March 2001 in 2000s

SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 2001
Brea got me up for my hour out at 8:30. I knew I’d be first today so I was glad to have fallen asleep a little earlier last night. I was still a little tired, though, and was napping peacefully around noon, when Mattie, thanks to the fucking bitch next door, yelled over to Maria for her. I asked Mattie not to do that again and she said she understood and was cool about it. Meanwhile, the typical Mexican bitch couldn’t handle the idea of being asked not to be so rude and she just had to go yelling, screaming, banging on the desks, banging on the wall, banging on everything. I cannot believe how immature some people can be! I mean, these people are how old? Well, I guess I’ll have to be just as immature and give it right back to the bitch at 2 AM when she’s sleeping.

Got a letter from Tom, saying he thought he’d write more to make up for the loss of our Thursday visits. I was hoping he would. I love his letters.

He got vacation time approved for 4/30 - 5/4.

He said the rats have been good to him, not biting him or dashing out the open door. He put both water bottles in the cage so Harry would have something familiar from the tank, where he first lived. That way he’s not paranoid about forgetting to check the water, either, he said.

He ripped the mural like I knew he would when Tom wasn’t watching. We’re just surprised it took him this long. Anyway, I may not want to bother trimming the mural, depending on how damaged it is. I may just want to put up with it as it is for a year or so, then replace it. We’ll do a better job next time, now that we’ve had some experience. It’s just hard as hell to line up and keep air bubbles out!

He told me about installing new computers at work, testing and ordering supplies, etc. Instead of getting paid overtime, he’ll get extra time off.

He also says the garden’s still OK, but the prairie dogs have eaten the tops of the corn. What’s really weird is that we’ve got onions and wheat coming up in the front! Apparently, some of the food I’d throw out for them is sprouting this stuff.

Brea gave me an extra brunch sack for helping her serve. I took the juices and donuts. I told her I was going to pass Peaches the shitty salami, and she didn’t see it.

“Nope. I didn’t see it,” she said.

Misery would’ve wanted to write me up just for mentioning it.

Knowing how people tend to go the opposite way in which you steer them, I decided to write Teresa a note, saying I’m so so very sorry for yelling at her for yelling. I was just in a foul mood that day. Meanwhile, she can do what she wants.

Also, I need all the sleep I can get being on the schedule I’m on, so it’s too soon to be having problems with anyone in here if I can help it.

I can’t believe Chavez just passed a kite for me (my note to Teresa)! Chavez is pretty strict, so I’m surprised she did it. She wouldn’t even let next door out to make a phone call.

By accident, I got Teresa and her cellies really pissed off at me! I commented on her friend’s bruised face, or so I thought it was bruised, asking who had beat her like that. Well, according to Teresa, that was rude of me. But the bitch’s face really does look bruised! I guess this is just how her complexion naturally is, though.

Anyway, they drummed on their desks like children, and from here on out, I am in no mood to reconcile with anyone I may have a beef with over the next 28 days. I’ll give them exactly what they give me.

Dinner was good. We had chicken fried steak, salad, bread, instant mashed potatoes, a donut and asparagus, of all vegetables! It was so good! Who would donate such an expensive veggie?

“It’s not pop,” Chavez was telling the trustee. “It’s soda.”

I agree. She’s from the east too (New York), so we both call it soda.

The temperature in here has been pleasant. For some strange reason, it’s cold during the day but nice at night. Even warm. I’ve had to sleep in my underwear, but that’s more comfortable than sleeping in baggy stripes or gowns that twist all around you in your sleep.

Got a kite from Teresa saying she didn’t accept my apology, they’re not usually rude, we all have to live here, etc.

Fine, I replied. Don’t accept my apology, and you’re right – we all have to live here, so let’s just ignore each other (I don’t know if she’ll let me ignore her, though).

Teresa’s just another asshole. And yelling back and forth with someone stuck in the middle of it is rude. She accused me of being what she is – inconsiderate. And who the hell is she to tell me to sleep at night? And why? Because she does? She’s a selfish, ungrateful bitch. This is what I get after all I gave to her and did for her when she first got here. I showed her the ropes, got her set up with the phone, gave her shampoo, gave her a hair elastic, told her which DOs to look out for, and gave her a tube of lipstick which she said she’d give me 6 envelopes for, but after pushing, I only got two of them before I finally gave up on her. I won’t even mention all the emotional support I gave her. She’s a spoiled bitch!

FRIDAY, MARCH 30, 2001
Now that I’ve calmed down a bit, I’ll do some writing. I have the radio on to drown out the asshole that’s screaming on the phone.

Those fucking nurses! I’m sick of being woken up to be asked if I’m OK.

No, I’m not OK, you ass-wipes! Haven’t they figured that out yet?! It used to be they just wanted to see you move to make sure you were alive, but this one told me to say something, and I was like, “Now I have to say something, too?”

Well, I said something, all right!

Then the damn coffee cart came. Why the fuck do they have to make such a production out of the fucking thing? Can’t they just serve those who are awake and interested? Fucking greedy assholes!

I couldn’t fall back asleep. I was too pissed. And Tomaszewski’s on my shit list now, too. She fucking went out of her way to wake me up!

It’s change of shift now. It looks like Felix is on. Cool! I can call Tom. I really need his shoulder to cry on. First I was pissed and now I’m depressed. I really should’ve killed myself 5 months ago. I really should’ve. Every time I get ahead in life, it seems I just get set back. What’s the point in trying?

Talked to Tom, who helped calm me down and cheer me up at the same time with his words of encouragement. Doesn’t mean I believe him, though. I’m still not sure things will work out. I don’t believe shit till I see it. I’m a pessimist, remember?

Although I’ll miss seeing him twice a week, we agreed it’s best to use all our time on Tuesdays. We can’t see each other on Thursdays anymore, and Sundays are a zoo. So, we’ll have 4 more visits and I’ll have 4 more times where I’m stuck in that stuffy little closet waiting for rude DOs that are busy fucking around.

He’s going to put in $50 a week for the next 3 weeks, so I can have $30 for commissary and $20 for the coffee cart, even though it sometimes comes too early.

We had that gross ostrich meat with real, but bland potatoes and rotten zucchini.

Felix gave me an extra donut. “Shhh,” she said.

It’s got to be a secret, but why did she give me an extra one anyway? Well, whatever the reason, that was very nice of her.

She keeps asking if I’m OK, too.

I must look pretty shitty.

Peaches and Sarah (the one that’s all skin, bones and tats) got into it, so Sarah moved in with Jamie.

THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 2001
Nottelmann’s on now.

Because I napped so long yesterday I was up till 5 AM. I chatted with Jones. She’s gay, too. After just 4 hours of sleep, the usual commotion woke me up.

Barajas caught me talking to next door on my hour out, and me talking to Teresa on her hour out.

“You should know better,” she said in a shame-on-you tone of voice. I laughed in her face real loud and she shook her head and made like she was going to tear the hair out of her head.

Then when I saw her downstairs passing out aspirin, I called out that I wanted some. “You’re not getting anything, S!” she jokes.

Right before she left I asked her if I drove her too crazy, and she surprised me by saying no and that she’d put in a request to come back before I left. “I promise you,” she said, “but you have to behave.”

A hearing officer came to see me about a grievance I had put in. This is the first time one’s ever seen me about a grievance. It was the one bitching about how long it was taking for my last inhaler. Anyway, I told him I received it right after I submitted that grievance. “That’s how it always works,” he said.

Jill made her rounds today. She shocked me by stopping by to see me, saying it would be a while before she’d see us again (I guess she won’t be rearranging us any time soon). She said to put in a tank to her if I wanted out.

No way will I return to Tent City! The bugs alone are enough to keep me indoors.

I asked, and Nottelmann said that Rosa went to GP, but that was months ago and she doesn’t even know if she’s still here. That’d be a damn good sign if she wasn’t here because that’d most likely mean they dropped her case because she couldn’t have made the million-dollar bail, and she wouldn’t be convicted and DOCd that fast, either. If she’s free, I doubt I’ll ever be able to find her, and if she is, she probably went back to Mexico. I’ll ask Tom to check, but she could be in the tents. According to Jamie, I dorm is now for unsentenced tent people.

You can’t always trust what Jamie says, though. She’s so contradicting, saying she hates noise and is a quiet person. As Hope pointed out, she’s not quiet. And if she hates noise, how could she stand the tents?

Why can’t people just admit what they are?

Last night I told the juvi next to me to tell Maria, the girl that Laticia’s been yelling with, that her friend went to A Tower. I guess she’s buying it so far because I haven’t been sandwiched between any shouting matches yet today.

Today I splurged and bought a strawberry and a grape soda along with my hot chocolate.

I’m sooo fucking pissed! Just when I get unpissed, something goes and pisses me the fuck off again! Aaarrrggghhh!!!

I flushed the fucking hot dog down the toilet as soon as I got up here with my tray. I’m so sick of even seeing the fucking things!

Joe, have I got plans for you, you mother-fucking, scum-sucking deranged dickhead from hell!

Oh, what I would give to shove these fucking weenies down the throats of every sick, demented shithead involved in putting me here! Better yet, I’d just cuff them to a chair and pour pepper straight from its container right down their slimy little throats, and I’d make sure to get plenty up their noses, too. The fucking psycho judge expects me to live on spice and dead salad for half a year, then live my life according to a script that he and others who don’t even know me write out for me? I don’t fucking think so! They can all go fuck themselves and shove these weenies up their assholes while they’re at it!

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28, 2001
During yesterday’s visit with Tom, I was telling him something that’s true, yet funny. They forced psych meds down my throat as a kid, but in this place, as an adult, I’ve asked for them, yet no one will give them to me. I can’t believe I survived 5 months in this place without any meds!

Teresa’s friend, whose name is Laticia, has been driving me crazy. She’s louder than hell and she’s been yelling back and forth to one of the juvies. The door to the juvi pod is right outside my door, and this juvi’s been coming to the door screaming back and forth with her. It’s totally loud, rude and obnoxious. I screamed at them for it, but they just don’t get it. Typical loud, selfish Mexican!

Garcia woke me up for God only knows what. Sometime between 3 AM – 7 AM I was startled awake by the sound of the key opening the door. I know that reflexively, I gasped and turned towards her. As soon as I did this she left. She left pretty fast too, and I don’t think she even took two steps inside the door. But what would she have done if I hadn’t been such a light sleeper and woken up so fast? And why did she come in here? I hope she’s on again before I leave because I intend to ask her about it if she is.

Marilyn was so right when she commented on how fast the time goes out there, but in here it goes so fucking slow!

Tom gave me the first letter of one of my Christmas gifts, saying it’s a tool to help me do something I like to do, but I can’t figure that one out. He said he didn’t want to give me the first letter of all the gifts, or else I’d guess what they were. That told me I might have a doll waiting for me, because if he had said the letter ‘d’, that’d be my first guess.

Got a letter from him today. His letters really keep me going! He said he may work from home every now and then. That’d be great!

He says he hasn’t picked out a new dentist or audiologist yet, but I don’t need an audiologist. I need an otologist to clean out this canal.

He says the peas and corn are doing well, but it’s too soon to tell how the others are going to do.

I may’ve forgotten to mention this, but yesterday I received the civil complaint papers, but it’s all Greek to me! I’m going to wait till I get out of here and do it with Tom unless I really do ignore the PO, which will be my decision. If I abscond I can’t sue Joe or expose the pig.

TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 2001
Came back from visitation furious. I’m so pissed off right now that I could probably knock Mike Tyson out with one punch! Oh, I am so sick of being controlled and treated like a child! I’m so sick of the fucking power play!

This power-tripping bitch named Woodruff was rudely sitting, goofing off with other DOs. Meanwhile, I’m fucking sitting in that hot, stuffy little room just waiting for the fucking bitch to come and get me, or at least call for an escort. I would’ve let the bitch have it without caring if I got “written-up,” if she didn’t come and get me when she did. I’d have been like, “Fine. Here’s my ID, here’s my name. Write me the fuck up if it makes you happy.”

I’m just so fucking sick of being shit on and being people’s little puppet. People wonder why I’m so bitter and angry. One can only be pushed so far. My whole life is nothing but what others say I have to do. I’m beyond fed up! I realize that being a DO is tough work, but I don’t think they realize that they’re not invincible. Yes, they’re like Gods in here who can do no wrong and who can do anything they want to us and get away with it, but I don’t think they understand that once we get out of here, we’re no longer powerless against them. Legal action, if necessary, can be taken against them at that point and it may not get them fired, but it’d mar their records for life.

Things are going to change drastically when I get out of here. No, I am not going to pay $40 a month. No, I am not going to take “classes.” No, I am not going to wait on the community. No, I am not going to see a therapist (unless I want to). And most importantly, no I am not going to see any damn PO. I’m sick of catering to this state, along with those who have used/abused the law against me. The state doesn’t own me. The freeloaders don’t own me. I own me, and once I’m out of here, nobody tells me what to do or where to go. I’m taking back my life when I get out of here, even if that means I won’t be able to expose the pigs/black bitch for what they are.

Saw Palma working J, but she never saw me. Too bad. I really wanted to return the evil glare. She sure looked hot, though.

MONDAY, MARCH 26, 2001
Vasquez was on earlier and now Hudgens is on.

I still worry about how life will be after I leave here. It’ll all work out, he says. Do you know how many times Mr. Optimist - no, Mr. Unrealistic - has said that? And way more often than not, things did not work out. Problems don’t solve themselves. People do. These freeloaders aren’t going to just go away. They started this shit, and whether I want to admit it or not, I know it’s going to be up to me to end it. But how? Ignore the PO like I should have ignored the courts?

SUNDAY, MARCH 25, 2001
I called and chatted with Tom earlier. His cold’s better, but he still has a cough.

He says Harry still screams like a guinea pig for no apparent reason.

As part of Captain Pisser’s orders to pick on M, Means searched today, though she made a game of it. She’s so funny. She put on her gloves saying, “I’m looking for a million dollars. Is it here?”

She lifted up a corner of my mattress.

“Is it here?”

She looked inside a bag.

Then she noticed the wads of toilet paper covering the vent and said, “You’re not really supposed to do this.”

“But you didn’t see it,” I said.

“No, I didn’t see it,” she said and left.

When I told her that Misery should have her name, she said people tell her that all the time.

The coffee cart’s selling soda now. Or “pop” as these silly fools out here call it. They want $1.50 for a 20-oz. bottle. What a rip-off! That’d be something like 79¢ on the outs. It’s still worth it in this place, though.

When Tate was on last night I told her I had 34 more days to go, and when she asked me how many hours I had left, I told her I’d have to figure that one out. I calculated 916 hours and informed her of this on her next walk. Laughing, she gave me a thumbs-up and told me she was going to ask me that every time she works here.

It’s hard to believe I’ve been alone for 2 weeks, with the exception of the 18 hours I was cursed with Jamie.

I’m still walking 20 minutes a day, but I don’t know why I bother. I’m still fatter than life itself.

I asked Lopez when my imaginary girlfriend (although I’ve been mentally dumping her for Johnson more and more these days) would return so I could chew her out but she has no idea.

One thing that will be different about leaving this place is that unlike with places I left as a kid, I’ll be going home to somebody who truly loves me and accepts me as I am. Not to people who want to abuse me verbally and emotionally, and mold me and shape me into what they think I ought to be.

I was just chatting with Hope and Jamie, who are out cleaning the dayroom. Jamie just found out that she is on restriction for sure. I offered to buy her candy for some envelopes. Her being on restriction worries me, though. Especially if Chambers works while she’s still on it. She’s funny and all that, but getting stricter. People seem to always move when she’s on. If she works here before she’s off restriction, she’ll put her alone in here.

SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 2001
Armstrong’s on now, and in a little while, I’ll know who’s next.
I gave Sharon her lemon drop last night. Chavez got a kick out of it and was like, “But don’t you get meds?”

Got a nice long letter from Tom yesterday. In it, he explained their plans for new equipment at work, like digital cameras. Tom’s going to be training the people who are going to be operating the sorters. He said he got to meet a lot of the hotshots at the meeting and they had to discuss all the changes they plan on making.

He also mentioned the plants, saying it looks like we’re going to have a good crop of peas.

In our last visit, he said he was trying to set things up so there’d be money when I got out, and that’s really sweet of him, but not what’s most important. If we couldn’t spend any money on fun things for years – fine. As long as I’m with him and am free and we can get the necessities. I just want to get the fuck out of here, even though I’m going to miss the hell out of Johnson. I’d live in a tent in the worst part of Phoenix if it meant being free and with him!

My number one goal right now is to someday expunge these freeloaders from our lives for good. I feel as guilty as I do pissed. I’m sure he feels guilty too, telling me things would be OK at the sentencing, though I certainly don’t hold it against him. It’s not like he lied to me.

Maddox is on now. No Johnson. Bummer. There’s no denying I have a crush on that woman!

I slept a little better today because it’s the weekend. Weekends are probably going to be the only time I can sleep till I get stuck with a celly I can’t get rid of fast enough. Thank God I only have 5 more weeks to go, but even that’s way too long. I can tell it’s getting close, though, by the dreams I’ve been having. Dreams related to this place, but not the kind where I’m stuck here. Those won’t come till after I’m gone, but I’d rather that and to know that once I woke up, it was all just a nightmare. But while I’m here, it’s not just a dream. I have 35 more days before I can wake up from this nightmare.

FRIDAY, MARCH 23, 2001
LaBorde was on earlier and now Chavez is on.

When Chavez asked me why I moved, I simply told her I was told to move, so I did. I didn’t want to tell her what Johnson did. It isn’t her business anyway.

I trimmed my bangs for the last time. I’m now actually pretty damn good at trimming these bangs with nail clippers!

I was talking to Hope next door. She says she doesn’t like Jamie. She mouthed the words to me, but I think Jamie knew we were talking about her. The girl just never shuts up. And all she talks about is God and the demons that supposedly possess her. I talked to Jamie later, and she says she misses the tents and likes those better. Good, because M Dorm can do without her.

THURSDAY, MARCH 22, 2001
My tank was returned to me, asking me to be specific about what kind of paperwork I needed – federal or superior.

Visited with Tom for an hour today. We’re both getting so excited about my release as it gets closer!

He still has a cold but is improving.

He got another raise and promotion at work. He’s now getting a salary, too.

We discussed it today, and I’m not going back to the same dentist. We got a new dental plan, and although they accept it, I may as well play it safe and find someone closer.

I had another idea about what could’ve earned me that evil look from Palma. Before she came and got Silvia, she and Johnson were in the tower talking. Palma probably asked her why she had to come get Silvia when all Johnson had to do was put me in 4 or 5 or leave me where I was since the Spanish lady wasn’t closed custody. Johnson would’ve told her something like how I preferred to be alone and Palma couldn’t have really argued with her because Palma wasn’t working M that night. Johnson was. Anyway, if this is true, then Palma might’ve been ticked off at me for making more paperwork for her. And so late in her shift, too. Ha, ha, ha!

When Temple saw I was still awake, she stopped and chatted with me for about 10 minutes. Mostly about my leaving. I asked her if she’d like the honor of kicking me out when the time comes (I’m hoping she or Pérez will be here that night). She asked me what day I was leaving and I told her. She said it wasn’t a DOC pickup night, so it shouldn’t be so busy. She agreed she’d walk me out of here, or at least to the door for the escort to take over from there. That’d be so cool.

Wouldn’t it shock the media to know that a black woman was going to see me to the finish line?

Dinner was at 7:00. Hot dogs, veggies, potatoes and a donut. I could smell the fucking jalapeños from inside the hot dogs before I even opened the Styrofoam container they were in that we’re back to. I like that better than the brown trays, though. They’re easier to carry and they keep the heat in better.

Mena just offered me some Tylenol. I stashed it for later. I love how she leaves the cell smelling of her perfume. I miss my perfumes and my pink, glittery kiwi-strawberry lip gloss.

Every staff member at the Brattleboro Retreat that I was in in 1981 in Vermont was white. Here there’s a variety, which I like better.

Early this morning when I was sound asleep, I suddenly heard this voice saying, “Jodi, honey. It’s your hour out. It’s 8:00,” but I was too tired. I was beat for days, so I slept in till 10:30. Anyway, before I realized it was Bangert, I thought it was Jamie and was like – how the fuck did you get back in here!

When I was at the entry door with Bangert waiting for an escort, Barajas was across the way in K’s door talking with Bangert. Bangert was bitching about how the tower’s either too hot or too cold. Then I commented on the fact that it was so hot in my cell that I slept in my underwear (only women work M because only one DO works M and it can’t be a man. Men have to work with other women as they do in the towers). Then Barajas jokingly yells out, “Quit complaining, S!”

When I mentioned having 37 days left, she teased me by saying she wouldn’t have them put her in M while I was still here, and I said that was too bad because I missed her. After all, I miss driving her crazy.

“She does drive me crazy,” she told Bangert.

When I returned after my visit, I was telling Bangert how nice it was that I was taller than her. She insisted I wasn’t, so we stood side by side and looked at our reflections in the tower door, which is mostly glass like the big cell’s doors.

She was right. She is slightly taller. She’s old enough to start shrinking, though, but I didn’t tell her that.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21, 2001
Still not caught up on my sleep. This is the third day where I slept shitty and am tired. Maybe I can catch up tonight, but I won’t hold my breath. I want to get caught up before another celly who can’t shut up comes in to distract me, but I’ll explain what I mean by that one in a minute.

Anyway, the night Johnson was on, we joked and talked as usual. At one point I decided it was time to find out if Deanna and Teresa could be right, so I decided to do a little flirting with her. I was exercising and had my shirt off. I just had my bra and pants on. On the other hand, this isn’t all that unusual around here. Girls hang out in their cells in just their bras all the time. Some don’t even bother with the pants and just wear the cotton granny panties they have that have enough material to cover a car with (I miss skimpy satiny panties you could floss your teeth with).

Anyway, while I was jogging, Johnson came in to collect trash. She didn’t see me at first because she had her head turned toward someone in 1 that she was talking to. When she did see me, she blushed and quickly looked away for a second. It was rather hilarious, actually, seeing her face turn as red as her hair! I said I was sorry for embarrassing her and she said, “No problem. I’ve seen people in their underwear before.” Meanwhile, the elastic was stretched out on part of the bra and she called for another one for me. “What are you? A small?” she asked me.

“No, these are mediums, believe it or not,” I said.

Deanna and Teresa were obviously wrong, though. She couldn’t be attracted to me. Why would she blush like that if she was? This was an uncomfortable kind of blush, I think. Maybe I ought to back off.

When I was rolled up and ready to move from 2 up to 3, Palma, without saying a word, came in to get Silvia and gave me the meanest, most evil look that shocked the shit out of me. I was like – what the fuck did I do?!

I heard her ask Johnson if I was rolled up. I thought that was a weird question since I wasn’t going to A Tower with her. I later asked Johnson about this hateful glare I received, but she said not to worry about it and that she just had that evil look.

Yeah, well I’ll be treating Palma the same way I treated Christoffers by giving her a taste of her own meds. I respect those who respect me and I snob those who snob me. I’ve always believed in treating people like I want to be treated, yet treating people like they treat me, too. Palma can go fuck herself. Besides, I like Johnson better and she’s getting better looking by the minute, too. I’ve always been attracted to Johnson, but it seems to be growing lately. It’s like each time she’s on, my attraction’s intensified a bit more. I tried to will it away and tell myself – she’s not your type. You like dark. Not black dark because that’s getting a little too dark, but Palma-dark with the bronze skin, ebony eyes, and jet black hair.

It didn’t work. There’s just something about this redhead and her vibrant personality that turns me right on. She really went out of her way for me, and the more I get to know her, the more I like her and am attracted to her.

After I got settled in 3, I teased Johnson about her blushing. She admitted she was shy after I explained to her that because I’m not, I sometimes forget others sometimes are. I told her I had been an exotic dancer at one time.

She said she was sorry my “Victoria’s Secret” didn’t arrive, but she ordered it. She said not to have any nightmares or wacky dreams, either. We were laughing about that for a few, then she left for the night.

I told her about the dream I had about running into her in a grocery store and how we gave each other a big hug. (that one made her smile) Then, when I stepped back and glanced away for a second before looking back at her, she’d turned into Mena!

I was telling her how I was sick of being hit on by these skanky cellies I’ve been getting at times, and she said, “That’d make you uncomfortable, huh?”

Yeah, they’re just not as good-looking as you are.

“Yeah, kind of.”

I’ve been hit on more in this jail than in any bar I’ve been to in my 20s, and you’d think I’d be in heaven for a woman who likes women, but I’m not the least bit flattered by what’s hit on me here.

Kahn worked yesterday and was as sweet as could be. I really thought she was going to spite me.

I gave Sharon a lemon drop Monday night saying, “You didn’t really tell Johnson you like lemon drops like she told me you did, did you?” (I had offered them to Johnson, but she doesn’t like lemon) Anyway, I keep them for Sharon and any beggars I may get in here.

I gave some to Jamie, the one thing Kahn did sic on me that wasn’t very nice. She stuck me with this obnoxious 18-year-old who couldn’t shut up. She was rather delusional too, saying that she had demons pinning her down to her bed at times (she should have them pin Johnson on me).

Jamie was pretty with a nice smile and wavy brown hair to the middle of her back. She was of average height and weight. Her only drawback was her evil-looking gray eyes.

I was so glad to hear her express interest in being in a big cell, so I got Dixon to move her the following day. Kahn wouldn’t go for it, so I asked Dixon, who was hesitant at first, saying she didn’t like to move people. We even had Jamie splash a few drops of water on her face to make it look like she’d been crying over feeling claustrophobic in here.

Teresa, believe it or not, is back in 2. That’s because she and that Spanish lady are friends and she knows no English.

The older lady in 5, whose name is Mattie, has been alone for 2-3 weeks. Why can’t I be alone for the next 2-3 weeks?! Why can’t they put people in with her for a change? Kahn probably thought Jamie and I would be a good match, judging by our appearance and by us being closer in age. Both of us had our hair in pigtails, too. I told Fisher that if someone comes into Ad-Seg tonight – I don’t want them!

She laughed.

Am I really that amusing?

It’s 90° out. Hearing that shit is depressing, but at least it’s warmer up here on the upper tier. I’m just sooo beat. God, I hope I get caught up on my sleep!

Although my bad vibes about having to change careers all for something I’m supposed to have written are fading a bit, I still dread meeting the PO. On the other hand, I’m starting to pick up vibes about a home job, other than homemaking/farming. I don’t know what it could be, though. It’s not that I don’t want to work other than as a homemaker, I just can’t work out of the house due to my lack of transportation and the way I clash with people. It just really pisses me off when the courts try to force “standard” rules on people. Well, I’m not your fucking standard person, OK? Everybody’s different.

This world is so fucked up. Sometimes I really hate life and the people in it. It’s OK for newspapers to write lies about people they don’t even know, but I can’t privately send a piece of my mind to the people who harassed us for years like I did with the journal excerpts. What’s scary is that anything can be legally perceived as a threat. I can write to someone saying that their house is an ugly color and all they have to do is say that they see that as a threat, and then I’m fucked right there.

The bulk of my life has been miserable and it always will be, no matter where I go or what I do. There’s no sense in trying to kid myself on that one. The question is – when am I going to get fed up enough to end it all? I’m such a sucker to go on living in this crazy world!

MONDAY, MARCH 19, 2001
I didn’t know the DO’s uniforms included shorts. Kitchen wore shorts today.

Some nurse finally brought me my inhaler.

Teresa pled not guilty and was rescheduled for May. She’s still trying to get her bond reduced.

When Johnson came on I just couldn’t bring myself to snob her. I just didn’t have the heart to do it because other than that one time she snapped at me, she’s been so cool. She’s the only one that really truly cares about me in this place and has my best interest at heart.

When I asked her if she was still mad at me she said, “Nope.”

Of course, I still don’t know why she ever got mad at me in the first place, simply for asking to move. Just because it was a hectic night and she was feeling overworked; that was no reason to take it out on me. I’ll just give it right back to her next time.

I asked her to guess how many more days I had left, and as I figured she would, she guessed high at 57 when I really have 40 days left. We kind of have this little game we play. Then she was teasing me as she walked away about party hats and party streamers waiting for me at home. I couldn’t hear everything she said. Can’t hear shit in here and it pisses me off and it frustrates me.

M203 (my final move)

Dinner came an hour earlier, but I’m still going to go ahead with the lawsuit, and so’s Mary. Although it filled me, the portions were skimpy, we got no fruit or salad, and 11 hours between meals is still too long. We got a chicken patty with a fairly generous serving of instant mashed potatoes because that’s starch and two bites’ worth of veggies. We got crackers for dessert and a half-pint of milk. The amount we got couldn’t fill your average person. Fortunately for me, I fill up much faster than normal.

Anyway, I’m back in 3 where Johnson moved me last night at around 10:00. I didn’t even ask. She just moved me. This is the longest I’ve ever been alone here – one full week.

What happened was that that lady who speaks no English, who was here for a very brief time when Maria was here, returned last night. She obviously needs to be on the lower tier, so Johnson rolled me up, saying I’d still be alone, but I had to go to 3 where Silvia was getting ready to go to A Tower.

How incredibly sweet of Johnson to do this so I could still be alone! She made poor Silvia go to A Tower so I wouldn’t have to have a celly! I could hug her for it. Actually, I could do a little more than that, but I won’t get into that right now.

The story gets strange, though, and it involves Palma, but I’ll write about it later. I’m beat. Fell asleep late and got woken up for a million different things. Why does everything have to happen around here between 6 AM - 11 AM, including Myra’s mouth? I’m just glad I’m not vented to that mouth anymore!

SUNDAY, MARCH 18, 2001
I knew it. I just knew it. The men are already beginning to riot. They’re punching out DOs. Well, what did Joe expect? Did he really think he could cut the food to near starvation and get away with it without there being any problems? That stupid, stupid fuck! I can’t believe the little shit is still alive! Someone’s going to kill the bastard if he doesn’t quit this shit! Who does he think he is? God? I never met a greedier psycho in my life. He’s another Hitler, in a sense. It’s like there are no boundaries as to how far he’ll go.

Mary, Myra, Peaches and I discussed filing a lawsuit. Not to my surprise, Tomaszewski refused us the paperwork to do so, but it’s OK for her not to do the things she’s supposed to do. She’s not an inmate. She says she’ll call the sergeant, but I won’t believe it till I see one.

Supposedly, Hitler was reelected by the people of Sun City because he’s older like they are. So he’s living it up as a control freak while he still can.

I’m suing without a lawyer since I know those can’t be trusted. I know I’ll lose either way because nobody sides with an inmate, but I’m not going to just sit back and take it, either. I’ve got to do something.

It’s like I’m being punished for all I had and for all I ran from. I ran from noise and the city itself, only to be thrown right back into it. I could sleep and I had food, and now I’m being deprived of it. It’s either starve, live on starch, or live on commissary junk. I’m going to load up on commissary to get me through the long 13-hour stretches. I’ll get huge as a house living on sugar for the next 40 days, but I don’t give a fuck anymore because I don’t care to diet Estrella style!

It’s comforting to know we’re safe in these cells if there’s a big riot. At least, I hope we would be!

When I was bitching to Mary about how we inmates are powerless against the DOs, she said that hasn’t been true for her. She said some German DO threatened her last year and she got her kicked out of Estrella and transferred to Madison.

After asking Nottelmann, who’s on now, she told me to tank ILS (inmate legal services) for the lawsuit paperwork, so Mary, who had an extra tank, gave me one and I did. Nottelmann says they have 72 hours to give me the paperwork.

I’m also grieving Medical. It shouldn’t take 3 days for a fucking inhaler.

Sharon, please be on tomorrow night!

She’s the only reliable nurse who cares.

I’ve been trying to reach Tom for the last couple of hours, but I haven’t caught him. I think he’s online.

Mary said that the argument next door was over commissary. She was like, “My commissary is my commissary.”

That’s how I feel. I’m not obligated to feed indigents, although my heart truly goes out to them.

Nottelmann says she sympathizes with us. They all seem to except for Tomaszewski. Maybe Tomaszewski needs to spend a few days here with us in M Dorm. She could even stay with me!

Dinner came an hour earlier at 8:30 but 12 hours is still ludicrous. It was good, though. We had chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, salad and cake with ice cream. A nice big piece, too. It was more than I could eat at once. They really need to spread this food out and feed us at normal hours – 8 AM, noon and 6 PM.

It’d be nice if commissary could come around 3 PM tomorrow in the middle of the long stretch. It won’t, though. It’ll come around dinner time.

I called Tom who agrees this isn’t right. He encouraged me with the lawsuit, which means a lot to me to know he’s on my side and supportive of me. He said to file the necessary papers, even if I think it’s worthless.

SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 2001
Took a nap earlier. I figured I would because Mouth woke me up at 8 AM on its hour out.

Brea was on earlier and now Felix is on. She’s pretty cool.

Brea and Chavez totally sympathize with the long stretch of hunger M Dorm must endure between meals, and how it’s OK for the jail to slack off on its duties and responsibilities, but not for us.

For days we’ve been asking for grievances and tanks and were told they’re out of them. It’s their fucking job to keep these things stocked up, but truthfully, I don’t buy it. They’re not out of them. They just don’t want to deal with everyone bitching about the food. Brea finally got me some today. I know they’re useless. I just use them to vent, along with these journals. This time I didn’t even bother to bitch about the same old, overspiced shit we usually get. I just let them know that 13 hours between meals is too long. And why must we be charged $30 a month for donated food?

There was a security override last night because according to Chavez, there were problems in the dorms. They were probably pissed off with the food situation. I’m surprised the men haven’t rioted, although I think they eat earlier than we do.

Chavez says she dreads working in the dorms tomorrow night.

Oh, boo-hoo, Chavez! What a hard life you have. Why don’t you try being an inmate in this place?

Mary, who says the media follows her every time she goes to court, says she’s going to give them a piece of her mind regarding Joe, rather than the usual “no comment.”

Mary and Peaches were arguing earlier. If someone as easy-going as Mary has problems with Mouth and Peaches, imagine if I were with them! I’d kill them both, although I’d refuse to be with them before I got the chance. Even if that meant I had to go to A Tower.

Brea searched today but didn’t take anything. She ignored my extra underwear and barely went through anything. When I commented on how there’s been a lot of searches lately, she said the new captain’s a real pisser (something she swore she’d adamantly deny saying) and for some reason, M is his pet dorm to pick on.

I called Tom today and told him about the food arrangement. As always, he gave me strength and a little bit of hope that said - maybe things will be OK out there, though I must see it to believe it. He reminded me that no matter what the PO is like, I still have to be transferred. Yeah, but what if that one’s a nightmare, too?

Anyway, I love that man and don’t know what I’d do without him. I can’t wait to leap into his arms the day I get out of here! I miss all we used to do together and look forward to all that we will do together (as long as this state and its freeloaders don’t drive me to suicide). I still haven’t figured out what he sees in me. Aren’t I nothing but one big burden and expense? Sometimes I feel like I’ve done him way more harm than good and like I can never repay him for all he’s done for me. I can stand to think of him and Houdini more often now without cracking up because it’s getting closer.

Felix saw me crying and came in to ask if I was OK. That was nice of her to care enough to ask. I told her I’d be OK. I just get a little homesick. It’s getting closer (exactly 6 weeks) but not fast enough! Been here 20 weeks, 140 days.

They say it’s going to be 85° Monday, while I sit and freeze my ass off in this cold, wintry cell.

Tom says the prairie dogs are out. Can’t wait to see them!

I don’t know how it is that using Palmolive dish-washing soap for shampoo, with no conditioner, has made my hair as soft as silk, but it has. And this jailhouse brush is a miracle at keeping knots out. I’m going to buy a new one to take home with me the week before I leave.

Mouth’s bitching about starving again. As much as I love to hate Mouth, she’s got a point – this is crazy. Totally, totally crazy. And I’m hungry as hell, too.

Maybe they’re trying to make more money by doing this. By starving us, they probably think that people will buy more from commissary. I know I’ll be buying more!

We had the hot dogs I expected we’d have. I ate half of it because I was so hungry and they weren’t overly spicy tonight. The rice, corn and bagels alone were enough to fill me, but what about the salad and dessert we’re supposed to have every night? We never got that.

Myra surprised me by asking if I was OK over here.

Why does she care?

I’m barely OK.

I hope Sharon or somebody comes with a new inhaler tomorrow because mine’s completely dead. Although I can go a few days without it, asthma gets progressively worse the longer it goes untreated.

I can actually hear bass thumping every now and then, though very faintly. We must be near a street, although those car stereos can be heard for miles and miles.

I’m looking forward to stupid little things like burning the manila envelope that carted around my papers while in here, and that also served as my calendar (I drew one on it in November). I stand it up, leaning against the wall.

FRIDAY, MARCH 16, 2001
I’ve been sleeping a little better now that we don’t have the 5 AM interruption.

Atkinson got me the broom, mop and nail clippers when I asked for them, so I don’t know what to make of her, and Mena’s never all that friendly anyway.

Nancy and Peaches went to court today. I’ll feel bad for Nancy if she goes to prison. She’s so nice. Peaches says the only way she’ll leave Ad-Seg is if they give her a two-for-one. I hope they do. The fewer people I don’t like in the pod, the better. Then I don’t have to worry about getting stuck with them. I just wish Myra would hurry up and get out of here! If she’s still here at the end of the month, then she’ll probably be here for the rest of the time I’m here.

I still dread meeting with this PO, so afraid she’s going to have me thrown back in here on some fictitious violation. Once again, regardless of how she is, I can’t do what I can’t do. Period. She can try and demand I jump to the moon, but I can’t do the impossible. I refuse to rearrange my whole life for something I’m supposed to have written. I lost 6 months of my life to these freeloaders. They stole my freedom and they’re not about to steal my life, too. That’s just getting ridiculous, unfair and asking too much of me. But nothing’s been fair yet when it comes to me and my freeloader problems, so why should they be when I get out of here?

Anyway, I hope this shit for a PO (if I report to her) will allow Tom to accompany me. I’d certainly feel more comfortable.

After thinking about it, I’m not sure I should return to the same dentist. These people are in my mouth, so if anything they’ve heard has pissed them off, there’s no telling what they might do, although I’m sure they’d still be the same. No sense in taking chances, though.

I just want to know how the murderers, rapists and child abusers/molesters don’t always make the paper, but the journalist does. Even druggies don’t make the paper as much.

And how did the guy who burned a child’s hand on a stove (Nancy told me this one) receive just 5 years of probation and no jail time? Was it just for being a guy?

Both Nancy and Peaches received continuances on their cases. How cruel! I know why they do it, though. To punish the person by making them have to stay in jail longer (although they do get back time), to tease them with the suspense of not knowing what’s going to happen next, and to hopefully make more money if the person has money on their books.

Chavez just gave me my Kahn grievance back. It’s everything I expected it to be, with the sergeant protecting its own, saying that yelling for me to wait wasn’t being rude or disrespectful, it was orders given to me by an Officer.

Well, I’m sorry, but her tone of voice was rude and disrespectful and it was unnecessary and totally uncalled for. This sergeant wasn’t there. I was. Also, at 35 years of age, I don’t do “orders” from anybody. You just don’t tell me what to do, and I don’t care who you are or what the courts say.

I just thought of something that contradicts the pig being friends with the black bitch. If he’s her buddy, then why didn’t he come after me when I failed to appear in court on account of that subpoena I never got? I just don’t get that part of it. He took the time to drag me into the city for questioning, but not for a bench warrant?

Chavez just said it’s 6:00. Another 3½ hours till dinner.

I was surprised that with all the ice cream I ate last night it didn’t upset my belly like dairy tends to.

It’s been quiet next door for hours! Mouth must be sleeping for it to be this quiet.

Mary and Mouth just got into an argument next door, and Chavez was her usual threatening self, telling them to get along or she’d put their heads through the wall. I told Chavez she could put Mary in here if need be, but she said she isn’t moving anybody.

How the fuck does Mary stand that mouth that’s as loud as a black? How can she even hear her radio or concentrate on her writing?

Now the mouth is pissed that it’s 8:30 and dinner’s still not here. I’m pissed, too. I don’t like the 13-hour stretches between meals. I’m forced to save and eat all the damn bread to hold me over, but it doesn’t help much. I wish commissary sold some healthier stuff too, and not just junk because then I’d use them as a grocery store.

Oh, what these freeloaders have done to my life!!!

We got burritos tonight, but we got our old portions and not even the usual 2 pieces of bread. The potatoes were horrible. Totally inedible. They were loaded with pepper so bad the whole room smelled of it. We had milk instead of the usual sugar-water juice.

I’m considering letting Mr. Arpaio himself know that if we don’t start receiving our PM meal at 6:00, and that if some of this food doesn’t improve, I’ll file every lawsuit imaginable when I get out of here.

THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2001
Chambers is on now. She’s way cool. I was teasing her about writing her up and told her a couple more jokes. She told me some, too. I’ll write them in.
Two potatoes are standing on a street corner. How do you know which one’s a prostitute?

The one showing more skin.

Here’s one that’s great: A teacher asked her 1st-grade class how to spell the word ‘ear’. A bunch of hands went up and the teacher called upon Timmy.

“E-e-a-r,” he said.

The teacher told him he was wrong and called upon Susie.

“E-a-a-r,” she said.

The teacher told her she was wrong and called upon Johnny.

“E-a-r,” he said.

“Correct!” said the teacher. “Now put it in a sentence.”

Johnny pretended to take a hit off an imaginary joint and then said, “Ear,” as he made like he was passing it to someone.

Anyway. I was bitching to Chambers about the dual standards around here. The DOs can have all the shitty attitudes they want, but we get threatened with write-ups if we’re in a pissy-assed mood and we snap at them. (I feel like I’m reliving my childhood all over again! I’m back in Brattleboro and Valleyhead and I can’t get out!) She said she understood and she pulled me out of my dismal mood and got me laughing.

We even got to talking about my case and I was explaining to her why I was set up and all that. She was teasing me saying, “Yeah, you’re going to stalk me when you get out! I better watch out!”

I’m sure I’m not! I’d be willing to bet that a good 30% of these inmates are either completely innocent or here on trumped-up charges. Maybe more than that.

Jill was here earlier to see who wanted out and who didn’t.

They canceled visitation today, but Felix was kind enough to let me call Tom. Felix said she heard it was because they were moving some inmates, and Tom said something about a mock nuclear disaster drill. It pisses me off that I didn’t get to see him today.

Tom also said his meeting went well and that he’s going to put it in a letter. Can’t wait to read about that!

I only had 5 minutes, so I told him to read my journals and that’d tell him what’s going on.

After being bullshitted by two DOs, I finally got new pants from Lamm who was on 3rd shift. She was really nice and it turned out that I didn’t have to stay up all night and be her worst nightmare like I thought I was going to have to be in order to get the fucking pants. She promised me the pants, and although I pointed out that most DOs seem to think that promises were meant to be broken, I said I’d give her the benefit of the doubt.

Hope, the girl with Teresa and Nancy, was crying quite a bit. The older lady in 5 returned from court smiling, yet when Myra asked her how it went in court she gave her a thumbs down.

Yeah, that’s how it usually goes in court.

Everyone’s pissed off about the new eating arrangement and grieving it too, as if they think that’ll change things back to the way it was. Myra said on the phone to her cousin to tell her mom they’re starving her daughter.

Have they forgotten that their daughter’s 300 pounds? She’s a long way away from starving!

I’m not grieving because I know it wouldn’t do me any good and that they’ll still give us the same old shit. We’re just going to get extras on the sides we get with dinner.

It’s 9:00 now and we still haven’t had dinner. It’s been 13 hours since we were last fed. Naturally, the pig next door is fuming her ass off, but even I would appreciate it if they’d hurry up and get dinner here.

No wonder this psych case next door takes psych pills. She needs stronger doses, though! I just want to plug that mouth up with pads so bad!!! Every day, in between tissy fits, it’s laughing its ass off. How can someone in jail, looking at a zillion years in prison, laugh like that every day, and what the hell’s so fucking funny anyway? When she’s not bitching or crying, she’s laughing like this is all one big joke!

I wonder why they decided we should get 2,900 calories a day. Why such an odd number? That many calories a day is ridiculous. Especially for women.

Felix, the Spanish DO that’s on now, is really nice. Pretty too, but too big in the wrong direction.

We had ostrich meat patties, corn, peas, carrots, lima beans, broccoli, bread, mashed potatoes and a donut. I couldn’t eat it all. Then afterward, we each got a huge serving of cookies and cream ice cream. I couldn’t eat all that, either.

Felix came in and searched earlier, taking the ripped pants and a big plastic bag for moving that I swiped from the dayroom.

That’s right. Just take, take and take from Jodi S.

It’s OK, though. I can use commissary bags to move my shit with. I don’t bother rolling up my sheet and blanket anymore. I just take the whole mattress because most of them around here are flatter than pancakes. Big 200+ pound people like Myra and Silvia crush them flat in no time. They really should get new mattresses every few months. God knows they have the money.

If Myra’s gained nearly 100 pounds here, imagine how much she’ll gain in prison! I hear prison food is better and that you get more variety.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14, 2001
Although I was up late last night (I scared Rylel when I asked her the time), I was up by 8:30 because of all that was going on – my hour out, which was too early, the coffee cart, clothes exchange.

After I got my pants I realized they were torn on one side from the hip to the knee.

“Sexy,” said Atkinson, who’s calling the laundry department for new ones.

Although we agreed she owed me 6 envelopes for the lipstick I gave her, Teresa only gave me one this week because she needed to write to her boys and job.

A new girl came in late last night. Rylel put her in with Teresa and Nancy.

Jackson was here again this morning. I don’t have any bad vibes at the moment, but there’s not really much she could do to me other than put me where I don’t want to be till I can get moved.

Quickly, before they could be taken like the last time, I wrote letters to Helen, Ida and Mom. I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing – how could this petty bullshit make two sentences on the back page, let alone a novel on the front? Like I said, it must’ve been some letter.

After taking the night to think about it, I decided to grieve the truth about Kahn rather than be like most lying, exaggerating, vindictive assholes. I was going to add that she swore at me and trashed my stuff, but I don’t want to stoop to society’s level and be like 90% of these people are. So even though I know sergeants always side with their own, I said she was rude and disrespectful. Her screaming at me was uncalled for and I don’t want her working M Dorm while I’m still here if she’s going to be hostile like that and unable to control herself.

I know I’m risking Kahn spiting me for this by throwing me in the big tank that she knows I hate, or something like that, or even giving me a bogus write-up, but it’s a chance I’ll take. Then again, maybe she won’t do anything since she knows grievances can’t hurt her. Someone could write that a DO tried to beat them up or get it on with them and they’ll still ignore it and side with the DO. That’s just how it is unless you’ve got large groups of people complaining about the same person, but even then it’s unlikely that any action would be taken.

Will that fucking mouth next door shut up! Ugh! That mouth of Myra’s goes on and on and on! It never stops unless it’s asleep! I’m so fucking sick of that fucking trap flapping! It was barking about Glenn at intake making her cry and now it’s bitching about her lawyer. I swear this bitch is going to need dentures when I get through rearranging that mouth!

Mena’s on now.

I have to stop for a while. I can’t write to the tune of that mouth.

I asked Mena if Atkinson told her about the ripped pants like she said she would.

She didn’t.

It figures.

Everyone lies to me! Nobody can be trusted. Nobody.

Mena wasn’t as friendly towards me as she was to some of the others when she came on. I’m sure I can thank the Arizona Republic for that.

Even Mary and the others knew about the article. I don’t know if some other DO showed it to them or what and I didn’t ask.

Mary wants a copy of the journaling I’ve done since being back in M Dorm. Not while she’s still at this jail, I told her.

I’m so bored and depressed right now, so I guess I’ll write. Tomorrow’s when they cut our food down to two meals a day. One at 8 AM, then at 6 PM. I’m surprised they’re not going to give us the first meal at 6 AM. I suppose 3rd shift will be glad they’ll no longer have to deal with serving chow. I’ll be glad I’ll no longer be woken up at 5 AM.

We’re still getting the same shit; just divided up differently, although we won’t get things like eggs, cereal or waffles. We’ll still get 8 pieces of bread in total which is ridiculous. Still 80% starch. Brunch is supposed to be something like 6 pieces of bread, 3 pieces of meat (they should give us more meat than bread), a small package of crackers, and 2 pieces of fruit.

Got a letter from Ida asking about the meal cut, and something about a power outage for a few days that must’ve been hell.

Don’t know what that’s all about.

She says she’s been eating like a pig, taking a computer class, and she asked about Misery and Julia.

She said her brother-in-law in Germany is sick, and she may spend the hot summer, which she hates, in Germany helping her sister out.

She was encouraging me to hang in there, saying I was almost out of here, etc., but right now I feel as if time’s standing still.

Hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs!!! I want to smash every fucking one that exists, shove them one by one down the jail commander’s throat, down Joe’s throat, down the freeloader’s, pig’s, Public defender’s and judge’s throats – I’m fucking sick of it!

When Mena let me out to dump my trash I said, “Please tell me the fact that I still haven’t gotten the pants isn’t personal because of the slanderous article.” She got all defensive at first but assured me I’d get them (I know she’s full of shit, though). She said that’s the shift runner’s job, and they’ve been busy. She also insists she knows nothing about the article.

Sarah, from what I heard, just came into M Dorm and was put next door in 1. She’s a pitiful-looking one! She really looks like a criminal. Bone thin from drugs and lots of ugly tats. She doesn’t creep me out like Charlotte did, but she’s still pretty gross. Thank God there was a lower bunk over there, which I heard her say she needed, or else she’d be in here. If it weren’t for my visits and commissary, I’d be making sure to get my ass written up so I’d have to be alone. Then again, that may not be so easy. I’ve said and done numerous shit that DOs would normally write people up for, yet for some reason they let me get away with it. I’ve cussed Palma out and gotten away with it. The last DO you want to fuck with around here. I’ve had all kinds of shit I’m not supposed to have. I even flipped Misery off!

These DOs are full of shit and I’m getting really fucking fed up again. I swear I hate every single fucking one of them! I want my fucking pants or I’ll fucking go to my fucking visit tomorrow in my fucking underwear! You got that, you assholes?!

I can’t wait till Johnson gets back. You don’t know what you’re in for, big girl! I’m going to be such a mean bitch and give you a taste of your own medicine right back!

TUESDAY, MARCH 13, 2001
M202

I’m back by myself in 2. Espi, of all people, moved me. The reason I was surprised Espi moved me (after Mary told me Charlotte went home and not to D2 for a few days) was that she said the last time that she doesn’t move people, period. Maybe it’s because I stuck up for her the last time she was here when Myra and Peaches were ganging up on her for not shipping me to A Tower for saying shit they didn’t want to hear. Or maybe she feels comfortable with me being alone. We made a deal, though. If any loony tunes come in, I have to return to 4. No prob. I’d just get out of there again. Although I prefer 3, 2 is better than the big tank.

After I got settled in, Espi asked me how my new condo was, and I was like – ha, ha. I asked her how her straw house was going, and she said things were going as planned. Good for her, I told her. Like we should have, she’s doing all the work herself. She and her husband.

I told her I had 46 days left and she said I had 51 the last time she worked.

Yeah, something like that.

Anyway, it was on my hour out that I cleaned the cell and rolled down here. The only negative is Myra’s mouth, but my radio takes care of that.

What the fuck is it with these DOs? Are they snobbing me because of the grand article or what?

Johnson started off as her usual friendly self last night. Towards the end of the night, Silvia, who had gone out to make a call, informed me that 2 was empty. So, after the nurse and commissary had come and gone, I asked her if I could roll down to 2 if Charlotte wasn’t coming back, then the redheaded bitch goes, “You can’t have that room! You’re staying here!” Then she slammed the door in my face, and I was like – fuck you too, bitch!

Johnson’s never snapped at me like that or been that rude to me before, and I swear, if she ever yells at me again, I’ll yell right back, and believe me, I can yell a lot louder than she can! We’ll see how she likes getting screamed at by someone half her size and she ain’t getting shit from me after I leave! I’m not writing her at all. I hate her fucking guts now and I don’t ever want to see her again because the sight of her makes me want to puke as it is and I don’t know what the fuck I ever saw in this snobby, schizophrenic bitch in the first place! Guess I know how to pick ‘em, don’t I? I’m so fucking pissed at her and I’ll never talk to her again.

Here’s another person that’s really damn lucky I’m not telekinetic. I’d fucking take her fucking handcuffs and cuff her to that fucking fence-like thing on the top tier, then I’d make all her clothes disappear so she’d be cuffed there stark naked!

Tom said not to take it personally and that it may’ve had nothing to do with me. This was right after she cheered me up and got me laughing, saying that the animals needed me after I said I should’ve killed myself 6 months ago. Even so, it’s kind of scary when someone suddenly flips on you like that. She just suddenly up and lost her mind. She had about 3 walks left when she came unglued, and each time she walked by she didn’t even have the guts to look at me and I was like – what’s the matter, tough girl? Can’t even look at me?

Well, I don’t know who the hell pissed on your dinner last night, Officer Johnson, but you can go to hell!

Now Kahn, who hasn’t been here for about 6 weeks, is being a rude mother-fucking bitch. I wanted to kick her in the ass so fucking hard when she was in front of me that she’d have flipped in the air at least 5 times before she hit the floor!

Talk about this place having its pros and Kahns!

Anyway, this bucked-toothed asshole had me wait by M’s door for an escort while she sat on her ass in the tower picking her nose, then after a few minutes, I told her no one was coming for me.

“You just gotta wait for them,” Snotball says.

So, back to the door I went. Hann was across the way in L. When she stepped out into the hall to await someone’s arrival, she smiled at me and said something I couldn’t make out.

You mean someone’s actually in a good mood around here? That’s pretty astonishing!

Then some trustee went by and said, “Pretty hair.”

She wouldn’t have been so bad herself if she’d had some teeth.

So, I waited and I waited and I waited. Then I finally went to the tower again and Kahn screamed at me, “Just wait!”

Since I can’t take the wad of gum the bitch always chews and stuff it up her nose, I’m going to grieve that bitch! And I’m going to hype things up too, just like the media does. Yes, they really taught me well!

Back to the door I stomped. I was fuming! Just totally furious. If she had said one more word to me I’d have busted into that tower somehow and splattered her across the monitors, door releases and light switches!

After a few minutes, without a word, she came to the door and asked Controls to open it. They did and I bolted out of there before I could act on my murderous fantasies.

I fucking hate every single one of these fucking DOs!

I discussed the latest happenings with Tom, who still insists everything will be fine when I leave.

He said he’d coach me on what to say to the PO I have to report to the day after I get out. He said I shouldn’t be confrontational and that I shouldn’t openly disagree with the things she says, even if I do.

But how can I not? How can I not disagree with something either impossible, inappropriate, or both?

Then he said something about me simply saying I’d do my best, and then getting lost in the shuffle since they see so many people.

Lost in the shuffle? Lost in the shuffle?! In whose dreams? Quit being so damn naïve, I told him! As I’ve said before, something wants me to suffer on account of these freeloaders. It’s not going to let me get “lost in the shuffle.”

I just hope Tom knows what he’s talking about because I’d hate to end up wishing I handled the PO differently, just like I ended up wishing I’d handled the freeloader differently.

He said he didn’t want to control me by seeming too bossy, but what a joke. Being controlled is all I’ve known since the day I was unfortunate enough to be born into this sorry world.

On my way back from visitation, I saw Becky. I wondered what had happened to her. She’s in J dorm. She asked how I was through the window as I breezed by. I told her I had 46 days left and she gave me a thumbs up.

Kahn stayed in the tower as I returned, never uttering the slightest apology for her rudeness. The second I walked into the cell, I knew she’d been in here. That witch Charlotte had covered the vent by stabbing a spoon through a Styrofoam dinner tray cover and into the grill. There was a hair stuck to it too, and with my precision to detail and impeccable memory, I knew it had been tampered with because it was pulled out slightly and the hair was in a different position. I asked Mary if Kahn had been in here and she said, “I don’t know. I was asleep. I don’t know nothing.”

Then Peaches quickly added, “We were all asleep.”

Bullshit. That’s such bull-fucking-shit! They made it so obvious just by the way they said it, too. Why are they so afraid of Kahn?

Nonetheless, I’m not surprised Kahn was in here. Not that I have anything to hide, but she was so pissed off I’ll bet she was just dying to find something she could hang me on. I’m surprised she didn’t plant something in here, but I checked the cell thoroughly to make sure she didn’t. I’m sure she was just spot-checking, being the nosy bitch she is.

There was a letter in here from Tom. I’m surprised she let me have it, too. He said he didn’t know how to tell by the location code he’d call in for which cell I was in. I was in 4 at the time. The code is 1M242. I don’t know what the 1 is for. The M is probably M Dorm, the 2 is probably pod 200, the 4 is probably the cell, and the last 2 are probably the 2nd floor.

He told me all about the plants and future plans for a garden and fences. He talks about weeding the plants, but he hates weeding. At least he can’t get cited for it out here if he slacks off on it.

I laughed at how he said he hasn’t been bitten by the rats in weeks, but not because they don’t want to bite him but because he’s been careful.

His work hours seem to have gotten a bit erratic. He said he might have to go in to do some training because of a new procedure.

He got the list of things to get and do and says it should be no big deal from what he can see and that he can do most of it that week.

He says he’ll probably bomb and will be washing everything that week. I’ll be washing a lot, too. Like the spare pet toys that get bombed. Probably some of my clothes that have been sitting around forever, too.

He closed by saying his letter would be short because I was the only good writer in the family. That’s sweet of him, but his letters aren’t that short and he is a good writer. I’m amazed at all the letters I’ve gotten from him!

Two nights ago we had chicken, last night we had the usual, and when I heard Myra say it was red slop, I thought – forget it! I refused dinner when Kahn opened the door. She said, “Not even the pudding, grapefruit, anything?”

Just the sight of her alone killed my appetite.

MONDAY, MARCH 12, 2001
M204

Chambers did help me, and believe it or not, I’m in a big cell with Teresa and Nancy. It’s nice to be in it with two nice, quiet people, rather than three loud obnoxious bitches, but I still prefer small cells. I’m not worried about it, though. I’m not the new kid on the block anymore who no one knows, so it’s just a matter of days before someone pulls me. It’s too bad I don’t like these cells. I could probably finish up my time right where I’m at. Big cells are easy to get into and hard to get pulled out of unless you ask.

Anyway, Nancy’s very mellow and quiet, but Teresa’s changed a bit. She’s really adapted to jail life fast! She was always crying, but now she smiles a lot and even chats quite a bit. She talks and Nancy listens while the rodent lady does her usual thing – writing and listening to music. They pace a lot too, like Ida used to.

I guess I myself have really adapted to jail life since using the toilet in such an open cell isn’t as hard as it was the last time I was here, though I certainly don’t like it, and I still hate these big cells.

Teresa’s all nervous about court today and Nancy’s all nervous about court on Friday. Today’s Teresa’s preliminary hearing and Nancy gets sentenced on Friday.

I don’t know what Nancy’s in for, but my vibes tell me it’s child-related. That’s also logic telling me that too, because that’s what most Ad-Seg people are in for, and because she’s not willing to discuss it. She said she was a security guard at the courthouse when they arrested her.

In the meantime, as long as they let me sleep, I don’t care if they pace under my nose and talk a lot since I’m down to 47 days. As long as they’re sane and people I feel comfortable with!

Last night I was so beat that I didn’t even hear Teresa leave for court! I didn’t even hear them announce underwear exchange. I slept from about 1 AM – 10 AM and so did Nancy. I wonder if I’ll be able to sleep with both Teresa and Nancy in the room.

I’m on the top bunk. The one Lora was on the last time I was stuck in this damn cell. It’s a bitch getting down from upper bunks in the big cells because there’s no desk close enough to climb on.

On our hour out I swept, mopped and walked. Means was saying she was going to drop the s from her name so she could “B. E. Mean.”

Mary, Myra and Peaches were stunned to see me in here on their hour out. I can’t believe I’m in here myself and that I threw myself in here. Guess that’s just how desperate I was.

The coffee cart came at 10:30 and I got veggie soup and hot chocolate and even shared a few swallows with Nancy. She didn’t ask, either. I offered.

Nancy gave me a commissary sheet with all the prices listed that she got from someone in the dorms. Some of it is written in pen.

We must be having a cool spell out there because the heat was back on again today.

Teresa’s back from court. They vacated it, which means they simply postponed her court date.

Peaches gave Teresa an empty shampoo bottle, so now she can have a water/juice bottle, too. Peaches can be as sweet and as kind as she can be mean and vindictive.

Johnson’s on now. I told her not to put anyone in here who may come into M Dorm tonight. “OK,” she said.

Then she told me there was a huge article about me on the front page of the Arizona Republic.

How the fuck can such petty bullshit like this make front-page news? This is a letter I was supposed to have written, not people I killed or something like that. Must’ve been some letter the pig created for it to make the front page! What? Did they go and libel me for refusing their interview? I can’t believe it’s perfectly legal for someone to write about someone they don’t even know and publish it! Is the media ever going to forget about me? Or are they always going to treat this like it was a murder case or like I was some celebrity that got in trouble? I don’t see how they can be allowed to write about people without their permission. You need to get someone’s permission to include them in a book.

This is getting blown way out of proportion. Totally out of perspective. Even if I had written I’m going to kill you a million times, it’s just words on paper. Whatever happened to the cliché about actions speaking louder than words?

Johnson wouldn’t get into it with me, saying she remains neutral and that they wrote good things about me.

Oh, really? But they don’t even know me! They never met me! How could they write anything, good or bad, without even knowing me?

It really embarrasses me to know that Johnson of all people read this shit. Words can’t describe just how embarrassed and pissed I was when she came out and told me this shit. I’d rather it be in every newspaper worldwide than in one read by someone that I happen to like and am attracted to. I don’t need her reading about shit that never happened.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m calling Johnson a liar, but nobody’s neutral about anything. Everyone has their opinions about things and she’s got to feel something one way or another.

She let me call Tom, who as always, calmed and reassured me somewhat, but I don’t know. If they haven’t forgotten about me yet, they never will. In 10 years they’ll want to interview me! What’s next? A made-for-TV movie?

How the fuck could this happen??? How can these sick twists be out there living their lives while I, the victim, sit and suffer in this place? And how many more times is the media going to butt into my business and write what they want to write? I realize now that the truth will forever be known only to Tom and I, along with his family, of course. Johnson probably thinks I’m some cold-blooded, prejudiced monster. I just want to curl up and die! It’d be one thing if Mena or Misery told me about this shit, but Johnson! I just want the ground to open up and swallow me up forever! She probably thinks I had to be joking the night I asked for Rosa G as a celly, after the paper no doubt said I hated all blacks and Hispanics. They tried to say that the second batch of freeloaders that lived and partied in that house at our expense was Hispanic, when in fact they were a mix of Hispanic and white. Wouldn’t it shock the shit out of them to know that one of my ex-girlfriends was Mexican and another was half Puerto Rican, half black, even if we only had one-nighters! I won’t bother to mention the Cherokee woman I saw for half a year. That’d probably be too much for them to handle at once. Should I mention Stefan, the black guy I might’ve married when I was 24 if I had been attracted to him? Maybe then they’ll figure out that it isn’t often that I’m even into whites. But Johnson’s an exception. I am attracted to her both inside and out and I could shove that fucking newspaper right up the ass of the person that wrote it so fucking hard it’d come out of their fucking snot holes! I could really slit the throat of the person responsible for doing this shit to me, the fucking scum-sucking asshole! It’s no wonder I hate people so much and have no trust in them and live like a hermit as much as I can. See, the media’s got it all wrong. It’s not the blacks and Hispanics I hate. It’s those fucking Arabs I can’t stand. They have nothing better to do than pick on America and Israel.

And don’t these media people, who obviously think they know me well enough if they thought they could write a front-page article on me, know I have a niece on my side of the family that’s part Mexican and a grandniece on his side of the family that’s part black?

SUNDAY, MARCH 11, 2001
M202

I am not a happy camper right now. Chambers moved me down to 2 with 39-year-old Charlotte W, and I know I’m not going to be able to stand her, even though she’s done nothing but sleep since I got here. It’s just something I sensed right away. She totally creeps me out. It was just an instant bad vibe I had about her. Mary said she eats a lot and will steal my commissary. I can believe that because the first thing out of her mouth when I entered the cell was, “When do we eat?” Then, “Do you have anything sweet?”

That was so fucking rude. I mean, she doesn’t even know me!

She’s just as creepy-looking as she is creepy. She’s got a broken jaw and is bone thin and I’m sure she’s in for drugs, judging by the way she’s been acting. She’s very spacey and disoriented. She falls asleep for a few minutes, wakes up, grabs a cracker they give us at lunch, then falls back asleep eating it. She’s filthy. Totally gross. There are crumbs everywhere. She’s coughing this gross shit all over the place, too.

Chambers put me here because Silvia’s de-seg and needs to be isolated for 15 days. She’s in 3 now. Chambers was going to move me in with Teresa and Nancy. Maybe I should’ve just had her put me in there.

I got pissed off at Chambers for a minute there. I asked her, “Since when do de-segs need to be alone? They’re in twos and threes in A Tower.”

“But they’re in with other de-segs. I think I know my job,” Chambers says in a snotty voice, and I was like – excuse me!

Then later, she went to give me a piece of tape to tape my ID in the window and I yanked it from her in frustration. She threatened to write me up if my attitude didn’t improve.

Oh, so the DOs can be in any mood they want to be, but we can’t? We can’t be in a bad mood?

Fuck that shit! And fuck every single one of these fucking mother-fucking DOs! I hate them all! I’m going to use them to my advantage while I’m here and turn them into my personal slaves. I’m going to run them ragged by making them sharpen pencils for me and all kinds of shit! I’m going to make them work for their pay, then I’m going to be a ghost when I die and come back and haunt these people!

I know she was just doing her job and I did apologize later on for taking my frustration out on her, although I don’t think I’ll ever like her again, and I told her so.

“No problem,” she said smiling, then playfully poked me on the nose.

I guess she thought I was kidding.

At the rate I’m going, a part of me wouldn’t mind if Jackson and Jill did shuffle us around. This skanky thing just makes my skin crawl! She strikes me as the type to suddenly go on some psychotic rampage because the voices in her head told her to.

I made a mistake. A very big one.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Chambers, help me!

SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 2001
Bowe, who’s now divorced and back to Atkinson, is on now. She gave me two lunches for helping her serve. The roast beef is the best lunch meat they have.

The coffee cart hasn’t come and it’s already noon. I’m sure this means they’re not coming at all. I can’t picture it coming later than 8:30. They want you to have to be woken up for things like that.

I really do scare the shit out of the night crew, though I don’t mean to. I scared Lumia, who’s been switched to nights. She likes to leave the dayroom all lit up.

I was thinking about making my own address labels directly onto the envelopes when I get home. I’d put a small picture where the return address label goes, then type in the address below it. We can still get cheap, boring-looking labels to slap on bills, though.

The coffee cart did come, after all. I really thought it’d be something we’d always have to get up for. I got chicken noodle soup and hot chocolate which were good. It warmed me up, too. Next time I’ll get the veggie soup.

When I was talking to Tom earlier, we were discussing the fact that something up there has a definite obsession with me being stuck in places I don’t want to be, and he said that the next place I’ll be stuck is at home with him forever.

Oh, how sweet! I want to believe that, and truthfully, my bad post-release vibes have faded a bit. I’ll still be paranoid and looking over my shoulder for years, though, I’m sure. Something like this, despite the many cool people I’ve met, stays with you for years. Maybe even forever. The cool part will be looking at the clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays and knowing I can see my husband right there at home. Not through a piece of glass!

I can’t wait to take a shower when I want it, however hot I want it, and in total privacy (other than Tom, of course).

I miss waking up leisurely with coffee.

I’m still going to expose that bastard. All this was, was a case of non-whites ganging up on a white person in a day and age when they know they have the upper hand. A vindictive non-white got the help of a fellow non-white to gang up on a white girl because they knew they could get away with it. There are two things I’d like to say to Mr. Bias – to think first before he tries to tell someone something’s “over” when he knows it’s not, and to think before he coaches his friends into trashing someone’s life.

I doubt I’ll get a celly over the weekend, but I still think Jackson and Jill are going to rearrange us again. Probably next week. I find it awfully hard to believe that the last time they did it was just a one-time deal.

The more I think about it, the more appealing the idea of farming is to me, regardless of how many people consider that to be outdated something like that may be. I’d be scared of horses at first, but hopefully I’ll get comfortable enough, with Tom’s help, to be able to take the horse out riding myself if I wanted to. It’d make me feel more free and more independent.

Took a nap into 2nd shift. Gibb’s on now.

I’m starving, but I know it’s going to be hot dogs tonight. We rarely go for more than two nights without them. I just hope it comes with something that’s edible enough to fill me up.

As I begin the last 7 weeks of this dive, I’ve decided on a simpler title for my little jailhouse book: Life in Estrella Jail.

The juvies are going spastic like they tend to after dinner. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re teens and not toddlers.

Anyway, I was right about the hot dogs and they were totally inedible with the way they were overspiced.

I still fear that something up there’s preparing me for something by having me go through all this shit. I don’t see how it could be a good thing, either. I’m sure it’s freeloader-related. My whole life is freeloader-related so it seems over the last few years. I just won’t know the details until it happens.

FRIDAY, MARCH 9, 2001
Means is on now. At 8:00 she woke me for my hour out, but I was too tired. A half-hour later she woke me again, asking if I had any medical requests and I was like, “No! I’m sleeping, buzz off!” But before I could fall back asleep, the coffee cart came. Their coffee is horrible.

I dozed on and off till lunch. People’s loud mouths, including Means singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat over the intercom, kept waking me throughout the morning.

No one came from A Tower last night, though I appreciate Johnson’s leaving a note for 3rd shift about not putting psychos in here, which turned out to be Pérez, but she told me they weren’t sending anyone.

Silvia moved in with Mary, Myra and Peaches, since Brandie went home, and there’s a new person in 5. She looks to be in her 40s.

Johnson is so cool. I’m going to really miss her. She’s smart, too. She knows Spanish as well as German.

I asked her last night if I looked like I gained weight and she said I looked the same (that’s what Tom said) and that if anything my face looks thinner. I told her my hair grew a lot since I’ve been here.

She said, “It looks nice. It’s thick and curly.”

I’m still not sure if she likes me, but I sure do like her. She’s not only attractive, but she has a hell of a personality. Makes me wonder what I ever saw in Palma. That was just lust, and besides, 80% of my DO contact was with her the first two months I was here.

She told me that although any letter I sent her would have to go through the mailroom and be read, she’d get it and would write back, too. That’d be nice.

I really like how honest she is. Like how she told me my face had gotten a little chubby before it slimmed down. I’d rather be told the truth, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear than be told lies that sound good.

She was shocked when I told her I once lost a lot of weight.

Why else would I have skin folds around my knees and elbows?

Dinner’s going to be cold tonight because Hudgens is on. She likes to let the food sit out in the hall for ages before bringing it in and getting it served.

I’ll have to remind Tom to send more jokes, and if the Shadow Men, who only came once in the whole time I’ve been here, decide to steal them, then fine. It’s no big loss. I’m sure they took them for their own laughs, but why take the letters regarding cop corruption I started to write to Mom, Helen and Paula? What? Have they got a guilty conscious themselves or something? Or did they do it so they could hurry up and try to warn and protect the pig that I intend to expose?

What scares me is the possibility of being framed again and for something far worse. A part of me is afraid to try to expose him because of this possibility, but I’m not about to be bullied into being a coward by a pig like this, either.

There’s this rap song that goes, “I’m black and proud, I’m black and loud.”

That’s so like them too.

She finally pulled the cart in and is serving Alpha. I know we’re having pudding for dessert because I can see that much from here. As I said before, this cell’s got the best view for spying, yet it’s most private/quiet.

Mary testified in court again today and says she might be here longer than June. Damn! That’s a long time.

This woman is so fucking slow! She should have the whole dorm served by now.

Dinner wasn’t what I expected at all. We had non-spicy beans and beef. The bun we had was pretty good, too. It had chunks of walnuts in it.

I miss my Bowflex. I feel all fat and lazy just sitting in this damn cell, and I’ve had constant back pain lately. Tonight, not even Bengay and Tylenol will help. There’s just no comfort in jail!

They haven’t called us for rec in weeks. That’s so fucking illegal, too. People in lockdown are supposed to get an hour a day outside, but then again, I really don’t care to go out at 8:00 in the morning.

I hope and pray Tom’s OK and that Houdini will live to see me come home. As I learned from Scuttles, he could be fine tomorrow, sick the next, then dead the next.

THURSDAY, MARCH 8, 2001
According to white Johnson, we’re expecting a lot of new people in here tonight. So Jackson wasn’t kidding about people waiting to come over from A. I asked Johnson if I were getting a new celly tonight, saying I hoped not and that I hoped I wouldn’t get any psychos.
She said, “I don’t know. That depends on who I get.”

That felt good to hear. It made me feel like she was looking out for me and wouldn’t throw just anyone in with me.

I told Johnson that if a Rosa G came in tonight, I’d take her, but other than that I hoped to stay alone. She said she’d keep that in mind, but if I had to guess, I’d say I’m looking at another night alone because I doubt they’ll ship over 6 people at once, which is what it’d take to fill every bed. I think the empty bed in here will be Johnson’s last choice to fill, and I know Rosa isn’t coming. If she were, she’d have been here by now. It sucks, though, knowing it’s only a matter of time before there’s a fight in a big cell, and I’m going to be the first one they try to toss over there. Or, I’m going to get lucky enough to get a good celly and I’ll lose her in just a few days. Maybe it’ll be the other way around. Maybe I’ll get another Nancy threatening me and the only place to run to will be a big cell. Or maybe I just won’t run the next time. Maybe I’ll just stand my ground, fight the bitch, then go to A Tower.

Even the newer mattresses are going flat. I’m on two semi-flat newer ones till I get a celly or move from this cell.

I slept better last night (7 hours). When I awoke, I didn’t have any bad vibes and as it would turn out, I never saw Jackson hanging around at all today.

I keep thinking about my visit with Jackson. Just what the hell was that all about? Tom said he doubts it had anything to do with me, and I would think it wouldn’t. After all, my worst crime in this place is having pens and extra towels and shit like that. I certainly don’t have a pen now, and would probably say no if someone offered to sell me one. It’s not worth the risk. Thank God I mailed home that list written in ink when I did, too.

Tomaszewski said she was getting a new computer after I commented about how I missed mine when we passed by the juvie’s computer room. She asked me what was good to get. I was on my way to see Tom and told her I’d ask him. Afterward, I told her he said Compaq or Dell was good and to get a deal from them.

The coffee cart didn’t come at all today.

Mena gave me my printout last night. There aren’t any holds on me, so that’s good. I’ll just have to hope and trust that they’ll let me out of here on 4/29 and not pull any more shit on me.

We had spicy burritos for dinner. I managed to eat them, but what is it with everything being so spicy these days? Even the potatoes were spicy.

I took a nap this afternoon. That was before Myra’s loud mouth woke me up on her hour out and right before Tomaszewski got me for my visit.

This weekend I’ll be down to the 40s! Can’t wait to go home to that man I love and miss so much!

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7, 2001
M203

It’s so much quieter in this cell and so nice not hearing Myra constantly!

Teresa was telling me that Jill told her this is where the cops go that fuck up. Ain’t no cops here since I’ve been here because I’d know it. I still have to watch what I say, though. This is Arizona, and for all I know, I could be charged with bashing the fucking hot-dogs. They’d probably label it “verbal assault of MCSO property.”

Silvia says Palma said we’re now allowed to have bottles for water/juice. That’s good. Now I don’t have to hide my bottle anymore.

The pricks never took my rubber bands. They take shit that isn’t contraband like pencils, but leave shit that is!

Brilliant, guys. Really brilliant.

If I thought Dureen, Brattleboro and Valleyhead made me protective of my stuff/territory, wait till I get out of here!

FRIDAY, MARCH 2, 2001
Another day at Star Jail (Estrella means star in Spanish). Another day of LaBorde’s mouth, too. Five times that mouth woke me up. We’ve been getting LaBorded an awful lot lately.

The plumber was here checking into the leak in the water wells. I’m surprised he didn’t come in here.

I overheard Mindy asking for a brownie for envelopes, so I traded her my last brownie.

I hate Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. Those days seem to go the slowest. At least there are no clothes exchanges and Brea and Chambers usually work the weekends.

I went and mailed home the ‘to do’ and ‘to buy’ list because it’s written in pen. I doubt anyone would ever see it because they don’t look closely at papers, but I felt it best not to have it on me.

I might’ve lost my hour out for tomorrow. If I did, it’s no big deal. I didn’t go out for it today because it was too early, I was exhausted, and I showered yesterday. This means that I didn’t do my “daily job.” Lately, they’re threatening to snatch our hour out for not doing our so-called jobs, but hey, I’m not going to play housekeeper around here. Let them have the trustees sweep, mop and clean tables. They clean the showers. This is jail, not a private school.

It’s around 2:00 now and I still feel tired. I can’t wait to go home and sleep without half a dozen interruptions! I could sleep for 10 hours straight! I miss my soft, comfy bed, and sleeping nude.

Nancy, who was in court all day, just came down for her hour out. Gibb informed her she’d be locked down if she were at anyone’s door.

I’m fed up with this hot dog shit. We’re getting them 4 times a week, and more often than not, they’re too damn spicy to eat. I’m going to grieve about it if all it does is allow me to vent and get my frustrations out. Others say they’re going to grieve about it, too. We all know it’s a waste of time and that grievances are completely useless, but I wish we could have more variety in our food!

There’s a commercial on now for body wraps. I’d like to try having one of those done, but I don’t know. I hear they don’t really work.

It’s hard to believe I’ve been alone now for just under a week. Believe it or not, though, if I had to choose between being alone or being with Rosa, I’d be with Rosa. We laughed the nights away and slept the days away.

NOTE: The following section is what I typed in after leaving Estrella because of missing journal pages that never made it home. Around the time there was this big screw-up at the post office, about 20 pages got lost. The missing pages cover a 5-day time span.

About half a dozen things happened during that time that stand out in my mind. Psycho Nancy K left M Dorm. Before she did, she came to my door and asked me if I wanted to give her a couple of brownies for a cross she made out of blanket threads, as if nothing ever happened.

I told her to fuck off and she did.

A coffee cart started coming around, selling instant coffee, tea, hot chocolate, soup, and then they eventually added soda.

I was with Teresa B for a few days, then with Silvia Alegre for a day before I moved back to 3, my favorite cell in the pod.

The worst thing to happen in that time span was the Shadow Men’s raid on M Dorm. The men in black, dubbed the Shadow Men, work this special task force.

I also had a meeting with Jackson, head of the gang intelligence unit, that wasn’t too pleasant.

Teresa, a plump 46-year-old Mexican woman with hair a little below her shoulders and who was actually shorter than me, arrived from Madison at 4 AM on March 2nd. I had been alone for just under a week. Although I had been woken from a dead sleep after falling asleep only two hours earlier, I could sense right away that Teresa and I would get along.

We did.

Then on March 7th Armiderez swapped her with Silvia, a tall, heavy-set Mexican with shoulder-length hair who was impressed with the Spanish I knew and who never shut up, as sweet and polite as she was for the short time we were cellies. The swap was made because someone in 4, where Silvia had been, was screaming racial shit at her. Armiderez first tried to swap me, but I refused. “I don’t do big cells,” I told her, “and I certainly don’t do them with people like Mindy E.” After promising Armiderez to kill Mindy if she put me up there, she swapped Teresa instead, who ended up liking the bigger cell better. Not everyone shares my view of smaller cells. Some feel claustrophobic in them and prefer having more cellies.

A few significant things stand out in my mind when I remember the few days I was with Teresa. First of all, she hit on me, although she did it in a much subtler way compared to Nancy. I explained to Teresa, who took it well, that not only would I feel extremely awkward doing anything in jail, but I wasn’t attracted to her in that way. She had nice eyes, but that was about it. Also, I couldn’t stand to be with anyone shorter than me! I like the person to be noticeably taller than me.

The Shadow Men stormed the place on March 6th during the time Teresa and I were cellies, taking shit that wasn’t even illegal or contraband if they couldn’t find stuff that really was illegal or contraband. Just the thrill of knowing they were taking from people really boosted their egos and sense of power. You could tell they were totally into it, too. Totally enjoyed every moment of it. It was sickening. I just wanted to rip the shit out of them. I felt like a child all over again with my mother going through my room and dumping whatever toys she wanted, and to hell with what I wanted. It was a very humiliating, degrading experience.

It was 9:30 AM. Teresa and I were both asleep. Vasquez came in and told us to step out. She had us spread our legs and put our hands against the wall, then she patted us down. The Shadow Men cuffed us together and had us sit at the table where Mary, Brandie and Peaches were all cuffed together. (Myra was at Medical) The handcuffing incident alone was a sign of pure power play. Where the fuck could we have gone? Did they think we’d just up and run away through two locked doors?

So, the rude, power-hungry cocks trashed our cell, then after deciding what to take, one of them led us back to the door of our cell. Poor Teresa had been crying all along. As this dude was unlocking the cuffs, I noticed the cell was in shambles and muttered to Teresa, “The fucking bastards trashed the place.”

The dude goes, “Do you know who you’re talking to? Huh? Huh? I’ll have your write-up for you afterward.” Then he goes on to threaten me with my visitation for 30 days and to brag about what a hotshot chief or commander or something like that he is as if that’d impress me or intimidate me into feeling inferior to this piece of shit.

“I’m sorry, but it wasn’t necessary for them to make this much of a mess, and I was talking to her,” I said motioning to Teresa. “And sir?” I added. “I don’t care who you are.”

When he saw that I wasn’t the least bit scared of him and that I totally looked down upon him as no better than a cockroach itself, he shook his head in frustration. I thought my blow to his ego would make him want to write me up all the more to spite me. Thanks to Vasquez, though, the little fuck never did write me up. She diverted his attention, from what she later told me. After I bitched to her about how the rude bastards trashed the cell and rearranged it by putting my legal mail under Teresa’s mattress and shit like that, she agreed that a write-up would be uncalled for. All I did was swear (like this guy never swears at anyone himself?) and hey, I was woken up out of a dead sleep just to have my shit trashed and some of it taken, so what did they expect? Utter kindness?

Vasquez wasn’t happy with the way these bastards were presenting themselves, either. “They had the juvies in tears,” she said.

Anyway, after they tossed the dorm and wrote up a couple of juvies, including Silvia, Mr. I’m So Big and Powerful said, “Is that all? Are we forgetting anyone?”

This is when Vasquez quickly jumped in and changed the subject, saying she really had a lot of work to do, etc. I was like – thanks so much, Vasquez!

A few days later, after I had moved back to 3 for the second to last time, Jackson, another pathetic asshole, decided to piss me off.

Of the things the Shadow Men swiped, there were little tubes of indigent toothpaste and toothbrushes given to me by Ida and Marilyn, 5 pencils, letters I had started to friends and family, and a journal page. Fortunately, it was just one page with not much more than a few sentences. After this little raid, I mailed fewer journal pages home more often and used initials for people’s names, and quite often it would be just their first or last initial. Of course, they had to unblock the vent, too.

The taking of the pencils was definitely a control thing, but taking the letters, which they ought to know can be rewritten, and which mentioned the corrupt pig involved in my case, makes me think the Shadow Men had something to hide. Or maybe someone to protect. It tells me that they may know something about this pig and his bullshit. Why else would they take them?

“Are you here to play house with us?” I asked Jackson when I entered the computer room and took a seat.

“Sure,” she said.

“Well, I don’t exactly like being made to feel like an object you can just toss around like some game piece on a game board.”

She looked at me all confused and I realized – this stupid shit has no clue as to what I’m talking about! When she admitted that I was like, “Then why’d you say sure?”

She just shrugged, and I explained to her why I didn’t like it when she and Jill shuffled us around. That was done at the captain’s orders, she said (they always blame each other or someone else for the shit they do to irk us).

Then she asked me things like, what do I think of the coffee cart? What’s the hardest part about being in jail?

I told her the hardest part was getting psycho cellies that threaten to kill me, and this is when she went on to tell me that the average inmate’s IQ is equivalent to that of a 6th grader’s, and they’re not serious, either.

Well, I took her threats seriously.

“Have you ever been strip-searched?” she asked me.

“That’s a stupid question,” I said. “I’m in jail, aren’t I? Don’t they strip search us at intake?”

“Are you a racist?” she asked me next.

“Why? Because I used slurs in my journal when I was pissed off for being a part of the grand shuffle?”

“Well, the men who did the search were looking for bullets and then they found…”

This is where my fuse blew and I hauled off at her, “Yeah, I know about your little swat team buddies, high on power-play, swiping legal and non-contraband stuff just to feel in control. If they were searching for bullets, then they should’ve stuck to the task at hand, and you and your little pals shouldn’t have been sticking your noses in other people’s business where it didn’t belong. And by the way, you’re neglecting to mention the part where I referred to Jill as “white trash” when I was pissed off at her, too. A fat lady once cut my husband and I off in traffic. I called her a fat bitch. Doesn’t mean I hate all fat people. I happen to be fat myself. If a group of whites had a “white beauty pageant” or a “white TV station,” would you consider them racists?”

Another shrug.

“There are black pageants and back TV stations so who’s the real racist here, Miss Jackson?”

We never spoke again after this little meeting.

The best memory I have of this little gap is definitely one pertaining to Teddy Bear, who was still Johnson to me at the time. When I was with Teresa, Teddy Bear would often pop in to chat with me. I remember one of the things she mentioned was some rat she saw on TV. After she left after stopping to chat with me for the third time, Teresa said, “I didn’t know you were friends with her and that you knew her on the outside.”

“Neither did I,” I said, and Teresa insisted that she liked me, but I was like – nah. Johnson’s friendly to everyone.

Then she came in again to chat for a sec, and upon leaving, she looks at me and goes, “OK, babe,” then looks at both of us and quickly tries to cover that up with “ladies,” after a second of looking like – oops!

It was soooo funny, not to mention quite an honor! It took everything I had not to burst out laughing.

Officer Johnson, you can call me babe anytime. Anytime!

As soon as she left, Teresa looked at me and said, “Told you so,” and I thought to myself – this is the second person that’s said that. Deanna thought she might like me, too. I thought about the time I caught her staring at me. The blushing and smiling out of context. The things she’s said. Not so much the things she’s said, but how she’s said them.

Could Johnson possibly like me, a 20-pound-overweight, middle-aged woman, sprouting 10 new gray hairs a day? Well, I wasn’t sure if she could like me, but I was going to find out. I just didn’t know how I was going to go about it. I thought about it and thought about it and decided that the best way to start would be by letting her know I was into women and that Tom didn’t mind. Then I’d let her know I liked her. I had the opportunity as soon as I was alone again, and set out to find the answer to my question. One of the things I did for starters was to tell her a gay joke, making sure to let her know that it wasn’t that I had anything against gays since I’m into women myself and that Tom knows and doesn’t mind. Technically, Tom’s the only one that makes me bi. Without him, I’m completely gay, but I didn’t need to get technical with Johnson at that point.

THURSDAY, MARCH 1, 2001
Finally, it’s March! It feels like it took forever to get to this day.

This is the longest I’ve been without a celly.

The leak in here stopped along with the rain.

Jill came today and I gave her a tank saying I wanted to stay here for the duration of my sentence.

Misery’s on now and she just got screamed at by Nancy. Nancy was screaming out the door that she needs to go to Medical, please call them, she’s got a fever, she’s sick, etc. Misery’s reply was, “That’s unfortunate, but if you were sick, you should’ve put a medical tank out this morning,” then with an exasperated sigh that I could even hear down here, she walked on.

Gracie came to the door and asked, “How ya doin’, girl?” She’s on her way to B tower where the DOC holds are, then to prison for a year or two. Then she begged for bread and for something sweet (I gave her a piece of hard candy) and if this hideously ugly thing doesn’t have a crush on me, then I’m not a green-eyed brunette going gray. Why do they always have to be ugly in order to like me? Am I that ugly myself?

Barajas just walked Mary and I back from our visits. Poor Mary had to wait till Tom and I were done before she could return to M, where black Johnson was doing a walk. She hasn’t been here for a couple of months.

When Mary and I were waiting for Johnson to finish her walk, she was complaining about Brandie being a snitch but didn’t explain what she meant by that. Just the other day, though, she said they were tight.

I asked her about having to go to Florida for 10 years and she said, “You’re writing a book. I don’t want to talk about it.”

After I assured her she didn’t have to tell me anything she didn’t want to, I assured her I wasn’t writing a book, either. Not for publication, anyway.

She said she didn’t know why people were saying I was writing a book.

They’re saying it because they’re very guilty of some very serious shit that they want to try to hide and because they’re paranoid.

Misery was her usual by-the-book self, threatening to write up Mindy and others if they passed things under doors.

When she let me out for a clothes exchange, I asked, “Did you have fun at the Oscars?”

She said, “What?” in a defensive tone of voice since most people aren’t very nice to her, so I repeated myself, and she said, “Actually, I didn’t even watch them.”

I told her about the corrupt cop in my case and how the Arizona Republic wanted to do an interview with me, and she said that after 20 years of being a PO, she can tell me that the media is never a friend.

How true!

What a terrifying thought – having Misery for a PO. I asked her which she liked better, being a PO or a DO. She surprised me by saying that there was more paperwork than client contact and she felt like a secretary. What surprised me about it was that you’d think someone like Misery would like having less contact with people. I don’t know. Maybe she felt she couldn’t be as controlling as she’d like to be because of the lack of client contact as opposed to inmate contact. Most people who get into various positions of law enforcement get off on being control freaks who want to act out their aggressiveness. It’s a power-play thing. People who become DOs often feel like social misfits in need of approval and recognition.

My hour visit with Tom seemed as fast as the half-hour visits. He told me that the plants are growing well, and mentioned the cold, rainy weather. He said it was foggy, too.

He said he hasn’t been in the master suite. He only goes in every couple of weeks or so to run water down the drains but has been sleeping in the guest room. He says it saddens him to be in the master bedroom.

I laughed when Tom said Harry wants to play with people, just not him. And how he said he was afraid to get a giant rat because of the way rats love to bite him.

He said he made popcorn for them. That was very nice of him.

We talked about breeding mice and what to do with the extras. He said instead of getting a snake, we could give them to the wild ones outside. Good idea. I think we should feed the extras to the snakes, and feed them to the septic when they’re hibernating.

I’m actually listening to the jazz station. Anything to drown out Myra, who’s pissed off at her lawyer one minute and laugh-barking the next. Anyway, Pérez said it was relaxing, and it is. It’s good writing music.

I was happy to hear I may be able to get CD singles cheaper because they’re having a hard time selling them, thanks to all those who are downloading MP3 files these days.

He says he’s “working on things,” but doesn’t want to get into it while I’m still here. But why am I so worried?! God, I hope everything really will be OK when I get out of here!

Johnson read my joke sheets and liked them.

Tate was laughing the other morning when it was gown exchange. The smallest size they had was a 4X and she got a kick out of how huge it was when I held it up against me. They’ve been exchanging towels 3-4 times a week lately. Why? To have another excuse to wake us up? They’ve been coming earlier, too. It’s just so asinine that they exchange our towels so many times a week, yet we only change stripes once a week. Hell, we change towels more often than our fucking underwear!

Well, fuck you, too!

Palma walked by while Johnson was on break and she didn’t even acknowledge me. She was talking the whole time she was breezing by to loudmouth Myra, who was out with the rest of her cellies, talking to the religious lady.

I was talking to Johnson earlier about the corrupt pig. The least I can do is spread the word in here about the sick fuck. Besides, I really wanted to see if anyone could give me any useful advice about the situation, but all she could do was ask me if I believed in God.

I was like, “Excuse me?”

She asked again, and I told her that although I believed, I didn’t have very much faith in Him right now, for obvious reasons. He’s the last one that’s going to come to the rescue in this case.

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Last updated July 12, 2024