

Then I thought about what I saw in my brother when I hadn't seen him in several years, didn't know about his drug use, and was suddenly confronted with it when I was 18 years old.  He would have been 24 then.  All of the "My Life" posts are Mike remembering when he was in his early-mid 20s.  What if I had lost my brother like that?  What if my mother lost her son like that?  I hate that my brother is in prison, but brother, I would rather visit you behind that fence than visit you at the cemetery.      

To all our friends who have lost loved-ones who suffered from drug addiction, we still pray for you, we think about you, and we love you.

(Copyright M.S. 2011.  All Rights Reserved)

“The other Morning, I woke, made some coffee, and listened to the news.

Amy Winehouse dies… family mourns her loss.

I shook my head.  What a loss.  Had it not been for prison, I would be there myself.  Dead.  My family mourning my loss.

The other day a friend wrote, sharing some of the joys of parenting a teenager.  I wrote her back and told her if I was out, I would drug-test my kid.  This reaction came out so quickly that I even surprised myself.  As a kid, I would have shit if my parents asked this of me.

Then again, with no relief from the courts, my daughter will be 20 when I’m out.  I can’t exactly tell her to go pee in a cup… or can I?  Either way, your kid is gonna be pissed whether they are 14 or 20.

For years, I couldn’t even take care of myself.  Now I want to heal the world.

Scottie handed me his OK! Magazine with the article on Amy.  Then he says, “Mike, you should do something with this.”  We talked about the loss.  I don’t know Amy, yet she represents a beautiful, talented life taken by drugs.

It hurt me to do this piece.  Not only did I see her face, but all the others too.  I saw my friend Kimmy sitting on a dock, her toes in the water, being silly, a smile on her face.

I saw Chad, by buddy Corey’s little brother.  That first time I met him… that silly teenage grin, in a hurry to go nowhere.

These faces are gone.  They live on in our memories, forever in my heart.

I told yet another friend not to be afraid to set rules.  Your kid will hate them now, but in later years, will know it was because you loved them.  All the time’s I’ve fucked up… I knew I was dead wrong.  You only hurt yourself if you don’t lay down rules.  No kid likes curfews.  However, it shows you care as a parent.

After all the drugs I’ve done, I’m probably part K-9.  And if you ever decide to try me, don’t be surprised if I try you back, whether you are 16 or 20.  I don’t give a damn.  If I tell you to go pee in a cup, you will go and pee in a cup.  Don’t roll your eyes at me.  Your Dad loves you.  I’m losing time here, little lady.  I need your smiling face there.  My baby can’t become yet another face lost.  I won’t have it.  (And you better not be reading this blog, either!)

For the rest of you, tighten up.  This is your job as a parent.  Show your child you care. 

To my kid: I love you.  Always your biggest fan… don’t forget I can still reach you – even from here.  Stay off drugs and off this blog!              

Bret Michaels for Brooke

(Copyright M.S., 2011.  All rights reserved.) 

(Does it look like Ester Jean is being lazy because all I have to do is scan stuff lately?  Pshhaw... I'm doing work, I swear...).

Looking Through the Glass

So Thursday is here yet again. I must say, this past week flew.  Much of that was due to you. Every prisoner eagerly waits to hear his name at mail-call.  You try not to show the let down when your name is not called.  Guys pretend to read a book. They turn the volume down on their head-phones, but still pretend to be rocking out.  It’s all a front.  Every man behind this fence is waiting for his name to be called.

(Photo by Mike Simons/Tulsa World, borrowed from "Oklahoma Watch") 

Your name is called and you try to casually grab your I.D. card and pace your footsteps to the guard station where your ray of sunshine awaits you in the form of a small envelope.  On that walk you run the possibilities in your head.  Could it be my best friend, my little sister? Will it be my J.J. update, my mom or my daughter?  Is this an old friend of mine who looked me up to say hello?

Who took time in their life to think of me? That’s the questions every man here will ask himself on that walk to get that special package.

(Photo by Craig Dilger for The New York Times)

Somehow those simple marks made by someone’s hand on a simple piece of paper have taken on the weight of gold.  That envelope that holds those handwritten pages and now bears a stamp has a prisoner’s heart missing beats, dying with anticipation. Who could it be? Who had me on their mind?

And then the letter is in my hand.  I look at the name and smile.  :) So it was you who had me on your mind! You took time out of your day to say hello to me.

I even try to picture it. Were you at your house, sitting at the kitchen table? Maybe you were at an appointment, sitting in a waiting room with some time to kill.  Riding passenger on a long car trip, or maybe you were on a train. Perhaps it was a subway.

I picture you there.  Sometimes you even tell me where you were. “I’m at my kitchen table, socks off...sunshine pouring through the window...” And I see it. I see you holding your pen over that paper, making the very words that I will sit on this side of the fence and read. The words that will make me laugh, perhaps cry.  The thoughts of yours that will touch this man’s heart...because they are you.  You are now in my world. You are in my life. I hold your thoughts, emotions, your feelings in my hands. That simple letter has taken on life.

(Young Woman Writing a Letter, from a poster for Encre Marquet by Eugene Grasset, 1892. 

Image courtesy Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.)

You forgot all that with your text messaging.  E-mail and modern technology took and knocked the wind out of the Pony Express. Today’s gadgets have taken ‘personal’ out of communication. Truthfully, a letter to me is so special. It’s really quite ‘intimate’ if you think about it.

A friend traced their hand on a letter to me the other day.  It made me smile. Then it made me think.

Have you ever seen a prison movie where two people sit on opposite sides of the glass? They reach out and touch hands - it’s all they have. I can tell you from experience, there is an energy passed between.

Think about it. Technology has taken the beauty of anticipation and replaced it with instant gratification. We’re so lazy anymore even sex lives suffer. Skip the foreplay, let’s do the deed. And men are the worst on that tip! When was the last time you just gave your partner a long, passionate kiss, and nothing more? Build the excitement. Let the anticipation build. Or did you just jump for instant relief?

I’m still learning new things every day. As I placed my hand over my friend’s traced hand, it hit me.  Like a spark came off the page and gave me a jolt of electricity. My friend stopped and put their hand right here. Even though it was 4 or 5 days ago their energy still lingers. And, crazy dude I am, I have since touched that hand dozens of times.

One of my favorite bands is Stone Sour. They sing a song, “I’m looking at you through the glass, don’t know how much times has passed. Still seems like forever”

It’s been forever since I last saw you. The man who sits here today has changed. That old guy you once knew is dead and gone. That man was a drug addict. I lived for instant gratification. That’s what drug addicts do.

The other day as I put my hand over yours for the hundredth time, I realized just how much I changed. I will never pass up the chance to simply steal a passionate kiss. Or hold a hand while walking down the beach. …Perhaps even during something as simple as grocery-shopping. Rolling over and realizing just how beautiful your partner is as they lay there sleeping softly.

Prison is a dead end for many people. That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. I’m not dead. Very much alive instead. Every day I learn more about myself. How strong are you? How far can you bend before you break?

I was weak once. Very shallow. Now I’m looking through the glass. You ‘beautiful’ dear friend. Nice to see you. My hand is on the glass...

~Do you see me?

Tattoo’d Hooligan

Angels Among Us

Copyright M.S. 2011.  All rights reserved.

Guest Post by Mack

“I’m still trying to bring new stuff in to the line-up here on the project.  Scottie goes home soon and will continue from the comfort of his home – you lucky bastard!

H.A. went to outside court and goes home very soon as well. Time to bring in a new voice.  Not just anyone, as I am picky.  …Only because I want you to enjoy and always get something from this.  Well, here he is: My friend Mack.  He can talk about certain aspects of life back here that I think you will enjoy.  Dig it!”

Hey J.J.’s family, friends, associates, fans, and others who don’t fit into any of those categories.  My name is Mack, who so happens to be black.  I guess I’m a poet now.  Actually, that phrase I plagiarized from J.J.  That’s how he explained to his sister who I was.  So I thought about it.  Hmmm… “Mack who is black.”  It became like a little mantra in my mind. LOL.  Anyway, this is strange because I’m having a difficult time introducing myself.  I have written probably 600-800 letters since I’ve been down, so being pen-shy isn’t one of my traits. 

So who am I?

Being black isn’t important, even though in prison it is very relevant.  Since I am “well-spoken” and not from here, being black can actually be a crutch.  I guess I’m black enough to be accepted (not that I really care about being accepted), and independent enough that I’m not perceived as a fake.  I’m not from “da ‘hood,” especially these ‘hoods, so my pretending to be would be sniffed out quicker than having an open bag of dope during a shake-down with the dogs.  I did live in da ‘hood back in Oklahoma City for a period of time, but my mom got a better job and moved us to a more multi-cultural ‘hood, so to speak.  I still attended predominantly black schools until the middle of 6^th grade, however.  Then, without warning, I went from a pretty much all-black middle school (6^th, 7^th, and 8^th grades) to an all-white elementary.  Ahh!  OMG!  Talk about an extreme culture clash in the blink of an eye!  It was like going from Queens, NY to Overland Park, KS. 

I lasted only 3 days. 

When my mom picked me up from school, I distinctly remember crying and laying on my mom’s leg.  She asked me, “Baby, what’s going on?

I said in a sobbing voice, “Mom, it’s too many white people and they all hate me!”  LOL!  Looking back at it now, it’s quite hilarious actually.  Thanks to my home-room teacher’s intervention, I integrated after that with ease.  That move ended up being a tremendous asset throughout my life.  Between that, the military, attending a black church, and travelling to Kansas City, Missouri pretty much every summer (where my grandparents lived in an all-black, non-ghetto neighborhood), I was able to get along with everybody.

…And yes, I did mention the military.  I served my country for a total of 8 years; 6 years Army and 2 years Navy.  How did I manage that, you ask?  Well, that’s another story for another day.  What’s funny is this one dude who is an ex-PN (personnel man) in the Navy calls me “squid-dog.”  What isn’t so funny is that I still came to prison.

So who am I?

I often consider myself the stupidest guy in captivity.  I’m 37 years old, been down 7 years, have 2 kids, and I’m sitting in prison away from them like a jackass!  If that sounds like self-pity, then I apologize as it is unintentional.  So how does that make me the stupidest guy in captivity?  I’m quite sure I am NOT the stupidest, but pretty silly nonetheless.  Let’s just say I wasn’t out there throwing rocks at the chain-gang.

Since I’ve been down, my mom has died.  Rest in Peace, Mom.  She passed away December 29, 2009 at the ripe old age of 55, which I found out through the mail on January 20, 2010.  Yep, that REALLY SUPER SUCKED.  I was the only child and she was my only parent.  What also sucked was she was finally going to come see me in early 2010.  Her finances, health, and state of mind were issues that prevented her from coming that long way to see me, but she had just gotten her back-pay from S.S.I.  You talk about ecstatic!  Man, she was very stoked about seeing her son.  Well, that’s life, I suppose.

I am not too religious, but I am convinced that God doesn’t allow anything to happen that we aren’t able to bear.  Just 5 months prior to that, a girl I dated a little while in high school just popped up out of nowhere.  We dated some while I was in the Army, but lost contact back in 1994.  She said she had been looking for me for 10 years.  We instantly connected, and that November I was able to get her on my phone list.  Just 2 months later, when I found out my mom passed, what saved me from snapping was the ability to mourn through her.  The night I received the news, I couldn’t sleep and every song that came on the radio reminded me of her.  I couldn’t do anything but write a poem.  Not a poem, per se, but some expressions of thought.  The next day I stayed in for chow to use the phone, as my appetite was shit.  I ended up reading that to her on the phone and inadvertently started crying.  …Not just tears, but from-the-soul cries where you hiccup and snot.  Luckily, they had something good for chow because I was virtually alone.  That helped me in a way I never thought it would.

But you know, life goes on and you make the best out of a shitty situation.  Some people may enjoy prison, but I am definitely not one of them.  I hate it with every fiber of my being.  However, I am trying not to let it consume me.  …By moving forward in a place that has no forward motion but a calendar.   

Ester Jean Gets Her First Ink

So... Mike designed a few sweet wristbands for me to choose from for my FIRST tattoo!  I picked one out, scheduled an appointment with Dan at Artic Ink in Wasilla, Alaska, and had him lay it on me.  I was nervous! Not like dentist-nervous, but, you know, other pain-nervous.  It wasn't bad at all!

(That's a transfer you're seeing on my wrist, and the very first little bit of ink I ever had...)

Dan really likes J.J.'s prison art!

(The outline)

(The finished product).

Keep coming back, everybody!  I've got a lot of writing to type up, so I'll be right here, sitting on my couch, wrapped up in a quilt, hiding my tattoo from beautiful sunshine outside, getting work done, son!  Happy hump day everybody!

Angie's Custom Piece by J.J.

Who else gets excited about more than one art piece in a week?  Well, this piece is for the first custom artwork giveaway winner, Angie.  

- Artwork made custom by M.S. 2011 - 

All rights belong to the contest winner. 

Please to not print, copy, or reproduce in any way.  

This is used with permission from Angie E.

After you congratulate her for winning this rad piece, check out her artwork at AEPhoto.  Thanks again to everyone who entered.  Keep your eyes peeled for more giveaways!  ...And tell your friends to stop on by :)

Scottie is Going Home

So Mike comes over to my bunk and says, “Hey Scottie, I think it’s about time to write a piece about going home.” 

To which I reply, “Shit!”

That was two days ago and tonight is my deadline.  It feels like high school all over again (14 years later).  …Term paper due and I’m just getting started.  Ahh – the beauty of procrastination – there’s so much joy in crunch time.  I am now down to 57 days as I write this, and encouraging enough, it is going rather swiftly. 

I never thought I’d be asking myself from behind prison walls, ‘What am I going to wear?’  Ha Ha!  That’s funny because for the last ¾ of a decade, I’ve been wearing a rotation of 3 pairs of blue pants with a white stripe down the leg, 3 scrub-style shirts with a chest pocket, and let’s not forget the whites.  OMG!  “The whites” should be more like the yellows or the tans.  Laundry here is, shall we say… uh, bogus.  I have 3 “white” t-shirts with permanent sweat stains in them, 3 pairs of “white” boxer shorts, that after 2 or 3 washes have absolutely no elastic to keep them up, and lastly, 3 pairs of “white” socks that have numerous holes in the toe area and, like the boxers, absolutely no elastic.  You get the picture?

Well, being that I’m getting closer and closer to the “real world,” I now have to decide what I’m going to wear.  It still amazes me how many little things we sometimes take for granted back here.  I mean, I’m so used to the idea of being able to choose the alternative at meal time (the alternative, for those who don’t know, is a secondary choice, usually beans and plain noodles, as a substitute to the main course).  I’m afraid I may offend my family at the dinner table by asking for the alternate.  “What’s for chow tonight?  …Meatloaf??  Can I get the alternate?”  GASP! 

Or what about when it’s time to take a shower?  Do I do like I’ve been doing in here?  …Set up my soap and rag by the shower and tell whoever’s in there to “tighten up, I’m next?”  I don’t think that will work out too well.  So many things to deal with.  Even like super personal stuff like using the toilet.  I’m so used to sitting shoulder and knee to one guy on my left and one guy to my right in the shit jacket that I’m afraid I may be lonely in a private bathroom. 

And let’s not forget money.  In here, a Ramen noodle soup is currency.  Just one package of soup can buy any of the following:

1.       1.  Three cigarettes,

2.       2.  A stamped envelope,

3.       3.  Someone to make your bed on a sheet day,

4.       4.  Any main course at chow time,

5.       5.  Various radio/headphone repairs,

6.       6.  Minor stitch jobs on holey socks, shorts, or tennis shoes.

…The list goes on and on.  Soups are like gold. 

I can see it now:  I’m at the gas station getting $5 in gas and a pack of smokes, trying to pay with a case of chicken-flavored Ramen.  Yeah – that’ll work!

Anyway, so much to think about as I approach my E.O.S. date (End of Sentence), and these were just a few I’ve pondered over the last couple days.  Believe me, it’s gonna be a long time coming before I forget the people I call friends back here.  All the other crap – it’ll fade – but these guys, Mike, Mack, Lance, and H.A., they’re like family.  I’m gonna miss ‘em.  Promise to keep ya’ll posted and soon I’ll be able to help support my local felons too!

-Scottie    

Sherri's Custom Piece by J.J.

Who else has been anxiously waiting to see one of the Giveaway winners' pieces?  Sherri happens to be a loyal J.J. reader and the mother of Mike's friend, Scottie.  Sherri was surprised when Scottie called to ask (on behalf of Michael) whose name was drawn as the second winner of the custom artwork giveaway.  She checked the blog and watched the video to let him know who had won and was surprised to find it was her!

We'd like to thank Sherri for helping us out with stamps, being a telephone-go-between [sometimes :) ] and just for being Scottie's Mama.  This is a piece Sherri requested, and Mike happened to whip it out before he even received the details for the piece for our first name drawn (Angie, yours will be here shortly)!

(It's one of my favorites so far!)

 - Artwork made custom by M.S. 2011 - 

All rights belong to the contest winner. 

Please to not print, copy, or reproduce in any way.  

This is used with permission from Sherri.

Sherri, it's on the way to you.  Thank you for everything, and thank you for entering to win!!