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Apr. 28th, 2007 | 11:17 pm

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(no subject)

Apr. 19th, 2007 | 09:50 am

Happy Birthday Naddie


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postage :D

Apr. 6th, 2007 | 08:34 pm


1. If you were to find out you were pregnant, what would you do?
Freak the *edit* out

2. Do you trust your friends?
A few

3. Would you move to another state or country to be with the person you love?
Only if we were married...

4. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
I suppose I do.

5. Name one thing you would NOT tolerate in a relationship.

6. Which one of your friends do you think would make the best room mate for you?
Uhh...melsa and I get along...idk

7. Can you deal with people who are too concerned with status?
I guess...

8. Are you afraid of falling in love?
Haha...yes actually...

9. Is there someone who pops into your mind at random times?
Uhh...well not exactly random...

10.Would you stop talking to your friends because you hooked up with a new guy/girl?
That is the worse thing I could do...

11. Name one person from your friends list that you could call to fix a flat tire:
I am a manly man...i fix it myself :P

12. From your friends list, who can you call in the middle of the night if you need to talk?
I don't call people after nineish unless they tell me too...everyone calls me tho (ie my friend Holly {we used to date} calling me at 2 am this morning...)

13. What qualities do you find most attractive in the opposite sex?
Athleticism...among other things.

14. Fill in the blank. I will NEVER _____.
Smoke weed...

15. What are your goals in life?
Pro football player...

16. What can you tell about a person by kissing them?
I've only ever kissed three people...soo...idk

17. When you get married, how would you envision your dream wedding to be?
A 60 degree day in a picture perfect place.

18. If you could say just one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Leave me alone...

19. If you were to wake up from being in a coma for an extended period of time, name some people you would want to see around your bed?

20. How many kids do you want to have?
2 please...

21. Would you make a good parent?
I hope

22. Where was your default pic taken?
it's not me...

23. What is your middle name?

24. What is your current relationship status?

25. Honestly, does your crush like you back?

26. What is your current mood?

27. What do you love most?

29. Are you musical?
I guess

30. If you could go back in time, and change something, what would you change?

Single or Taken:
Single... I said this already

Happy about that?:
Not really but i'm not going to rush to change it...

Shoe size:

6 ft 2

What are you wearing right now?
Work clothes

Righty or lefty:

Can you make a dollar in change right now:

Best place to go for a date:
Depends on the person and circumstance

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Fight me if you dare | Combat Cards

Mar. 24th, 2007 | 12:55 am

to fight kingmassuese
enter your username below
what should i read next

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New News

Feb. 16th, 2007 | 01:41 am

Welcome to this special edition NBC special report!

Tonight we've got a real treat fer ya. Crack reporter MsBehave had a very rare (for anyone who isn't Lois Lane) opportunity to go behind the scenes with World Renowned superhero, recently turned blogger, Superman and ask him five hard-hitting questions. Because of the nature of a few of the questions Superman let his alter-ego (who for the sake of this has been exposed) weigh in. The following is the transcript of that interview.

   1on1 with  

1. Alrighty Mr. Man of Steel, who's your hero? Why?

Clark here. Superman felt that since he was a superhero I should answer the question (for superhero...cuz he wanted to split it) and because he knows the answer isn't him he has excused himself from the room for the time being. To be perfectly honest with you my favorite superhero is Spider-man. He is just awesome. He kicks butt and jokes the whole time doing it.

Superman back again...I don't care what Clark said my hero is Erin Keller. I can't really explain all the reasons why but she is basically really awesome and she is my superhero...even though she doesn't have official super powers.

2. What's up with the silly costume?

Well you see back when I was first getting into the whole superhero thing it was kind of the "In" thing to have a supersuit made out of spandex (especially with a physique like mine...). So that kind of dictated the material of the "costume" The "S" comes from an insignia burned into my chest (yes I'm impenetrable...and yes it's there...yea it hurt like a mother). Blue happens to be my favorite color so that was pretty much a no-brainer as to that bein the main color of my suit. The red and yellow just happened to go best out of the other colors I had chosen.

If you think it's silly perhaps you could try and design a nice supersuit yourself and see how you do...

3. Why is your alter ego, Clark Kent such a weenie?

Clark here. WTF?!?! I'm not a weenie...at least I don't think I am...am I? *wanders into a corner and pouts*

Superman again. That Clark man...I swear if he wasn't such a weenie people would probably figure out that I am him and he is me. Hide in plain sight ya kno?

4. Which villian scares you the most? Why?

Well Darth Vader scares the dole out of me (that would probably be better understood if you knew some kryptonian...) I mean he is probably the only person who stands a chance against me in a fight...that across the room choke-hold...I'd have a hard time breaking that.

5. Who is the lamest member of the Justice League?

Well after some careful thought I have decided that Red Tornado is the lamest.  Even though she is from a different comic company Storm would kick his arse anyday of the week...

  gets trumped by 

~Clark Kent

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Sorry...But Her Dad Died...

Feb. 12th, 2007 | 10:17 am

In elementary school the phrase you could use to best describe me would be "brilliant but lazy." I pretty much never did any homework and managed to ace pretty much every single test and every single class. By the third grade my love for reading and my semi-exceptional mind got me placed into the SIGNET program (I don't remember what it stands for...). It was alot of fun. Everyone in the program was considered advanced so when we met during the week we would get extra instruction and so on so we weren't as bored. From third grade through fifth things continued in much the same way.

In fifth grade the grading scale changed to help prepare us for the middle school grading scale. I took it in stride and did pretty much what I always did. I didn't have straight A's in every subject anymore but I almost never had below a C. I had alot of fun that year. My teacher, Mr. Rodgers (I kid you not), was working on his masters and his thesis was on how two kids raised in the same home can be so different. To help him the school gave him mostly students whose brothers or sisters he had already taught. Since my brother had had him I knew a good portion of the kids in my class. We used to have fun being stupid and making fun of Mr. Rodgers, both because of his name and because he was a giant to us (he is like 6'8").

Near the end of the year he made an announcement that in a few weeks there would be the quarterly awards ceremony and that certain of us would be getting different awards. He then went on to describe the awards and how they could help you get into college. Of course at ten years old all of us were like college?? Who cares about that? But we listened attentively and when he finished began to speculate amongst ourselves who would get what. It was decided that even though I hadn't gotten Presidential on the pull-ups that I would probably get the Presidential physical fitness award because I had gotten Presidential on everything else (made perfect sense then...).

Well anyways the day of the awards thing rolls around and we all file into the cafeteria and take our seats on the floor (Indian style). As they are going through the various awards they are explaining what was required for each. Towards the end the Principal (Mr. Hutchinson) says that the next award is a special one in the the school only gets 20 (i think that was the number...) to hand out. It's the Presidential Achievement Award. Only people who have been on the honor roll for every quarter and have done a few other academic things could get one. It looked really cool. It came already framed and with a little medal. Ten-yr old me is sitting there and going well I've done all that so I should get one right? Wrong.  I got zip. Not a single award the whole ceremony. I didn't even get the National Physical Fitness Award.

When we got back to class Mr. Rodgers had put awards on the desks of people who hadn't gotten any award in the ceremony. I go to sit down and there isn't one there. I'm just sitting there and thinking well I must have been really bad if I didn't get anything. After we get dismissed I trudged home and told my mom. Mom of course told Dad and both of them trooped up to the school to see what was going on. The come back home and close themselves into their room to talk. Seeing this as further evidence that I was a bad boy I crawled into bed and went to sleep.

The next day Mr. Rodgers pulled me aside and told me that he was sorry he had forgotten to give me the "thanks for trying" award. He went back to his desk opened his drawer and handed it to me. I just kinda stuffed it in my desk and went on with it. During lunch that day I saw my mom at the school again. Since she was a stay at home mom and was always back and forth to the school I didn't think much of it.

The school year ended and I progressed through the rest of my school career. I never did get honor roll again though. When I got to High School my parents finally told me what happened. Mr. Rodgers actually didn't forget to give me a "thanks for trying" award. I had been slated to get the Presidential Achievement Award. About a week or so before they gave out the awards this girl's dad had died. She was nowhere near the student I was but they thought that if they gave her the award then it would encourage her to continue to do well in school and so on, so they did.

Ten-yr old me was of a more linear mind than 20 yr old me. Now I can kind of understand it. As a ten-yr old though I walked away from the experience thinking that if my hard work was not going to be noticed and applauded when everyone else's was then I just wasn't going to work hard anymore. The last quarter of fifth grade was the last time I ever made the honor roll and the last time I ever really put forth any kind of effort to succeed at school. It was also the last time I was in signet. I got tested for it again in High School and passed but because I was a mediocre student they decided I didn't need to be in the program...which was just fine by me.


In an effort to generate some chatter on my blog...Any of y'all ever get passed over for something you knew you shouldn't have?

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I've known you how long?

Feb. 8th, 2007 | 01:06 am

The smell of fresh cut grass and dirt fills your nostrils as you look out from behind your "grill." Standing in front of you is the quarterback. "27 sweep reverse on one 27 sweep reverse on one. ready" BREAK! You try to keep the jitters in as you carefully line-up the same as you always do, four yards directly behind the quarterback. DOWN! Your hands rest on your kneepads as scan the defensive line across from you. SET! A small smile cracks your face in anticipation of fooling them all. HUT! You explode into motion, accelerating quickly to your left and catching the pitch from the quarterback. After securing the ball you look up to see two things happening. The first thing you see is the receiver sprinting towards angled just off to your left. The second is the defensive end for the other team beelining straight for you. Suppressing your knee-jerk reaction you force yourself to keep pretending you are really running the sweep. The receiver gets closer at a rate only slightly faster than the end. Relief flows through you as he reaches you first and you start to hand him the ball. Panic follows close on its heels as the end reaches you a half-second later. The ball leaves your hands but all you see is the grass rushing to meet you. As your body connects with the ground pain unimaginable explodes up your arm from your fingers and the audible crack you hear rings in your ears like the death toll.

After a seriously delayed trip to Kaiser (my dad's insurance at the time) my parents and I were sent to a specialist in springfield (a different Kaiser building) and thento the hospital for x-rays...all to tell us what we had already figured out (well kinda). When the x-rays came back they showed a hairline fracture of the second finger in on my left hand. Because of where the fracture was, and the fact that I was far to active of a kid the doctor chose to put me in a cast. The cast enclosed three fingers (the fractured one in the middle) from the top of the highest knuckle of the fractured finger halfway up my arm.

The cast made it practically impossible to play football well. You can't exactly carry the ball with a cast on your arm and tackling people would have been a chore. Because technically I was still on the team I still went to practices and such. As you can imagine my attention was not long on practice (I knew pretty much everything anyways...) so I wandered over to the ball bag picked up a football and start playing catch with myself. I got bored of that right quick and looked around for something to entertain me. I see Makayla just sitting around and I walk over to her. I demanded she play catch with me (I had a rather large ego then...) and when she didn't want to I pretty much just threw the ball at her. Surprisingly she caught it. And then she threw it back at me. And thus a friendship was born.

If you had asked me when it happened I would have told you no good
could have come from me breaking my fingers. If you had then told me
that I would meet a friend who has become family through that I would
have called you funny in the head. But that's exactly what happened.
There was a guy on my team named Scott. Played nose tackle (or nose
guard depending on how you were taught) he was a heck of a player who
had potential to be great until he blew his knees. This blog isn't
about him though. It's about his sister. Like most parents Scott's put
their kids in activities that were near each other at around the same
time during the day.What better activity than cheerleading? Especially
when the cheerleaders practice in the same general area as the football

To this day Makayla is like a second sister. Since my dad was the coach of that particular football team her parents knew my parents and all that. The next year we ended up in the same beginning band class. From there we kind of followed each other through the rest of middle school. We lost track of each other in the first few years of high school. She was in my sign language class my junior year and we picked up our friendship where we left off. We talked alot through sr yr and then she went to a different university than I did so we didn't talk for awhile. And then I saw her at a football game over Thanksgiving break and it was like no time had passed between then and the last time I had seen her. Her. her parents, her bro and I were all just sitting there cracking jokes and catching up. It's great.

Yea I know this isn't my "normal" style of post but the past few weeks I've been kinda thinking about the people how helped make me into who I am today. Makayla has by far probably had the most influence on my life outside of family and teachers. She is one of two people who have known me forever (ten years in her case) and we still get along. Most of my friends we end up growing apart at some point in life.


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(no subject)

Jan. 18th, 2007 | 05:59 pm

Reply to this post saying you want to take part, and I'll tell you one thing I love about you.

Then post this in your own journal so other people can do the same.

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Blogings of a Jailbird (pt2)

Jan. 17th, 2007 | 08:59 pm

Ok. So yesterday I ended with me going to sleep so we will start the next morning.

I slept very restlessly that night. The mattress was as uncomfortable as it looked and I kept losing feeling in my arms. I woke up to change position no less that eight times before finally finding a position that let me sleep somewhat restfully. At 0600 when the lights came I woke briefly scanned the area around me with a quick flick of the eyes and then slide back into "peaceful" oblivion. An hour and a few minutes later I was jolted quickly back into awareness by an over loud WHAM-BANG-CLICK. This noise, which was to rule the rest of my time in that hellhole, was the sound of the outer door of the "airlock" being opened. When the door creaks open a sheriff three "trusty" inmates and a cook walk in followed by a cart with breakfast trays on it. As the cart with the trays on it clanks into the room I throw the blanket to the foot of the bed and roll off landing on the floor spider-man style.

Breakfast wasn't bad...but it wasn't good either. A baby sized bowl of honey-nut cheerios with milk that wasn't warm but not really cold either eaten with a spoon that's was about as flat than a thirteen yr old's chest. Three sausage links that felt about as cold, if not colder than, a witch's heart. And two pieces of homemade looking french toast that were almost as dark as me. A breakfast fit for a king... I ate everything except the french (erm I mean freedom) toast.

On completing the royal breakfast I decided it was time for a kingly nap. So I hoisted myself back up into the bunk and flopped around like a dead fish until I could get comfortable on the piece of plastic mattress they had given me. After about five minutes of doing the dead fish thing I finally found a way to lay on the mattress so that parts of me weren't hanging off and all the blood could circulate. After laying there a little longer I finally passed out for a few hours.

I woke up to the WHAM-BANG-CLICK again. Lunch time. I'm that it will be better than the morning's pitiful fare. My hopes were came crashing down like a poorly made satelite. Our inspired chefs saw fit to bless us with a plank of fried fish (at least they said it was fish...) a helping of green large enough to make Scrooge look generous, a biscuit, and some red colored drink (I think it was supposed to be kool-aid...it wasn't...go ahead and ask me how I know...because I'm black that's why :P everyone knows kool-aid is black man's champagne). Being a man of slightly larger than average stature I was, of course, ravenously hungry. My first bite into the "fish" was enough to make me almost not want to eat. But I knew my next meal was going to be over five hours away (an eternity with a metabolism like mine...) so I choked the "fish" and the biscuit down. You couldn't have paid me to touch the greens.

When I had finished force feeding myself I decided to try and go back to sleep. No such luck I lay in that bunk for twenty mintues doing my best impersonation of a beached whale (do beached whales try to move...??? hmmmm) before I finally decided to sit-up and see what was going on in the rest of the "world." At a table not to far from my bunk there were three guys playing rummy. I watched a few hands and decided that maybe it would be a good idea to call my parents. I called, no answer. I called again, no answer. I called my mom's cell, no answer. I alternately sat on my bed and paced the world for about ten to fifteen minutes then tried the house again. No answer. I tried again and finally my dad picks up. I told him I was kind of bored and he was like well yea it's not supposed to be fun...and then gave me to my momma. I think by the time I was done talking to my parents I was ready to give them the "common sense" award for the day. Mom said that they thought I was a telemarketer because of how the number came up on the speed dial. Telemarketers don't call you house repeatedly (within an hour or so) and they don't call your cell (generally).

After getting off the phone with the parentals (and before the games came on) I decided that it was time to stop being totally antisocial and asked to get in on the game of rummy. We played until about half-way through the first game (I think it was Indianopolis v Baltimore) and the extent of my vocabulary, not directed at the tv, was limited to "Preston" "rummy on deck" and how many points I scored. I guess one of the inhabitants of the world picked up on the fact that I know a little more than a little bit about the game of football (due to me succesfully prediciting penalties and events) and began to try and talk to me about the game. After most of his comments met with nothing more than raised eyebrows he left that alone.

Around five dinner rolled in. It was the best meal of the day. A tuna sandwhich and a bologna sandwhich with cheese. They also gave us cookies doritos and a carton of milk. The conclusion of dinner saw us back at the table thing-y playing more rummy. We played rummy pretty much the rest of the night. At about ten we stopped to watch the rest of the second game. The lights went out with four minutes left to play. The sheriff came in and turned of the tv with one minute five seconds left in the game. Needless to say before the loudest sound was silence there was alot of cursing of this man's entire bloodline.

Sunday was much like saturday. I slept a little better that night. The only major differences were that they gave us some better food and I didn't sleep between breakfast and lunch. For breakfast we had a hard boiled egg, some kind of hash brown and beef thing and cereal (honey nut cheerios again). Between breakfast and lunch we played more rummy (I was a little more talkative. I laughed at their jokes and commented where I thought it was appropriate) and watched the television. For lunch (the best meal the whole weekend) they gave us country fried steak, a biscuit, green beans, mashed potatoes, banana pudding and a purple colored drink. Of course I ate everything...except the green beans (I am racist against vegetables :P). From lunch to dinner we played rummy and watched the game on and off. By the time dinner was getting ready to roll around I had tired of rummy (kinda like a dog gets tired of the same chew toy over and over and over and over and...well you get the point.) and had tried to take a nap. No such luck. I was more tired than an out of shape runner who just completed a marathon but I couldn't have fallen asleep if someone had paid me. So I was wandering around the world again. Dinner was the same as the previous nights (kind of). Peanut butter and jelly and an egg salad sandwhich. I treated my egg salad sandwhich like a bad case of E-Coli and got rid of it as soon as possible. I traded it to the guy sitting next to me for a second bag of fritos :)

The last five hours I did a whole lot of nothing. I took a shower. I watched San Diego give the game to the Pats. I watched to of my world-mates play rummy for what seemed like forever. And I watched TV. I think the last two hours actually moved the fastest. The two-hour premiere of 24 was on and I forced myself to sit still and watch it. When I heard WHAM-BANG-CLICK for the last time that weekend I was already ready to go (had been for about three and a half hrs). My bunk was stripped of everything. Sheets neatly folded and in my bin. Towel folded (also in the bin). My "book" was in there too along with my pillow. And the mattress was neatly folded and laying on one of the "tables."

The way out was no where near as odd as the way in. Out of the world and into the hallway where I put my mattress and pillow back on the stack. Walked to the elevator and waited for the sheriff to sign me out. Down the elevator and back into the airlock type door marked INTAKE. Out the other side where I dropped all the linens and things into the laundry picked up my clothes and put them back on (in privacy this time) and signed all the paperwork saying I got my things back. From there it was simply "through that door, hang a right and go through the little door on the right" and I was free.

Once outside I took a single deep breath of un-filtered air, got my bearings, and sprinted for my car like a little kid after the ice cream truck. I was so happy to be free that once I got into my car I sat there for a few seconds. Then I got all of my gear out of it's hiding places. CD player get pulled out turned on and placed on the seat (I have a car adapter because I'm a poor college student and in-dash cd players were more expensive [really I'm just lazy and didn't feel like turning my car in to have one installed]), Liz Claiborne sticker goes back onto my jacket (yes I put a Liz Claiborne sticker on my jacket...it's still there too...), Cell phone gets turned on and set in the console thingamabob, pocket knife goes into my pocket (where else??), the cash and check card go into my opposite pocket. Having resecured all of my gear I turn my car on and listen to her purr (her name is Moria if y'all missed that...it was in an earlier blog). After a few seconds of purring I decided I'd rather have this place behind me then the warm fuzzy feeling I get when I'm just sitting in my car after not being there for awhile and I throw her in drive and get the hell out.

Such was my weekend in jail. Apologies for this not living up to the same standards as the first one. There really weren't a whole lot of images to use and I didn't want to embellish the story too much.


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Blogings of a Jailbird (pt 1)

Jan. 15th, 2007 | 12:16 pm

As some of you may or may not know about a month and a half ago I got busted going 100 in a 65 (message me for the details if you like). Anyways what follows is a sort of journalish type thing of my thought process as I went through 48 hours in the slammer (or whatever other slang word you wish to apply)

(I forgot to take paper so this is all from memory)

Two hundred twenty two miles. That's what the odometer reads as I slide into a parking space in front of the five story building butting up against the brick red courthouse. Putting the car in park I begin to go through my mental checklist, making sure I have everything I am taking in with me and putting everything else away. Rifling through the many pockets in the clothes I have on I remove everything that I can't take with me. Cash, Check Card, Cell Phone, Pocket Knife, and a Liz Claiborne sticker. The cash and check card get locked into the glove compartment. The cell phone pocket knife and sticker get shoved under the seat where I hid my CD player. I shut off engine and turn off all the lights. In the darkness that follows I pick up my reading material open the car door and step out onto the street. Closing and locking the car door I make my way across the carefully architectured landscape and into the front door.

Once inside I notice a distinct absence of human presence. I walk up to a window with a metallic coating on it that is supposed to conceal what is behind it. There is a speaker box there...but no button. As I start to walk away a deep gravelly voice issues from within. "May I help you?" Uh yea I'm supposed to report here for my jail sentence. "Sit down over there" Turning aroud I walk to the only place available to sit. An uncomfortable looking wooden bench. Within a minute or two a heavy steel door to the left of the window opens and a sheriff sticks his head out and jerks his head in a "follow me" gesture. I get up cross the room in three long strides and enter the door.

Once through that door he goes through another door like the first. Both doors lock behind us with an extremely audible click. In front of us is another set of doors (looks something like an airlock...) with the word INTAKE painted in solid white block letters. We go through the first door, which thunders shut behind us, and then through the second, which also thunders shut behind us, into a room whose shape is so odd it cannot be described. Pointing me to a stainless steel bench that stands about a foot and a half off the floor the sheriff tells me to sit down. I sit down in front of two other sheriffs, a Corporal and a Deputy. We go through all the necessary paperwork (they even take my picture) and then they direct me to a room that is caty-cornered to the stool I was sitting on. This door is labeled with the same solid white block lettering as the first, it says SHOWER/JAIL CLOTHING. I walk into that room and the same sheriff who brought me back stands in the doorway and say "strip." I take off all my clothes down to my boxers and my socks (why I tried to keep my socks on I don't know) and he goes "The underwear too. I have to search you." So off come the boxers and the socks. Once I'm completely naked he tells me to turn around, pick up one foot, pick up the other, turn around again, open my mouth, pick up my sack squat and cough. Once that is done he leaves telling me to take a shower and then put on the orange jumpsuit on the bench. So I shower and dry myself and then back on goes my underwear and socks (the rest of my gear gets locked in a room) and then a faded pair of orange pants that had me looking like a flood was coming, a t-shirt that matched and had the words "Allegheny Regional Jail" in big black block letters on the back, and a pair of too small orange slippers (go figure they wouldn't have size fifteens...). After leaving the now steam filled room I receive a plastic blue storage bin and am told to "follow me" the original sheriff and the deputy escort me back through the "airlock" and to a waiting elevator. We get in, the doors automatically close and we go up to the second floor.

We get off the elevator and just to the right there is a rack with some plastic-y loooking matresses and a bunch of pillows of the same manufacture. The sheriff tells me to pick up one of each. When I'm done doing that he escorts me through the "airlock" which has DORM#2 painted on it in the same block letters as the other doors. Once inside I find myself in a roughly 40ftx20ft (rough estimations) room with eight gunmetal grey steel bunkbeds that stand about four and a half feet off the ground. The bottom bunks of all eight are already occupied so I pick a top one close to the TV. Once I have all my stuff put down I look around for a closer look. Right next to my bed there are two stainless steel phones bolted into the wall. Right next to them there is an octagonal table with four stainless steel stools attached to it. Three more of these seperate the two rows of bunk beds. There are two "windows" in the room with some kind of opaque covering over them so you can't see out. I think they were also double-paned because you couldn't tell the temperature by touching them. These two sets of windows are covered by about six vertical bars (painted forest green) and two horizontal bar (also green) each. There is a camera and each of the far (in relation to my bunk) corners of the room. Behind the camera nearest my bunk is a utility sink, two toilets, two showers and two sinks with the stainless steel equivalent of a mirror over both of them.

Since I arrived to the jail at 2200 and lights out is at 2300 there wasn't much to do before the lights went out and a sheriff came in to turn off the TV.

I realize that was kind of long winded but I wanted to convey most of what I saw and experienced leading that first night. Tomorrows blog will be part two and will cover the From the end of this one until the time I got back in my car to drive home. If I start to run uber long I will break it down and cover this weekend in three parts instead of two.


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