Hi ya’ll. Sheeeeee’s back!
Okay, so you’re going to have to bear with me today cause I have a bunch of random shit on my mind I need to put out. Follow closely and don’t get lost, kay?
First off, my weekend for the most part was terrific. Terrific! Pandora Patty called on Saturday, and we got to do the girl’s cocktail hour over the phone. Actually, it’s never just an hour…we jabber, jabber, jabber, when we drink! I kicked back out in the sun, swilled, and we got a chance to visit. Very important since we’ve had nary a chance to talk since she got back from her birthday, Alaskan cruise vacation with her daughter. Yes, she’s a spoiled Mommy! I tell her that all the time, thank you. If they handed out medal’s for the ‘World’s Greatest Daughter’ that bitches kid would get it! Her Jessie is one of a kind. Any-hoo…. I needed my Pandora Patty fix, because if they handed out medals for the ‘World’s Greatest BestFriend’ she would get that, and well…she breathes life into this old broad and keeps me going by pushing me when I dig my feet in. Excellent women just seem to run in that family!
Sunday, I braved the heat between my husband and 17 year old son in the small Toyota pickup that has no air…NO FREAKING AIR AND IT WAS LIKE A 100 DEGREES!…to drive the hour and a half to go see my boy in the Clarinda Correctional Facility. For those of you who stumble on this and aren’t familiar with my posts, yeah…he’s in prison. I blame it on nothing less than bad-breeding. If it means anything, my son agrees with me! It was an absolutely unbearable drive, Pissy was more Pissy than usual, and at one point I had to refrain myself from knocking my damn son’s block off right there in the truck. That mouthy lil SOB (and I can say that, because I’m the ‘B’ in SOB) just doesn’t know when it’s not safe to play with me! Arrrggghhh! Well, he and I got there in one piece without a fight, but I might add this sugar-momma was melting by the time we did. Yes, I’m made of sugar, dammit! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Then we had the job of finding the place.
We stopped at a station in town first so I could pee out two gallons of water and Pepsi that I downed during the trip to try and keep cool. I asked the lady there where the facility was and she told me to take the road right there in front, follow it, and we would run right into it. Umm…okay. How hard can that be? Pretty fucking hard when there are a crapload of buildings and Pissy is sitting between two, sweaty guys in a hundred degree heat! Venture forth we did though, because Momma-Bear was on a mission to see her oldest cub. I’m going to answer a question now that I know most of you who read my post are asking yourself, “How many of me and mine does it take to find a damn prison, for goodness sake? The answer is, “Apparently more than three.”
Okay, so here’s this long road–that is actually quite nice really, with shaded residential homes–that runs right into an area with these almost Gothic-looking, brick buildings on both sides of it. On the right as we’re nearing we see a fenced in area with obvious criminals in the yard–pardon my stereo-typing, but the truth sometimes hurts–so we turn in on that road. There are these large, ominous buildings everywhere–I mean, EVERYWHERE–but me being ever-so-clever, I tell my husband to pull up to the big one with the doors and archway where it says ‘Visitors’ and we’ll go in there. Now I had no idea that my husband has ‘Scary’ radar, but apparently he does. The first thing he says is, “This place is a fucking nut ward. I can feel it. I don’t have nothing to do with nut-wards. They take people in basements in those places and kill them!” No, he was really serious, and I was cracking up! Good grief…take your balls out of my purse, I thought! No biggee, though. He’d already decided he didn’t want to go in and be frisked for a visit, so he was just going to drop us off for a couple of hours anyway. So me and my son get out and walk through the doors, are met by a woman who tells us…well, we’re actually in the nut-facility part. Hmmm…my husband was right. Back out to the truck we go. Past the fenced area of what I thought were convicts, take a right, and keep driving straight ahead further past other buildings. Then we approached the prison. Yep, hard to miss that! Fucking razor wire all over the fence! Trek in there getting buzzed in through gates, only to find he’s not there either. No, he’s apparently minimum security in what they consider a cottage, somewhere back where we just came from. Great, huh? Back we go again.
Well, the damn place was tucked across the street from the nut-facility, and it just so happens that the building was attached to the fenced in area that I thought I saw convicts in. See…I really can spot em. You marry em, you can spot em after that. My husband dropped us off, the procedure getting in wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be; just had to lock up my purse in a locker before entering, and no one frisked me because apparently I didn’t look really threatening being the blubbering, middle-aged mother that I was when I first spotted my son. And my boy looked great! Hell, yeah! I think I might’ve embarrassed him a little because I couldn’t let go of him at first. What can I say…I love my damn kid!
Now this place and the guards was actually pretty cool. Just a little entertaining area with tables, a guard on duty, and one other inmate visiting his girl–which happened to be my son’s roommate. I don’t know if I was supposed to, but I was bullshitting with the guard, the one that walked in to talk to her, and then the guy that took her place. You know me, making friends everywhere I go! My son’s roomie said, “Dude, your mom’s a trip.” Too funny, huh? Anyway, I happened to mention my husband’s reaction when we first pulled up to the nut-facility and you should’ve seen the reaction I got from the guards and my son. Apparently, my husband’s fears weren’t too off, after all. I got the lowdown on this place from them. It has long tunnels running like a maze underground to all the facilities, and according to the stories back in the day some terrible things were done to the mental patients here, and after they were fucked up by them they were left to run in some of these tunnels and died. Spooky shit, huh? Hey, this came from their lips, not mine! Anyway, this place is known to be haunted, the guard told me that everyone that works there is aware of this shit and has experienced something, and my son told me that you do hear shit down in the tunnels. Yep, he walks the tunnels with the other inmates because the chow hall is located clear down road at the prison. Fuck me!!! OH, HELL NO!
Now, I’ve talked about the sensitivity that runs in our family many times on my blog, and my son is no exception. Some of us feel things, sense things, and him and I often dream them. When he told me after he first got there that he started having nightmares–one in particular where a woman was being drug into a room–well yeah, I freaked a little. Because honestly, I wonder if it’s a dream of something that once occurred. Laugh if you will skeptics, but in my family we believe this shit! Too much has come to pass for us not to. That, and my boy ain’t afraid of anything but spiders–yeah, I know…funny. I think he gets that from me–but talking about this shit you could tell it scared him. So now I have to wonder how insightful my husband is, cause I mean he couldn’t get the hell out of the parking lot fast enough. Sorry! I’m still cracking up about it. Well, ya know I’m completely fascinated by the place now, because I have an interest in all things dark and sinister. I was asking the guard if there’s any way to tour the tunnels. Crazy-ass Lou wants to walk em and see if anything goes “BOO!” Sadly, the guard said he didn’t think that was a possibility, so I might never get to experience haunted Clarinda. I did, however, do a little research on the place when I got home, and yeah…it’s supposedly haunted as hell. Man, I need to get down there! Oh well…I still have Salem to look forward to over Halloween 2012. Pandora Patty and I are going there for my 50th birthday (my birthday is the first week of November, so it’s ever so conveniently close). I’ve always been drawn to Salem Massachusetts, and have spent my life wanting to go. Hopefully we’ll even get a chance to room at the Lizzie Borden House in Fall River. I told ya…dark and sinister peaks my interest. Anyway, all in all it was a wonderful visit, I’m so happy to see my son is clean, sober, and getting back to his old self, and yeah…it was even worth the heat. Now onto another topic….
MEN DO NOT HIT WOMEN! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!…NEVER! EVER! EVER! ARE WE CLEAR ON THIS? I bring this up, because I know that there are some of us that have put up with this shit in the past, and unfortunately some that are still taking it as I speak. NO! IT IS NEVER ACCEPTABLE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!
I’m reminded of this because I got a call from my husband today on his first break. I could tell he needed to vent, and unlike him I’m always willing to listen. He works with one of his best friends, who told him that his sister just got the crap kicked out of her by her boyfriend. Yes, I’m familiar with her, met her once at a Labor Day get-together she had in the neighboring town she lives in, and well…although she’s really nice, her boyfriend is a pompous jerk, who does drugs. KICK EM TO THE CURB! KICK EM TO THE CURB! My husband tells me that this clown was flying high for days, they got in a fight, then he beat her ass. Not only that but right after some woman that he met over the internet comes to the door looking for him, and she’s holding a bunch of drugs too. This is where I need to add that this boyfriend of hers lives in her house, not the other way around. KICK EM TO THE CURB! KICK EM TO THE CURB! So now my husband has me fired up, and I’m throwing questions at him left and right.
Me: “Well, did your buddy go down and kick his sister’s boyfriends ass over this?”
Him: “I don’t know. He didn’t say. He just told me about what happened?”
Me: “What do you mean he didn’t say? That should’ve been the first fucking thing he said was “I had to go beat my sister’s boyfriends ass cause he hit her.” What the fuck, Honey! Well are you going to go beat his ass?”
Him: My husband chuckles in his uncomfortable way. “I don’t know. Why?”
Me: I’m fidgeting in my seat I’m so mad. “Why? Why? Well, because he hit her and someone has to kick his ass over that and let him know it better not happen again. If her own brothers aren’t going to get involved then you have to! YOU JUST HAVE TO!”
Him: “I don’t know what’s going on. I….”
Me: Oh…you know this is where I interrupted! “Yeah, well…none of you mother fuckers have to do anything, I’ll handle it. I’m going to take a damn baseball bat, use one arm to beat him with it and the other to throw his shit out the door!”
About that time my husband said, “Okay tiger, I’m gonna let you go.”
NEVER! EVER! EVER! EVER! LET A MAN PUT HIS HANDS ON YOU WOMEN! NOT FUCKING ONCE! I DON’T CARE IF HE SAYS HE’S SORRY, HE WAS HAVING A BAD DAY, THE FUCKING WIND CHANGED AND MADE HIM DO IT….BLAH…BLAH…BLAH! NEVER! IF HE DOES ONCE…..RUN! IF YOU DON’T IT WON’T BE THE LAST TIME IT HAPPENS!!!!!!!!!
Stay smart and safe ladies…. I love ya.