I realized how true this was when I called my mom last weekend, furious because I found cigarette burn marks on the linoleum floor in my upstairs bathroom (my husband smokes; I do not). Her response? “How can you be sure it was him? I think you should have a talk with the dog, not only because she has picked up smoking but because now she’s being careless.”
I had to laugh. In the most technical sense, my mom was right. While I was certain it was him, I really couldn’t prove it. Needless to say, my mother saved his life that day. It would have been an awkward situation if she didn’t.
“My daughter is only 33 and already a widow.”
“That’s too bad, please tell her I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, she’s fine, she’s a widow by choice.”
Speaking of choices (I’m brushing up on my topic-transitioning skills), I was watching Lock-Up the other night. For those of you unfamiliar, it is a documentary-type show filmed inside prisons all across the country. They interview the convicts and guards. It’s a lot like Survivor, but shot in jail and no one wins in the end. This particular night it was a Lock-Up marathon. I was in my glory. I judged the shit out of those prisoners…yeah, even the non-violent drug dealers who had to share cells with serial killers. No sympathy coming from THIS couch. Deal with it, you big babies, you got some 13 year old hooked on crack. Yeah, I hope you get killed in your sleep. Call it a life lesson, courtesy of Greg “The Strangler” Johnson.
Anyway…out of everything I learned from watching fifteen Lock-Ups in a row (among other things: don’t be a snitch, find a gang to join and you can make a shank out of a bed spring and medical tape), those guys are RIPPED. But not in a body builder kind of way; more like a gymnast-slave kind of way. The kind of muscle tone and strength you only get by doing pull-ups with your fingertips on a windowsill and a million squats a day in your cell, because you’re stuck in it for 23 out of 24 hours. It’s terrifying, when you think about it. A few of those guys will be released some day and when they are, they will have the strength of 25 retards and the weapon-making skills of MacGyver. Whoever thought prison was a good idea is…well, is probably dead by now. But you know what I mean.
What I don’t understand is women’s prison. On one side, you’ve got the guys and they’re all jacked with their muscles and whatnot, and then you have the women – fat and beastly. How does THAT happen? Especially when the repetitive gripe of inmates everywhere is how awful the food is. Then what the hell are those women eating? (please…this is a child-friendly blog, keep your head out of the gutter) Don’t tell me the food is horrendous and not fit for humans, but have the end shot be some cow’s size 48 ass waddling down the dimly lit corroder, back to her cell. I ain’t buying it. And while we’re at it: She needs a hair cut and a dye job. Even the men stay "pretty" in prison and they have more reason NOT to look good than a woman (can anyone tell me who dropped the soap?)
Overall, I'd have to say prison looks like it sucks. The only upside is that you don't have to worry about what to wear every day. I'd be down with that. But generally, I think I'll avoid it if I can. If I need to 'take care of business' that badly, I think a freak accident will do the trick (less paperwork that way).
So on that note, I'm done for the year. Thanks for helping me wrap up my second full year of blogging, I definitely had more fun writing this than you had reading it. But I do appreciate your eyes.
Anyhooties, have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! (I just assume no Jewish people read this blog…it’s not kosher). I'll catch ya on the flip side.
