Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Letters to Jose Canseco


A letter to Jose
It doesn't matter
i'm never asked to hang out anyways
I have cleveland and my heroin addict friends.
I'm not friends with the people in that house,
as I recall,
I was hardly friendly with them to begin with
accepting something doesn't require you to appreciate it.
I feel unsure of how to make my glasses not glare.
An asian man at the library has just spilled an open drink everywhere.
Oh, what is it? I don't have a license.
I have a year left,
I never even saw it.
You're tired of looking at porn.
Mcdonalds has turkey.
That is crazy.
I am poor.
I got my food stamps renewed
now this heroin addict I have been hanging out with won't have to buy me food anymore
this is ridiculous.
A full-blown crack addict/heroin junkie
what am I doing
just my ranting to you.

Thanks for listening, Jose Canseco.


Another Letter to Jose
Dear Jose,
What are you doing
im sad
i need fun
i need help
i want to dance but there will be a lot of shitheads out in clevo tonight
what is fun
FUN
i am going to eat biscuits
biscuits
eat the pain
wow
did brian wilson get fat
what should I do
stop hanging out with drug addicts
i promised him a bunch of weird stuff to give him hope and things to look forwardto
like “oh when you quit we can go on a date”
“yeah ill move to new york with you”
but like, he is gonna die
he won't give himself responsibility
he won't give himself a structured environment
he's too much of a little bitch
“oh I don't like it”
“too many rules”
nice
oh no
sexy
I need school
thought of it
like
“give me your dope if you're really quitting” then selling it to pay my bills
or gas for driving out there
I dont think so
they stopped talking to me
they live in their own little world
it doesnt matter
really
why didn't anyone tell me
well
well
should I go out tonight
my birthday was two weeks ago
eat shit, jose
eat shit
I haven't seen anyone
i'm not as important
eat another biscuit
soft buns


Mr. Canseco?
Hi
wanna party?
Ahhh
what's up?
You brushed your teeth
god damnit
wanna go out tonight?
some hip band I dont know
im just gonna try to get some numbers maybe
ive already gone through the worst of them
oh I just got called into work
$$$$


Short note for Jose
Hey Jose,
im eating chips
not even hungry
sounds tough
im not
do you know what chips are for?
eating when sad
superbowl
I work with matt today
gonna feel weird


Letter #5 to Jose Canseco
I want to start running and do a marathon
aren't I gay
you did 70-something push-ups today
hot damn
3 pull-ups is your record
I can do one
you have to go to class
face your fears
be brave
be a twitchy mess
damn, jose
when you used to use a lot of amphetamine
you failed everything
and developed a tic
it was not a good look for you
you also didn't shower or brush your teeth
in 2005
I was just beginning to blossom into an alcoholic


Last short note to Jose
I always eat and im always hungry
this is depression
you think I have a parasite
depression worms

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Hi. I am really poor.
I work as a janitor at the campus student center. There is an Einsteins Bagels in there and they throw away bagels everyday.
I have been living off of their trash bagels for ~4 days because I am out of food stamps and I can't afford food.

A guy came over last night and sat real close to me and tried to kiss me.
I held up a kitten infront of my face to block him.
He said that tonight he would make me dinner.
Then tonight came and he said he had no money to make dinner with.
So I am staying home and I ate another bagel.
It was a cinnamon bagel and I am kind of allergic to cinnamon but I ate it anyways.

Also hi Mallory.
I ate all your vegetables.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

words about someone who is somewhere else

When I watch a movie, I pretend you are watching it with me.
When I laugh, I pretend you can hear me laughing.
When I am walking, I pretend you are holding my hand.
When I am sleeping, I pretend you are next to me (I am ok.)

When I think of you, I am scared.
When I see you, I am sad.
When I hear you, I am anxious.
When I find your things, I am lost (I pretend they are not yours.)

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

A kitten

I think the worst thing about being a kitten is that my bones are made out of jello.
People like to pick me up and squeeze me against their bosoms and I can't do anything about it except make my body go completely limp and wait for the moment to end.
It's a similar situation when humans, pinching me by the nape of my neck in a show of their size and power over me, suspend me in mid-air for extended periods of time. This is most annoying when accompanied by laughter. I have no choice in this situation but to also go completely limp and wait for the moment to end.

I really fancy sticking my head into cups and seeing how far down I can push my head into the cup before it gets stuck. When I can't fit my head into a cup, I simply push it over to show my dominance over the cup.

Like all cats, I suffer from dementia, which makes stationary objects appear as though they are moving. This is why I may sometimes attempt to kill things which are already dead, such as bifocals, shoes, purses, keys, chairs, fruit, and the occasional pillow.
I love to kill things, and it is my goal and purpose in life to kill all living things. If something is moving, then it is alive, and I must use whatever means possible to end it's pitiful existence. As a kitten, I have not killed anything yet, but I have been getting lots of practice in with a type of fake mouse my oppressor has given me. I have tried to kill my oppressor numerous times, but due to my size and novice, I have only so far been able to repeatedly attack the feet and legs of my oppressor, and occasionally attempt to lay on her face in order to cause asphyxiation while she is sleeping. I believe killing my oppressor is the most important thing I will ever do.

Monday, June 25, 2012

A first-hand account of 72 hours of intervention


Thursday.
Almost 6 o'clock. Just got breathalyzed and had my suitcase searched.
The woman that breathalyzed me was old, overweight, and gave me a hug. She was very squishy.
I brought a “Mandala Coloring Book.” When the security guard checked my suitcase, he couldn't fit the book back in, and I had to carry it under my arm.
A poster of 4 babies hangs on the wall, each of different nationalities.
All other woman are older and overweight, as predicted. Not many women, though.

I am in my room. Roommate isn't here yet, but I am expecting someone to walk in at any moment.
I am feeling extreme anxiety over what they will be like, the TV is flatscreen, hope they don't watch it all night/very loud.
I took the bed next to the window. When I look out, I see a lot of concrete, a Sheetz gas station, and the second largest Walmart in the country (world?).
All the furniture in my room seems to be made out of red oak, but it is just really cheap wood with a red stain.
It is almost time to leave for orientation, and my roommate isn't here yet. I can see a cum stain on the bedskirt of her bed.

Now it is almost 9 pm.
When I opened the door to go to orientation, my roommate was just standing on the other side. I introduced myself and immediately forgot her name.
Everyone has to wear name tags at all times. I will see her name tag eventually.
Orientation was not boring, but I didn't want to be there. They talked a lot about cigarettes. Everyone was pissed about having their cigarettes taken away. We were told we weren't allowed to bring more than 3 packs of cigarettes each. So they take your 3 packs of cigarettes and put them in a Ziplock bag. The bag then goes into a big tote filled with everyone else's cigarette bags. There are designated smoke breaks. The guard brings the tote outside and everyone gets their cigarettes. When the smoke break is over, everyone puts their cigarette bags back into the tote and come inside together.
None of this applies to me because I don't smoke.
Prescription medication is similar. Your pills are taken away from you and put in a Ziplock bag. The guard (whom I will call Terry) comes around at 8 pm when the day is over and administers the night pills. He comes back to the room at 7:30 am to administer morning pills.
This also doesn't apply to me, as I have no prescription medication.
After being lectured on cigarette and pill procedures, we were made to watch an anti-driving video. I say “anti-driving” because it makes you not want to drive, at all. It was 40 minutes of mangled, bloody dead body close-ups from car wrecks. It wasn't just drunk driving, it was also about seat belts and becoming distracted by changing out CDs.
It was disgusting and unnecessary.
It showed some moms crying, and I really didn't appreciate how they were trying to use emotional manipulation. I was mostly just grossed out by the 300+ photos of dead bodies and videos of cleanup crews dragging dead bodies around towards body bags.
Our main lecturer, whom I will call Carol, explained to us why our cell phones were confiscated. They do not want us to put photographs or videos of our time here on the internet. Something about a Federal Privacy law, which makes it illegal to talk about what has happened here. She does not want us to share other peoples' stories.
We were then sent back to our rooms. My roommate and I talked smallishly about how this sucks but how the beds are nice. I think the beds are too hard, but it seemed like a good trick to just agree with her.
Terry came in to give my roommate her medication. I don't know what it is, so I am just imagining that she is taking anti-psychotics and could snap and kill me at any moment.
Carol gave us “homework” to do overnight, which is a 7-page double-sided packet with 4 different sections in it: Drinking and Drug history, the night of the arrest, critical thinking of how to avoid drunk driving in various scenarios, and 20 personal questions.
I worked on the packet and listened to Ananda Shankar on headphones while Terry gave my roommate her pills. He motioned for me to take the headphones out, then went on to tell us that we are not allowed to leave the room again until 7:50 am. At the time it was about 8:20 pm. He held up a fat roll of masking tape and said he was going to put a large strip of tape on the seal of the door so that he will know if we leave. He then told us about the security cameras in the hallways that will see us if we try to get out.
Terry left. Immediately, there was the loud, awful, uncomfortable noise of Terry pulling a very long strip of masking tape off the roll. Then the sound of him rubbing it against the door.

Here are some things I know about my roommate:
  • She is probably around 40 years old.
  • She looks like she smokes and drinks a lot. She is youthful but has baggy, loose skin.
  • She likes basketball. She asked me if I minded her watching the Miami/Oklahoma City final. She said something about wanting to “know if Lebron gets that ring he's been talking about.” I didn't know what she was talking about, and I said I don't watch TV and she can watch whatever she wants.
  • Currently, she is sleeping and lightly snoring, even though it is only the 2nd inning.
  • She has kids and sometimes watches cartoons with them.
  • She is wearing a bright yellow Cavs shirt.

I am hungry and there is no food and I cannot leave the room.


Friday
There is no power button on the TV itself.
Apparently, I cannot sleep with the TV on.
My roommate has a prescription to sleeping pills, which she says is why she passed out so fast last night.
I was up until at least 1:30 am because I could not find a power button, and I finally took the remote off of my roommate's bed about that time.
We went downstairs together, and Terry became extremely upset with me because I had a bagel on a plate from the breakfast bar. I guess we are supposed to wait for everyone else. I don't remember hearing that yesterday. I don't understand why Terry was so mad at me. I didn't eat the bagel and I actually went up to ask him if we were supposed to eat yet. He actually raised his voice very loud at me, which I don't understand. Terry may or may not be stereotyped as an angry black man from here on out.

My roommate drinks so much Mountain Dew, it's crazy. Between the one hour she was awake in our room last night and this morning, she has already drank 2 cans and bottles of it. I know because those are the only things in the trashcan so far. This doesn't mean anything. This is comic relief from angry black Terry. Also, instead of bringing books to read, my roommate brought about 5 issues of People magazine and US weekly.
I brought “The Elements of Zen” and a Mandala coloring book. I colored some of a mandala just now, and I feel better about Terry being rude to me. I am sure he deals with a lot of assholes and shitheads, but that doesn't mean he has to yell at me for having an untouched bagel on a plate.

This morning we did a group exercise and 4 different groups had to come up with reasons why people drink. The guy who wrote down the list for my group was a huge jerk. He was wearing Walmart jeans and a bright orange Harley Davidson shirt. He is a redneck. There was a well-dressed young black man in the group, and every time he would make a suggestion for the list, the redneck would say something rude and try to make the young black man feel stupid. I could not believe the audacity and false sense of authority the redneck was asserting.
There was also a young mixed man who's face is reminiscent of a Roswell Alien's face. He sits at the same table as I do. There are two people at each table. Every time he sits or stands, he bumps into the table, and my coffee splashes out of its cup. He feels bad about it, but I think it's kind of funny. I don't care if he keeps spilling my coffee. The spills are a distraction from what is really going on around me.
The guy who sits in front of me has a 6-inch long rat tail and wears a black shirt that says “HARD CORE LIVES.” He is white, his face is scraggly, he is probably about 27. He is wearing very tight bootcut jeans and has very large gauged holes in his ears. He does not wear the gauges.
The guy who sits in front of him is an old rebel who looks like he has been drinking in the sun his whole life and doing lots of drugs out there, also. He is about 50, his skin is leather. His face is sunken in. He has long, thick hair, which he obviously washes and combs, takes good care of.
The man that sits next to the rebel is an old balding crackhead, skinny, black, cannot read the pamphlets, talks incoherently, but managed to tell the entire room that a gram of crack currently costs $20.
We watched another video which showed dead bodies and crying mothers.
Carol talked about drug addiction and I realized this program is not strictly for drinkers. There are people here for drugs. Nobody asks them, but they seem to want everyone to know that they are different, that they are here for drugs.
There is an Asian American here a few years younger than myself who is here for marijuana. He talks a lot and is wearing a tie-dye Grateful Dead shirt. He talks quite loud and keeps making comments about everything. He tried to argue with Carol about how the marijuana laws are unfair.
I went into my room before lunch while everyone else went out to smoke cigarettes. The maids had been in and made our beds. Seems unnecessary, but nice. Unsure if I have ever had anyone make my bed for me before.
There were meatball subs for lunch catered by a pizza place. The program ordered “special” veggie subs for me because I told them I was vegetarian. I should have said vegan. There were also really greasy chips. And pickles. And endless coffee all day.
The news was on in the lobby, and everyone watched it while eating their subs and chips. I sat next to a guy who looks like my half brother and told him that I was sitting next to him because of that. He said, “I'm not your half brother.”
A story came on the news about how teens in China are wearing t-shirts with Chairman Mao on them. A guy eating a meatball sub said, “I don't know who that is.”
I said that Mao was an awful person.
The Grateful Dead Asian American said, “Yeah, he was debatably worse that Hitler. You ever hear that Beatles' song, 'Revolution'? In it, they say, 'don't go talking about Chairman Mao, or you won't be getting with anyone anyway.' Like, he was so bad, that you weren't even supposed to talk about him, or nobody would wanna get with you.”
I just stared at the rest of my sandwich and didn't correct him and thought about how a guy in a tie-dye Grateful Dead shirt wouldn't know what he was talking about anyways.
The Grateful Dead Asian American then asked me if Chairman Mao was dead.
I said, “What? He is very dead.”
My false half brother repeated “very dead” and laughed.
After lunch, we were made to watch a Dr. Phil episode about how silly and stupid people act when they get drunk. The people in Dr. Phil's controlled experiment were just drinking a shitload and getting wasted and making out with each other. Dr. Phil then talked to a married couple where the wife would go out drinking on weekends and the husband didn't like it. He would yell at the wife when she came home drunk.
We then had to separate into groups again to come up with what we thought was wrong with the couple and how they could change. The Harley Davidson shirt guy seized control again. The rat tail guy said something, but his words were mixed up out of order. The Harley Davidson guy pretended he could not understand the rat tail guy and belittled him by making him repeat himself until he said it correctly. Most suggestions that we made, Harley Davidson completely disregarded and just wrote what he wanted. He ignored all of my suggestions completely. When he read the list off in front of the room, everything he had written down was narrow-minded and extremely sexist.
I was upset by him, and I am not going to sit in that area of the room again tomorrow.
After this, we watched a 2 hour long Lifetime movie about drinking. It was from the 80s and had Keanu Reeves in it.
Some of us tried on beer goggles and decided that it was nothing like being drunk, and that it was much more like being on acid.
A kid had his Kindle Fire confiscated because he was checking Facebook.

It is still Friday, and we just ate dinner. The dinner was 45 minutes late and was cold rigatoni which was all hard and stick together. While eating, a group of about 7 older men dressed in golfing attire walked into the lobby to check in and started talking very loud about showering together.
“If we shower together, we could all meet down here a half hour earlier.”
“Okay, but I would need to take a couple caps first, heh.”
Everyone in our intervention group was snickering over their hard rigatoni.

We watched a love movie called “When a Man Loves a Woman” and it was so bad. It stared Meg Ryan, and she was an alcoholic. It was so boring that I fell right asleep when we were sent to our rooms afterwards for the night.

Saturday
Today we are in groups with counselors. The counselor I got, Shirley, is a very funny old black woman who keeps saying things like, “asshole cops” and “mother fuckin.”
Everyone had to tell about how they got arrested. One guy said the cops found him in a ditch with his shirt off and pants unzipped, and he doesn't remember. Another guy said he woke up in the hospital and doesn't know what happened, except that his truck is all smashed up now. He called his two friends to see what happened and they told him they ended up at the hospital too, but because they had been slipped date rape drug. The guy figures he took a few drinks from their cups and passed out while he was driving.
One woman swears she wasn't even driving, but actually switched seats with her son when they got pulled over because he didn't have a license and was on probation. He wasn't drunk, but she was.
Another woman only blew a .04, but since she had her kids in the car, she got arrested.
My roommate wasn't even drinking when she got pulled over, but was all fucked up on Ambien and muscle relaxers. She also had her kids in the car.
Rat tail guy drank an entire bottle of Jack “Honey.”
The guy who “isn't my half brother” got arrested wearing a tuxedo after playing in an orchestra concert.
Leathery skin guy got his DUI 20 years ago in Florida, and it has just “caught up” to him now that all the states are connected through the internet.
The old crackhead guy didn't make any sense when he told his story. He was drooling all over himself as he managed to babble some nonsensical words.

We had gross, greasy pizza for lunch.
The well-dressed young black man sat with me and told me that I looked like I never get into any trouble. Seemed funny. All I said was that I got caught. I told him about all the people in the group that I thought were weird: the Harley Davidson guy, the tall nerdy scientist dad, the guy with the weird red zombie eye.
Back in the counseling group after pizza, we went through scenarios where you had to think of a way home that didn't involve drunk driving. This seemed tough for everyone because I think we all would have just chose to drive drunk in every scenario.
Learned about how you don't become an addict until you pass your “tolerance level,” which is some unknown limit everyone has, and then when you pass your “tolerance level” and become and addict, you get THIQ floating around, which is some crazy chemical your brain starts processing when you become addicted to a chemical substance. It never leaves your body, even if you overcome addiction. THIQ just stays in your body and makes it easier for you to become addicted to substances again.
I want to know if I have THIQ from being addicted to anything.
We had to watch a movie starring Sandra Bullock from the 90s called “28 days.” She is an alcoholic who goes to rehab... just like the movie with Meg Ryan. While we watched that, people were being taken for one-on-one interviews with the counselor. Yesterday we all had to take some addiction psychoanalysis test, and the counselor wanted to go over our results with us. My results were normal, except it said that I was unusually responsible, but also very likely to commit another drug-related crime, which doesn't make much sense to me.

Dinner was gross. There were chicken wings and jojos. I didn't stand in line because I didn't want to eat that. Then dudes started talking about me not standing in line. One guy said, “Hey I heard you were vegetarian,” and I said “Yea.” Then I felt weird, so I hid around the corner, and I could still hear people talking about me being vegetarian, like it was some freaky alien thing to them. I felt anxious and went in the bathroom to hide. When I came out, the delivery guy gave me a personal cheese pizza, which I guess the program director pre-ordered for me. The tie-dye shirt Asian (who today was wearing a tie-dye Pink Floyd shirt, probably from the same place in the mall) said very loudly, “I respect vegetarians, but I just love meat, it's so delicious!” to which I responded, “NO ONE FUCKING ASKED YOU.”

After dinner, Terry made us watch “Crazy Heart,” where Jeff Bridges plays an alcoholic country singer who loses his girlfriend's son in a mall, then goes to rehab and gets better (third rehab movie in 2 days). It just seemed to drag on forever, even though it was the first good movie they've shown us all weekend.
Heh. I am sitting in bed eating cookies and Terry came in to give my roommate her pills (I just saw her Ziplock bag of pills; she must have at least 7 bottles in there!) and he said to me “You eating AGAIN? You couldn't even finish your pizza!”
“Terry, the pizza here is so greasy! There's a difference between some old greasy pizza and these cookies!”
“Yeah,” Terry said, “I don't even eat the food here. Though I did eat some chicken wings today.”
When my roommate falls asleep, I am going to take a bath, I think.

Sunday
I took a bath, and when I came out, my roommate was still awake and watching a show called “48 hours” in which a Long Island serial killer had a thing for prostitutes from Craigslist. I don't get why the show was called “48 hours” because the killings took place over several years, and the show was probably only 1 hour long.

Terry woke me up at 7 am to pay my $10 phone bill for talking to Mallory on the phone last night for 7 minutes.
After breakfast, everyone had a good time watching a drunk driving film from the 80s where a bunch of police recruits got drunk and tried to drive through an obstacle course.
We were sent to our rooms to pack up our things. It was kind of sad almost, not because I don't want to leave, but because I am very tired today and had to not crawl back into the bed. Now I am probably not going to be able to lay in a bed until around 8 pm. It is 12:30 pm right now.
A sheriff was supposed to come in to talk to us today, but he didn't want to. I am glad because I hate pigs. Instead, we watched another blood and gore dead body drunk driving film.
At lunch, there were special veggie wraps for me, and one of the old overweight women said, “Ooooh veggie wraps for Lily,” all snarky and smug-like. Maybe they will try not eating meat now because they seem upset that the only young and skinny woman here doesn't eat meat. They probably are thinking right at this moment that vegetarianism is the next big weight loss diet, and they want to hop on that real bad. During meals, they all sit at a table together (there are only 4 other women) and take turns glancing/glaring at me while I pretend to stare at the food on my plate (but I am really watching them glance/glare at me out of my peripherals.)

I think my roommate is addicted to pills (Ambien, muscle relaxers, painkillers), and every time I look at her, she seems really fucked up, like you would have to do a shit ton of pills to look like her.

I feel really stupid learning about signs of addiction because I keep thinking of half my friends and how obvious their conditions must be to someone who already knows what addiction looks like. Even though I knew they had drug problems, I never realized their odd behavior was just typical of everyone with addictions. I suppose the one thing that really upsets me about having to be trapped in this program is that I can name 10 people I am close and personal with that should have been sitting in my seat the entire weekend instead of me.

We had an AA meeting (yea really) and some old meathead from AA came in to speak to us and tell us his story of getting 3 DUIs and crashing his car a whole bunch and getting divorced and “cheating on his womens” and then he joined AA and found God and oh man the whole time I kept “Jesus when will this end, this is fucking stupid.”
After the AA guys left we had to take a road rage “true or false” quiz. I was the only person who answered everything false, which means that I have no road rage, at all. Everyone else laughed at me because I have somehow been dubbed the “sweet and innocent one.” After the quiz we watched a corny film about road rage.
We got back into our groups and were made to make a list of reasons people get distracted and cause accidents while driving. As the only girl in the group (with 7 men), I was surprised that I had to be the one to say “road head,” as that seemed like the most obvious distraction to me. The men were just in shock and disbelief that the “sweet and innocent one” said “road head.”
Around 4:30 pm we “graduated” and were actually given diplomas and our cell phones back. Everyone clapped for everyone else while they were being handed their diplomas.

THEN WE WERE SET FREE.

I stood outside the hotel with the kid who looks like my half-brother, the tie-dye Asian American, the rat tail guy, and the Kindle Fire kid.
The tie-dye Asian American and the half-brother kid both used my cell phone to call their parents. The tie-dye Asian American kid wanted to know what my story was, how did I get into OVI school, because obviously I am too sweet and innocent looking to do anything wrong. Then he asked if I smoked weed. I told him not since I went to the hospital.
He said, “You can't OD on weed!”
I said, “Yea, I didn't say I OD'ed on weed.”
Rat tail kid said, “You can OD on weed, but you would have to smoke twice your body weight of it within, like, an hour. It's physically impossible!”
Then he kept saying, “Do you know how much a pound of weed is? It is like this much,” and he kept making a box gesture with his hands to show us that he obviously knows how much weed is in a pound.
The Kindle Fire kid said, “Hey speaking of, if you guys need any weed or drugs or anything, hit me up.”

Sunday, June 17, 2012

A first hand account of getting arrested for drunk driving

"I don't want to watch Danny Tamborelli sleep tonight," I said to the girl. I didn't know her, but Danny Tamborelli was going to sleep on her couch.
"Don't you want to ask Danny Tamborelli about all the times he got slimed on 'Figure it out?'!" Jon was excited. Jon wanted to make friends.
"I was always so jealous of him as a kid," I said, trying to ring out the parts of my dress Jon had spilled his cheap beer on, "I wanted to get slimed really bad. I think slime was pudding. I wanted to eat the slime."
"Yeah! So lets hang out with him!" Jon said.
"And watch him sleep!" the girl said.
Why did this girl want me to watch Danny Tamborelli sleep?
"I don't want to make friends with Danny Tamborelli. He was a childhood hero, now look at him," I turned my head around and a  girl my age was getting her picture taken with Danny Tamborelli, "
I would hang out with him if he was still 10 years old, but he's all fat and sweaty and grown up now, and Jon and I were the only people dancing when his band was playing. It will be weird. I don't want to make friends with Danny Tamborelli."
It was settled. Jon and I got in my car. "I can't believe you don't want to hang out with Danny Tamborelli."

A cop pulls us over a mile away from my house. I had forgotten about the speed trap right as you are entering Kent, where there is a strip of about 15 feet where the speed limit dips from 45 to 35 with no warning. Jon and I look at each other, "Fuck."
The cop asks me if I've had anything to drink, "A glass of wine," I say.
"What kind"
"Carlo Rossi."
"What was that?"
"CARLO ROSSI."
"Step out of the car."

The cop began waving a pen around in front of my eyes, "Don't look away from the tip of this pen."
The tip of the pen was the same color as the 2 a.m. sky. The tip of the pen was very hard to see.
"My eyes are getting really dry," I said.
"Oh. Sorry. You're allowed to blink."
A satellite cop was watching from five feet away.

He made me stand on one foot. I kept thinking of myself as a circus elephant. I noticed the weathered acne scars on the cop's cheeks.

The shoes I was wearing were gladiator sandals which are too large for my feet, extending over an inch past my toes.
I tripped over them while doing the "heel-to-toe" walk.

I blew. There was no reading. "You're not blowing hard enough," the cop said.
I blew again with no reading. "You have to blow harder."
He was being a very nice cop. He kept looking at my dress. The cop probably wanted to wear my dress. He was being so kind. I kept thinking "This is a really kind cop," in between repetitively thinking "Fuck cops."
My thought pattern looked like this: Fuck cops. This is a nice cop. Kill fucking cops. He is surprisingly respectful. Fuck pigs. He is looking at my dress some more. Fucking police. Fuck the police."
I blew again and ran out of breath. "You got it," the cop said, "You blew a .139."
"Oh, this blows," I said.
"Are you even buzzed right now?" the cop said.
"No, I feel scared."
"I have to arrest you... I'm going to have to put handcuffs on you."
He opened the door to his cop car and helped me to sit in it. He looked at my dress.
He went over to my car and grabbed my bag out of it, "Do you mind if I search your purse?"
"Sure, go ahead if you need to I guess."
I watched him shine his flashlight into my bad and remembered all the pills in there that were definitely not prescribed in my name. Two Vicodin in my wallet. A small glittery pill box which reads "Drugs" in fancy cursive across the lid, containing one 30 mg Adderall, a Ritalin, and a Xanax. I cringed and imagined the next 3 to 5 years of my life wearing an orange jumpsuit, sitting in prison.
I had accepted my fate when the cop opened the door and handed me the bag, "Here's your purse back."
He didn't find the drugs. Nice cop. Stupid cop.
"Do you mind if I drive your car over into that bank parking lot so you don't have to get towed?"
What a nice cop. Fucking pigs. A cop is driving my car to the bank. A pig is maneuvering my car towards a building filled with money. I am being arrested for drunk driving.

The officer gets back in his own car. He turns around and looks at me, "Why does it smell so strongly in your car?"
What is he trying to say? That my car reeks of booze? "It could be the beer my friend spilled on me, or just my friend in general, he's really drunk."
"No," the cop says, "I mean, you have garlic hanging from your rear view mirror. What is with that? Garlic! That's disgusting!"
"Oh, I love garlic."
"No, man, no," he turns to look back at me and the acne scars stretch out from his neck to his cheekbone. He looks like a rubber mask.
"Oh, yea, I love it."
"That's gross."
"I love garlic."

Acne cop does a u-turn and almost immediately turns right into a cemetery. A nice cop with acne scars in driving a small blonde girl in a nice dress through a cemetery at 2 in the morning.
I look at the gravestones passing by, "Why are you driving through a graveyard?"
"I'm not trying to scare ya or anything, this is the way to the station, honest, not trying to scare ya."
He makes some sloppy turns then says, "I think a took a wrong turn. Not trying to scare ya or anything."
We arrive at the station. The cop opens the opposite back door and reaches for my bag. "Oh, I've got it," I say.
He comes around to let me out of the car and escorts me into the station.
The station is very plain and ugly.  The satellite cop from before is already inside, standing around, doing nothing, maybe eating a doughnut.
The kind acne scar cop takes the handcuffs off of me and asks me to set my purse up on the counter.  This scares me, there are pills in my bag.
He has me sit in the drunk tank.
The drunk tank is small and plain and dirty, made out of cinder blocks and lined with a wood bench. In one corner a pair of handcuffs is screwed to the wall. It is Sunday night. I am the only person there. Thank God.

I cannot see my bag from the drunk tank. This makes me paranoid. There are pills in that bag.
I sit in the doorless cell for maybe 15 minutes before the acne cop calls out, "How many wine coolers did you really have, Lily?"
"One," I say.
Fucking pigs. I said wine, not wine cooler. Fuck you, pig! What does he think I am, a soccer mom? Mind your own business, pig!
"Come out here, Lily."
The cop makes me do another breathalyzer, then tells me to sit back down in the drunk tank.
The phone in the station rings. I cannot see the phone.
"Hello? Hey! Lieutenant! How is your vacation? How's Hawaii?" I hear the acne cop answer the phone.
The acne cop laughs, "Lieutenant, are you drunk? You're prank calling the station? You're wasted, Lieutenant!"
The Lieutenant, the boss of the pigs, is on vacation, placing a long distance call from Hawaii, a long distance prank call to his subordinates, while wasted. He is probably laying on a beach. In some mud. Eating a doughnut.
"No, nobody wants to talk to you," the nice acne cop says into the phone, then calls out, "Hey, Bacardi! You wanna talk to the Lieutenant?"
"Hell no," Bacardi, the satellite cop, walks past the drunk tank door, into the main room with the phone.
"No, Bacardi doesn't want to talk to you," then he yells, "Hey, Lily! Do you wanna talk to my boss?" and he starts laughing again.
"Maybe," I call out.
"Maybe! She said maybe!" he laughs into the phone, "See, nobody wants to talk to you. No, she doesn't really want to talk to you."
The phone call ends.

"You can come out again, Lily. Here's your purse. Do you have anyone who can pick you up?"
"No."
The cop gives me a ride home. On the way he asks typical "nice to meet you questions": What are you studying, do you like it, where do you live?
I try to ask him what court will be like. He won't tell me anything. Every time he turns to look back at me, his acne scars stretch out.
"That is my door, right there," I say, "The big one that is wide open."
He lets me out.
"Thanks for the ride."
Fucking pig.

Friday, June 1, 2012

i am moving so buy my shit

here are some things i am selling because i am moving to a much smaller place in a few weeks. if you want any of it just paypal me at lilyyydawn (at) gmail (dot) com and specify what you want. I will take things down as they are sold.

These things are $5
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Graduate by Charles Webb
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
Wonders and Surprises by Phyllis Mcginley
You Matter to God by Derek Prince
Shopgirl by Steve Martin
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
The Lively Art of Writing by Lucile Vaughan Payne
Songs from the Shooting Gallery by Tony O'Neill
Stumpfucker Cavalcade by Joe Pachinko
This fucking star projector
Also this fucking Nightmare Before Christmas glow-in-the-dark alarm clock

These things are $7
The Human War by Noah Cicero
Please Kill Me by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain
Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann
Head to Toe Knits by Bronwyn Lowenthal
Also this fucking 1960s penis candle

These things are $10
The entire The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe series
This fucking dusty ceramic elephant plant stand