Aren’t I a stinker?

I plan to head to New Jersey for the Thanksgiving holiday. An old boyfriend wants to take me to the Macy’s Parade in New York City.  In addition,  his 20^th high school reunion is the day after Thanksgiving. I told him some time ago that I would go, dressed skanky; to make all the boys who made his high school days miserable jealous, as they sadly displayed their morbidly obese wives who no longer give them blow jobs. Aren’t I a stinker?

A Failing in my Personality

I finally chatted with my mother, when she was sober, about my father’s cancer. She was completely logical & calm, saying that she did not need me to visit, until she knew for sure something was wrong. This is the woman who raised me, not the inebriated one I spoke to the day before. I could tell she was in her no nonsense “nurse” mode. I will go ahead & listen to her advice & sit tight, until she has further news.

I have learned that I do not like being around sick people. They make me feel helpless, because I cannot help them. In my father’s case, I would not stay away, simply for that reason. He is the exception.

I realize that such a notion is a failing in my personality, which is a bit odd, considering I was raised by a nurse. I have an old boyfriend who was chronically sick, with epilepsy, sleep apnea, & other assorted ailments. He was the first sick boy I ever dated. He will also be the last. 

When I was with him, I was always concerned something was going to happen, such as a seizure. I also got am icky feeling in my tummy, when I saw his army of medication of the counter of my bathroom, when he visited overnight.

Whoring & Dating

Recently, a member of the escort industry contacted me, wanting to develop a personal relationship. As I tell everyone, please go to OKCupid to get started. Most people do & then they fall short of my standards for seeing me in person. However, he took me up on my request & now I am screwed. I know that we had a connection in the industry. I did not know that we are more compatible then I realized. The only problem is he still participates in the industry heavily, whoring whenever the funds allow. 

I really want to remove myself from the industry completely. I believe my arrest was a bitchslap from the universe & my cheek is still healing. He on the other hand, loves whatever the industry has given him. I cannot see him staying away from it.

I have no problem with my partners seeing whores. In fact, I think it’s rather healthy, as long as everyone is honest about it. My problem is I know he is a gossip or at least he was when I chatted with him. He likes whores because they make him feel important for a short period of time. He says that would not be the case. However, I do not know him well enough to judge that. My instinct tells me to just let this one go too.

The Redskins & my Mother

I went to visit my parents over the weekend. As I walked into the house, after not seeing them for two months, my mother shushed me. I was stunned. Not because of the shushing itself, but because of the reason she was shushing me. She was watching a football game! 

I never recall my mother watching any type of sporting event, including my own little league games. However, she now sat before me watching the Redskins game, with an intensity I had never seen before. Apparently, my father was doing something in the basement, so she yelled scores & plays down to him every 60 seconds, as he joyfully listened. I was truly speechless. What the hell happened to my mother?!

Because I was only allowed to make a noise during the commercial, I piped up & asked what happened? She said she needed to learn to bond with my father in a new way after his retirement, so she choose football! My father sat down & explained the ends & outs of the game & apparently had given her an addiction. Although I wanted to ask her more questions, just for the entertainment value, I was unable to. The damn wench shushed me again, as the game return to the television!

"You need to click more than a mouse to be a criminal. You have to click a gun."

I dropped my motorcycle last week. I also happened to be on it, when it went down. Luckily for me, I was going at a very slow, probably less than 5 miles an hour. Although my leg was a bit bruised, along with the road rash, I was able to ride my motorcycle home. A friend mentioned that he received a worse injury, when he went over the handlebars of his bicycle.

I am having a very difficult time of getting a reputation as a badass. My probation officer laughed at me after my sentence, saying “You need to click more than a mouse to be a criminal. You have to click a gun.” I was hoping to get a little notch in my badass belt, by having a little scar from the motorcycle accident. However, it seems that my motorcycle laughed at me too!

"That’s one of the few moments in my life I was speechless."

As I was being moved from lock up to the Commissioner’s Office at 2am, the day of my arrest, in February, I was in handcuffs & ankle chains. As we were in the van, the guards transferring us insisted playing “What’s Your Crime?” One by one, they went through the roster of prisoners. (I insisted on being called a guest, since “prisoner” sounds so icky. Funny enough, the boys complied, with a grin!)

Once they got to me, one said in a very game show like manner “Ladies & gentleman, what is her crime?” The others piped up, responding “tax evasion, IT theft, ID theft”. I asked “Since I am in these badass restraints, can I come up with a crime equally badass?” The guard responded with “We don’t care what you say, as long as you don’t tell us you killed cop!”

That’s one of the few moments in my life I was speechless.

" I obviously stuck out like a neon green condom"

I went to my first & apparently last probation appointment today. The lobby was a cesspool of comedy. People in our society think that the vast majority of people on probation & parole are brown people. However, in my county, everyone is beige. I did not see anyone other than redneck white trash for the first hour of waiting for my probation lady. I obviously stuck out like a neon green condom, considering I had no tattoo on my forehead. Now, mind you, I have wanted to bond with my redneck white trash brethren from time to time. However, this was not what I had in mind.

Once I finally saw the probation lady, she was surprised at the amount of the fine, as well as the length of the sentence. I mentioned I was a media focus. We agreed the sentence was harsher as a result of the attention. In reality, I couldn’t care less, as long as I wasn’t in jail.

After asking me a few questions, such as what I did for a living & who I lived with, she said I needed to turn in some paperwork, I left it behind & I would be done. When I asked for clarification on “done”, she responded that I was on administration probation. I do not have to visit on a regular basis, nor do I have to call in, or take drug tests. I have no restrictions on my lifestyle, except I have to notify her, if I move. Oh yeah, I can’t carry a firearm, get high, or beat the shit out of anyone. I guess I will have to cancel that part of my next spa visit!