I was doing a little research on the internet about the side effects of prescription drugs after a great story from Ben over drinks the other night. The notion, to me, of some young punk breaking into his car, taking a prescription medication, that Ben himself stopped taking because of the awful side effects, then the young punk taking those same drugs and experiencing the same side effects is hilarious. Especially when the side effects might include incontinence, loss of taste, and impairment of memory.
This research took me to another area I had never been before, a female inmate pen-pal website. Like me, you may be surprised there are hundreds. There are women on these sites who I would be highly suspicious of. Some giving gang signs in their pictures they post,others obviously from a year book twenty years ago, and some with cropped out heads placed on better bodies. How does the saying go? "Spandex – a privilege not a right." What makes these home town hottie's go bad? What are they in for? Did a bad boy corrupt them? Too much pressure in high school from the "rich girls" and they began to steal? Mostly from the writers pleas for pen-pals I take it that it is drug related. Drug use that lead to other things.
While I do believe in second chances, I have to say clearly that if you are in a state institution, there is probably a good reason (or eight counts) for you being there – and it is not a secret undercover episode of 21 Jump Street where Johnny Deep is trying to bust up an inside ring to protect the innocent friend who was framed. There were some photos of women I could have easily dated over the years. I was half expecting to see a few former girl friends to popup in all honesty.
What kind of judge of character do I have? How well do I know people? And how well do they know me? There have been times even my closest of friends have done things, with my best interest at heart I am sure, where I have to think twice and say – does this person really know who I am, my likes, dislikes, and could they really see me with this person? Other times I have to ask if I really know myself, falling into the same traps that I have before once again? I have to say that living alone – I am one alibi away from the big house. If I did it or not, who could really say? I live alone. That's what marriage really is, right? An alibi? They may not know you well enough to predict what you would do under the most extreme situations, but they can vouch for you ninety percent of the time. Okay, maybe eighty percent. Fifty.
Well I am ready to find out. My new soul mate Yolanda tells me that she is innocent, and I believe her, she has an honest face. So I'll send the $1,500 to retain a lawyer for her new trial (she has a witness that will speak on her behalf now that Frankie – the head of the opposing gang in her neighborhood was shot and is in the hospital.) Then we can be together forever, once I move her and the two children here from Arkansas. I guess love is blind.
What? You thought you knew me better? That I would never do something like that? Funny, I saw it coming the whole time. Maybe you don't you know me that well after all.