Meet My Daughter

"Since the beginning, I have thrown myself under the bus.  I began J.J. with a short series called “My Life.” That created a time-line.  Many parts from during that time went unmentioned.  For various reasons.  I had no idea the direction Jailbird would take.

Let’s go back.  Way back.  Some of you may know more about me than others.  I’m gonna fill in some blanks.  …Like the fact that I have a wonderful 14-year-old daughter.

I was 16 years old.  My parents dragged me to church every Sunday.  Only one thing made this bearable: A beautiful young lady who attended my youth group.

We began dating and, at the age of 17, learned we were going to be parents.  Being kids ourselves, we had no idea what we would face.  It didn’t help matters when I cheated on my daughter’s mother.  That for sure made it all around our little town.  Just having a baby at 17 was news enough in a place like that – add to that, I’m now a cheater.  I fucked it all up.  And I’ve said sorry a hundred times.  It doesn’t help, but I learned a lesson.

After a little over a year of me being a royal pain in the ass, my [now] ex-girlfriend and I sat down.  It was time to decide what we would do.  We both loved our little girl.  Yet we were also kids.  We made the hardest decision of our lives way back then, many years ago.  We decided to give our little girl up for adoption.  We chose the parents, and the day we met them in that courthouse to sign the papers… me and my high-school sweetheart signed our lives away.

That is the day I broke.  I walked out of that courthouse, packed my car, and in two days was in Florida.

I began to run that day.  Been running ever since.  Ran so long and so hard, I forgot what I was running from.  I was running from failure, and drugs became my numbing agent.  I became a slave to them.

Nearly four years ago, I came to prison.  Many years had passed and I hadn’t seen or contacted my daughter.

During my stay here in DOC (department of corrections), my daughter came looking for me.  Bless her heart!  She found one broken-ass, angry man.  Not a man to be proud of.  Not a man to call Dad.  No, not much of a man at all.

Now…you read my blog.  You have read about the old me, and you have come on a journey with me.  You see where I am in my heart today.  Thing is… my daughter had the biggest part to play in the best changes in me, and until now I have kept her off the pages of J.J.

Ester wrote today and suggested that I write about my baby.  There was no hesitation.  She’s half me.  She’s the only thing, to this day, that Mike Smith didn’t fuck up.  She holds my heart and she is the very best of me.  If you have kids then you know what I’m trying to say.  She is perfect.

I see myself in her eyes.  Her eyes are blue.  So blue they penetrate you.  She writes me.  She calls me her birth-father, she calls me Michael.  But when that 14-year-old girl writes Michael, I hear a thousand angels singing my name.

If this blog wasn’t personal enough already, it is now.  This is my kid.  My baby.  My heart and soul.

My daughter is an artist and we draw pictures for each other.  She asks me to show her new techniques.  Different styles.  She’s the best.

I don’t care if she ever calls me Dad.  She knows who I am, and she knows I love her.

Going back to that day allowed me to be healed.  I just hope having me back in her life can heal a little part of her as well.  I’m sure it will… she came and found me. 

My baby will be 20 years old when I am free.  She will be a woman.  In some ways, I am missing her growing up.  In other ways, she is right here with me.  I was given a second chance.  A second chance to do it right this time.  Baby, your birth-father loves you.  God, you make me laugh.  You keep your chin up, little lady.  I’ll be home before you know it.  Hey – you owe me a letter!"

My Life: The Last Chapter Before the Beginning

I’m low.  Really low.  Nothing is making me happy.  Even the drugs I’m on don’t make me happy.

Across the street from me lives a young woman.  Her man is in jail and she has no car.  Being neighborly, I drive her to the store, to her appointments, and to her drug-dealer’s.  She smokes crack.  As soon as she gets a rock, she fires up.  I’ve smoked crystal meth.  Maybe I’ll try some crack. 

I’m glad I wasn’t in my truck.  As soon as I exhale my hit, I puke.  But I am also very high.  Together we smoke a rock.  Then get some more.  Now she wants to have sex.  She’s nasty.  I leave.

I don’t smoke crack for like two weeks.  Amazing.  All the drugs I’ve done in my life, and this is the first one that makes me feel dirty.

I’m still spending time with my buddy who sells G.H.B.  We run into this girl I know.  I’m not with anyone right now and we decide to go out.  Instead of hiding my life from her, I tell her how I live.

Basically, I’m a dude with 99 problems, I’ve got more baggage than any chick I’ve ever met, I’m a living nightmare.  But I have blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples.  I win.  Ever heard the devil wears Prada?  Hmmph!

Now I have a new girl, Nichole.

Nichole is very cute.  She really likes me and she knows I’m on drugs.  She thinks she can change me.  Right.  The only changes are me changing her.  First to go are all the piercings.  Beautiful girl, but she looks like she fell into a tackle box.

We get along great.  She rides the bike with me.  I’m happy, right?

Not really.  No - In fact – not at all.  The girl is good.  You were just fine sweetie.  My life sucked.  When you’re an addict on the level I was, nothing will make you happy.  Every day is in the search of the next high.  Good days come when you’re high.  Bad days come when you run out.  My body craved drugs.  If you’ve never been at this place in your life, you’re lucky.  I had certain drugs I preferred, but settled for others when those ran out.

I’m a walking time-bomb.  My time is running out.  I’ve got problems.  I’ve got legal problems.  They set a court date for me.  I’ll be ok.  …All the shit I’ve been through in my life?  This is just another hurdle.

I remember a very special visit from a very special someone.  My angel perhaps.  A woman who always hovered nearby, staying in the shadows, observing.  I met this woman when I was 18, and over the years she always checked in on me.

Two days before my court date she visited me.  It felt like a goodbye.  I assured her I would be ok.  In and out.  She said she didn’t think that was the truth.  I didn’t listen.

Today I sit in prison.  Things didn’t go like I had planned.  They went better than I could have planned.  I got what I needed.  Court-ordered rehab.  For the first time in ten years I am free from all drugs.  I remember cursing God that day.  Today I thank Him.

Sometimes we think we know what’s good for us.  I made one mistake after the next.  Just like many of my friends, I could have been one more life lost to drug abuse.

One more mother without a son.

I almost checked out, but it wasn’t my time.

Sitting her today, I have a vision.  I don’t want to lose any more of my friends.  If you’ve hit that pipe, snorted that line, swallowed that pill, or pushed that needle beneath your skin: I know you.

You have a friend.  Sitting right here talking to you is a man who’s been in your shoes, felt your pain, and wants to be your friend.  You can be free.  It’s there for you if you’ll reach out and grasp it.

No one can make you change.  You and only you can make that decision.  I’m always here to listen.  And if you try, you can get a hold of me.

For the rest of you, I write silly-ass stories.  Laughter is a wonderful medicine.  I’m making guys laugh back here too.  We’re all just taking one day at a time, but hey!  That’s really all you can do.

Stay tuned to see the end of the story.  I invite you to step aboard, just keep hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

Much Love.

Humbly yours,

M.S.

My Life Part VI: The Overdose

My crash came late one evening.

I had been on my daily salad of various prescription meds.  My favorites, and Oxys and Roxys.  Today I head to the liquor store and end up drinking a bottle of Jack as well.

Let me mention, I have a roommate.  I’m buying this house, but I hate being alone so I have a woman move in with me.  …No, believe it or not, we were never involved.  …Could have been, but I know what happens then.  The rent starts coming late, and before long the only payment you receive is a piece of ass.  I get plenty of ass.  What I need is money.

That’s funny because I almost said I don’t pay for ass, but that would be a lie.  Men, in one way or another, you always pay for it.  Trust me!

I will tell you what happened to me.  However, much of it was told to me by the people who were there.

I parked sideways across my lawn.  My roommate was talking to a friend in my driveway.  I guess I needed more room to park.  I’m barely able to stand, so my roommate helps me to my room, at which time I lay down and stop breathing.  Foam starts coming out of my mouth.  She calls 9-1-1.

I hear walkie-talkies.  Everything is dark.  There is static.  The static begins to clear.  I hurt.  My throat is on fire.  It feels like someone is sitting on my chest.  Someone is sitting on my chest.  Why are you hurting me?  I don’t recognize anyone.  I hear the walkie-talkie again.  I focus.  The guy on my chest is a paramedic.  I’m strapped down to a flat board on my bedroom floor.  I can’t move.  I hurt.  I pass out.

The static again.  Then the voices.  I’m coming back.  The only thing I could say was, “Maria.”  I said, “Maria, please help me.  I need help.”  But Maria is long gone and so am I.

Lights.  The darkness is going away and the light is coming back.  I hear a voice.  I know that voice.  Where have I heard that voice?  Then I’m gone again.

“Michael.” 

I hear my name.  

“Michael, you’re going to be ok.” 

There’s that voice again.

“Mike, it’s Aaron.”

So that’s where I heard that voice.  It’s my little brother.  The sweetest voice says to me, “I’m right here, Mike, you’re going to be ok.”  My little brother is holding my hand.  He’s talking me back.  I’m going to be ok.  My little brother is with me.

The next time I wake up, I feel rested.  My brother is still right beside me.  He stayed by my side the whole time.  I am released and I leave the hospital with my brother.

Between my roommate and my brother, I find out what happened.

I passed out on my bed and my roommate called 9-1-1.  By the time the paramedics arrived, they had to shock me back with the paddles.  I would come around then they would lose me again.  They pumped my stomach right there on my floor.  That’s why my throat was so sore – the hose they shoved down my throat.  I came to during them pumping me, and threw the paramedics across the room.  That’s why one was sitting on my chest.  There was also one on each arm and one on each leg.

My brother showed up at the hospital.  He got a call and came to the emergency room.  We had a long talk the day I was released to him following my near-death experience.  I was 100% sober, and I was locked in his car.  Aaron took advantage of the situation.  My brother told me how much he loved me.  He explained to me that he didn’t come see me anymore because he couldn’t bear to see me killing myself.  It all made sense.  I was killing myself.  Right then and there I vowed to never mix pills and alcohol again.

My brother takes me home and I’m sober.  This will never do.  I grab a handful of pills and swallow.  Off and running again.

I didn’t learn anything.  My brother did begin to come by more and check up on me.  I tried to work harder at flying under the radar.  I know I’m a mess.  I remember picking Kimmy up and we would watch the dolphins swim in the river.  She was just as bad as me.  We would sit there and talk about our lives – how drugs would one day kill us, and how we needed to change.  Two addicts can’t help each other.  Every time I left her, we vowed to work on cleaning up.

I wish I could tell her I finally did.  I didn’t get that chance.

I continued using prescription meds.  Because I had a house payment, I was going to work.  After my O.D., things were off with my roommate.  I really scared her that day.  She spent more time away.  I needed some excitement in my life.  Let’s throw a motorcycle into the mix.  It’s been a few years since I had a motorcycle.  So I buy a bike.

Once again I’m riding.  It feels good.  Every week on Thursday, I meet up with a group and we hit bike night.  When I’m riding, I feel high.  I don’t feel the need to use.  The bike makes me happy.  What I don’t like is being by myself.  I’m starting to get over loose women.  …Meaningless sex with a chick I don’t care about isn’t fun anymore.  I want to have a companion.

On weekends I have all my friends come to my house.  I am a people-person and love to have people around.  Many of my friends rent or live in houses with no yards.  I have a big yard, and I put in a huge fire-pit.  We have great parties.  My brother even came by sometimes.  A couple of my good friends say they have a friend they want me to meet.  I agree.

Andi comes to the next party I have.  We are introduced.  Andi is beautiful.  I offer her a beer.  “No, thanks.”

Andrea doesn’t drink – wow!  That’s different.  Did I say Andi was beautiful?  Until this point, I’d been with strippers who were 20-27 or 28.  Very shallow girls, loud girls, drunk and drugged girls – annoying girls.  Andrea is none of the above.  She is 35, has her own place and is intelligent.

This party goes late into the night.  By 1:30 a.m., nearly everyone has left.  I’m not drunk – barely even drank that night.  The couple who introduced us was still there.  I cooked breakfast and we watched a movie.  My thoughts were: She doesn’t drink – wonderful.  She’s beautiful – even better.  …Now to run down the clock so she’ll stay the night with me.  

Well, she stayed the night, but I found out that she doesn’t drink and she doesn’t have sex.  Usually she would be thrown out of my castle – not Andi.  She can stay.  After she left the next day began the longest week in the history of Michael.  We had our next date on Saturday night.

I pick her up on my bike.  She likes my bike.  That’s a must. 

We have a blast, then get a movie and head back to my place.  I’m really into this girl.  She says she’ll stay the night, but not to get my hopes up.  The bottom line is that Andrea was warned that I was a player.  This woman was smart.  If she had slept with me the first night, I would have never called her again.  I’m not used to this.  It used to be either you put out or you get out.  I’m dealing with a woman here, and she has crawled inside my head.

During my time with Andi, my drug use was at a minimum.  I didn’t dare tell her I was a junkie.  I was on my best behavior.  Even during the week, between visits.

We made plans to hit the beach the next weekend.  My life was getting better.  I actually had food in my refrigerator.  I cooked and ate food.  After a day on the beach, we head home.  We had a wonderful day.  I was happy.

Over the next couple weeks my brother met her.  He liked her too.  She was a sweetheart.  My Dad came into town and said how nice she was.  I had a good thing.  She even got me to go to church with her.

Then the drugs came calling.  I’m not sure what the trigger was, but something happened.  I chose my drug.  Andrea even wanted to help.  She said she saw the good in me.  I came clean with her and told her I was a user.  Andi wanted to get me help, and I pushed her away.

Within a couple weeks I was at zero again.  All the good I had in my life, and I throw it away to drugs.  Every damn time.

Once again I’m lonely.  Just me and my drugs.

Copyright M.S. 2011

My Life Part V: Pills

"At this point in my life I’ve done nearly every drug out there.  Cocaine, acid, heroin, G.H.B., and even crystal meth for a while.

I’ve done pills before, but G.H.B. was really my drug of choice.  So I get the run-down on the pill gig.

First I have to get medical papers.  Since the pain clinic I will visit is already shady, they won’t really verify my paperwork.  Aside from being a 20-something drug addict, I am a perfectly healthy young man.  My paperwork, however, says I have a crushed disc and a grinding vertebra in my lower back.

My appointment is made.  The day comes and I go to the doctor.  I know full well this is serious shit I’m doing.  This is a federal offense.  They call me out of the waiting room and I head back to meet the doctor.  He takes my blood pressure, rubs his hand down my back going, “Mmm Hmm… yes, ok.  I see the problem.”

The problem is you’re full of shit doc.  He sits back down and says, “What do you need for your pain?”           

Are you serious?  …You’re going to ask me what I need?

So I tell him.  Let me get some soma for my muscles, and Xanax so I can sleep better.

He did it!  Gave me exactly what I asked for.  He started me off at 150 Roxicodone, 200 Soma and 90 Xanax bars.  Unbelievable!

These drugs cost about $200 to fill at the pharmacy.  I didn’t have insurance, and paid in cash.  The street value for those same drugs was about $2,000.  This is too easy.

Doctor shopping comes in when you go to more than one doctor and get prescriptions from them too.  The legal charges they can bring against you are very stiff.  I pushed my luck in this area a little.  However, a couple of people I knew got caught doing this, so I backed off. 

Always a thinker, I came up with other ways to beat the system.  …Like buying other people’s prescriptions from them.  They really watch the waiting rooms at these clinics.  They don’t want you talking to other customers for this very reason.  There are usually cameras in the waiting room and even in the parking lots.  So everyone meets up at the pharmacy.  For every problem there is a solution.  This is when I meet my friend Kimmy.

You have read about my friend Kim.  These same drugs and this lifestyle took Kim’s life in the end.  This is a warning about the dangers of this life.  I need to do this.  I know Kim would want me to.

I was introduced to Kimmy through a mutual friend.  We moved a lot of pills between the two of us, but we also developed a friendship.  You can read about this in Kim’s Memorial.

At this time, I began selling pills.  Many of the people I used to sell coke to were now using pills.  Quickly I built up a large group of people who bought pills.  The problem was, I began t use pills heavily myself.  In order to support my habit and still make money, I began to order pills online.  This is risky.  I already bought scripts from a couple other people when they got them.  The demand for these medications was huge.  Not just that, but it kept growing.  The first couple times someone would only buy ten or twenty pills.  Within three or four weeks, they were doubling their orders.  Right now the use of pills is finally being recognized as an epidemic.  Doctors are being busted for writing themselves prescriptions because they are addicted themselves.

I was seeing this first-hand.  The same people that used to take their pills orally are beginning to mainline them.  I began seeing needles at my friend’s houses.  A girl I hung out with had me hold her purse and there was a needle right at the top.

I knew this was fucked up, but I was using too, and addiction is a beast.

The advantage I found in dealing pills is that I had a prescription for the pills I sold.  When I was pulled over and searched, they would see my name on the pill bottles.  They really can’t do anything about it.  I could fly on planes, go anywhere I want and carry all these pills legally.

One of the things I did at this time was sending the strippers I knew into the clinics to get pills.  They would go in, get a prescription, and I would buy it from them.  …Or trade them coke or heroin.  These are the drugs I was on when I went up north to see my parents.  They were easier to hide.  Until you run out and withdraw.  That’s when I had Karen the stripper fly me up some more.

Pills became my new drug.  At one point I realized what a problem they were.  I was too ashamed to go to my family for help.  There were people around who would have helped, I just never reached out to take it.

Around this time, I heard about methadone clinics:  People who abused heroin or prescription medication could go into these clinics and be dosed with methadone.  This somehow neutralizes your system so you can’t get high off street or prescription drugs.  What the hell – sign me up.

So now I wake up every morning and head to the junkie clinic to get my daily dose of methadone.  …Which, ironically, is also a drug, and very addictive also. 

On the street, people on methadone are referred to as drone heads.  It’s about being hit by a tranquilizer.  What I end up doing is using methadone myself and selling pills to everyone else.  While I’m in line for my daily dose, I’m networking.  Meeting other people just like me.  They are also getting prescription meds – so I begin to buy theirs so I can turn around and re-sell them to my customers.

Nearly everyone in my life now is on drugs.  The people I hang out with are shooting pills and heroin, smoking crack and meth.  I’m really at the bottom right now.  What should happen?  My buddy who made and sold G.H.B. completes his prison sentence and is released.  He looks me up first thing and we begin to work together again.

Seems he had been doing some networking of his own while doing his prison sentence.

Soon after his release, he begins to make G’ again.  While doing time, he met some guys who grew hydroponic weed.  Now I’m back where I started.  Selling hydro, G.H.B. and pills.  All the bullshit starts again.  The parties, the women, crazy stuff.

I remember my mom wanted to see me.  She came and we spent like a week together.  I was living with a buddy at the time.  My mom came and stayed at our bachelor pad.  To this day, my mom still talks about that visit.  We had a stripper pole installed in the living room.  Our parties were off the chain.  When the strip club closed and the girls I knew got off work, they came to the house and danced some more.  Here I am, coming up on 30, and my bachelor buddy is still like 21 (You tried to hang, I’ll give you that).

Poor guy.  We worked together doing construction work.  I’ll never forget one morning I’m standing in the driveway, waiting for him to drive us to the office.  We had partied hard the night before and at 6:30 a.m. I’m still drunk.  My stomach starts flippin’ out on me.  I run to the side of the house and start puking on a bush.  I look up and about 10 feet away stands my buddy, doing the same thing.  We look at each other and can’t help but laugh, then puke some more.  That day sucked!

Once again, I have G around, and this just causes me to live life balls to the wall.  Now I’m mixing pills into the chemicals.

The fact I’ve lived this long surprises me.  I think at times I really felt indestructible.  My buddy that did time for G.H.B. came out of prison a huge guy.  We teamed up with another guy he met while down.  I think I saw it as my ticket to do whatever I wanted.  I’m a small dude, but everywhere I go I’ve got two huge bodyguards.  I become flat out obnoxious.  This turns out interesting.  There are a lot of girls who came around and liked this stuff.  Not nice girls like you want your Mom to meet, but the other kind.

I get my own place.  Even I can’t bear to drag my young bachelor friend through the shit I live every day.  My younger brother lives 20 minutes away and refuses to come by.  I’m high all the time.  There are women coming and going. The people who have known me for years and have seen me change beg me to get help.  I can still see their faces.  The people who loved me and I shut out.  I’m falling fast, headed for the crash."          

My Life Part IV: G.H.B. Continued

I became very dangerous during this time in my life.  I became a liability, and the people I bought my drugs from were concerned.  …To the extent that they cut me off.  We were doing really stupid shit.  Too many people knew what I was doing; Going into strip clubs, throwing money around, passing out in a g-hole inside the club, bouncers throwing me and my friends out, banning us from the club.  I was sloppy.

My life was as low as it could get.  …Or so I thought.

Driving to the store to purchase some beer, I went into a G-hole behind the wheel of my vehicle.  Really, I don’t remember that much.  I’m lucky I didn’t kill anyone.  At 55 mph, I drove into the rear end of a parked car.  The impact of the collision brought me out of the ‘hole.’  High on drugs and strung out, I’m a mess.  Luckily I am able to pass a sobriety test.  I am released. Something clicked in my head that day.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘What kind of friends let me drive like this?’  I knew I needed help.  I got a hold of a friend who was willing to help me.

She took care of me and got me back right.  I needed to slow down.  At that point, things were out of control.  What I needed was a court-ordered rehab.  And, man, the shit I put my loved-ones through.

G.H.B. was a fairly new drug, one that most people weren’t familiar with.  Here I am, with this woman who is trying to help me, and I’m sneaking my drug.  The trick was not using too much.  Flying under the radar is what my girl used to say.  This is hard to do with G.H.B.  Every batch made has a different potency.

During this time of trying to clean up - or leading people to believe I am – I’m invited to the wedding of a childhood friend.  I want to attend.  I ask my friend if she will take me.  She agrees.

We get plane tickets.  The wedding is in Indiana, the state where I was born.  My parents will be there.  They don’t really know what’s going on with me.  No problem – I can handle this.

I pack a bag.  Then I empty a bottle of Listerine mouthwash and refill it with G.H.B.  Add some food coloring and I’m good to go.  We get on the plane and arrive in Indiana.  Then we rent a small S.U.V. and head out.  We reach our destination.  My family will be staying at the same place as us.  So far so good.

My friend knows me too well.  The second day into our trip she suspects I’m high.  Her suspicion leads her to go through my stuff and she finds my drug.  My G is poured down the toilet.  I was irate.  I could have strangled her.  It’s possible I threw some shit at her.  I most definitely had some choice words for her.

(Better-looking than shit hitting a fan)

With any drug there is a physical addiction.  There is also a mental addiction.  Shortly after my drug is flushed, I begin to mentally withdraw.  And my demon begins to talk to me.

If you’ve ever been an addict, or you use right now, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.  An emotional rollercoaster ride.  First the sweats.  Drenching sweat.  Then anger.  My friend sucks because she took my drugs.  Who invited you to this damn thing anyway?  Fuck you!  Then the low.  I want to stop.  Why can’t I stop?  Why won’t this thing let go of me?  Why do I have to live like this?

All these emotions are raging, and for the first time, my family sees this.  It tore them apart.  I’m my parents’ eldest son, big brother to five kids, and I’m falling apart.  Drugs are eating me from the inside out.  

I remember telling everyone what I thought they wanted to hear.  I’ll get help.  I’ll get help.  The truth was, the drug was stronger than me.  That drug hung onto me like no other drug has.

During that trip I basically completed a withdraw.  As soon as I got home, I dosed again and was back at it.  I thanked my friends who loved me and tried to help by running off and doing more.

I have been in G-holes on the beach, in clubs, the movie theater, the back seat of cars and behind the wheel of a car.  I have woke up from a hole and been in a house I don’t recognize.  …In the back of a truck two or three times.  My body just goes on auto-pilot.  I seem to know I’m going to crash, so I find a spot to lay down.  Then there are the times my auto-pilot failed me….

For a while, I drove a show truck around.

To the chick who gave me the truck with no door handles… what the hell were you thinking!?

I hope you can see this truck.

Please notice there are no door handles.  A remote control pops the door open. 

People, I’m a blonde.  Sure, you’ve heard all the jokes.  Ha. Ha. 

Not only that, but I'm a blonde on drugs.

So I get this truck.  The first day, I lock the keys in it.  You don’t even have to lock the door to lock the keys in it.  Just close the door and without the clicker you’re locked out.  So I’ve got to go get the second set of keys.  About this time, the truck is making me feel like a retard.  Thank god there is a slider window in the back.  I unlock it.  Now I can climb in and out to unlock the damn doors.

Let me also explain that I am 5’9,” a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beach rat.  I am tattooed and look like a skater punk.  Here I am, climbing through the back window of a $50,000 truck.  The looks I got were priceless.  You have to know me, but I am a jackass.  I would climb into the back and wait until people looked, holler, “Don’t worry.  I got this,” then jump through the window.  …Reach up, snag the keys out of the ignition, then raise my tattooed arm, holding the keys, back through the window.  Some people laughed, some just shook their heads.  But it was fun.

Perhaps you’ve heard the expression ‘wing man.’  Well, that truck became my wing-man.  Whoever owns that truck now – I filmed Girls Gone Wild 5 in the backseat… more than once.  Do I have any diesel lovers out there?  This was my first time owning a diesel truck.  They are loud as hell.  I would pull into the drive-thru and try to place an order.  The guy on the other end of the mic is telling me he can’t hear me.  Me and all my friends are in the truck, high, laughing our asses off.  Can you hear me now?  How about now?  Dumb ass!

Another time; “I’ll take a… hold the… with… use mayo….”

Every day we were doing some dumb shit.  G.H.B. made me a social butterfly.  If I ‘flew under the radar’ I was ok.  Problem was nothing about me was ‘under the radar.’

During this time, a friend of mine got me a job working for her brother.  I was back running big machines again.  Back at a job that was supposed to start at 7 a.m. but I usually started about 8.

Why all these people put up with my shit, I don’t know.  I was using so many drugs, anything I sold was to support my habit.  My life was one big party.

Women came and went.  By now, those simpler days of mud trucks, BBQs and family fun were gone.

Then the busts started.  All these guys I know were being popped by the cops.  A whole task-force devoted to G.H.B. was taking everyone out.

My homeboy who was my connect went down.  It seemed like overnight they took down almost everyone selling G.  Here I am, wondering what to do.  I stocked up and had reserves.  I picked up a couple gallons, but that would only last so long.  What I needed was a plan.

During my years of dealing, I dealt with the scum of the earth.  Then one day I wake up, and I am one of them.  These people were robbing, stealing, breaking and entering.  One guy I had dealings with was shady, and he always had some hustle.  He really pissed me off.  I hated being around him.  I mentioned the guy who comes by with a trailer of lawnmowers?  This is that guy.  He got me a couple of times.  …Like he’d have me drive him somewhere, then come running back out yelling, “Let’s go!  Let’s go!”  …Always had a gun on him, and a huge target on him.  I was worried I would be sprayed by a stray bullet one day just being around him. 

So I’m looking for options.

As a last resort, I go to this dude.  We sit down and he explains the new hustle.  Usually information like this would come at a price, and I suppose it did.  The last time I was with this cat, they shot at us, ran out of shells, then rammed my truck.

Now here I am, having a sit-down, listening to him tell me how to ‘Doctor shop.’  Basically, it was going into numerous pain clinics and getting prescription medications.  I listen to how this thing works.  Seems easy enough.  There’s plenty of money involved.  Sure, count me in.

My Life Part III: Courage In A Bottle

Selling coke has its advantages.  The people you meet are characters.  I recall one guy in particular that I called The Meat Man.  The Meat Man paid for his dope with meat. 

(Photo from www.ChinaTraderOnline.com)

He worked in a three-person team.  Just like in any robbery, there is a getaway driver.  They usually send a male and female who look like a couple into the store.  This group targets Publix and Super Wal-Mart grocery stores.  They push a cart into the meat department and start loading up.  They look for prime cuts: Prime rib, filet mignon, slabs of ribs, big-priced cuts.  They will grab lobster, both alive and frozen – you really have to see this to believe it!  …I know because I watched the whole operation.  I wanted to know where my meat came from.  They push this cart toward the front of the store.  Note: If you have bought choice cuts of meat, you know this adds up pretty fast.  One cart of meat is easily worth $500.

Their driver has parked out the front door on the crosswalk, usually in a small pick-up truck.  When they feel the coast is clear, they bolt through the door.  Bringing the cart next to the truck, they throw the whole cart into the back.  The driver takes off as the two-person team jumps into the truck.  If this wasn’t illegal, I would have YouTubed it.  I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.  Especially when some fat store clerk is trying to be a hero and stop them.  They then call me and I get all the meat in trade for dope, usually at about $0.20 on the dollar.  That’s the Meat Man’s hustle. 

I try to combine them all.  Like the guy who is an opportunist.  He comes by with one of those $3,000 stainless steel grills from Home Depot.  Now I can cook my meat.

Next week he comes by with a trailer full of lawnmowers and yard equipment.  Now I can cut my grass.

I’ll be damned if one week he doesn’t come by with a full-blooded, red-nosed pitbull.  You guessed it!  Now I have a dog.

…And a big-screen TV, Maytag industrial side-by-side washer and drier, his and hers matching Trek mountain bikes.

Terrible, I know.

There are some major down-falls too.  Very quickly it began to affect my friendships.  Until this point, I had a fairly good group of friends.  Most of my friends knew what I did, but it’s only weed, right?

Of course there is family and certain friends you don’t want to know.  You definitely don’t want them to know how much you sell.  People can ignore it if they think it’s just a little, once in a while.  It was fairly easy for me to fool everyone.  Not many knew the size of things.

Coke is way different.

I remember the looks I got when certain friends found out I was selling powder.  Some people eased right out of the scene.  A couple wives forbade their husbands to be around me.  Slowly a new group of people began to come around.  Slowly I began to change as a person.  I don’t think I even realized it then.  Looking back now, I see it all.  That ‘hindsight is 20/20’ is very accurate.

When people opposed me, I began to push them away.  Unfortunately, those were also the people who loved me.  I spent a lot less time in a 4X4 and began to spend more time in the strip-club.  The time came when I wondered why I even had a day job.  Who wants to get up and go to work when you have a night job that pays more and the hours are better?  So I began to go to work later and later.

I mean, between you and me, it was kind of funny.

Have you ever seen that movie, “Groundhog Day?”  Once the guy finds out that - no matter what - he’ll wake up the next day, he starts doing whatever he wants.  That’s exactly what I did.  At first I just showed up late - an hour or two late – so far so good.  The company I worked for insisted we fire up and work at 7 a.m.  However, they messed up when they made me foreman.  Suckers!  You see, I ran my crew.  I was the boss on the jobsite.  My boss was a supervisor who didn’t really come around.  He was also one of my best customers.  So I made a corporate decision to start work at 8 or 8:30 a.m.  The rest of the company started at 7 a.m. and we started between 8 or 9.  Many of my workers were doing coke they bought from me.  Really, I had the whole thing on lock.  Once I realized I could get away so easy, things got worse.

As foremen, we drove big service trucks the company supplied.  We had coolers and water kegs on the back for the guys.  By noon we would head to the store and fill the coolers with beer.  For the rest of the day we would drink beer and do lines of coke.  Whenever someone wanted to hook-up and make a buy, I would meet them on the job site.  The job site became my own personal playground.  There was very little work being done for my boss, but a lot of work being done for me.  My job became a big party.

Shit began to hit the fan.  A couple people didn’t like what we were doing.  …Guess he felt like he was the only one working.  He probably was.  So he went to the company office and tried to tell them what was going on.  The funny part?  They didn’t believe him.  He tried to tell them we drank beer all day, had a grill set up and had a B.B.Q. every afternoon, and that we sold drugs.

We cleaned things up a little.  I remember the owner came out to talk to me.  I’m denying all these accusations.  All is going well, we’re leaning on the back of my truck having a heart-to-heart.  Not sure why, but all of the sudden he reaches over and pulls the top off my water cooler.  Budweiser stacked to the top.  He looks at me, looks back at the beer, then tells me to clean out the truck and turn it in to the office.  Best part – I didn’t give a fuck.  Not in the least. 

After that, things got even worse.  I was bored.  Bad things happen when I’m bored.  All my buddies have stuff to do all day.  I don’t know what to do.

The strip-club opens at noon.  Now there’s something to do.  That’s when date-a-stripper began.  Actually, it was more like screw a stripper, hence, “The Stripper Diaries.”

My life began a downward spiral.  The woman I was with was pushed to the limit, at which time I moved in with a buddy of mine.  The things I worked so hard to have in the beginning lost their value to me.  Selling drugs and chasing women became my full-time job.

Until my buddy decided to marry a hoe, we were off the chain.  We were running a bachelor pad.  He had the big house with a pool.  I had the drugs and was able to bring women around. 

I remember at times wishing I could slow down.  This usually happened early in the morning.  I would go out and sit by the pool.  My body hurt.  I was abusing it.  Sometimes my ex would call.  At times I just wanted to go back to the life I had before ‘this.’ 


…But then another call would come in.  Duty calls and I’m off and running again.

I was torn, pulled in two directions at once.  Unfortunately, I always went the wrong way.

At this point I used occasionally.  If everyone was up all night, I would do some coke to keep running.  Drinking and smoking weed is what I liked.  I wanted to be alert and aware of my surroundings.  I didn’t like hovering over a pile of coke.  I did that for almost a year when I was a late teenager.  Up all night, sick for three days after, week-long binges.  Having the coke around this time was different.  I sold it, I didn’t do it.

Then I was introduced to G.H.B.

This drug is a clear liquid.  It has been referred to as the date-rape drug.  This liquid in very small doses has the same effect as slamming a six-pack of beer.  You take too big a dose, and you will pass out.  Users call this a G-hole.  This is similar to being in a coma.

Yes, I know it doesn’t sound like fun.  There are some advantages.  At that time in my life, those advantages outweighed everything else.  One of my favorite things was the way it made me feel indestructible.  Liquid courage in a bottle.  Once I figured this drug out, my life changed.  I really think I grew horns that day. 

I made friends with the guy who introduced me to ‘G,’ as we called it.  He wasn’t an attractive guy, but he had a different woman with him every time I saw him.  Once I got to know him, I asked him how he pulled that off.  This is how he explained it to me – he said, “I’m not afraid of rejection.”

(Can you believe this is 100% Polyester?  ...Me either!)

Guys go out and wait for chicks to talk to them.  Not Tony.  Instead, he would walk around talking to every chick in the place.  The more women he talked to, the more he raised his chances of picking one up.  And it worked.  This guy could work a room and walk with a girl every time.  Together we teamed up and did stuff that even sounds crazy.

I began to use G.H.B. every day.  My friend sold it, so it was around all the time.  I think that it was about this time that I just gave up on my old life.  G.H.B. had me living in the moment.  Everywhere I went I had G. with me.  I was using so much that I went into a G-hole nearly every day.  Your body just shuts down, like a very deep sleep.  Many people die during a G-hole.  You can choke on your own tongue, choke on puke, or just stop breathing altogether.  I did this every day, sometimes more than once.  I was 25 years old.