Jailbird Giveaway!

Hey there ladies and gentlemen, fellow Hooligans, Jailbird Fans, readers who dropped by just to see what we're doing these days...

I'd like to offer a giveaway for those of you who have been loyal and persistent in showing up here, during rain or snow or slow internet connections.

Up for grabs is a Jailbird coffee mug, valued at $13. 90-something + S&H.

All you have to do to enter to win is leave a comment here on this post saying you want it.
Get another entry by leaving a comment on the Jailbird Facebook page.

[[[[ UPDATE: I have had several reports today of readers being unable to comment on this post.  I can't figure out why exctly that is, so I want to add that if you share this Jailbird blog post on your Facebook wall, it will get you another entry.  Sorry again for the glitch - still trying to figure out why it is that I am the only person who has been able to comment on the blog. ]]]]

ENTRIES ACCEPTED UNTIL NOON, Saturday, April 30, 2011 (Alaska time people - this can't just go on for eternity :) 
All Zazzle products are offered (through today only!) with free shipping on orders $50+ (use code FREESHIP4MOM).  Check out the new products in our store and remember to enter here for a chance to win!

A winner will be chosen May 1, 2011 and announced right here on the blog.  Good luck!

J.J. Issues A Challenge

This post came in on January 30, 2011.  Michael had a few comments sent his way about how long his posts were, and he attempted to throw a few shorter pieces my way.  For some of you who are use to the longer posts (especially after the "My Life" series), this might seem really short.  However, Mike and I are always open to suggestions, and this one was meant for those who want to read, but have to be out the door and on the way to work in 2.5 seconds :)  ...Or for me to easily type up in the half-hour I have before I need to get ready for work.  Enjoy!

"I hate resolutions, don’t you?  This year I said screw it and made none.  Well, other than the usual, ‘Don’t get stabbed in the back, stay alive, and talk tons of shit on Jailbird.’

A few times I said to myself, “Self, today is the day we quit using drugs.”  This happened when I ran out of drugs, and as soon as I had more, that was out the window.

My boss would threaten to fire me for being late, and I would resolve to be on time.  Ha ha - yeah right!  For the life of me, I cannot be to work on time.  Even if I’m there on time, my favorite song comes on the radio and I have to hear it.  The phone rings and I start chatting.  Technically, I’m ‘there,’ but I’m in the parking lot, fucking around in my car.

Honestly, I hate work.  Don’t you?  Seriously, if you like your job, tell me what you do.

Note: if you are a bouncer at a topless bar or the manager of Hooters, you don’t count!  Don’t even mess with us normal people.  No, I want to hear from the dude who flips burgers, the chick who waits tables, or the guy who cleans sewers – and likes your job.  I’m challenging you.  Tell me what you do.  Remain anonymous - I don’t care.  If you like your job, and it’s a ‘real’ job, tell me what you do.  I’m curious to see if anyone even replies.

One quick story: There are some jobs that are cool, and I had one myself until I assed it up.

This company used a time-clock and required us to punch in at the start of a work day.  They were trying to weed out slackers like me who are late every day.  For every problem there is a solution.  Just find the guy who is always on time and have him swipe your card along with his.  Works like a charm.  I held this job a lot longer than I should have, thanks to the guy who punched me in.

My job was to fill canisters with Nitrous-Oxide for dentists and hospitals.  Some of you are probably shaking your heads already.  Nitrous-Oxide is referred to as laughing gas.  On the street we call it hippie crack, or Whippits.  Rave parties sell this gas by the balloon full.  You inhale, hold it, let it out, and see strobe-lights while swaying back and forth to the time of ‘whump, whump, whump’ – that only you can hear.  So here I am, getting paid $16 an hour and all the gas I can huff.

Then it began to get out of hand.  This was in the mid-90s, when the rave scene was full-tilt.  All the guys I work with are in their early-20s and were partiers.  Dudes would try to steal these canisters because of their high street value.  Employees were searched coming in and going.  Your car is inspected before you leave the lot.  The lot at work is surrounded by a 20-foot fence, topped by barbed wire.

My motto has always been ‘For every problem, there is a solution.’  Well, I found the solution.  On our lot are fork lifts to load and unload tanks from the delivery trucks.

So here I am, standing on the forks, balancing a full canister on my foot.  The guy driving looks out for the security camera to scan past us.  Then he yells, “Now!  Now!” and I am shot 15 feet into the air while teetering on these forks and balancing a 200-lb. canister on my foot.  The shit we do!

I then have to heave the canister the other 3 or 4 feet over the top of the fence.  Mission nearly accomplished.  Now I just have to come back after dark and collect the canister.

My solutions to problems are not that good; and good solutions are seldom legal.  Look at where I am today.  Prime example!"

Happy Birthday, California Girl!

Today is Candy's birthday and Michael and I are proud to say she was our first fan!  When I published the first piece on J.J., she was reading.  She is the first person to order a t-shirt at the conception of Tattoo'd Hooligan, and she has been a badass about encouraging both of us through the entire project. 

Michael hasn't met Candy.  Neither have I.  We have talked on an almost-daily basis for well over a year now.  When I was waiting for my husband to come home from Afghanistan, she was almost as excited as I was!  ...Because I hadn't met her, and we had just been talking online through a mutual long-time friend, I was a teensy bit worried about telling her dates for his arrival home.  One night while I was drinking wine and painting my toenails, I called her home on the West Coast just to chat... and make sure she wasn't a terrorist spy (remember that shit Candy??  HAHA!).

Candy is a beautiful woman, a loving mother, and a wonderful friend.  Michael mentions her by name when he writes because he knows she has been with us since the very beginning.  We want to wish Candy a beautiful birthday today!  Candy, thank you for being our first fan, thank you for encouraging me along the way and for keeping in touch with both me and Michael.  We are so blessed to have someone in our lives who shares her wisdom, humor, faith, and hopes with us.  From the bottom of our hearts, we love you and appreciate you!  And in honor of your bas-assedness, this is a piece Michael made for you.  He didn't know your birthday was coming up so quickly, he just sent me the piece and said it was for you.

Happy Birthday Candy!  

And to all our fans, thank you for coming, thank you for commenting, thank you for staying, and thank you for spreading the word!  Much Love!! 

(Copyright 2011, M.S.)

A Photo For You, A Visit For Me

(Ester notes: I jumped the gun when I got a photo from Mike over a month ago and went ahead and posted it right away.  A few days later, I received the second piece to that package, which is this story you’re about to read.  I remember looking at that photo and thinking I could NOT remember the last time I saw a photo of Michael with a big ol’ toothy grin on his face.  This piece explains what that was all about.  Enjoy!)

“Have you ever been so pissed you were literally seeing red?

Have you ever been that pissed at someone who is trying to take your picture?  Yes, I’m talking about the jack-ass that has no idea what he’s doing, but wants you to stand there with a grin on your face while he figures out the camera.  Your grin is becoming more fake every second.  Before long, it’s gone completely and you just want to strangle the bastard.

Are you with me so far?

Let me back-track for a second.  My dad came to visit me today (March 7)  This was his farewell visit before he leaves the state.  He’s headed out West to live on the Indian Reservation.  No, my dad is not an Indian; please don’t ask – and if you’re thinking, ‘what the fuck?’ I’m thinking the same thing!

Good God.  Did I just become the male version of Taylor Swift?  You piss that chick off and she writes a song about you.  Piss me off and I’ll write a story about you. 

(If you don't know what this picture is about, don't worry - you didn't miss anything...)

Whenever my friend Scottie talks to me these days, he says, “Oh shit!  You’re not going to write about that are you?”

Last night I told Scottie about my visit.  This time he said, “You need to write about that!”

Guess that’s exactly what I’ll do.

Since I came to prison, my dad has been coming to see me every couple of months.  Those visits are so special to me.  You get to give your people a hug, sit with them, and have a meal together.  This is a chance to leave our day-to-day life back here on the compound and spend time with a loved-one.

This time I was surprised.  I didn’t know my dad was coming.  They called my name over the P.A. and I was told that I had a visitor.  I rush to get dressed and head up front.

Before entering the visiting part, you undergo a strip-search.  Yeah, sucks, but you get used to it.  I get dressed and then enter a big room full of tables.  My dad stands up, I see him, and walk over to give him a hug.

We can purchase food in the visiting park that we don’t get on the compound.  I am a Mt. Dew caffeine junkie J  So I get a Mt. Dew first off.  Then grab some chips and a sandwich.  This is only the beginning.  I weigh 180 pounds and can eat about 10 lbs of food during a visit.  For example: During our visit, I ate two foot-long Italian subs, one spicy cheeseburger, a bag of trail mix, and two fruit cups.  I washed this down with the Mt. Dew and then a Mellow-Yellow.  Get the picture?  I never have caffeine, so I’m jacked.

…Speaking of pictures.

During a visit, you can have pictures taken with your loved one.  Any of the pictures you have seen of me in blue were taken during visits.  So I tell Dad, “Let’s take a couple pictures while you’re here.”  One for Dad to take, and one for you all at J.J.

The guy behind the camera is an inmate.  A trustee, if you will.  He uses a little digital camera, takes your picture, and after the officer approves of the picture, prints it off and gives it to you.  For the first picture, I stand next to my dad.  Looks good.  Next picture, I tell the guy, “Try and do waist-up, and without all my tattoos.  I’m not sure why.  You all know about my tattoos.  Either way, he shows me the picture in the view-finder.  They are nice.  Print them.

About a half-hour later, the guy comes up to me and Dad and says, “I’ll have to take your pictures over.”  Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like standing in front of a camera.  So I ask the guy what’s up with the other pictures.

He tells me the officer didn’t like them - we have to take them over.  Now allow me to tell you what the problem was.

In the very top corner of the picture, the roof was visible.  Why that was a problem, I haven’t a clue.

Once again, I stand beside my dad and the picture is taken.  He then sets up to take mine.

Allow me to create a picture of what’s happening here.  My dad is about 6 inches shorter than me, so when our picture is taken, my head is at the very top of the photo, and that puts my dad’s in the center.  So when I ask the photographer to put my head in the center, it’s raising the camera angle so the edge of the roof is visible behind me.

Granted, this is also a new camera guy.  He’s a Mexican dude… and he’s about 4 feet tall.  Yeah, no shit!  So here I am, round two on the picture project, trying to smile.

This is how the thing went down:

About the time he should be taking the picture, I hear “Oops.  Hmmm… I’m gonna need you to move closer to me, the roof is showing again.”

(Still smiling, I move a step closer to him).

“Ok… that’s not gonna work.  Now your head is cut off.”

(I’m not shitting). 

Then the dude says, “Bro, you’re just too tall.”

(My patience begins to slip).

I say, “No, dude, the problem is that you’re too short.  Maybe if you stood up, you could take the picture.”

Ok… woops… short-man syndrome.

He looks at me like I just kicked him in the balls… and I wanted to.

My dad is standing there watching this.  And now other people are watching too.

At this point, Ester, could you put the picture up? 

Any of you who know me have seen me smile.  However, if you’ve ever seen a picture of me, I do a closed-mouth smile.  I don’t do the Hollywood smile with all the teeth showing – not me.

About this time, I’m smiling, but I’m talking to the dude behind the camera.

“Bro, just take the damn picture.”

I can’t, the roof is in it.

“Listen, man, I’m running out of smiles.”

Sorry man, move closer to me.

OK, so now the smile is gone.  Now I tell him, “Put me where you want me, do a ‘3-2-1’ countdown, then snap the picture” (before I snap your neck).

I wind up spreading my legs out as far as I can in the splits while he stands on his tippy-toes.  He calls out, “Three, two, one,” then I smile as big as I can.

The smile you see in the photo is from ear to ear.  I have never seen more dimples and laugh lines or crow’s feet or whatever the hell you call that shit in any photo.  Let alone my photo.  My whole grill is showing – I don’t think my face would stretch any more if I tried.

You ever heard of a shit-eating grin?  I’m not sure what that means, but my grin in that picture is telling that camera man to eat shit.  Maybe someone could get him a box to stand on.  Whatever.  After the photo was printed, I look at it and I’m like, “HA!  I look like a dork.”  And the old me would have been like, ‘I can’t show that to all these people!’  For that very reason I was like, ‘Oh hell yeah!  I have to share this with all my friends on J.J. J’

So now I’m posting dorky pictures of myself and making comments about Taylor Swift.  You’re probably thinking J.J.’s headed to the shitter now.

I can’t guarantee you anything, because even I don’t know what will come out of my mouth next.  However, it will be entertaining to say the least!  See you next time J”

J.J.

Reaching Out

"Please allow me to paint a picture for you.  It’s 1:30 a.m. April 9, 2011, and I can’t sleep.  No, I haven’t been out partying or hanging with my friends.  Tonight I am troubled.

I have been staring at the pictures that hang above my bunk, and tonight I am sad.  After tossing and turning, I decided to get up and do what I do.  Write.

Nearly everyone around me is asleep, but I can see just well enough to write this.  The guard tower shines a spot-light all night that comes through my window.  Usually it’s just enough for me to see my pictures.  Tonight it will be just enough for me to write.

I have many things on my mind, but when I break it down, it boils down to one.  Sometimes even I get caught up in my little world.  No, it’s not much, but working out, drawing, classes, and doing time sweeps me away.  Then something comes along that reminds me of my mission.  Tonight, my friend Corey is on my mind.  You see, it all went down like this:

Friday’s mail-call came at 4:30 p.m., and I was blessed with an update on J.J. – Ester is awesome, and knows what they mean to me.  I opened her package and tore through every page, reading all the special comments each of you left for me and Ester passes on in her updates.  I laughed.  All these people I barely know, reading the words I write from this very bunk.  And then I saw it.  A name.  A very dear friend of mine, leaving a comment.  I stopped on his comment and froze.  Something in my heart was touched.  The words were simple.  “…Missing you brother, need you more than you know.”

Well, my dear friend, I am here.  No matter the distance that separates, I heard the call.  For you my friend, I am now awake.  At nearly 2 a.m. Corey, I feel your pain.  From my heart, I want you to know you don’t carry your burden by yourself.  Now I’m getting teary-eyed.  That’s ok, nobody is awake to see. 

Ha – I’m sorry brother – in the midst of this, I had some crazy flash-back.  The last time I had you on my mind at 2 a.m., we were both drunk, peeing on a hedge in someone’s yard.  I have a feeling you may have just smiled at that.  It’s been three years since I last saw you, but you like to laugh.  Like me, you are the heart of a good time.

However, brother, some days it’s hard to laugh.  Even I need someone to lift my spirits.  Many times I find it is God himself that carries me through my lows.  Then there are times I know he places people in our lives.  Special people.

There’s a reason you left that message.  And a reason that what you said stood out to me more than anything else on that page.  These days I don’t drink, and I haven’t peed on any hedges lately.  So there’s a reason I’m up at, now, almost 2:30 a.m.  That reason is you.  I am here brother.  You said you needed me.  Did you realize how deeply you would touch me with those words?  Probably not.  But you did.  You need to know that.  Sometimes it sucks to realize you need something, but it’s really cool to know you are needed.

Just like you needed me, I need you.  Reach out when you need a hand.  I’m right here.  One day I’ll call on you.  They say “what are friends for?”  Well, Corey, this is what brothers are for.

Perhaps you have read H.A.’s piece?  My goal was to introduce you (my friends on J.J.) to the guys I do time with back here.  As H.A. said in his piece, J.J. helps me do my time.  I personally thank each and every one of you for that.  What seems like me ranting and like a Hustler magazine is actually me trying to reach out.  These days I have many brothers.  My brothers back here would fight to save my life.  They have.

There are a few guys from my past life out there, who I know have my back.  It’s a short list, but these are guys with huge hearts.  You have all read about my best friend from high school, Paulie.  With big smiles, I see many people on J.J. who went to RHS with us.  So perhaps you saw us roaming the halls – Angie, Brooke, Sabrina.

My friend Corey has a huge heart as well.  Honestly, he’s quite a bit younger than me, but he has still been the voice of reason in my life many times.  My heart breaks for Corey because only a couple months ago he lost his brother.  The very drugs that tried to claim my life robbed Corey of someone dear to his heart, his younger brother Chad.

Corey, not only are my arms reaching out to you, but today my goal is to let my life change a life.  I’m blessed to see that many on you get what I’m trying to do here. 

There was another comment left that simply said, “You’re making me think.”  Beautiful J  I am all smiles.  I want you to feel.  I want you to think.  Perhaps I can inspire you to reach out to someone in need.  Everyone has someone in their life who is hurting.  The things they do that frustrate you and piss you off are often cries for help.  Don’t let that go unnoticed.

Yet another comment stood out.  “Before reading J.J. I would have judged a person in this situation much differently than I do now.”

I thank you for your honesty.  That is one of the coolest parts to this project.  Yes, my sister types all this up for you to read.  However, these thoughts are hand-written by a prisoner.  A convicted felon who is currently doing a 12-year sentence.  The very light I used to see this paper came from a gun tower located outside my window.  This is a hard life, but so was the life I lived out there.  I suppose I could sit here quietly and try to only save myself.  Nah… that’s not even an option for me.  Corey, I love you brother.  You are not alone.  (P.S. And you owe me a letter little bro J  Tighten up!!)"  

Oldie but Goodie

I don't have a description for this one written by Michael.  It's a piece he sent to my brother, I think, and it might have been done in 2009.  It's been wild to see Mike's artwork progress in detail and skill.  Pretty soon I will pull out an older piece so you can look at all the difference just a couple years have made.  Happy Friday ya'll!  Thank you for being fans, friends, and family.  Be safe out there!

(Copyright M.S. 2010)



Guest Post by Lance



My friend Lance sleeps two bunks away from me.  He is the most educated guy in our crew.  Lance joins us in our silliness, but many times is the voice of reason.  …The quiet, reserved type.  Our crew is well-rounded.  We are quite the characters.  My intentions are to introduce you to the guys, and then attempt to paint a picture of our daily lives behind the fence.  Welcome to our lives, and my friend Lance…

“Greetings, J.J. readers.  My name is Lance and Mike has asked me if I would like to contribute to the site.  My first thought was, ‘What more could be said about this place that Mike hasn’t described already?’  I think I should start with a few experiences and observations of my own.

We’ll begin with one basic truth.  The universal opinion held by incarcerated people all over the world: Prison sucks.  There is no way around it.  Some enjoy it more than others, but when you’re lying on your back in the middle of the night, fighting off the ‘what-ifs,’ the only place you want to be is at home with your family.  For some, this isn’t going to happen any time soon. 

I am serving a 25-year sentence for DUI-manslaughter and other DUI-related felonies.  The only things I can remember about that night are hanging out with friends, drinking beer and popping Xanax.  Things go dark.  Next, I’m coming to in the E.R.  I’ve got a broken arm, leg, and sternum.  I look around.  My mom’s standing there, scared shitless, telling me I was in a wreck and someone died. 

I’ve been living with it ever since.  Hopefully anyone reading these words will think twice about driving impaired, even if you’ve done it a million times before and you think it can never happen to you.  Believe me, it can.

So where were we?  Oh yeah.  Prisons.  Another popular opinion is that the food sucks.  Everything is either overcooked or undercooked.  Salt and pepper are needed for all meals – lots of it – because nobody in the kitchen seems to know what spices are for.  Once in a blue moon, someone who knows what he is doing will slip through the screening process and get a job as a cook.  After he has prepared his first meal, he will be immediately noticed by the kitchen supervisors.  The new cook is warned not to use garlic again, or serious consequences will result.  The cook is torn: Will he tow the line?  …Or will he follow his conscience and make an effort to create food that is palatable?   …After all, he does live with the people he feeds, and shitty food is a good way to piss them off.  As you can guess, our friend didn’t last long at his new job.  But at least he can sleep soundly in confinement, knowing he’s done the right thing.

If, by chance, you ever get in trouble with the law and find yourself in prison, please follow this advice:  Never, ever, under any circumstances, become seriously ill or injured.  The chances of your surviving are slim.  I remember a doctor at my last camp who blamed all physical ailments on smoking.

Doc:  What seems to be the problem?          

Me:  My lower back is killing me, doc.

Doc:  How did you hurt your back?

Me: I don’t know.  I just woke up this morning and I was in pain.

Doc:  So what’s wrong with your back?

Me:  Well, doc, I was kinda hoping you could help me out with that.

Doc:  Do you smoke?

Me:  Um, yeah.

Doc:  That’s what’s wrong with your back!

I swear I’m not making this up.  This guy prescribed ibuprofen for everything from headaches to heart-attacks and had the beside-manner of an Islamic dictator.  I must be fair and add that there are medical practitioners employed by the state that have genuine care and concern for inmates.  Just make sure to say no when asked if you smoke.

The next thing you need to know is this: Toilet paper is as precious as gold.  Back in the day, when the state had plenty of money, you could get toiletries whenever you needed them.  These days you are issues soap and razors once a week and toilet paper once every 10 days.  TP is important for obvious reasons and must be protected at all costs.  Carry it in your pocket or keep it under lock and key, or you may end up like my friend Mike (not that Mike – we’ll call this guy ‘Mike #2’), who has just informed me that some scumbag communist pussy has stolen his Charmin, and that there will be hell to pay if it is not returned immediately.  Mike #2 is obviously pissed, but he has only himself to blame.  After all, this is prison, and shit gets stolen all the time.  Sorry buddy, but it looks like you’ve got a long week ahead.

 

Believe it or not, prison has a few perks.  One is that most inmates have great teeth.  That’s because we have dental care that is first-rate and very inexpensive.  Hell, it’s free for those with no money in their account, and only $5 for those who do.  Extractions and fillings are given when needed, cleaning and polishing once a year, and dentures are provided for those recovering from “meth-mouth.”  …All this from the same dentist who charges you $500 a tooth on the street.  Not a bad deal, huh?

Another perk is that you can meet people from all over the world, from all walks of life.  I’ve ran into Columbian drug-runners, Russian mobsters, Moroccan phone salesmen, and an authentic Cuban Marialito.  …And of course, there’s Mike, H.A., and Scottie.

Prison is full of good people who made bad decisions or got caught up in unfortunate circumstances.  Some have told me I don’t belong here, and while I appreciate it, I’ve definitely earned my sentence.  Yet there are thousands of inmates who deserve a second chance."

(Image borrowed from The November Coalition)

"For years, the state has relied on prisons to stimulate the local economies of rural counties, in turn collecting tax revenues.  Over the years facilities were built in almost every county, and more than one in many.  That’s over 150 institutions.  With so many beds to fill, the state began to enact tougher crime legislation and stricter penalties for those on parole and probation.  In the ‘90s, the parole system was ended for new offenders, and gain-time incentives reduced, insuring inmates stayed incarcerated longer.  Slowly, the inmate population rose past 100,000, one of the highest in the country. 

Things were running smoothly until the housing market collapsed in 2008, sending real-estate-dependent economies into turmoil.  Since then, the state budget has been cut repeatedly, putting the squeeze on state departments.  Things have become so bad that our new governor, who promised 700,000 new jobs in 8 years is now forced to cut state jobs to reduce the budget deficit.  This means that officers at over-staffed prisons will be unemployed soon.

So who will watch the inmates?  One thing is certain.  The state will continue to cut corners until every option is exhausted, and the obvious remains.  Early release for first-timers and non-violent offenders are sensible options as well as drug-treatment programs for those struggling with addiction.

This Lock ‘em up and throw away the key mentality has failed.  As times change, our attitudes about crime and punishment should change as well.  A little common sense should help too.

NAMASTE”



Shout-Outs from March

“*Brooke!  Just lookin’ at your picture here.  You’re rocking pink hair.  I didn’t know if maybe you were trying to disguise yourself or something.  I get that some people don’t want to be tied to this project in any way.  There are behind-the-scenes stuff we don’t share.  …Like the people who get a hold of us to say, “Under no circumstances can you use our names on J.J.”  So, trying to be clever and all, I thought that maybe I could abbreviate your name – that way only you would know I was talking to you.  Clever, huh?  Um… do you know what that would look like then?  B.J.  And while I was laughing to myself about that, I read [Ester’s update] further and saw you were headed to see Lady Gaga.  …At which time I thought, well, maybe I should keep the B.J. joke to myself.  Then I thought, ‘No!  If she’s headed to see Lady Gaga, then she’s got a little freak in her J’

I hope you enjoyed her show, and hope you will continue to enjoy the J.J. freak show J  Thanks again Brooke!

*Jenny W.  You were worried about offending us?  HA!  Perhaps you meant my little sister.  You really can’t offend me J  For real.  You asked an awesome question. 

Could rehab vs. prison have set me free from drugs?  No.  Not in my case.  I used drugs to escape from my life. I used until they took control of me.  At that time, I forgot what I was running from.  Honestly, I didn’t even care then.  I just wanted to be high.  Rehabs usually hold you for, what, 30 days?  …60 days?  Let’s say even for 6 months.  An addict needs time to find the root of the problem, then needs to address that problem.  Only then can you move away from the addiction.

Truth is, Jenny, I wasn’t to the root of my evil in 6 months.  Three years have gone by since I last used.  I’m gonna tell you some real shit, because you asked.  I fixed that stuff I was running from.  I put that hurt behind me.  However, I will never go and be in a room with coke again.  One day, if a girl needs a script filled, with love, I’ll tell her to fill it herself.  I’m worried I would fall.  I’m so strong in so many ways, yet weak in many others.  That’s how I’ll stay clean.  …By recognizing my weakness and keeping a positive support group around me. 

Oh, and please never worry about offending – ask whatever you want.  Great question J    

*Erica H.  Great question: When do I get out?  In a hot-minute.  Ok, I know – that’s kind of smart-assed - sorry.  If I stay out of trouble, no more fighting, tattoos, and so on, then I’m down to about 7-8 years left.

Listen, your husband and Ester and I need to talk.  Without getting ahead, or blowing future surprises for the rest of the J.J. crew, I am totally down to look at the ‘production possibilities.’  That’s yet another plan, and it’s crazy you should ask J  Thank you for reading, and please pass on a thanks to your husband as well.

*Penny…  Glad to see you around again.  Last time was a long time ago.  You can be proud of me today.  Back then I was leaned over a plate of coke with a straw in each nostril.  Today I am clean and trying to get back the life I lost while I was off the track.  This J.J. thing has been so cool.  The people it has brought back into my life… I am truly blessed.  You and I know some of the same people J  Crazy to see all our paths crossing again, huh?  You be blessed, woman.  You stick around, ya’ hear?”

From Ester à (MOM!  LOOK AWAY!!!)

“*SweetMelin, My dear friend.  You have been here from the very start of J.J. and I want to say thank you, thank you, thank you.  You’ve made several comments.  Let me address a couple J

Did I ever fear an overdose or dying?  Unfortunately, no.  If I got close enough to O.D. or die, then I was really fuckin’ high, and that’s right where I wanted to be at the time.  It’s sad but true.  That’s how I lived.

OK, that said, let’s lighten things up some.  Racist?  Never.  Homophobic?  HA!  Not hardly.  I mean, if I’m in the shower, look over, and a dude is looking at me while he’s jacking off, I think I have the right to ask him to point that thing somewhere else.  Now, on the street, I have been two guys on a girl.  I sold ecstasy for nearly three years.  There have been plenty of times wild ass shit has happened.  And I think this conversation is now headed South, and quickly.  I think it’s a compliment when a gay man finds me attractive.  I guess personally I find a woman’s body a complete work of art.  There is far more to admire on a woman’s body.

That being said, I am so glad both you & your son follow this.  Please never take offense to me.  I just love to talk shit J  

*Angie G.  Nice ride!  I was just sitting here admiring your picture.  Looks good – the bike!  The bike!  Harley Davidson V-Rod.  Looks like you’re about that life.  Awesome!  You know a bunch of us ride.  We’re going to have to put a ride together when I get out.  You read My Friend Paulie?  Well, Paul has a beautiful Fat-Boy.  That’s probably what I’ll get.  Not sure because I love the music when I ride.  I may do an Ultra Classic.  …Something comfortable with a radio.  Then build a chopper for the short rides.  OK, so enough of all that.  You need a Tattoo’d Hooligan shirt.  Wait until the new stuff comes out.  We have some bad-ass biker stuff in the works now.  Skulls and crossbones and shit.  Listen, thanks for chillin’ with us.  I mean that, and feel free to pass J.J. on to anyone else.

Much love.     

*Anonymous…  Hmmm… you chicken!  I see your comment.  You wonder what 4X4 I had in the mud hole?  Do you really wonder?  Sounds like you already know.  You referred to my dick as a 4X4 – sounds like the voice of experience.  That was good shit!  Was it the mud hole or the water hole?

*Terry L., Yeah bro, looks like a train-wreck from here as well.  …Both my life, and that picture Ester used.  If you can stomach my ups and downs and the terrible language, please hang out with us. 

Home, Sweet Home

Cari asked J.J.:

J.J. Answers:

"When you first come to prison, you are evaluated.  I have talked about how fellow inmates size you up, but there are many other evaluations as well.

Your blood is drawn.  They give you a physical.  You have to get a T.B. shot.  A nurse warns you of all the diseases that swarm these prisons.  Hepatitis, scabies, T.B., staff infections, AIDS – the list goes on.  One of the most common problems encountered is spider-bites.  You women should love that.  We have Black Widow spiders, Brown Recluse spiders, and Brown Wood spiders.  All are poisonous.  These spiders are everywhere here.  I have been bit, and most everyone I know has.  This basically covers the medical aspect.

During your entire prison stay, you are given security evaluations.  This basically means, how well do you play with others?  If you fight a lot, or are confrontational with guards, you are graded poorly on your monthly evaluation.  This affects your housing level.  Kind of like a demerit system, you can get positive or negative marks against you.

The best way to do your time is under the radar.  Every time you get into trouble, the officers notice you and your name.  You don’t want that.  The goal is to blend, and stay unnoticed.

At times, this is difficult.  In this world, you have to look out for yourself.  There are times you have to do what you have to do.  The key is to maintain control over yourself and your actions.  Yeah, I know… if I did that on the street, I wouldn’t be here.  Hindsight is 20/20.

There are basically two types of housing in prison.  Well, three – low risk, high risk and confinement.  I almost forgot about the box! 

Photo by publik15 on flickr.com

You are housed according to your monthly evaluations.  Keep your nose clean and you end up in low-risk housing, or what we call open-bay housing.  Get in trouble and cause problems and you go to medium or high-risk housing, sometimes by way of confinement.

Maybe you’ve heard of the band 3 Doors Down.  ...One of my favorites.  That term refers to a housing level.  Maximum security.  Basically this means there are three doors between you and the regular compound.  Your room is a two-man cell.  You have a sink and a toilet, a small bunk, and that’s it.  There is a solid metal door that slides closed on your room.  This is the first door.  Outside that door is what we call that cat-walk.  There are other two-man cells all around the perimeter.  This makes what is called your cell block.  

Your cell block has a metal sliding door that separates you once again from the other wing of the building.  That is door number 2.  Door number three opens to the main compound.  Troubled or problem inmates are housed behind these doors.  Guys with a lot of time – perhaps even life – these are the guys to watch out for.  They rob you, pick fights, and nearly all of them carry a weapon of some sort.  You learn to sleep with one eye open, literally.

Low-risk is referred to as open-bay housing, which is just that …A huge open building with bunk-beds throughout.  There are usually 60-80 guys in an open-bay setup.  There is a common shower area and toilet areas.  I wrote about that.  This housing is fairly casual.  You only have one door to the compound.  There is a lot of farting, snoring, and shit-talking, and much less of a chance you’ll get stabbed in your sleep.  We refer to max-housing as the concrete jungle.  Open bay is laid-back.  However, you have to always remember you live with convicted felons.  People who broke the law.  This is far from boy’s camp.

(Photo borrowed from examiner.com)

I have been blessed.  I have a talent with art.  Most of my time is spent working on art, or writing for J.J.  This project has helped me tremendously.  My time seems to fly by.  I put on my headphones and ride out… either on my art or on stories like you’re reading now.

Thanks for joining me.  Just another day in the life of a prisoner.  You’ve been chillin’ with the Tattoo’d Hooligan.  Please drop your questions off.  I would love to hear from you.

Until next time… obey the law!!"

M.S.