Stand Up & Represent (and Shout-Outs!)

(Holy crap, I found it!)

"I’m looking at my last update here.  What I see is that the stars representing our East Coast visitors are plain smashed.  I can’t even see through all the stars on the map.  So my question is, ‘What’s up on the West Coast?’

I see you in California.  Matter of fact, I see all four stars along the west coast.  My dirty south has come through strong.  Guess that’s the whole ‘southern hospitality’ thing – spreading the love.

Honestly, I don’t know many people on the West Coast, but I’ll bet you do!  So, yeah - I’m talking to you!  Show a locked-up country boy some love!  Let’s see what can be done about that West Coast.  I mean, we’ve got soldiers in Afghanistan, dodging IEDs, sniper shells, and car bombs who still sign in!  They’re getting back from a hard day on the battle field and what do they do?  Sign on to J.J.

And what are you doing, huh?  …Dodging traffic on the way to 7-11 to buy a Slurpee?  Stand up and represent!  My next update comes in one week!  Make a call, tell a friend, show some love!  Let’s change the ‘Wheezing West Coast’ to the West Coast Warriors.  Wow- you see, that just sounds badass!  One week:  Let me see what you can do! 

Here are our most recent shout-outs:

Sabrina!  Talk about a blast from the past, huh?  Did you fall out of your chair?  It’s been a long time.  Glad you came by to check out my ranting and raving.  Always nice to hear people from my past are doing well.  Stick around – more cool stuff to come J  Tell your brother I said hello!

Angie!  So you remember the guitar playing, pot smoking, class-skipping… ok, ok, ahhhh well – I’m finally getting my shit together.  Ha!  You may remember the van in the parking lot… ok, so we’re all a little older now.  Hey, feel free to tell any of the old crew you’re still in contact with about this project.  …And take a dip in Higgins one time this summer for me, please J

Nick!  Home team from way back in the day.  How’s it hangin?  Ok, right – Salt N’ Peppa can say it and it’s cool.  I say it and it sounds odd.  Thanks for reading.  I also appreciate the comment referring to Stripper Diaries.  I was worried that just pissed people off – glad to hear somebody got a laugh.  Stick around!  I’m glad to have you on board!

Abby, Thank you for loving me.  You may frown on what I’m doing here – or did you just laugh?  I can’t see from here, but I’ll tell you this: Your big brother loves you tons!

Brooke, I heard you had stopped by to listen to me talk aboiut my failures in life J  It’s been quite a journey!  Today I’m a little older and, dare I say, a little wiser?  A lot has changed since we were little kids having snow-ball fights.  Beautiful memories!  I pray that you, my friend, are blessed and the sun shines brightly on you and your family.  I hope you stick around – the end is better than the beginning.

BEAU, My dear friend, as you read this, you find yourself a free man.  I imagine that has to be the best feeling.  My day will come.  The next time you see me, I’llbe on that side of the fence as well.  Until then, I am happy to know you are back with your family.  Do the right thing.  Never forget where you’ve been.  Keep your focus on the straight and narrow. 

Last, but not least, enjoy sex with something other than your hand!  You lucky bastard!!!

This is Ester's Day Off:

I really do realize that you don't come here to read what is on my mind, which is a good thing because these days I don't have much worth posting anyway.  I started working (a 'real' job) for the first time in a few years, which I am ashamed to say so you needn't judge me for being a lazy bitch because I already have judged myself :)  

I work weird hours, getting up at 3:30 a.m., sucking down enough coffee to make me alert enough to drive, check statistics on J.J., type a little bit on an update to Mike, then get ready for work.  When I get out of work, I head straight to the post office, drag my tired ass in, check the mail, head home, and check J.J. again, but not before I have changed into my pajamas at 3 p.m.

This is what I call my secondary mailbox:

(I don't know why the hell this thing won't just upload the way I intended,

but I am whatevering it and moving on...) 

This lovely decoupage box is where I store all of the letters I have received from Mike and haven’t posted, or questions I haven’t yet answered in writing him back.  In the beginning of this project, I kept up with things easily enough, and didn’t have a giant box of stuff from him.  Now that he sends me a letter three times a week (or more!), I am not keeping up with it (as I should).  The stack became unsightly, and I made a storage box to hide from myself the to-do list.

Once I am finished with a letter – when I have posted writing or artwork on J.J., and have addressed questions he has for me – I take the envelope back to my file cabinet, which looks like this:

(...Also turned the wrong way, but I'm not letting this shit get me down.)

I keep the artwork in a file folder, and the letters are stacked in there kind of haphazardly.  I need to create a better system, but I am lacking time these days to really organize.

At some point, I started writing on the outside of the envelope what was inside:  “Harley Pic,” “#10: My Life,” “Stripper Diaries,” etc.

But sometimes I get behind on that part too, and I file a letter away, thinking I am done with it, but find out on a day like today that I am not done with it, and I don’t know where the hell to find it.

Example: (To self:) ‘Ok, today I will post that one shout-out Mike sent me a month ago and I forgot to post because I was distracted by searching for a job, but I need to find that one letter where he included shout-outs for Sabrina and Angi.  Oh good, here it is!  Shit, I know he wrote one for Brooke somewhere.  Where is it?  (Look through a dozen labeled envelopes, consisting of 5 double-sided pages each.)  Crap!  Where is it?  (Go back to the spare room, open up the file cabinet, look at all the labeled envelopes.  Nothing says ‘Brooke.’)  Oh damn, there’s like 30 envelopes I haven’t labeled and I absolutely have to include that in today’s shout-out.  Which envelope is it in?  (Grab stack of 30 envelopes, return to couch.)  I am going to need more frickin’ coffee.’

If you have ever wondered what the hell I think I am doing and why is it taking so long for another post?  This is why.

So please bear with me, as always: good things ahead, I just need to pull my shit together and buy some more file folders.  …Or hire an assistant.

(Could she assist me?  No, her spelling is horrible and I don’t trust her

around paper products, but holy canolie, she’s cute!)

ALSO:

(Mmm Hmm... I'm in my pajamas.  Don't judge.)

Jealous?

…You should be.  …Not of my filthy, I-put-this-makeup-on-ten-hours-ago-and-sweat-my-ass-off-all-day-at-work face, but of our badass shirts.  If you haven’t bought yours yet, DO IT.  …Or donate somewhere to help the people of Japan.  Either way, it’s a good cause.  We’d like to buy Mike some new shoes because his look like trash, in case you were wondering what we’re going to do with your hard-earned dollars.  Based on how much he said he runs every day, I'm not surprised, but gotta give a brother some arch support!

Thanks to all of you for hanging in there with us!  …More to come, once I figure out where the heck Brooke’s shout-out is hiding :)

Much love!

-Ester Jean



Bikes 'N' Babes

(Copyright M.S. 2011)

Being an avid biker, I know Harley riders hate street bikes.  My last piece of art had a street bike as its feature.  Well, boobs are probably the foundation of the Harley lifestyle.  I kept things modest here – you get a PG-13 version.  If you’ve ever been to bike week, then you know that is seldom the case.  However – My MOM reads this shit!  So fellas, just do like I do – undress them with your eyes.

Much love to my Harley riding friends: Darrell, Paulie, Dave S., Rodger, Cari, Monica, Kay, Angela… just to name a few.  Last but not least, my good friend Ricky Durden.  Forever free spirits!

 

Trouble. Following. Rules.

“There is a movie called Shawshank Redemption.  The film shows you nearly every aspect of prison life.  From a man wrongly accused to the man who is released and can’t cope with free life.  Then the man caught in between.  …Unsure if he can make it as a free man, but keeping a promise to try.

I’ve met the guy who caught life at 15 years old.  He doesn’t know how to drive a car.  He has never seen a cell phone and has no idea what a microwave is for.  Prison is all he knows.

A guy told the parole board last week to please reject him; he doesn’t want to leave.  He said if released, he would commit a crime just to come back.  He’s not a bad man, he’s a scared man.

Many look forward to going home, but to what?  Not many women wait around for their man.  Friends come and go.  One of my buddies will leave here soon.  He’s never met his father, his mother passed away, and all he has left is his granny.  I pray she makes it long enough for him to get out and on his feet again.

Another close friend of mine will leave soon.  His son was born just before he came in.  Today his son is seven years old.  He’s excited to be a dad to his boy, and scared to fail.

My work-out partner has two options.  He can leave prison in 12 months and owe eight more on conditional release, or he can complete all the time and walk free.  He has kids, they want him home, and he wants to be there.  However, one violation on conditional release and you’re back here to finish your time.  We understand all too well how those traps work, and in the end he will probably complete his full sentence here.

On the street, you jump at probation.  All you hear is a get out of jail free card.  This could not be farther from the truth.  Face it: You broke the law.  …Which means you have trouble following rules.  Probation and conditional release are nothing but rules.  Tons of stipulations, curfews, drug tests – the list goes on.

We have a saying: Here on vacation, Leave on probation, Back on a violation.

I was given probation.  When I violated, none of the time I did on probation was credited to my prison sentence.  Basically, I wasted 2 years of my life.  Had I known then what I know now, I would have told them to keep their probation, give me the time.  But that’s me.  One thing I will say is that once you have lived this life, you would take probation much more seriously. 

The guy who is here and doesn’t want to leave is institutionalized.  Life behind bars is all he knows.  I refuse to give my mind over to this place.  I have too many people who love me, and want me to come home to them.  My heart goes out to those who don’t.  I see them every day.  They are my friends.  Perhaps that’s why I try so hard to spread laughter to these guys as well as to you.  When I see an old, tired, broken face light up with a smile, it touches me somewhere deep inside.  But what do I know?  I’m just a hardened criminal.

PLEASE NOTE:  If you have family or loved ones that are behind bars, don’t forget about them.  You are their anchor, their ray on sunshine.  Mail Call is the best part of the day for every prisoner I know.  We all wait to hear our name called.  Tell them you love them.  It makes our day.  Show a convict some love.”

(Note from Ester: Mike told me on the phone once that everyone waits on the edge of their bunk at mail call, ready to jump off and grab their mail.  …Even the guys who have never received mail in all the time he’s been there.  They still wait on the edge of their bunks.)   

“While I’m here I am trying to make the most of my time.  During my time in prison I have become a certified personal trainer.  I’m taking college courses in credit and debt management and will soon begin yoga classes.  There is a ton of negative stuff in prison.  I’m trying to absorb all the good I can.  My goal is to be a better person.  Some days that’s difficult.  Writing for this project has been a huge help for me.  I dedicate a couple hours each day to either writing or drawing for Jailbird.  This time has become my getaway from life here.

Soon I will begin taking creative writing classes.  My writing is already quite creative.  Perhaps you would agree.  What I really need is a spelling class.  Thank god for spell-check (a.k.a. Ester)!

You keep reading and I’ll keep writing.  Be cool.  Take time to enjoy life.  We get in such a hurry sometimes we miss the little things.  Watch a sunset.  Throw a ball with your kid.  Go to dinner with your better half.  Tell someone you love them.

Just keepin’ it real.  Holla!

Much Love,

J.J.

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.

Sk8er Trash

Prison Nights

(Borrowed from Jared Shelburne's Flickr)

My friend Scottie and I were talking about life behind bars.  Our conversation was serious for once.  That’s not usually the case when we’re together.  We are both clowns.  Scottie is quick to admit his humor is often times a defense mechanism.  We fill our day full of the few activities we are offered here.  That’s called ‘doing time.’  It’s a different story at night when the lights go down.

At night, the hustle and bustle fades away into silence.  Time slows down and you are left alone with your thoughts.  I’ve been to confinement, and I’ve been beat down.  Neither compares to the battle of the mind.  Honestly, I think nights are a prisoner’s worst enemy.  They say that a near-death experience causes a person’s life to flash before his eyes.  This happens to a prisoner every night.

My solution to this problem is pictures.  Above my bunk I have taped up a couple of photos of special people and special places in my life.  Nights suck, and I try to steer my thoughts in a good direction.  Thanks Scottie.  Our talk jinxed me, and I had no control over my thoughts last night.  My thoughts were of my last days as a free man.

Here are a few of those memories:

Yes, I tried to have some control.  When I saw the direction my mind was going, I tried to turn it to sex.  Yeah, I know – typical male, huh?

The last time I had sex was three years ago.  My girl woke me up when she got home from work at 3 a.m.  Had I known that would be my last for this long, I would have put more into it.  Ha ha!  Put more into it… that’s funny. 

Ok, never mind.

These days my sisters and I are very close.  The last time I saw my baby sister Gracie she got wasted with me and puked on my guest bed.  Thanks Gracie!  I miss you!

The last time I saw my sister Abigail was here.  She is the only one of my sisters who has been able to see me since I fell.  She hugged me like it might be the last time.  She cried, and I tried not to.  I’ve honestly never felt that amount of love radiated from a hug, except maybe by our mother.

You will soon see a picture of me with my mother.  That was her last visit, which was a surprise on my birthday last year.  We had a blast!  You can see the happiness all over my face.

My sister Ester, who makes this thing happen, has not seen me in years.  When you did see me last, Ester, I was a mess.  Next time things will be different, but you know that.  Doing this project together has taken our relationship to a whole different level.  This is the closest I think we have ever been, even through the miles that separate.

The last time I saw my brother Aaron was here.  He drove me to court the day I was sentenced.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kind of hurt on a face like I on my dear brother that day.  In one word, I would say ‘broken.’  He came to visit me here a little over a year ago.

My baby brother Phil has not seen me in a long time.  The last time he saw me would have been during one of my visits to our mom’s, at which time I was heavy on drugs and chasing women.  We talk on the phone now and he learns all about me on Jailbird.  …Which may or may not be a good thing.

My dad tries to visit me every couple of months.

I was the oldest of six kids growing up, and the only one in my family to go to prison.  When I lay in my bed at night and think back over my life, I see the people who I let down.  …The people who loved me the most: my family.

Within the first six months of my sentence, I saw friend after friend drop out of my life.  The girl I was dating left during that time.  “Out of sight, out of mind” is very true.  Today I cherish the people who have stuck by my side.

Still, late at night, when you are left to your thoughts, it’s lonely.  The life you had and left behind, the people you knew are gone, and the people you let down….  My family does every day of this sentence with me.  When I came here, I brought my mother and my brothers and sisters with me.  That’s some heavy shit – that’s the late-night conversation between me and my thoughts.  If I couldn’t laugh and make jokes, this place would eat me alive.

We all need a good laugh.  I hope you find one or two at Jailbird.  I’ll keep doing what I do.  And Scottie, thank you for the time you take to make me laugh.  God knows I need it too!    

Shout-Outs for February

So, I’m sitting here looking at this week’s update.  Even sitting behind these walls I can’t help but smile.  I don’t know you personally, probably never will.  That’s why I am so touched – to see how many of you come by J.J.

Florida and Georgia – congratulations, you have completely smashed your states and I thank each one of you. 

Canada, you add more every week.  You rock!  I used to travel through the Windsor tunnel and come to Canada from Michigan, so I could legally drink at 18. 

Michigan, you’re really holding your own – much love.

Kentucky and Tennessee – the best home-made shine I’ve ever had came from there.  Left me naked and passed out in a ditch – people say I was shouting, “I can fly – I can fly” right up until I passed out.  Umm… Thank you?

 Gracie, thanks to you, New York readers blew up the map.  Make sure your friends from work, school, and wherever else know I see them.  You spiked the activity on J.J. for like a week straight.  Hopefully nobody disowns you over my shit!  Love you Sis!

Minnesota, Wisconsin, how are you, Eh?  Every time I think of your states, I think of the movie Fargo, one of my faves.

California, Alabama, Louisiana, thank you all so much.  As long as you continue to read, I will write.

Keep checking in, pass the word.  You guys make this thing grow.  Once again, thank you all.

Tutorial

I was asked to let everybody know how to subscribe, but I went a little overboard.

...Because I think I'm awesome for knowing how to take a screen shot :)

You can click on the photo directly to see it stand-alone, then click on it again to zoom in.  Sorry 'bout that, I thought the text font was gigantic when I was working with it!

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.