Hi Mom, I'm in JAIL!

You'd have the photo right now, except it was refused; I kept begging the mugshot person for it, but apparently even though it's YOUR PHOTO in Texas, they won't release it.

But anyway, I digress.

No, I'm not in jail now (I couldn't be writing this if I were), but for your pleasure, here's the last 48 hours of my life:

Charge(s)? DWI (I'll get to the other in a minute). Bunk. I was a friend of Handsome Joel. I do, in fact, drink. But I don't drive drunk. Partly for him; partly cuz I simply don't like it. Like, you're paranoid the whole time and it's no fun. If I'm planning to drink and there's no designated driver, I call a cab. If it's an accident ("I wasn't planning but got drunk"), I abandon the car, calling either my husband else a cab for the ride home, and get the car the next day.

SO I left a restaurant on South Congress. Now mind you--and if you're local you KNOW this--a left-hand turn onto Congress when it's busy is nearly impossible. You can't see around the parked cars AT ALL; you have to actually put the nose of the car into traffic to see if anyone's coming. And cross three lanes, quick. I normally try to look for traffic, then do "the sign of the cross" (though no longer Catholic), and peel it into the lane I need. I wish they'd put up mirrors so you could see what's coming or something, at minimum.

But when you know your stupid '71 Beetle (I love her--her name's Jesse--but mad at her a tick) won't do a "60" from zero without stalling, you don't risk it.

So I did the "three rights" routine, which puts me on South First.

I won't lie about this--I did in fact have a drink, after hearing James Brown was dead, and died on Christmas no less, making said albums unhearable to me, actually. This is the Godfather of Soul; I didn't take it lightly, especially since I'm married to a funk musician. Okay?! It actually matters to me.

But that was more than an hour ago.

Not eating within my hypoglycemic window, I tried to go home where food was waiting. After South First crosses the lake, I'm just gonna be lost. I haven't done it often enough--and call me "stupid woman driver" I don't care--I drive by "landmarks" not street names nor NESW--I'm dyslexic I can't. This area has no landmarks of note, at least very few that stand out against the field of gray buildings and wide streets, and I'm not that familar with them.

I planned to go to Guadaloupe and cut across 51 to go home (Riverside was busy and I didn't want to sit in traffic trying to get to I-35), but wasn't sure if the street I was on (I actually have NO IDEA what South First "becomes" after you cross the water) connected with it, so I made a right turn onto a street hoping to take me to Congress (which would orient me), but chose one that ended in a cul-de-sac.

I know I said at some point to an officer, "My husband's going to kill me for this." And that wasn't a drunk thing either; that was because I repeatedly get lost and freaked out over it, and he's trying to get me to drive more often and learn the city better. Lost and arrested for it? He's gonna kill me.

And spent the next several minutes trying to get a standard '71 VW that needs to go to shop (but no money to do so) to go in reverse, and up a hill. Like, you hafta do this "twisty" thing with your feet to get it to go at all at this point.

I got frustrated, setting off my adrenal glands, and producing a hypoglycemia state.

Which in fact, looks like "drunk": all "drunk" is actually temporary hypoglycemia, so they look alike, no doubt.

So some JERK--I happened to "crash" the car (not crashed, just stalled) in a rich neighborhood--I didn't even know there WAS a neighborhood in this part of town I thought it was all commercial--someone friggin' calls police over the fact the VW makes a lot of noise when you're trying to restart it. Especially backwards. Especially on a hill.

Actually, I dunno if that's true. I have reason to think so though; it's coming...

I was so frustrated trying to restart the car (on TOP of being lost), my adrenals were already jacked. By the time police showed up (actually, under three minutes), I could hardly deal with anything.

YES, I blew the "walk". My blood pressure, if currently taken, was so low I couldn't deal with the situation. To the point I know I LAUGHED when asked--like I know my body and know I can't do it, and had shitty shoes on for it to boot. I can't do it in the morning, either; I walk straight into walls if I try to walk. I play "klutz" else "comic relief" in performance pieces for a reason; I have NO grace nor balance. It's what you got to work with; you can still "work it" on stage.

And I'm sorry but police in your face is yet another STRESS TRIGGER, whether you wanted it or not--it put me WAY over my ability to deal with stress. Sad by recent news, traffic, lost, shitty car, now the police? Like I KNEW they weren't there to help me get unlost nor restart the car--I noted a dude standing with folded arms outside his house that told me that. Probably a Republican that didn't like my foot-high political statements painted on it.

My adrenals blew so badly, I could hardly answer certain questions. The worst included numbers--I already know I have a problem with this--I'm dyslexic with numbers no matter what; you add stress and I'm SCREWED.

And I know they took my inability to answer as "drunk".

Like look, honestly, the FIRST thing to go when I have an issue with my sugar levels is ability to speak. I blew it. I know it. I heard it. You're trapped in a non-functioning body and no one believes you. It sucks. I couldn't do better; I was arrested minutes later.

Actually, and I'd hope the cop would note this but won't: the second I got into the car and "surrendered"; I'm now SCREWED and can't do shit: I was perfectly coherent. I mean I cracked jokes to amuse myself (actually the cop was also amused). I calmed down, since I knew it was now hopeless and had to make better of situation. Cuz that's how it works. I calmed down and no longer paranoid: suddenly I make (in this case nearly) perfect sentences. (It takes four full days for an adrenal jack to work itself out; I was still stressed as hell but using "instant zen" to try to hold on).

My curse. Especially cuz I "look weird" and there's a SHITLOAD of prejudice that goes with it, whether you want it or not, especially in a situation like this.

But I'm not about to change it--it's who I am.

Of course I fail the nurse's tests, which I asked for. I'm a hypo, not a diabetic; they're only truly set up for diabetics. And trying REAL HARD at this point to stay calm; to NOT do so means my adnoids swell in my neck, cutting off my air, and FUCK IT cuz I don't want them to think (cuz they will) I'm trying to puke. I'm gasping for air. But I can't tell you otherwise cuz I CAN'T BREATHE! Another problematic prejudice; I already know this.

THIS WHOLE THING FUCKING SUCKED ASS!!!

I watched myself agree to a breath test--oh, yes, I wanted it. It'd prove me SOBER. But NOOOOOOO...I can't breathe into the tube right. I never had one before, okay? They kept acting like it was second skin--well, yes, it is for them; they do it all day. BUT NOT ME. I never had one, okay?

The dude asked me after the first breath failed to produce an answer if I'd do it again, and harder. Like, I dunno how this thing works: I tried REAL HARD. My only guesses are my years of smoking too much killed my capacity to do it right; maybe my current situation was my throat was trying to close via adnoids due to stress (but I wouldn't know it until I actually CHOKE); else my adrenals so jacked, I couldn't perform.

I can't answer that. I blacked out. It's a totally normal reaction to an abused child survivor; I know I didn't sass any cop because of it (I'd remember if I stood up for myself--I apparently played "victim", so remember nothing). But I know I was asked twice, tried it twice, and the machine didn't record a damn thing.

I have no experience with this machine; I have no idea how to fuck with it. It just didn't record, okay?!

Minutes later, I get a piece of paper thrown in my face. "Sign here." I said I wouldn't until I read it (like, I'm in JAIL; for all I know it says "take out my left kidney"). Not a second later, by who forevermore is known as "Miss Chip on her Shoulder", else "Miss Chip" for short (she gave me shit the second I showed up, when none of my arresting officers did), she shoved me with no notice or reason into a holding cell next to several completely crazy people.

I didn't get to read said document until later.

Next to me was a chick threatening to kill me. I kept begging warden to let me out (it was OBVIOUS to him I was coherent and not part of this DRAMA), but it took him more than three hours to convince Miss Chip I wasn't dangerous. It was SO BULLSHIT I can't even start.

For some reason, I think Miss Chip just had it out for me. I have no idea why. I dunno if it was personal for dreadlocks or some shit, or if she's just that mean to even people that didn't start crap.

Anyway, piece of paper I NEVER GOT TO READ, NEVER GOT TO SIGN stated I REFUSED to do the breath test, as well as refusing to sign that I'd refused that. THAT'S SO BULLSHIT I CAN'T EVEN START. I WANTED IT. It'd have proved me INNOCENT*, if I could actully blow the thing.

So my charges are now DOUBLED. But I swear, ON HANDSOME JOEL (that's HIGHER THAN JESUS in these parts), I didn't do shit to begin with; I was just disoriented, displaced, and freaked out.

Anyway, thanks to advice given by a certain good lawyer I supported in the past, and thanks to people he knew in Austin (not his jurisdiction), I'm now out.

But it's BULL. I'm kinda writing this for my lawyer (don't know who yet), but not exactly, as I know it's better to get it down FAST.

Kudos to every woman in on "assult". Your charges are BULL and I hope you get out. They abused you and when you stand up for yourself, you're arrested?! Not a single one of you was a weirdo. No way. I especially cry for the black chick--I'm sorry I forget your name if you even gave it--but you didn't do SHIT.

But that's how APD works--arrest someone on complaint, and it's now your duty to prove innocence, and not the other way around. She didn't do SHIT--I'd take her as cellmate in a heartbeat, if I had to. She's not like the crazies they wanted to put me with--on "drunk" charges, not for a second. She ain't dangerous to NO ONE except the man who beat her.

I made them laugh, too. Cuz the chick who "wanted to kill me" was still screaming, still kicking the door, and hurting herself--we heard it several feet away (like nearly 70). I mean really, this is all bull but even as a prisioner I shouldn't have to put up with THAT. I shat on camera. Come on. That's BULLSHIT.

And I'm sorry, officer, but innocent. Just couldn't start the damn 71 Beetle at tick. FUCKING BULL.

*This footnote is an edit to original story. I recently read that I MAY have scored too high, even without being .08, because they calibrate the machines low (and you score higher than you are). Know that. I didn't.

FOLLOW UP RANT: Salute James Brown, Go to Jail >>