[FONT=Arial,Helvetica][SIZE=+1]
worst weekend olympics[/SIZE][/FONT]
Think you had a ****ty weekend? Nah. Why not compare it to mine?
1.) On the drive home (home?) from Albuquerque to Portland, my ex-boyfriend got ****faced and roughed me up in a Sacramento hotel. I escaped from the room through a blitzkrieg of violence and talked to hotel security, who called the fuzz.
2.) Because he had a bite mark, inflicted in self-defense, on his arm, Marty told the police to PRESS CHARGES OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AGAINST ME. Now I am a felon.
3.) I spent the night in jail. Dig the hilarous monetary contents of my wallet as described by the pig who booked me:
4.) Jailors.
America's Next Top Model fans, all. As the warden took pics of my bloody knuckles for evidence (!!!! evidence!), he quipped, "So there goes that hand modeling job, huh? What's Tyra going to say about this?" And here is how I was summoned from the holding cell for a strip-search, complete with a thorough plumbing of the boodissy: "Hey, Supermodel! Git over here!"
4.) A bail bondsman (!!! I have a bail bondsman!) got me out of the hoosegow this morning and took me to a hotel room where I now await my court date. Martin Lesley Crandall is still incarcerated. You can follow his saga by searching for his name on sacsheriff.com (click on "inmate information").
So I'm stuck in Sac-town, alone and lonely, for 4-5 days until court. Court! OMFG.
On the flip side, I'm single and um, ready to mingle. Blind date, anyone?
ETA: Breakfast in jail is served at 4:00am. Meat-stuffed croissant. And, you should already know what a "kite" is if you've been studying your 50 Cent lyrics. But "toilet talk"? That was a new one for me. Apparently, if you bail all the water out of the toilet, you can use the pipes to talk to inmates on different floors. And, girl, you can tell who do it 'cause they got like a big rash or whatever on they face from puttin' it down in the toilet and ****. Damn..