I'm in Mexico.

And you aren't.

xoxoxoxo

Mexico is in two days, and I am beyond ready for the time off. Of course I am no where near ready to leave and work doubles the next two days, but that's no surprise.

But considering how the last month has gone for me (did I tell you all thay my truck{which I'm not allowed to drive anyway} is not starting now? I think that it is the battery, but still), and how previous Mexico trips have gone, I'm a little nervous. But at least I should have some really good stories to tell when I get back, if I get back.

My fantasy baseball team sucks. Really bad. I think that I am 44-56 right now. Holy shit, my team is not good. It also helps that I have a zillion injured players. I'm exaggerating and you don't care about this shit anyhow.

I am battling with a "choice" that I have. I was sentenced 10 days in jail, 9 of them being suspended based upon my completion of alcohol classes. I have to go to a screening (in the end of July!) so that this company can evaluate me and see what I "need". After they see what I "need", I do it. I have friends who have "needed" two classes a week for upwards of a year(at 20 bucks a pop+some silly base fee). It all, to me, seems a little ridiculous. So I have been thinking, that, although it really isn't a great option, it might make more sense to just do the other 9 days in jail. I did my one already(see the last post), I think that I could handle 9 more. Obviously it would be different, I did my one at Tempe City Jail, but if I did 9, I would go to Tent City. It really seems like it makes a lot more sense to just do the 9 days, but then again, it's jail, and what girl (who is quite girly, but full of "bad-assness"[thanks Guillermo!]) wants to voluntarily go to jail more than she has to?

This is really fucking hilarious.

Talk amongst yourselves.

The Gypsy's Adventures of the Past Month

I have to preface this entry with the notion that I have not been completely honest with all of you. I have not lied, but I have failed to mention some things. Some of you already know, but oh well, read on anyway.

I have had a tumultuous month. It has been an interesting adventure, with today having in a way capped it off. For you to truly understand, I will take you back to the Wednesday that it all began...[dramatic scene fading music]

The Incident that Began it All: Thursday, May 19th, 1:00a.m.

On Wednesday, May 18th, I went to The Vine in Tempe with some friends. I had a couple of margaritas and a few shots (after all, it was my "birthday", i.e. the girl who's ID I had' birthday). I decided that I was getting tired, and seeing as how I had to be at work at 6:30a.m., I should head home and get some rest.

As I was passing through the intersection of Rural and Broadway, heading southbound, I failed to notice that a motorcycle cop came behind me. I had stopped at the intersection and was accelerating on my route, when I accelerated more than I should have (48 in a 35). I was promptly pulled over.

The officer asked for my license and registration, as per usual. He informed why I had been pulled over. He then asked where I was coming from and where I was off to. He asked me to step out of the vehicle, which I did, without shoes. He asked if I would like to put my shoes on, I laughed and said, "No sir, they're heels, I'll be better of without 'em."

After a slew of sobriety tests, I was asked to turn around and place my hands behind my back. I was arrested. The motorcylce cop radioed for a patrol car to come so that I could be escorted to the Tempe Police station. I think that I must have been the first person to ever have thought of it, but about a half of a mile into the drive I sparked a short conversation with him,
Me: Excuse me sir,
Officer [looking at me in the rear-view mirror]: Yes?
Me [looking around]: Is there an easy way to put a seat-belt on back here?"
Officer [perplexed]: Well, no, I don't think that there is. We aren't going too far though.

I was not brought to the jail, but to the D.U.I. van. I guess it shows you how dedicated Tempe is to cracking down on drunk driving, they dedicated a whole van to it. I was brought into the van, still barefoot, and handcuffed to my new seat. I took another two breathalyzer tests to further prove their case against me. I was allowed to call a friend to pick me up, who I was advised also should not have been drinking, because they too would get a D.U.I. I called Ashley, and said nothing more than, "Can you come pick me up? I'm at the Tempe Police station." No further explanation needed, she agreed and was on her way. [Sidenote: I love Ashley, not just for this, but it didn't hurt]

I was given my paperwork outlining my four charges (D.U.I., D.U.I. B/C, D.U.I. Underage, and Speeding) and my scheduled court appearance. I realized that I would be in Mexico at the time and would have to file for a continuance. I slept on Ashley's floor and she on the couch as we watched an episode of Sex and the City.

The Elk Incident: Monday, May 23rd, 1:45a.m.

So Steph had this idea that we should take a day, and go off to Las Vegas, just to relax and get out of Phoenix. We both worked a double on Sunday, and we decided that since we both had Monday off, that that would be the day. Sunday night after we got off of work we gathered our things, dropped Dixie off at Josh's [Steph's boyfriend] house to watch while we were to be gone. We took Steph's car, since it is so much newer and nicer and a better idea.

She drove about 20 miles into the trip until she decided that we should switch, because she was getting freaked out by it being so dark, her not knowing where to go, and the curves of the road. I also was freaked out by her driving with these factors, so I complied. Our manager had told us to look for highway 69, but she was mistaken and it was the 79. We missed it and by the time that we had realized it, we were pretty far gone.

We stopped at a gas station and the man there gave us the best directions from where we were to get to our destination. We continued on and ended up on a podunk "highway" that became a combined two-direction highway, with one lane for each direction. A semi-truck was coming from the other direction, so I turned off the brights. We went down a little dip and as we came back up and the lights followed suit so that I could see, all of the sudden there was a large animal standing in the middle of our lane. I swerved to the left, but it still clipped the passenger side, and then swerved back into our lane as to avoid the oncoming semi-truck.

I pulled over about a quarter of a mile up the road, but we were shaking and too freaked out to get out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night to check, so we decided to go on to the next gas station to check the car out and go from there. Stephanie looked out her window and saw a little hair attached to her can and flapping in the wind. We got to the gas station, and Steph tried to get out, but her passenger door wouldn't open. We called 911 to ensure that the elk would be removed from the road and so that we could get a police report so she could file for an insurance claim.

We went on to Las Vegas anyway and had a ball. We came back poorer, more tired, and with fresh ink.

The Roof Incident: Thursday, May 30th 11:00 a.m.

No more needs to be said. If you haven't been paying attention, please refer back to the previous post.

The Reason That All of This is Relevant: Wednesday, June 15th 3:00p.m.

At 1:45p.m. yesterday I arrived at the Tempe City Jail to serve my 24 hour sentence, which would begin at 3:00p.m. As I was sitting in the lobby waiting for an officer to come get me, I heard a ruckus beginning behind me at the security check point. Two passionate men were causing an uproar because they were trying to enter the building, but refused to submit their bags to a screening to make sure that there were no weapons within. They then rambled on about some code entitling them to distributing a questionnaire to the officers. The officers referred to them as fruitcakes and had more officers come and deal with the situation.

I giggled about it quite a many times and after giggling with Joey and checking out a "gorgeous" chick, I returned back inside to wait. I met James, a loan officer for Bank of America who decided to talk to me. We had exchanged the typical friendly smiles, followed by looking down at the ground to signify me not wanting to talk to him. Then he was called for what he needed to do, and so I was left back to my silent preparing for my next 24 hours.

I was brought down to the holding area with my other comrades (5 guys, so I wouldn't be spending time with them). We were stripped of everything but our clothing and patted down. I was more groped than patted, but oh well. I went to my "suite" for the next day.

It had exactly 304 bricks comprising the walls. It was painted an awful shade of blue that looked gross with the blue metal doors/"window". There were 17 screws in the room, 12 affixing the light to the wall, 3 attaching the water fountain/sink/toilet to the wall and 2 keeping the grate on the vent on the wall. There were two "bunks". One was a concrete block on the ground approximately 6 feet long by 2 feet wide. About 3 feet above it, affixed to the wall by 4 large bolts, was the second bunk. I pulled the mattress off of the top bunk and doubled up mine on the bottom.

At no point did I have a roommate, but five different girls were arrested throughout my stay. I quickly learned that the girls handled the situation in two distinct ways: A. Cry hysterically and freak out, or 2. Remain calm and cordial, and even somewhat friendly with those in your surroundings.

Three of the girls were in the same boat as me, option number 2. But two of the girls were in the first category. One of them more so than the other. She was bawling on the phone with her mother, keeping me awake. Eventually she calmed down enough for me to be able to sleep. I woke up to her hyperventilating, crying, and yelling. She was freaking the fuck out. I quickly realized that talking to her would be A. The right thing to do, and 2. The key to me getting back to sleep.

So I asked her what was wrong, and she replied that she was having a nervous breakdown. I didn't really know how to help her, but I tried to break her down as I figured that I would best be broken down in this situation. I got her to slow her breathing down by focusing on it and breathing through her shirt. Then I started to talk to her about things other than that which she was freaking the fuck out about, such as school, work, etc. And then, I got her to laugh about her situation, noting that hopefully she at least won the fight that got her there.

Finally, she was calm, and quiet. I returned to sleep. I slept probably 20 of my 24 hours. I never really was upset or thinking about what I did, just slept. It helped that because of my ribs I have a prescription for Vicodin, which aided my sleeping continuously.

I think that I have become that bitter jaded bitch of a server/bartender that I swore that I would never be when I was the young naive giddy hostess. I don't yet know if I think that that is a good or a bad thing.

I have been in constant pain for the past week and a half. The only exception being when I have been sleeping. But even the pain killers aren't helping. Sorry to anyone if it has affected my mood and made me bitchier, unless you deserved it.

XOXOXOXO

A few weeks later, and I still don't know if it was a good decision or not. Right now it just seems to be a neutral one, I guess I'll find out.

I got sent home from work yesterday. For the first time in a while too. But this time I didn't get sent home for "being a bitch" (which I kind of was the other time), but because I was in so much pain. I work a double today, so we shall see how this goes.

With my new-found afternoon off, I basked in the sun and finished my latest book, How to Make Love Like a Porn Star; A Cautionary Tale by Jenna Jameson (and Neil something). I highly recommend the read. You all have heard me say it, it makes me want to be just like her without the stripping and f#cking on film. Really, it's a tremendous book, easy read and quite well written. She doesn't try to paint herself as the victim nor the victor, it's just good ok, trust me.

Now that I am back into a good reading rythym and have no school and little work as distraction, I will move onto the many other books that line my shelves that I have been hiding from. It helps that my friends are in San Fransisco and that I can't drive anywhere. But anyway, I shall try to provide a book review for my readership in decent time intervals, hopefully weekly, or less.

Now that I have worn out my comma button, I shall bid you all adieu to finish cleaning my house and then probably go cause a ruckus.

For a while now I have been pondering a topic, and as of last night I have decided that I needed to create a discussion/post/possibly a piece on it.

Femininity vs. feminism. Is it possible to be a feminine feminist?

Quite often society places generalizations upon groups of people. I am a woman and I believe highly in the power and strength of women. But I am also a lot girlier than popular belief. My question proposed is, in today's society, can a woman who is considered a feminist retain her "girlishness"?

This post will serve only to spark a slight discussion. I would like to use that as a creative diving board for me to create the aforementioned post. Indulge me with your thoughts on the subject.

Sleeping in is exhausting.

So stubborn Jessica finally went to get x-rays taken. Two cracked/broken ribs and a chest wall contusion (the muscles in my chest are bruised really badly). I'll survive. The worst part is missing work. Not that I'm really missing it, but I took off a week to go to Mexico, and now am taking time off to recover. And having all kinds of time off, when I don't have to go anywhere or do anything in said time, makes me want to go back even less. I really need to work on finding that gay sugar-daddy I've been talking about.

Other things are good. It will be interesting seeing her more often, considering how much and for how long I have held nothing but distaste and disrespect for her. I will do my best to be civil and respectful of the others around us. We'll see...

Angelina Jolie is hot. And I still don't know that I believe that she's with Brad.

I am broken, be gentle with me.

I fell through the roof of a house that I was working on building and plywood gave and I went through to the ground. Luckily I broke my fall with a nice, soft saw-horse. Oh yeah, I said it. A saw horse. It hurt, a lot. The worst part is the jerks wouldn't let me back on the roof to finish what I started. But the percoset has kicked in, and woosh! It's an interesting feeling.