"What do you mean you don't know where he is??"
"Well, we were recording and he just never came back........we think he got arrested."
I don't generally wake up thinking, where is my boyfriend? Who got arrested? and I wonder if this outfit is appropriate for jail visits? It usually goes something like, yogurt or cereal and do I feel skinny today?
The past 48 hours have been pure madness. I wake up to find a Facebook status update from my boyfriends roommate that says, "blah blah, arrested? blah." Since these men have absolutely no way of knowing how to communicate, no one called to fill me in?! that there was a possibility I now had a boyfriend who was an INMATE? WHAT. THE. FUCK. is my life.
At around 3am, my classy man left the recording to studio to run and grab some beer and cigarettes, you know in true rockstar form you don't drink Yerba Matte mid-recording session. 2 minutes out into the drive, he sees the sirens- OH HERE WE GO.........
To say that My Love isn't "good" at remembering "little details" like; court dates, not leaving the house without a cell phone, closing cabinets, or what he's supposed to do for the day- is a massive understatement. He's the definition of, if-my-head-wasn't-screwed-on-I'd-be-headless, he's that guy.
Since The Man is not generally a fan of poor people (us artists, or ahem, delinquents?) My Love hasn't been able to fix this pesky tail light that almost ALWAYS gets him pulled over, but that's just minor- he also hasn't been able to pay his car insurance (insert note where readers start making judgements like, "Girl you better get yo'self a man who has his finances straight." Then you start singing Bills, Bills, Bills. Here here, don't mention it-separate blog entirely)....fast forward, beerless boyfriend is getting thrown in the clinker for missing a previous court date that involved driving without proof of insurance.
I had no knowledge of any of this when I woke up, so Chelsea Talks Smack i.e. Sherlock Holmes drove around looking down ally ways for dead bodies (since, we didn't know for sure if he was arrested or just missing) simultaneously calling jails, "Um, hi- did you arrest a Ryan.....no not Brian, RYAN,.....No not B, RRRRR....the computer crashed? You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO IS IN CUSTODY?" The entire time thinking; I don't do this. This isn't my life. I go to champagne bars.
Not only did I learn that we have an incredibly inefficient system-what the fuck is this, computers crashing? your "One phone calls" not going through? One minute he's shown as an inmate in custody, the next, there's NO SIGN OF HIM!? Ridiculous. We have iPhones that can do everything but bake a cake and vacuum, but we don't have adequate computer systems in detention facilities?! And we make people call COLLECT? It's jail, it isn't the Stone Age.
After talking to about 60 people, running around in my pajamas through various courthouses, Sheriffs offices and jails, avoiding eye contact with the sketchy folks (who could kick my ass) and wondering if I shouldn't have been "repping" blue or red- all the while wearing my NYPD HOODIE from the night before (IRONIC) and getting asked multiple times for my Cadet badge. (I told you I'm a bad ass. Or look like a lesbian. Or a boy.) I found him.
I waited for his trial curled on the bench, all twitchy, shaky and WHY THE FUCK AM I SITTING IN A COURT ROOMy, all I want is a flippin' latte and a boyfriend who pays his bills. The line up looked like this; Wife beater. Robber. Illegal. Definitely on drugs. Drunk Guy. WTF is that sweet innocent baby face doing up there. Another drunk guy. Runaway. Wife Beater. Prostitute. Wife Beater/Shoplifter.
Sweet innocent Love gets up, pleads his case; the outcome- FOUR MORE NIGHTS IN JAIL and a second trial, with a maximum of a year in jail and fines, unless he posts bail. THIS is where I begin to... LOSE MY SHIT COMPLETELY!!!! Long story short....I find myself calling his brother in a panic, sobbing, naturally, since there always has to be one crying person in court rooms, haven't you seen tv? ....the next thing I know, fast forward nearly 10 hours- we're in a bail bonds office.
My bail bondsmen???? DOG THE BOUNTY HUNTERS SISTER. No lie. True-fucking-story. To make it even better, I call my Granny to tell her what's going on and she says, "OHHHHH,.....I know Dog....I used to be his bartender." CLASSIC. Classic. Only I would have a one degree separation from a bail bondsmen.
Nearly 48 hours have gone by and My Love is finally out of the CAN. By the end of the day I had an entire new GARDEN OF STRESS ZITS, the guards knew me and were calling me "Baby" and "Honey Love" which was oddly comforting and I had enough empty I.O.U.'S for My Love to fill out he could make a fucking Bible, in which I would star as the Jesus character, but her name would be, "Best Fucking Woman on the Planet, she will live in a land of getting eternal foot massages without asking."
Needless to say, Jail doesn't look good on me. I mean, I wear floral prints, I have enough glitter eyeliner to paint Colorado and babies smile at me. Strangely enough that makes me sound like a hooker, but on the contrary, jail is not my scene. Or My Love's- he looked like a puppy who got kicked in the face......not cute. Sad. and never happening again.
Now I can say; Remember that time you got thrown in jail? Or, Remember when we went to that bail bonds office and they had a bucket of Tootsie Rolls? Or, Remember when you were in lockdown? Or, At least (insert horrible situation here, i.e. flaming diarhhea or being out of Garlic) isn't as bad as the slammer. Or, baby I kinda wish I left you in the pen.
Any jail stories worth sharing? Bail....or no bail....?!