attention whore thread

[araby]

hay guyz. I haven't posted in a while. I hope all of you are well.

I recently went through a traumatic experience and wrote about it. I want to post it here, because some of you might read it and learn something. What happened to me, could happen to most anyone who enjoys alcohol once in a while, or too often. For me, it was life-changing and eye-opening. I have never had a problem with alcohol and still don't. It just goes to show how much we have to stay in front of our minds and responsible, even if you have drinks once a week at brunch with your roommate.

Stay strong, and away from the cops.

Rumours

The subject title is misspelled according to my Mac Book but my Canadian friends would beg to differ. This means little to nothing though, since I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in what seems like a year. It’s only been a few days. A van just drove by and I thought of Kit.

She heard a rumour. Well, it’s true. I went to jail. The wind blows, my legs shake. They’ve been shaking for days. Not JAIL, jail. Not a holding cell to sleep it off. Lockdown. If you don’t know what that means, I’ll tell you. Another van.

If you tell an officer that you are going to hit him, it’s considered simple assault. If an officer touches you and so much as snatch away from him, it’s simple assault. There are about twenty levels of assault, all of which will land you in Lockdown. In Charleston County Detention Center, it’s called 1A, or, Hell. And I was in it.

Drunken behavior is one of those things that is creepy and outstanding at the same time. While we react emotionally, we also react irrationally. We drive and it’s illegal. Yet, “everyone does it.” Thankfully, that would not be my charge that night, nor any of my drunken friends that drove that night. My charges were Disorderly Conduct and Simple Assault. Missing my old/new/old/new boyfriend who wanted me to pick him up for Brunch, I drove to his house to say “Hi. I’m drunk. I missed you today.” I knocked on his window and broke it. Damnation. I can’t find my keys. An officer shows up to say, “You’re bleeding you need stitches.” No recollection. I only remember the house cars being in the drive and hearing myself say, “I think I broke the window.” I had no idea who I said that to. I assumed it was myself.

Irrational thought, or not being “in your right mind” is tricky. It doesn’t seem quite fair to fault someone for something they don’t remember doing, but Charleston County sees it quite differently. When I snatched away from the officer who wanted to help me, I landed myself in the car, instead of with my friend. *blink*

Who gets that drunk anyway? Most everyone I know. Kit rolled down some stairs last year and broke her foot, bless her heart. Scott woke up one morning a few weeks ago to find his car door open, drivers license on the ground and had no recollection of any of it. Jordan was on Xanax and dropped her cell phone in a glass of water. Drunken behavior…try to remember what the hell happened. Perhaps someone, or something like a text message will remind us of the events that night.

What fools we are. It’s all fun and games until someone goes to jail.

Lockdown. I was escorted in my black and grey jumpsuit to my cell. The lights woke my cellmate. She looked up at me and the Guard from the bottom bunk and said, “AWW HEEELL NAW!!” I was given a blanket, a sheet, a tube of toothpaste, deodorant, soap, a washcloth, a towel, and a cup. The thin, green, torn mat for my bunk was no cushion at all and when I laid down down that night my hip bones sunk to the metal. I have bruises on my thighs from four days of laying that way.

I awoke the next day to buzzers, lights, locked doors being opened and closed, people shouting and toilets flushing. Everything had an echo. I had no idea where I was, or why. I knew I broke a window by accident, but this seemed a little harsh. I asked the Guard, whose face I remembered from the night before and asked, “Why am I here?”

“You resisted a strip search.”

Oh yah. I remember that. I was so drunk, I thought the officer being fresh with me. When they pointed a taser at me, I obliged. As I watched the Guard slip the food tray through the slot in the door, I tried not to vomit or cry. I did both, after I ate only the bread and drank water from my cup. The rest looked like muddy water.

Williams. That was my cellmate. She and I spent the day reading her papers from the Disciplinary Board, who sentenced her to thirty days in jail. Not jail, but Lockdown. She would be unable to leave because she broke the rules of the Detention Center. Her release date read, “May 6, 2008.” She said, “That means I’m getting out later. I’ve got to call my friend. She gettin out today too. April, May, June. September. September 24th, 1978. That means it’s commissary day. When they put that bag over the window of the door, it means it’s commissary. Today is Wednesday, Im’ll get my commissary. I ordered fried oysters and shrimp. My aunt used to make this shrimp. Mm.”

Then she flushed the toilet four times for no reason.

I said to myself, “Holy shit this bitch is crazy. I’m so fucked.”

Jordan called me psycho recently. Funny how when you’re looking at psycho in the face, you care very little about those words coming from someone who doesn’t even know you. I didn’t know Williams, but I knew she was batshit insane.

Monday night I went to my bond hearing, which was done by video conference. Scott stepped into the video screen so that I could see him. I was very happy to see him. I was very sorry for breaking his window. I hoped he knew it was an accident. The Judge read my bail amount, and in my mind I knew that for $150-200 I could go home in as much as four hours. (Paperwork.)

The Guards all knew I didn’t *really* belong there. They were very nice to me in spite of the fact that they don’t have to be. They are there to escort you in shackles wherever you have to go such as your Bond Hearing, Booking or Medical. They are there to serve your food and bring you toilet paper if they want. They were as sympathetic as they could be and did a few favors for me, only because they knew I had a drunken night for which I should’ve ended up in a holding cell. Snatching away from the arresting officer and resisting a strip search got me where I was.

Four hours went by after my hearing. The fifth and sixth hours passed and by hour seven, I knew I’d been left there. Unable to sleep through the shouting through the vents by other inmates in code to one another, I tried to decipher their words. All I could make out was, “Yeeeaah.” I didn’t mind the night in there. Other than every fifteen minutes or so when Williams would burst out into a fit of laughter from her sleep, which actually made me laugh the first two days, I preferred being awake at night. She didn’t stare at me at night when I had to unbutton my jumpsuit to relieve myself at our stainless steel toilet, which she kept sparkling clean. She might’ve been crazy, but at least she was a germ freak and had a sense of humor. Even if, the laughter was at the thoughts in her own head and came even through all hours of the night.

Finally on Tuesday morning I was taken to Booking. I was given a pin number to make a collect call. I called my attorney. I hoped he would bail me out. I waited the four, five, six hours. Nothing. I would spend another night. I didn’t understand why I was still there. Surely one of my friends has a couple hundred dollars to help me with. Surely.

The stitched lacerations on my arm from the broken window were infected. I stripped off the bandages and hung my bleeding arm out of the food slot when they opened it to bring lunch to show the Guard that I needed Medical attention, which I’d been denied for the last two days. They took me there and bandaged them again, over antibiotic ointment. That was something.

With nothing to read, write with and no one to talk to, I sang. Williams said, “This white bitch singing cannot sing.” I sang louder and because my thoughts were interrupted every five seconds by the slamming of cell doors, the loud buzzers that released them, the slamming of bodies in cells above me and the shouts of other inmates, it was difficult to remember song lyrics to the songs I sing and know by heart all the time. My reality was fading. Stripped of everything I knew and with nothing of my own except the panties on my bottom, I tried to keep it together. I made up the song lyrics as I went. I sang to an Avetts Brothers tune, “Shut the fuck up, you never shut the fuck up. You ramble on about bullshit that doesn’t make any sense and stop staring at me as I pee. You’re a crazy bitch, you’re a crazy bitch. Shut the fuck up, bitch shut the fuck up.” She was talking nonstop the entire time I sang and had no idea what I was saying.

By Wednesday her bursts of laughter weren’t funny anymore. They were disturbing. Everything was disturbing. I stared out of the 3x12 window at the construction behind the building. It was something. I watched the inmates sweep and mop the floor through the window of the cell into 1A. It was something. I ignored the inmates who stared at me and tried to show me their dicks. I tried to meditate. Forget that. I couldn’t hold a thought for five seconds. I tried to pray and couldn’t get past, “Dear God.” I covered my ears as Williams rambled incessantly about incomplete thoughts that had no direction. I kept my body as clean as I could, fixed my hair in the mirror and said, “Not bad for three days without a shower” and brushed my teeth as best I could at least three times a day with my fingernail and toothpaste. I used the strings that were unravelling from my bedsheet to floss. When a piece broke and got stuck between my teeth I wanted to kill myself. I had to ration that it wasn’t a good enough reason just yet, and to hang in there. There’d be a much worse reason as things always get worse before they get better.

I wondered why I was still there. I had no idea specifically what landed me there, though, because my memory from the night that brought me there was scarce. I didn’t remember assaulting anyone. The Guard, out of the kindness of his heart, let me make another call even though we’re only allowed to use the phone on Sunday. I called the only landline I knew and asked my friend to call people I thought might be able to help me, people I knew well enough to care and might have two hundred dollars. I specifically asked that my family NOT be called. They don’t need a call, “You’re daughter is in jail.” I could tell them that myself later. I know plenty of people with two hundred bucks, surely. I waited the four, five, six and seven hours. Nothing. Another night. More bruises on my hips from the metal bunk beneath me and interrupted fucked up dreams and sleep from shouting through vents. Keep it together. Try, try, try to keep it together. I should not still be here for 200 bucks. Try to keep it together.

Thursday morning the Guard says, “Barrett, you’re going to your Disciplinary Hearing. I’m gonna help you okay? Get ready.”

Williams throws all of her belongings into her sheet, which are four cartons of emptied Orange Drink (not juice, drink) filled with the food I wouldn’t eat, two spoons, her blanket, her deodorant and toilet tissue, and tied a knot in it. She placed the satchel by the door and sat on it, waiting. She thought she was going somewhere. She eyed my every move. Today was different. She was no longer rambling or bursting into random laughter. She had a look in her eyes that I was afraid of for the first time in four days. I ignored her stares. I sat on my bunk on top and meditated, hoped for the best and expected the worst. I did not want thirty days, like Williams got.

I had a feeling, a premonition that when I would get back to my cell from that meeting, that my personal items would be gone. At this point, I was starting to get Jail wise. I tied my towel around my body into a knot over my chest. The rough fabric allowed it to stay in one knot. I tucked my rag over that. I put my jumpsuit back on. I stuffed my toothpaste, my deodorant and what little toilet tissue I had left into the breast pocket of my suit. The only thing that I didn’t have on my person, was my cup, my sheet and my blanket. I folded them neatly on top of my piece of shit mat and hid my cup between them. I considered stuffing the cup into my underwear but it wouldn’t stay when I tried to walk. I thought, “Thank God I don’t have a dick.”

When the Guard came to get me Williams got up and he said, “Not you.” She was pissed. I’m sure something will be gone when I get back.

The Guard advised me all the way across the room in the “Multipurpose Room” that I should be apologetic and nothing else. I thanked him.

I was apologetic and nothing else. They found me guilty anyway, gave me thirty days in segregation or Lockdown which would expire on May 6. They told me that even if someone bailed me out, I would not be able to leave. I was escorted in shackles and cuffs back across the room to my cell, and swallowed. I blinked back the tears because at this point, it doesn’t matter. Best to be nothing be a badass from here on out, because this is gonna be home for the next twenty five days.

When I entered my cell, Williams was in the corner glaring at me and I knew something was missing. And they were. My cup and blanket were gone. I was really, really getting sick of this place and this crazy bitch.

I’m going to interrupt my own story to tell another story here. Stay with me, if you’re still reading.

When I was 22, I had a boyfriend who went to jail for public drunkness, resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. He drank GHB recreationally that night and had too much, too much to know what he was doing and if you know what GHB is, it’s the date rape drug. If you drink by the capful, it will give feelings of euphoria for about two hours, maybe three. Anything more than that and you will black out, or pass out. He did both that night out with his friends. He went to jail in Horry County. Because no one posted his bail before he made it to Disciplinary, he was sentenced to thirty days.

Two weeks into his sentence he was riding in the work van with six other workers for community service around Myrtle Beach. The van got into a wreck, and because none of the inmates were wearing seatbelts in the back they were badly injured. My boyfriend broke L-3 and fractured L-4 in his spine. He was released from prison early, landing his family a sizable lawsuit against Horry County.

I thought of him a lot during my time in 1A. I thought, “If he can do it, I can. He might be a guy, but dammit my Mother is as tough as nails and I have a redneck side that I will have to get back in touch with if shit gets bad in here.”

I began to form a strategy at this point. I looked at Williams and asked, knowing that she is completely crazy, “Did you take my cup and my blanket?”

She shouted through an angry face, “I didn’t fucking touch your shit bitch!!”

I walked over to the intercom and called the Guards. I asked, “Did one of the Guards come into my cell and remove my blanket and my cup?” They said, “No.”

“Then Williams took them. I’m going to attempt to nicely ask for them back. If you hear anything, come down here.”

I picked up her thick, green mat which was MUCH thicker than my skinny one and I threw it onto my bunk. I put my skinny one onto her bunk. I stuffed my belongings from my pockets into my shoes and tucked them under my new, thick mat. She glared at me. I laid my sheet over the mat, climbed onto my bunk and laid down on my stomach, crossing my arms and resting my chin.

Williams said, “Why did you put my mat on your bunk?”

“Why did you put my blanket and my cup in your bag?”

“I DIDN’T TOUCH YOUR STUFF BITCH!!!!”

She walked over to the intercom. She was so stupid, she didn’t even know she had to push the button to talk into it. She said, “Officerrr, officer. Emergency. OFFICERR.”

She walked toward my bunk, reached under my mat and pulled out my shoes. She threw them onto the floor. I sat straight up with my back against the wall. She spat in my face. Then she grabbed my leg and tried to pull me off the top bunk. Excellent. My plan to get this bitch to attack me worked. If I was going to spend thirty days in this hell hole, it wasn’t going to be in a cell with this crazy bitch. And if she hurt me, I might be going home. I braced myself.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me off the top bunk, twisting my left foot under me and over the railing of the metal, snapping something. I cried out in pain. My head hit the steel table attached the wall, and I felt a snap in my shoulder. My face hit the floor and I felt my chin jar and my TMJ stung with pain. She grabbed my hair and pulled with all her might. I screamed as the guards came in and pulled her off me. They told me to walk across the room into the empty cell but when I stood to walk my left leg collapsed under me. I crawled into the cell. The cell had a nice, new, thick blue mat. I laid on it and cried in pain.

I was taken by wheelchair to Medical where they X-rayed my foot and examined my contusions. Thank God I have a thick head of hair because she pulled two handfuls of it out of my head by the roots. Four hours later I was back in my new cell, all alone, but without a blanket, soap, toothpaste or deodorant.

I cried some more. I thought I’d cried all I could those first three days but the pain was unbelievable. I am sure she would have attacked me anyway, but it was definitely what I wanted in order to get me out of that cell. I knew my injuries wouldn’t get me released, but at least I was rid of that psycho bitch for good.

I checked the clock. 4:20. A chuckle. Shift change would come soon and I would ask the night Guards who were always very helpful for the items I needed. At least a bar of soap. I needed to wash my underwear. I couldn’t wash them when I was in the cell with her, because if I let them dry she might steal them. They were a focal point for those four days, because they were all I had that was mine.

The Guard granted my request and brought me two of everything. I thanked him profusely and proceeded to clean my cell. If Williams taught me anything, it was to clean the stainless steel. I cleaned my bunk and made up my bed. I took a whore bath at the sink with the rag and soap, brushed my teeth and ran my fingers through my four day old hair. It would stand up on its own at this point. I finally washed my underwear. I slung them out as much as I could so they would dry quicker. I hung them on the hook under the shelf attached to the wall to dry.

As I began to consider what to do with my belongings, I had a thought. “What if, in the middle of the night, the Guards bring someone into my cell like they brought me into Williams’ cell that first night? What if they try to take my things?” My God, Ashly. You’re thinking like a fucking inmate now. Well, you are one. Protect your stuff.

So, I lined my things up beside me instead of on the shelf. I placed my damp underwear between my dry towel so the towel would soak up some of the water and laid it under my mat. Someone would have to kill me to get my underwear.

Wishing I had a book to read or paper to write on and dismissing the depressing though of having neither for the go-zillionth time in four days, I climbed into my bunk and considered that even the smallest change of familiarity was maddening. I had memorized all of the writing on the wall in my old cell. I didn’t even read it anymore over there. In my old cell, I had a window that looked out back and between the hours of twelve and three every day I could sit on the stool that was attached to the floor and get sun on my face. That was something. In my new cell, there was no sunshine. Only a wall and a small patch of grass. The writing on the wall was new and I didn’t like that. I was uncomfortable in this cell with my new surroundings, but happy for my thick new mat and the solitude. Yet, oddly enough, even having another body in the room was comforting at times.

I asked myself, lying on my back staring at new writings on the ceiling, what would I write if I had paper? Well, I think now is a good time to start recalling events. This would, after all, make it into the book. So I began to talk softly, out loud, as if I had a pen in my hand and paper. I stopped myself at first, because talking out loud seemed crazy. Then I rationed that it really wasn’t, because when I write it’s usually stream of conscience. Therefore, talking out loud isn’t any different. If I do it softly, that is.

And that I did. I started with Brunch. Recalling everything with as much detail as I could, even though it would seem I’d want to forget it, I spoke it as I’d write it. I even corrected myself a few times. When I finished the entire story, I got a little sad because I’d arrived to the present and had nowhere to go.

I got out of my bunk and walked toward the door to find the time. 8:30. Best to stay in the present from now on, I think. It will be a long twenty five days. Don’t think about the past, don’t think about the future. Stay in the moment from now on and time will pass much easier.

I climbed back into my bunk, covered myself and hugged myself, which was the only thing that felt good and thought of Scott’s face and his warm smile and how much I wished we were lying together again, smiling at each other. God I love him. Stay in the now, Ashly. He left you here. Hug yourself and get some sleep. It’s been a long four days. My head ached with pain, my foot didn’t work and my shoulder was numb. From this point on, take it second to second. Minute to minute. It will be alright.

My intercom comes on.

“Barrett, pack your things. You’re getting released.”

I sat straight up in bed with tears filling my eyes. Nah. I didn’t hear that correctly. Every time I’ve thought I might be released, I was only disappointed. They are probably taking me back to Medical to find out the results of my X-rays.

The guard opened my door with a wheelchair.

I said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear her correctly. Am I going to Medical?”

He smiled at me the warmest smile I’ve ever seen and said, “No Ashly. You’re going home.”

At 4:20 I started my new life in my new cell. By the time I’d finished cleaning and telling myself my own story, it was exactly four hours later, which is the exact amount of time it takes for paperwork to process once bail is posted until the point of release. Isn’t life funny? My eyes couldn’t hold the tears anymore and I thanked him all the way down the hallway. We came upon another familiar face. She looked at me, confused about the wheelchair as she got closer to us and she said, “Are you alright?”

I asked her, “Do you remember me?”

She said, “Of course I do.”

She was the officer who held the taser at me during my strip search.

I looked at her and cried, “I’m sorry for being so uncooperative.”

She smiled and said, “That’s okay.”

The Guard told her I was attacked by my cellmate earlier that day. I looked at her and said, “Karma is something. Whoever the officer was that I assaulted, landing me in lockdown, didn’t deserve to be assaulted. Tell them I’m sorry. That bitch kicked my ass today and I deserved it.”

She laughed and said, “Whatever you say. Good luck, sweetie.”

I didn’t know who bailed me out. I saw the signature on the paper and recognized my Mother’s name right away. I said, “My Mom is gonna kick my 31 year old ass.” The Guard laughed. I asked the Guard, “How am I being released if Disciplinary said I’d be here for twenty-five more days?”

He said, “Why are you asking?”

I don’t know if anyone has ever sent a Thank-You note to 1A. They should be getting theirs in the mail in a few days.

As I was changing out of my jumpsuit and back into my Brunch dress, I took the only thing I had of my own out of the pocket, which were my underwear and I looked at them. I tossed them into the bin along with the jumpsuit and laughed.

When I laid in my bunk earlier that night I thought, “I wonder who is gonna pick me up when I get out? I wonder if anyone knows they can visit me on Sunday? Will anyone visit me? Will they bring me paper? A book? Will they know what book I want?”

Of all the the people I thought might pick me up upon release, I am glad it was my Mother. I have the best family in the world.

[Tikker]

nothing like the smell of insanity in the morning

[Jay]

Drinking problems are not defined by frequency of consumption but rather consequences of consumption.

Honestly I always thought you just had the jolly type crazies where you just said weird off the wall shit and it was all harmless and good natured and caused no problems but it's obvious you need some therapy. I do therapy twice a year. Does wonders. I don't think I'm crazy by any stretch of imagination. Call it a mental check up I guess. Nothing different from a physical or dental exam cept that it's for your brain.

[Martrae]

Uh...if they released you early by mistake you'll probably be hauled back.

Other than that, I'm at a loss for words.

[Trielelvan]

I hope you're doing alright Araby.

[Ginzburgh]

So you were in jail for four days?

[Kramer]

wow. i hope you don't do that to yourself again. glad you are allright now.

[araby]

I want to say, as I've done in Private Messages, I am certainly embarrassed by my behavior. I've learned a lesson, indeed.

the story came when I hadn't slept and couldn't sleep still...due to noises/memories when I closed my eyes. Once I wrote it, I was very proud of the work. It's like anything else though, some will enjoy reading it, some won't. the fact that you all know me (sorta) is going to play into how you feel about what you read, and I was prepared for that.

Since I've been "out" (haha) and people have spoken about what what they know, some very serious shit has come to light. It's sad, but true and the bottom line, is that Scott fed me to the cops that night. he was home. the lights were on when I got there, and then they turned off after I knocked on the door. My anger that night, was due to the fact that he was ignoring me outside the door. I thought a neighbor called the police...when in fact, it was Scott.

I didn't know why he was ignoring me, because we've been getting back together (working on it, anyway.)

Now, I know why I was being ignored. They were doing cocaine inside. Another friend of theirs who was inside with them, told me that yesterday.

He showed up at my bond hearing, to let me see him, and he left me there. He has been telling people all over town a lot of lies, and it's sad, but true.

yes, it sucks. yes, I got involved with him again and so I'm at fault...but I didn't know he was into things that badly. I hope he gets help. My reality as I know it has been shattered because of him, and his ex-girlfriends have come to my side in the last four days to help me, they want me to know that they know I how I feel. They want me to know that they understand how I got suckered into his manipulations.

so, one day at a time. it'll be a long time, I'm afraid, before I'll be able to trust someone again. as much as I'd like to find love with someone, I think it will not be for a while, and so in the meantime I'm making myself a better person, and taking care of myself. I'm gonna be alright.

those guys though-I dunno if they're gonna be alright just yet. because he called the cops on me, and I was taken to jail, the cop went back over there after everything. he knocked on the door and they scrambled inside, to hide their drugs. the cop told them, "I know what you're doing in here" and now they are telling people around town that I tattle-tailed on the drugs that are moved in/out of that house. I did no such thing.

when they called the police on me, they shot themselves in the foot.

scott's roommate, who moves about 4-5K worth of drugs through that house every month, went ape-shit when the cop left, flushed everything and in a fit of rage trashed his house and kicked scott's car. I know this-because the third person who was there, told me yesterday. btw-I've been blamed for kicking the car and told by scott's mother that I have to pay for it. I didn't remember kicking his car, and by the size of the dent, I thought, "there is very little chance my little getaway stick and flip flop made that dent."

well, i didn't. his roommate did, during his anger fit. so...he thinks he is gonna get raided now. well, it's not because of me.

new life. new things. new people. and my roommate, is absolutely amazing and willing to help me get started. we don't allow those "dirty people" into our lives. my doctor I worked for is willing to help me and is considering giving me my job back.

every one of my coworkers called me last night, and I filled them in. also, they all told me that they encouraged Doc to let me come back.

I went back to the ER today, where I had my stitches placed before going to jail and they re-treated my infected arm. it'll be scarred, but it's okay. the cuffs tore them, badly and they've not healed properly.

my attorney has requested my medical records from the jail-where they x-rayed my foot, and when I receive those I will see my podiatrist, to find out what is wrong with it. until then, it's ace-bandaged and I'm on crutches.

thanks all.

[araby]

oh whoops, martrae, I wasn't released by mistake. they let me go home when my Mom bailed me out because of my injuries.

[Martrae]

Ahhh.

Good luck to you, Ash.

[Tuggan]

you got stripes.

[10sun]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ro08bILEvqc

[brinstar]

scott is mental, and he has made you mental. getting completely and permanently away from him is your only chance at sanity. i believe i told you this six months ago. will you listen this time?

[Harrison]

A woman taking good advice. You have a better chance of hitting the lottery while getting hit by lightning your second time while it's snowing in hell.

[Gypsiyee]

:rofl:

A woman taking good advice. You have a better chance of hitting the lottery while getting hit by lightning your second time while it's snowing in hell.

and yet still, both have a better chance than you getting laid.

[Harrison]

No, women don't take advice. They ask for it and then ignore it completely and continue doing whatever retarded thing it is they "wanted" advice on.

[araby]

Yah I'm listening this time.

[Harrison]

*dies*

[araby]

haha...I got this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzGt4-rLk9g on another board for laughs.

[araby]

Oh, and people are really nice to you when you're on crutches. I was out Monday night with my roommate and everywhere I went, everyone wanted to know, "What happened to you?" and...of course it's not really all that cool to say, "Uh..I went to jail for four days and my cellmate attacked me." Most people laugh and wanna hear more..most people are really supportive.

Last night we went for dinner at my favorite restaurant and as I hobbled in the entire area looked at me started laughing. I just looked at them back and asked, "What? You're all looking at *me*"

They turned their eyes to the guy at the end of the bar, who had a pair of crutches beside him. I said, "OOhhh" and everyone laughed some more. Of course they wanted to know what happened, and thirty minutes later, at the end of the story they all lift their glasses. it's been really, really humbling to have so many people I don't even know offer their sympathy and support. even though I don't deserve either, I'm sure.

[Ndaara]

Sounds like things are looking up, Araby! I want to say I enjoyed reading your stories, but that doesn't sound right - but I do enjoy your writing style. If you enjoyed the writing, I hope you continue it! I hope things continue to get better for you.

PS: The whole "not taking advice" thing is not limited to women by any stretch. People in general are going to do what they're going to do, no amount of well-intentioned "advice" is going to change anyone's actions, male or female. People need to figure things out for themselves.

PPS: If you insist on giving "advice", consider asking the person leading questions, and allow them to come to their own conclusions instead. And in the process, you might learn something, too!

[araby]

thanks a lot =)

[araby]

hey kids..this is being published at Ducts.org! exciting =)

[Jay]

Wow, what I said in this thread was totally douchey. Sorry =(.

[Harrison]

Sometimes, usually right before I go to bed, I feel bad for some of the evil shit I say to people even if they deserve it.

I wake up and that momentary weakness has subsided. Does this happen to you guys? Like you're nicer when you're tired/about to go to sleep?