That Moment

There's a time every once in a while in the life of a criminal when you know you're fucked. Either you're caught, getting robbed, swindled, and/or cheated. For this story, I want to share with you a little more about what happened in the hotel room the night I was arrested. For me, this time, it wasn't a sudden moment. It was a series of events and bad decisions that lead up to the eventual moment of the of the cold steel bracelets being slapped on.

My future co-defendant was about to leave the room for the night. She got a call from her ride saying they were almost there. She said goodbye and she left. One minute later she came back pounding on the door. She said her ride was surrounded by cops, not very good news for them. This would be a good time to say that she was an active DOC fugitive, and she had just recently cut her ankle bracelet off. We sat on the bed and pondered what to do. I decided to turn on my police scanner app and as I was doing that, her phone rang. It was her ride. He was with the cops, and he had given them her name.

On the police scanner there was nothing other than chatter about the Super 8 motel that I was currently in, and her name being thrown around. Now, her ride and the cops didn't know what room she was in, so that could buy her a little time to plan an escape. But we just sat there. It didn't get real until she got up to look through the peephole and saw the hotel manager walk by and point at our door. FUCK!

At this point I started to realize the potential. I needed to hide everything quick. I had two ounces of meth, a plethora of meth-smoking paraphernalia, and a tiny bit of weed. I don't know why I didn't just flush the dope. I only owed $1,800 for it, and my boss would have understood. But I didn't, I hid it in the place everybody  looks first: the light fixture. Just as I hid the last of everything and laid down on the bed, there was a booming knock on the door. Ever the comedian, I said, "I wonder who it is?" No response. They were there for her and I told her she had to go. She knew I was right. We said goodbye.

The door shut and for a calm, quiet two minutes, I sat there contemplating how much worse it could have gone. Then, another knock. I went to answer the door, and they asked me to step out. I didn't know that I didn't have to, so I did. They said management complained that there was a lot of traffic in and out of the room and did I have any explanation for that? Just then, my co-defendant who was in cuffs but still right outside the door asked if she could go get her purse. An officer said OK, and the manager let them back into the room. Uh-oh. It took that officer ten seconds to spot the tiny bag if weed I had carelessly tossed on the floor at the last minute. Probable cause for a search warrant achieved. They asked if they could search the room at that point, and I just said, "Fuck it. Go for it." I didn't care anymore.

You see, I was so sick of the lifestyle, and so disgusted with myself as a person, that I knew right then that getting arrested was the only way out. I knew I couldn't do it on my own, because I had dug myself in so deeply. I knew I would eventually go to prison for the shit, and I was ready for it right then.

The cops found everything and we were both charged with first-degree sales of meth. It was my first drug charge and I eventually bailed out and went right back to it for six months. She stayed in jail for eight months. I eventually testified that all of the drugs were mine and she was released after pleading to a fifth-degree possession charge and given time served.

I'm grateful every day that I've been through what I have in life. I wouldn't be me if I hadn't. But in that moment, things can be scary. And that's one of the many reasons I choose to stay clean. I know where I'll go, and what I'll do if I ever go back out into that world, and none of it will be good.

No Move Is A Good Move?

If only for a few days, the thought of moving out of my mom's house for maybe the sixth time in my life was constantly on my mind. But, alas, the whole idea has been scrapped. I was looking forward to making the next step but it sounded more like the same step to me. More like a sober house than a rental house, the landlord is constantly at the residence, "checking things out". At first he made it sound good, then I heard from one of the guys that actually lives there that somebody that had been using drugs was allowed to stay as long as they paid another deposit. I don't want to be anywhere peoplepeople who are actively using drugs.

So, for now, I'm staying put. Next idea: buy a car. This just sort of developed over the past few days but I found a car through a friend on FB that she hit a deer with and wants to sell cheap. It has body damage but it runs well. I don't care how it looks on the outside because I plan on sitting mostly on the inside. It's cheap, $300. It's a step in the right direction, and it will make getting out of the house easier. It opens up a whole new world. I can get a gym membership, whick I could have already done but I only get an hour pass for exercise and to try to take a bus ..... No. It will help me utilize my precious little time out of the house more effectively, and I'm looking forward to that.

Today I went to Mickey's Diner for the first time ever. What a fun experience! The cook was amazing, not wasting any moves, conversing with customers, and making jokes at all the right times. We got to see a black man walk out all upset because his steak wasn't on the grill yet. The place was packed, but he claimed the staff was showing favoritism. Hahaha! Just like any restaurant, the cook goes in order. And when you're dealing with less than eight square feet of cooking surface, sometimes things can take a little time.

Now I'm in Woodbury. Willie is off to my side chewing on the rawhide I bought for him. I have a fire going in the kitchen, and I'm laying back on the couch, happy, content, full. My aunt went to Target to grab a few things and I'm going to show her how to make BBQ bacon, one of my specialties. I've spent the past few Saturdays with her and I have really enjoyed my time here with her and my cousins and of course, my dog.

One of this things I have hoped for for so long is a companion. Somebody to cuddle with, laugh with, and love. My dog would be a great way to fill that void in my life, but I can't have him at home. So I sit inside my head and hurt instead of going out to play with my best friend of years. He filled an emptiness for so long. And while I'm here, the emptiness is filled. Someday I will find her.

Ok now that depressing shit is out of the way!!.... Uh. I got nothin'. I'm running out of ideas for writing. Sitting at home a lot I suppose will do that. Have I written my whole life story already? I suppose when you leave out all the periods of black-out, and the things only I will ever know about, it must come to an end, right?

Funny

I dated a girl with fake tits once. You know how I could tell? Well, I could see her dick.

That's been my favorite joke for a very long time. I was thinking about what to write while I was on the bus ride home tonight and I realized that I haven't really had much humor in my posts since I left prison. I consider myself to be hilarious although some friends and family may disagree. I have a quick wit so its not often easy for me to think of funny things that wouldn't shock or disgust people. Here's a story that I find amusing that happened recently. I'm going to tell it like it happened, so it may not be as amusing as I thought it was but I'll try to keep it interesting.

The other day at work, a pump went out on a machine. I went and told the boss and he went and grabbed a new one, handed it to me, and told me to go replace it. My knowledge of things that have moving parts is limited at best, and actually doesn't exist. But, I wanted to be the man so I took it and got a hammer and some screws and got to work. His only instructions were that I should check for suction before I get it all torn apart. I nodded my head.

Here's how I checked for suction: I took it all apart. I learned what a crescent wrench is, and I used a screwdriver all by myself. When the boss came by he asked if there was suction and I said yes. He then asked why I took it apart and I just stared at him then slowly shook my head no. He became agitated. I smiled and showed him the tools I used. I thought he would say that I had done well, but we were just getting started.

He told me that to check for suction I had to put my finger in a hole and turn the pump on. "That's what she said!" I exclaimed. Nothing. He left. I put my finger in the hole and turned on the pump. At that point I realized that nothing functions properly when there are no hoses or wires running to and fro. Frustrated, I picked up the pump and that's when all of the liquid UV coating came running out and down my arms. Fuck.

Flash forward just a bit. I hooked up the right stuff, checked for suction, which there was, and determined that there was probably an obstruction in the line, which there was. In the end, I saved the day and nobody was hurt. A week later the new pump is still sitting next to the machine because I think I will probably have to replace it after I put it back together, but so far, so good.

I work in a laminating factory. Not much exciting or funny happens. But I keep myself amused. I plan on wrapping myself in plastic one of these days and I will surely record it for your enjoyment. Nowhere on the machine does it say that it is not safe to do so.

Stay tuned.

Three Months

I've thoughtt of prison for 90 days. It's been a bit rough in a few ways, and there were times when I actually thought that going back in would be better than trying and failing out here. But one thing about me is that I do not give up easily. I'm persistent possibly to the point of being overbearing. I think that's why I have my job. I wouldn't give up until he said no. I called, stopped in, and emailed him until he caved in. Well, actually somebody quit, but I was the first one on his mind for a replacement. But I digress.

Where I am now and where I thought I would be now when thinking about the future while I was in prison are very different places. In prison we tend to fantasize about unrealistic goals, mainly objects and women. I assumed I would be an accomplished writer and driving around in a new car when I got out. Well I definitely have written a lot, and I do take the bus. I thought for sure I would have a girlfriend by now and we would be falling in love and talking about the future. Well it turns out being in a relationship (I only call it that because I can't think of a term for what I had going on) takes a lot of patience and being so restricted isn't fair for the other person. Why didn't I think of that inside? Because I wouldn't have looked forward to disappointment. What's the hurry anyhow?

I thought I would have much closer relationships with my family. For the most part, my relationship with my mother has been OK, but its often fraught with tension. I may be moving out soon, and its sad to say that might be what saves it. I have been spending time with my aunt. We are getting along really well, and its so cool that she's taking care of Willie, my dog, until ii get a place where I can have him. I've seen my grandma like three times, my cousins only a handful. I shouldn't expect them to come see me after I left them all for meth and other drugs and alcohol for so long, but I can't just leave and go see them. In three more months, all will be different. I can go where I want for 16 hours a day.

I thought I would have a tougher time with cravings and not using. But rarely have them. On occasion, an old meth friend will try to friend me on Facebook. I simply click deny. I have no desire to go back to the lifestyle that took it all away. Once in a great while I have the urge to have a good beer. Well, fortunately my will is strong, AA works even when you're not in a meeting, and I know what happens when I have one beer: I have the rest of them.

I did get a checking account with Wells Fargo. That was something I thought I would have more trouble with. I got gifts for my mother for Chanukah, which I can afford to do. I pay for my own food, rent, bus fare, clothing, and anything else I need. And I even have a little put away in savings. In three months I have only gained five pounds, pretty good since I gave up on running and aerobics. I do community service nearly every Sunday at the Goodwill outlet. I pass all of my UA's and abide by all of the rules of ISR. I'm doing well.

I may not always feel like things are going well, in fact, they often aren't. I am sad and alone sometimes. People tell me I look great, but I don't feel great. There's still a lot missing in my life but if I continue to move forward, NOT GIVE UP, and remain as positive as I possibly can, I will find the things I want in life. I'm getting old, 37, but that's not too late for a lot of things that make a life complete.

So here I go. The first three months of this six month journey is complete. I just did the math, three to go. So many great things have already happened, so many more await.

Day Care Molester Spared Prison Sentence

Did that get your attention? It got mine. Of course it wasn't on the front page of the Pioneer Press, but in back with the other court reports. I think the words, "Day Care Child Molester" might scare people when Christmas Shopping is so important.

I do harbor some resentments toward our criminal justice system for just that. Thousands of first time drug offenders are currently locked up in Minnesota prisons. I was one of them. I was guilty, there was no question about that. I plead guilty and as one of the terms I agreed to allocute to my crime. I spelled it all out for the prosecutor and the judge, and I added that I should be held accountable for my actions. For that, I was sentenced to 50 months. Now, I only served 15 of those in prison, the last six of which I was in boot camp. But now I'm on house arrest out here. ISR (Intense Supervised Release) is reserved for graduates of boot camp, and repeat sex offenders. I don't like being grouped in with them in ANY way. But here I am.


Here are some recent examples of how lenient judges  are on sex-offenders:

Matthew John Rich, of Ramsey County touched a seven year old girl inappropriately on two occasions in 2007. He was living at his mothers house where she ran a daycare. Fortunately for the girl, the statute of limitations had not run out when she worked up the courage to speak about the incidents. He was sentenced to 21 months in prison, but the sentence was stayed and he was put on probation for 25 years. A long time, yes, but he has the chance to repeat his actions.

Thomas Lawrence Monson, a building caretaker in Mounds View, put a camera in a female Tennant's bathroom. He was charged with interfering with privacy, given one year of probation, and if he successfully completed that, the charge will be removed from his record. Good for him. I'm sure he only put the camera up for her safety.

And finally, Peter Matthew Ripka was charged with four felony counts of electronic solicitation of a child. He's 30, and engaged in sexual conversations with four girls ages 13 to 15. He asked sexually explicit questions and persuaded one of them to send him a naked picture. For all of that, he was sentenced to 90 days in jail. Fortunately for him, Judge Judith Tilsen was feeling kind and decided to let him serve that on electronic home monitoring. Don't worry though, he needs permission to use the internet, and he will be on probation for three years.

Why do sex offenders get such leniency? They may not take lives, but don't they take away dignity, pride, and a sense of safety in the world? When a rapist is convicted, does the victim go back to normal life? I think not. There is fear around every corner. Hesitation with any potential partner. And years of recovery in therapy. In a way, that is taking a life. Certainly it is taking away happiness from a life.

I've learned a lot over the last 18 months. My incarceration will have an ever lasting effect on me in every decision I make. So why not send sex offenders to prison more often? Maybe, just maybe, it might break them like it broke me. And only from there could I build myself back up.

A Busy Boy

This has been the busiest, most physically demanding, tiring weeks since my release. The week flew by, but I'm exhausted. I like my job. I especially like that it keeps me busy and I don't just sit all day. I rarely sit even when I have the chance, unless I'm on break. So, that's why I haven't written a post for a few days. Even this very minute, I'm not even sure what I'm going to write next, but it will come to me.

Ahhhh, yes. Here we go...

When you wake up from a meth bender, or as I called it, life, there is often confusion: where am I? Where's my meth? What day/time/month is it? What did they steal while I was sleeping? Or, why am I driving backwards?

I didn't have time to think that. I just knew something was wrong, and I was fucked. I was leaving Rochester and headed for Chatfield where I was going to sleep. Unfortunately, I couldn't wait. I remember swerving a couple times, then all of a sudden I woke up to a sickening spinning sensation. I had fallen asleep just before a big corner and it was icy out. When I understood what was going on I was going backwards toward the ditch at about 60 mph. It had been snowing for a while and when I started going over the edge, an explosion of white enveloped the car and I couldn't see in any direction. It was dark out and the headlights made the eruption quite blinding. There was no time to think or be scared. The noise was deafening as I passed over ice and snow and grass and debris. I knew it was coming: impact.

When I hit, it wasn't at all what I expected. In my first meth crash, I went airborne at 70 over two culverts and hit a cement drain pipe. The car was destroyed, and I was lucky to be alive. My impact was slowed greatly by the snow, and the incline at the end of the ditch slowed me even more go the point where the noise was just done. No bang. No explosion. Just no noise.

I slowly got out, looked around for witnesses, ( It wasn't my car. It had no insurance, I had pockets full of drugs and cash, and I just didn't want any attention.) And made a call. Five minutes later I had a safe ride to the flop house. Another close call.

The next day a few of it went back to dig the car out which, in the daylight appeared to be about ten feet in the air from a mile away. I had parked it nicely on a pile of snow. It took us 15 minutes to get it off the hill and determine that it was still drivable.

So, there you have it. I kept it short because I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I hope you enjoyed it and continue to read my blog.

Oh The Possibilities

Once a month out of an estimated prison population in Minnesota of 10,000 (One prisoner for every one of our beautiful lakes), 30 men are given the opportunity to go through the Challenge Incarceration Program in Willow River. Now I have written extensively on my experience before, during, and after, but one thing I never really touched on was how difficult it was to stay eligible for the early release program. There were so many directions I could have gone when I got locked up. But everything I did during my incarceration was very specific to me getting out of those terrible places.


When you think of prison, I would imagine you think of fights. Well, they do happen, but very rarely. I only saw three or four the whole 15 months I was in. Out of the four, three were people beating up child molesters, and one was gang related. They were all broken up quickly, and the participants were taken to segregation, often for less time than I spent there for doing nothing wrong.

Fighting, or breaking any major rule, even just once, would have rendered me ineligible for boot camp. And in a place where people are constantly doing things that make you want to punch them. Right in the tooth.

There are other things, too. I met so many meth users, makers, and dealers in tihere that had plans to come out here and do it all again. In the very beginning, a few ideas sounded pretty good. I've always wanted to make the stuff, and I could have gotten recipes from several people and wasted boot camp to come back on a manufacturing charge: eight years, no doubt. Or the constant offers from the Mexicans, who heard I wouldn't rat-out my co-defendant. Drugs so cheap I would be rich by now. This things wouldn't have kept me from going to CIP, but I have no doubts that I would be on the run by now had I accepted just one of those offers.

And although hard to get, drugs and alcohol made their way through the barbed wire. I don't know how. One time in St. Cloud I walked by a cell and a guy was smoking a Newport. A real cigarette! Not hand rolled in toilet paper and with tobacco from somebody's as hole. How did he get those by the guards that made me spread my cheeks and cough?

Alcohol can be made easily in prison. I heard about a lot of it, but I never saw any, and certainly never partook.

My phone is going crazy. I need a new cord. I can't type anymore so I will continue this babble some other time.