Archive for the ‘Tales of My Shady Past’ Category

I recently read Diablo Cody’s memoir Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper thanks to this post for inspiring me to do so.
I LOVED this book!
I read it cover to cover in less than 24 hours.
It made me what to turn back the hands of time (READ: Before I had kids) and be as daring as she was.
Ok, so maybe there was a time when I was 18 daring.

**WARNING**

If you are related to me, yes Mom, I mean you and oh yeah, you as well my dear sister, you might just want to click on that little X in the top right corner of your browser and close this.  If you do continue to read it you will not be allowed to mention it or discuss it with me at any time. Okay? Okay!  The same goes for you other family members who stop by and read every now and then!

________________________________________
So……
Back to that time when I was 18 daring, I did pull what I now like to call a Diablo Cody on a dare.

This again was back in the day when I weighed 145lbs, had a flat tummy, perky breasts and zero stretch marks.

With all of this, I obtained confidence.

Nothing scared me.

Yeah….I know….back to what I will forever refer to as pulling a Diablo Cody.

During the time when I was 18 daring……

I may or may not have participated in an amateur night at a local club where the ‘entertainers‘ may or may not perform on a stage that has a pole erected in the middle of it and offers some unflattering lighting.

I also, may or may not have donned the aforementioned stage and I may or may not have danced seductively around that stage while I may or may not have removed my clothing and brushed certain body parts up against skeezy men and sweet women who pulled up a chair at the tip rail in exchange for folded up dirty $1, $5, $10 and $20 bills

and

I may or may not have even taken home the $250 prize for the best amateur that night.

Being 18 daring was a long time ago so forgive me if I cannot recall if these events did in fact happen or if they are all just a figment of my imagination.

Again, that is for me to know.

________________________________________

Anywho, if you are looking for a great read and want to know what it really is like being a stripper, I suggest you pick up this book and give it a try.

By Spring of 2000 I had moved out of my parents home along with Zman into a cute little 2 bedroom apartment.  At this time, I was also pregnant with the Drama Queen.  After a month in my new home, I was looking forward to taking a trip to Appleton to pick The Best Friend up from the local jail as he was now going to be a free man.

Earlier in the day, I traveled to Appleton to visit him to make arrangements to pick him up at 12:01am.

After our visit, I made my way downstairs to pick up the remainder of his belongings and miscellaneous crap he had acquired during his incarceration (Read: Everything that had not already been sent to my home over the course of his unfortunate incarceration.)

Since the day of his release in 2000, The Best Friend has been in and out of jail for various drug related charges. He also managed to meet an incredible girl, fall in love and have a son. Of course, he later f**ked that up and lost her. He went on to have another child, a daughter, of whom I have never met due to the relationship he had with her mother.

In 2006, he landed himself back behind bars for 3 months and upon his release he participated in a drug rehab program. When his 1 Year Anniversary of being drug free passed, I was elated. I was so proud of him for having made it a whole year and I looked forward to his sobriety in the years to come.

Now, remember that part in the being of this story about The Best Friend when I said this:

It was at that moment that I made a promise to stay by his side and we carried on with our evening together.

and then I went on to say this:

Had I known at that point that I would continue to support him and be by his side for so long and break that promise 15 years later, only to be hurt over and over again, I never would have uttered those words.

Well, this next part….this is where I break that promise that I made to The Best Friend all those years ago.

Let’s fast forward to the Spring of 2009, yes, this year.
I received a phone call from the incredible girl that The Best Friend had fallen in love with and lost (of whom I have remained friends with).
She was calling to inform me that The Best Friend had been arrested.
For drugs.
Yes.
He was using again.
After having been clean for over a year.

When I learned this, needless to say, I was devastated.
Here I thought he was finally growing up.
I was wrong.
Not only had he f**ked up with the drugs.
But he had also gotten his latest girlfriend pregnant.

For me, this was the last straw.
I was not married with 3 kids and didn’t have the time or energy to fight for him anymore.
When I told him that I couldn’t do this anymore, he said I had given up on him and that wasn’t what a true friend does.
For me, I see it as I grew up.
I had moved on.
I was getting my shit together.
And I couldn’t deal with the in and out of jail drama anymore.
That was the last time we spoke.
Yes, it was via a text message.

I know that in the time since we last spoke he became the father of a son.
And that, that is all I know.
I don’t know his number.
I don’t know where he lives.
I don’t know if he’s clean or using again.
I don’t know anything or than a part of me is lost without him.

The other thing that I do know is that today, November 22nd 2009 is his 31st birthday and it will be the first birthday in 15 years that I haven’t called him to say Hi and wish him the best on his birthday.

If he happens to stumble upon this post, I just want him to know that I do hope he has a great birthday and I do miss him.

Once The Best Friend got over the initial shock of who had traveled all that way to see him he sat down across from me still blown away by the whole thing but happy to see me.

We talked about what was going on in my world now that I was a mom.
He asked me all about my road trip to come see him and was even more shocked when I told him of my detour the night before in Cuba City.
It was so nice to just sit and talk with him.
For a minute I think we both forgot that we were chatting under different circumstances than we were used to.
For a minute, there were no pens and paper, no bars, no hundreds of miles separating us.
During that time, it was just us and we were able to sit and talk and carry on like nothing had changed.
Our time together lasted until visiting hours were over.
Towards the end, he convinced me to find a place to crash for the night so I could come visit him again the following day before I began on my journey home.
And.
That is exactly what I did.
I drove up and down the road trying to find a place to stay.
All of the local hotels were booked for the Fall Festival/Changing of the leaves thingamabob that is a big deal in those parts.
After driving around for almost an hour and stopping here and there I found a little dive hotel about 15 minutes outside of town.
When I pulled up there was a No Vacancy sign staring me in the face but I decided to inquire within the bar/restaurant with the owners to see if maybe something had changed.
To my luck, there had been a group of hunter’s that had checked into a room just to sleep for a few hours and then checked out to be on there way.
The only problem…their room had yet to be cleaned and the housekeeping staff had already left for the day.
I told the owner that I didn’t mind cleaning the room myself for a discounted rate and a meal from the bar just so I could stay the night.
This deal worked for him and he gladly gave me everything I needed to clean the room and put down fresh linens etc.
In the end, it only ended up costing me $20.00.

That night I be bopped around town, visited the local WalMart and bought a few presents for Zman, stopped in at a gas station and purchased a few post cards to remember my trip.

The next morning, I got up early and hopped over to the bar/restaurant for some breakfast, went back to my room and prepared for my day, packed up my stuff and loaded it into the car and made my way back to the correctional facility that housed my friend.

He was again thrilled to see me and hear that I had found a place to stay the night prior.
We sat there talking and catching up again as if nothing had changed.
We talked about how he would be a free man again within the next year and how we looked forward to that day.

Before we knew it, our visit was over and I had to be on my way back home.
I walked out to my car, sat down, lit a cigarette and cried.
I must have sat there crying for at least 15 minutes until one of the workers on the prison grounds stopped by my car to make sure I was okay.
I informed him that I was and that this had been a very emotional weekend and visit for me and I was just preparing to make my long drive home and needed a few moments to gather myself.
He went on his way.
Five minutes later, I did the same.

The drive home that day was far different than my drive to Cuba City and Prairie du Chien had been 2 days prior. I had began this trip excited to see a friend I hadn’t seen in 5 years and another friend I had been separated from for the past year.
On my trip home, I was sad that I had to leave The Best Friend behind and await his return.
I remember making frequent stops on the way home to take in the sights on the back country roads of Wisconsin that I had opted to use as my route home.
It wasn’t until I was nearing Oshkosh that I finally hopped on the highway.
The one thing that day that made me more happy than anything from that entire trip was being home and having my little Zman in my arms.

So here I was.

240 miles from home.

Over 4 hours away from my almost 9 month old son.

Sitting in my car in the parking lot of a correctional institution.

I sat there for a few minutes puffing away on a cigarette or 12 just looking around while my stomach did flips.

I took in the sight of the high chain link fence that surrounded the property, watched the armed guards as they walked about the courtyard of the facility.

I watched as others began to arrive and wait for visiting hours to begin.

I grabbed the informational letter I had received from the prison in regard to visitors and made sure I was prepared.

I double checked my appearance.

I lit another cigarette.

I was so damn nervous.

I sat and watched the clock.

As soon as I saw another visitor step out of their car and prepare to walk through the doors into the prison lobby, I knew it was time for me to do the same.

I walked inside, showed my ID to the guard, got patted down, went through a metal detector and waited with the group to be brought to the visitors area.

After a short wait we lined up in single file with an armed guard at the front of the group and another at the rear.

They walked us through a maze of fenced walkways and gates across the ‘campus’ to the visitation building.

At this point, I didn’t know what to expect.

What would it be like in the visitation area?

Would it be tables and chairs like you see on T.V.?

The answer–nope.

Nothing like you see on T.V.

They actually had really comfy chairs to sit in however there was a table between us.

There were vending machines for sodas and snacks.

I found a place near the window and took a seat and waited for The Best Friend to enter the building.

I eagerly watched out the window waiting to catch a glimpse of The Best Friend as he crossed the courtyard into the visitation building.

I saw him make his way over, dazed and confused wondering who his visitor could be.

I made sure to keep my distance so he wouldn’t see me through the window.

When he reached the door to enter the building I turned my back in his direction so he wouldn’t see me at first.

I remember he walked past me, surveyed the room for a familiar face then he turned around and saw me sitting there.

His face lit up instantly….as did mine!

Here it was

1999

I was a mom now

not just a mom, but a single mom.

By the Fall of 1999, Zman was visiting his dad on a regular basis every other weekend which allowed me some free time.

It was that first weekend in October of 1999 that I decided to take advantage of that free time.

Zman’s dad picked him up from daycare.

I packed up my car.

Yes.

There I was heading out on an adventure by myself.

Driving my little 1984 Chevette.

My mom’s 3 disc CD changed boom box took up residence on the passenger seat next to a pile of CD’s and a carton of Marlboro Red’s.

I had a bag filled with clothes and all the other necessities.

A full tank of gas.

A wallet filled with the cash from that week’s paycheck.

And I had a plan.

I cranked the tunes, lit a cigarette and drove.

My first destination was Cuba City, WI to visit another close friend of mine that I had also met while at the Youth Conservation Camp that I had not seen in a little over 5 years.

I didn’t have a particular time frame one when I would arrive at his house and didn’t want to have one.

My goal was to drive.

Enjoy the alone time.

Enjoy the sights.

Enjoy the freedom.

And PRAY TO GOD that my car would survive this trip!

I had only told one person where I was headed that weekend.

I told my parents I was going to a conference for work since I knew they would have stopped me from going.

They wouldn’t have understood at the time just how much I needed to this.

So, off I went.

The only map I had with me was some crappy directions I’d printed off of MapQuest.

At one point I remember throwing that map out the window and letting my great natural sense of direction lead me to Cuba City.

Apparently it worked.

After seeing some awesome sites while driving through Mount Horeb, Madison and who knows where else I arrived at my friend J’s apartment.

J and I spent hours catching up.

We went out for a bite to eat, he showed me where his parents lived, where he had gone to high school.  He gave me a nice tour of his hometown, introduced me to some friends (and the laserdisc—remember that?) .  We had a great night hanging out and talking.

The next morning J helped me load up the car, we went to breakfast and then he saw me on my way.

I got in my car that morning and left Cuba City, with one destination in mind— Prarie du Chien Correctional Institution to visit The Best Friend.

As I drove those 70 miles I became nervous and anxious and I couldn’t wait to see the look on The Best Friends face!