Countdown to Lockdown

So in jail, a person has certain rights. Such as free abortions (remember- I was stuck on the women/tranny/fag side). After 18 hours in the clink, I was considering it just to feel the touch of a man and summer’s warm breezes again. Just kidding. I’m keeping my baby.

Games, reading material, writing material and postage is supposed to be supplied. After banging my knee against the door for a half hour, I got a guard to come down and I requested writing stuff. She comes back 20 minutes later with A PIECE of paper. I thanked her and asked about a pencil.

“We don’t have no pencils” was her reply.

“Can I have a pen?” I asked.

“Contraband” was her last word as she slammed the door. Forbidding pens makes sense I guess because with enough time on your hand, you could totally fashion an archaic hypodermic needle or cute little shank. But what the fuck was I supposed to do with one piece of paper? Origami?

So I sat down and tried to channel all those brave souls who went before me. Paris, Martha, L’il Kim…what would they do? Then I realized I had something they didn’t.
Try as they might, the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Office couldn’t take away all my toys.

Yup…you know where this is going. Buhr-chick a wowow. Jerking off put me right to sleep and it wasn’t that uncomfortable. When I arrived, I decided to take the bottom left bunk out of 4. But the chi in the room was total shit and my feet were facing the door which is like soo bad in feng shui matters. So I reorganized a bit. I took 2 other mattresses, stacked one and folded the other on top of mine- instant chaise! Very prison princess & the pea. I of course was woken and a fear of tazering instantly set upon me for my decorating madness.

But I was actually being released. So I’m filling out the papers and what do I see over yonder on the bitch guard’s desk? PENCILS! Since I’m already out and figure they won’t put me back in, I say “Look at all the pencils…You just make an Office Depot run?”

She didn’t even fuckin’ answer. She just kept printing me out (1 hand done on entrance & 1 on release in ink; electronic scan @ booking too). Then I get my property back.

She starts handing it out, just like in Who’s That Girl. As soon as she hands me my rubberband I throw my hair up in a ponytail. I guess at this point she decides I’m worthy of smalltalk ‘cause she asks me “Is your hair naturally curly?”

I looked straight at her and said “Are you naturally a bitch?”

She laughed like she had something evil planned but at that point she couldn’t do shit. I wanted to treat her the way she had treated me. I was polite and showed kindness and she didn’t return it. So we she was nicenot-bitchy, I was cunt-agious back to her. But freedom was mine.

All in all though, jail has been rejuvenating and inspiring. It’s like a day spa only with bail and no lemon water. My first day out, I went to Happy Nails. My feet were so nasty after being all Britney Barefoot for 18 hours on dirty cement. That’s the lesson I learned kids. Jail is not cute for your feet or your long term podriatric health. Crime ain't worth it. Petty crime will fuck up your pedicure.