I liked going to his house.  He had the cleanest house in the world.  He had an old Schnauzer named Sammy.  Sammy didn’t like children very much and he let me know it by growling at me every time I tried to play with him.

Grandpa Compton used to read Aesop Fables to me.  My favorite story was the one where Brer Rabbit meets the Tar baby.  Grandpa took me to see a musical/movie called “The Song of the South”.  I will never forget that movie. There was a song in the movie called “Zippety-Do-Dah”.  It went, “zippety-do-dah, zippety ay, my oh my what a wonderful day, plenty of sunshine coming my way, zippety-do-dah, zippety ay.

The main character was played by a man named Uncle Remus who was a slave who grew up in the south and told little kids stories or fables.  The stories and the movie were great.

Grandpa Compton also gave me one of my favorite dolls.  Even though I never liked dolls much, I liked this one.  It was called “Baby-Go-Bye-Bye”.  She was so cute.  She had two blonde, curly pony tails and she came with her own pink Volkswagen bug convertible.  You could wind her up and she would drive her little car all over the place.

Grandpa was jealous of Grandma Beasley – she was my stepfather’s mother.  Her full name was Eula Mae Beasley and she looked like one of the mammies in the old slave movies.  I would always tell Grandpa Compton how good Grandma Beasley cooked pancakes and make him jealous.  Every time Grandpa cooked me breakfast he would ask me if it was good and I would say, “Yeah, it’s good, but not as good as Grandma Beasley’s”.  Grandpa would just frown and try harder the next time.

Grandma Layne, my mother’s mother, was hard to figure out.  I loved her and it seemed as though she loved me, but I wasn’t sure.  She was Caucasian with green or hazel eyes, blue-gray hair, and a thin frame.  I never saw her eat.  She mostly smoked cigarettes and drank Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.  She always had a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  She was always trying to keep my head warm every time I went outside by wrapping it up in some sort of scarf.  It always itched and I hated it.

My mother told me Grandma was prejudiced and that her parents were horrified that she slept with black men.  She also told me a story about how grandma was moving and she asked Mom to get some of her friends to help her move.  My mother got my biological father and a couple of his friends to help out.  My father was thirsty from all the moving so he asked my mother for something to drink.  She gave him a glass of water and then put the glass in my grandmother’s sink.  My grandmother then went behind him and removed the glass from the sink, asked my mother if she wanted the entire set and then threw it in the garbage after my mother said she didn’t want them.

Jann was only 17 years old when she gave birth to me.  Since she was underage, unmarried, and had nowhere to go, her parents had control over whether or not she could keep me, so I was put into a foster home for a while.  I was almost adopted by a wealthy couple.  They had even named me Sara Kathleen.  Imagine me as Sara Kathleen…….

Life was alright.  We had just moved into an area called Bexley on the east side of Columbus.  Our townhouse was really nice.  Mom was working for the post office.  It was just the two of us and we were doing pretty damn good.

We had new furniture, new TV’s, and beautiful paintings.  Mom had a new car and even my bedroom set was beautiful.  It was something like you’d never seen before and it was imported all the way from Mexico.  It had neon yellow and tangerine colored flowers’ surrounding the antique brass handles with lime green leaves on the stems of the flowers.It was a huge set and had a lot of pieces:  two big bookcases with storage under them, a desk with drawers on the side, two nightstands, and a headboard.  I loved it – my mother had exquisite taste and always managed to find beautiful things that were often overlooked by others.

At five years of age I was already walking to and from school.  The first few days, I had to think real hard about where my school was.  I had a bad sense of direction even back then.  My school was a brick school with a big American flag on the front lawn.  I only remember a couple of things about the school itself – the walk to and from school and the fact that I was the darkest child in the entire school, which was unusual for someone as fair skinned as myself.

I also remember, the time I pissed in my favorite boots on the way home and ruined them.  I almost made it to the front door – I could see it just up ahead as I trudged through the thick snow.  I kept telling myself, “Angela, you can make it, you can make it”!  “Look, the door knocker is just a few yards away”.

It was so cold.  I made it all the way to the walkway leading up to the front door.  I tried to run, but the snow was so deep and I had to go so bad that I literally had to walk and try to hold my legs together at the same time to avoid pissing.  I finally made it to the front door.  All I could think was, “Just one more minute, just one more minute”.  I started doing the “I gotta pee” dance and banging on the door as hard as I could.  I banged three times and waited for a couple of seconds – no answer.  I banged five more times with no answer and continued the “I gotta pee” dance.  Then I heard my mother yell, “just one second, I’ll be right there”.  Right at that very moment, I reached my holding limit.  Warm pee began to leak out down my legs, through my pants and into my new rabbit fur boots.  As I finished, mom opened the door.  She looked at my face.  She could tell something was wrong.  “What happened Angela”, she asked?  I looked up at her with tears in my eyes and whined, “I peed in my new boots”.

My mother tried everything to get that smell out of those boots; cans of Lysol, soap and water, nothing worked.  They were never the same.

…these are pieces of my forthcoming autobiography “Baloney Sandwiches”…….

I hope you enjoy!

After years of physical and emotional abuse from Monster, I had finally convinced him to stop playing with my emotions after tearing his apartment to shreds one morning about a year before this day.  He loved seeing me squirm and he loved playing with my emotions.  At the time, I didn’t have the emotional strength or self-esteem to resist his advances, so I figured if I did something harsh enough, he might decide I wasn’t the person to drag through his emotional mud anymore.

Monster informed me a few months before I moved to Orlando, that he wasn’t going to help me financially with our daughter any longer because he didn’t feel that he needed to help me anymore and suggested that I take him to court. I never actually wanted to take him to court because I felt like we should be able to work out our situations without involving strangers. Had I known then what I know now, we would have been in court a thousand times.  Actually had I known what I know now, he would probably be serving a life sentence for physical abuse.

Right before he decided to give me the “I don’t feel like I need to help you anymore call”, we had an altercation at my daughter’s soccer game.  Against my wishes he brought his new-found girlfriend to my daughter’s soccer game and I went ballistic.  He decided cutting off child support would be my punishment.  I asked him not to bring his girlfriend because I still thought he was with the last girlfriend when I found out about this one, and I didn’t want his girlfriend of the week participating in my child’s events.  I never brought any of the guys I dated or went out with to any of her events, so why should he?  Perhaps I was wrong.  And in some strange but sick way, I still had feelings for him.

It’s weird.  You would think that after 5 years of physical, emotional abuse and cheating I would hate him, but I didn’t.

When he told me he wasn’t going to help me out with our daughter’s finances any longer, a whole course of events followed.  My place of employment was shutting down, my sister managed to get us kicked out of my apartment and I had had enough of Miami.  I promptly told Monster to kiss my ass,  cram his money up his ass and then planned my escape.

Needless to say, Orlando is the worst place in the world to live.  But that’s a whole other story.  Teeny Bopper (his new girlfriend) felt sorry for Monster and thought that I was being cruel to him.  She sent me email after email condemning me for taking away his daughter.  She told me what a whore and dirty bitch I was.  She just couldn’t imagine why someone could do such a thing to poor, helpless Monster.  Monster’s illustrious family even told her what a psychotic bitch I was.  They all said I was “psycho”.  I guess I’m not the only one who gives people names to fit their personalities.

Just 10 months later I moved back to Miami!  Thank God!  Things were hard, but I knew I could make a way, somehow.  In less than two months after my return, I received a subpoena to go to court.  Monster was requesting full custody of our daughter.  He was taking me to court. He tried to subpoena me in Orlando, but couldn’t figure out where I was.  I always vowed never to take his daughter from him, but I just needed to get away.  I really needed a break.  It seemed like his goal was to torment me in some way, form or fashion.  I knew I was going to move back to Miami, I just didn’t know it would be in less than a year.

Although I knew what was coming and I wanted my little girl to be able to see her father, I was scared to death when I opened up the subpoena.  I don’t know why I was scared but I was.  I had no record and he was a convicted felon.  I was still scared.  He had raped and beat up a former girlfriend before me and paid $50,000 for a top lawyer and got away with just 5 years probation when he was facing 30 years.  They had all the evidence, but it didn’t matter.  His lawyer was an ex-judge in the same precinct where the case was tried.

My dumb ass sat in court with him convinced by the story he told me when we met.   After he started beating the crap outta me I read her deposition and I realized the truth.  Only a person who has felt his wrath could describe things she described so intricately!  Every psychopath has their method.

I still had a couple of months before court which made it even more unbearable.  Every day, I thought about court and possibly losing my daughter.  I couldn’t afford a lawyer and legal aid wouldn’t help.  They actually made me feel like I was a criminal.

One night before court Teeny Bopper came by the strip club I was working at as a door person and slashed my tire and keyed my car.  There were about 30 people standing outside the club when she did it.  They watched her do it and then came inside to tell me that I should probably go look at my car.

She continued with the insulting and harassing emails after that.  Telling me over and over again how I was just mad that Monster didn’t want me anymore and that she was about to have his baby.  I also forgot to mention, Teeny Bopper and Monster got married about six months into their relationship while I was still in Orlando. Some days I thought to myself, “well, that’s just about the time when he started beating the shit out of me”.  Other days I thought, “well maybe he’s changed and since he married her and brought her this huge ring and a brand new expensive car and she’s much younger, perhaps he will treat her better”.  I have to admit, some days I was even jealous.  I wondered why he didn’t treat me as good.  They seemed to have such a great relationship.

The day arrived and we went to court.  I gathered up every piece of email, evidence, phone record and everything I could in my favor.  I was so nervous and scared at the same time.  I was alone.  When I walked into the courtroom they both glared at me as if I were some vile piece of shit.  I tried my best not to appear nervous or scared.

Teeny Bopper and Monster were dressed in their best clothes and perfectly groomed.  I did the best I could with what I had.  I looked over at the two of them, noticing how they both had such an air of confidence.  I could feel the pleasure in their gestures towards each other.

Monster started off with lies as usual.  He said he paid for the car I was driving -  I purchased my Mazda with money that my mother left me when she died.  Then he said that I never contacted him and that I kidnapped his daughter.  I thought this was amusing, especially since his previous conviction was based on kidnapping charges.  He had no idea, how prepared I was.  I produced the phone records and showed them where I kept trying to reach him but he kept hanging up the phone in my face.  The really weird thing is that I only found that one phone record out of an entire 8 months worth of phone records.  In addition, this particular record was found by mistake a few days before court while I was looking for something else.

All it took was that one incident to flare up Monster’s uncontrollable temper and he began talking out of turn.  When the judge asked him to calm down, he became his usual disrespectful self.  The judge then rescheduled the hearing for another date.  Monster stormed out of the courtroom, slammed the swinging door (as much as you can slam a swinging door) and left his wife sitting there.  As he walked out, he looked back at her and angrily said, “I’m outta here”.  She quickly ran after him.  I left and heard him screaming obscenities at me on the way towards the elevator, right there in the public office.

Our next court date was scheduled about a month from the first one and even though things seemed to be working in my favor, I was still nervous.  My little girl was my sunshine and my world.  She was the only person I knew who had ever showed me love and never betrayed me.  I could never bear losing her.

My then boyfriend, Fresh-Out (fresh out of jail that is), kept telling me that he had a feeling everything was going to be alright and that I had nothing to worry about. We had been dating for only a few months then, but he seemed to know I was going to be alright.

As the days grew closer, I became more and more nervous.  I took my little girl over to his mother’s house so that she was able to see Monster.  I never actually wanted to separate the two of them.  I just couldn’t deal with his mental torment any longer.  I had to escape.

The night before the court date, I got a call from Teeny Bopper at about 11pm.  I didn’t answer at first because I was busy spending time with Fresh-Out.  Fresh-Out asked me who was calling me at that time of night.  He was always insinuating that I was cheating.  I told him it was Teeny Bopper and he said, “Maybe you should call her back, it might be important”.  Initially I decided not to call her back, but then I thought about it again and decided I should call her.

I called her back.  When she answered the phone she sounded really stressed out.  She said, “Angela, I just wanted to let you know that Monster isn’t going to make it to court tomorrow” “he just beat me up and the cops took him to jail”.  I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.  So many things ran through my head.  I was happy I wasn’t going to have to face him in court the next morning.  I also knew that another domestic violence charge would play in my favor as it pertained to the custody of my daughter.  I hated Teeny Bopper just a little for harassing me and keying my car and sending all the hateful emails.  But something inside of me felt sad and sorry.  Even though I hated the way she dealt with our situation, I still felt like no woman, no matter who she is, should have to deal with abuse.

I was quickly taken to a place where I once was when he beat me up.  It all flashed back into my head.  I told her, “I’m sorry to hear about what you had to go through, if you need anything, let me know”.  She sounded very surprised and said ok.  We hung up the phone.  I still went to court that day.  Monster never made it out in time.  Court was rescheduled for about another month from that date.  This all happened during the summer of 2007.

The next court date came.  I showed up to court again, but Monster never showed.  The judge dismissed the entire case. I couldn’t believe this idiot subpoenaed me to go to court, acted an ass on the first court date, beat up his wife the day before the second court date, and then just didn’t show up at all for the third court date.

With this all blown over, I made arrangements with Teeny Bopper to pick up my daughter so that she could spend every other weekend with Monster because this is what my daughter wanted.  Ironically, I found that Teeny Bopper actually had much more sense and class than Monster.

My daughter really liked her and she seemed to be really good with my daughter.  There were even times when we would hold short conversations.  She began to see who I really was and who he really was and became confused.  A few times, we ended up having the “damn men” discussion and laughing at it together.  Teeny Bopper had a lot of problems with Monster’s family.  I remembered how they used to gang up on me when we were a couple.

One weekend when Teeny Bopper was bringing my daughter back to my house from spending the weekend with them, she said she wanted to talk to me about something – she wanted my opinion.  I told her sure, I would be glad to talk to her.  When she showed up, I invited her in my house.  I had never invited her in before.  I asked her to have a seat, but she didn’t want to sit.  She looked very worried.  I asked her, “what’s wrong with you” She looked like she was about to start crying and then she said, “I think he’s cheating on me”.  “I’m not sure, but I think he’s cheating on me.” Then she asked me, “What should I do”?  I told her not to panic and not to discuss the situation with his family because it could be used against her as it was used against me when I was in the same position.  I also told her not to assume anything and to find out for sure before approaching him.  I also told her to hire a private investigator.

A few months later, she called me to tell me that he had beat her up and fractured her ribs while her mother and little boy were but a few feet away.   I couldn’t believe her mother allowed it to happen.  I couldn’t believe he spent no more than a few hours in a holding cell, again!

I asked her how it all happened.  She told me they got into an argument and he ended up throwing a plate at her and then pushed her into something.  I can’t remember what.  Her mother got on the phone and called 911.  Monster said that if he was going to jail then Teeny Bopper was going with him.  He took his nails and dug them into his arms to make it look like self-defense.  Then he ran outside when the cops came.  I knew this tactic all too well, because I had experienced it myself.

They (Teeny Bopper and Monster) both ended up being hauled off to jail.  Teeny Bopper was taken to the hospital before being taken to jail.  All charges were dropped once again.

Tears came to my eyes.  I could feel her pain because I had once been there myself.  She asked me if I was crying.  I told her yes.  I interrupted her and told her that no person deserved to go through what she was going through.  There was a moment of silence then she said, “I know”.  I sat there on the phone shaking my head and wondering if anyone was ever going to put a stop to his actions or if he was going to wind up killing someone first.

Although I was glad I wasn’t his victim anymore, I wasn’t happy that he found himself a new one.

This was “The Prize She Won”…….

the story continues in my forthcoming autobiography “Baloney Sandwiches”

This was our daily routine and they both knew when I was wrapping up my papers that we would soon be headed on our long walk to deliver them.

Lady May (as Mom liked to call her) was always the first one to dash out the door and Muttly was always right behind her.  You had to be really careful when you opened the door with Lady around, because if you didn’t she would run you right over or knock you down.  She was pretty big and very strong.  Lady was a Doberman pinscher mixed with what some call “working Dobe” working Dobes were a little thicker and more muscular than your typical Doberman pinscher.  Muttly was an old stray my aunt Julie had rescued from the streets.

My aunt had taken Muttly in and found out he was somewhat of a trouble starter.  Julie already had two small dogs, one Yorkshire terrier named Alphie and a small, black miniature poodle name Angie after me.  Muttly looked like he had some pit-bull in him and a couple of other things.  He was black with two grayish white paws and a white chest.  His right ear and his tongue were chipped, he had cataracts and he walked a little sideways.  He also had epileptic seizures all the time.

Julie couldn’t keep him because of the conflict with her dogs and feared she might have to turn him over to the humane society.  She called my mother and told her about Muttly and my mother decided to take him in.  Muttly did not get along with other male dogs and although he was falling apart and old he was still very feisty, mean and horny.

My mother named Muttly and also called him sidewinder sometimes because of the way he swayed to the side a little when he walked.  She also called him “Muttly, Buttly, Beasley, Corn-chip” because of the chips on his tongue and ear.  Every dog we had ended up with our last name because of my mother.  She called our dogs her hairy kids and told Odessa and I that they were our hairy brothers and sisters.

In the beginning Lady and Muttly did not get along, but they eventually became what mom called “running buddies”.

Ok, back to the story….So that day, Lady and Muttly and I headed out to deliver papers as usual.  Even though Muttly was old as hell, walked sideways and could barely see, he did his best to keep up with Lady.  Lady was strong and fast and full of energy.

With my Columbus Dispatch bag in hand, I opened the front door and quickly moved to the side so that Lady could bolt out the door without running me over as she so often did.  Muttly followed right behind her.  They usually ran up ahead of me and knew the route just as well as I did.  I crossed the street.  Lady and Muttly were already on the other side and then Lady bolted across Hamilton Avenue.

Hamilton Avenue was a pretty busy street and most drivers drove it at about 40 to 50mph.  Trying to catch up with Lady, Muttly also started across Hamilton Avenue, but he wasn’t fast enough.  A big lemon yellow, 4-door Lincoln Continental hit Muttly right in the side and sent him spinning in the air.  His body dropped close to the curb.  I watched it all happen. It happened so fast.  I ran over to Muttly to see if he was dead or alive.  I just knew he was dead.  That Lincoln hit him at about 50mph and Muttly lay there motionless.  The driver of the Lincoln didn’t even stop he just kept going.  A few seconds later another man drove by and saw me hovered over Muttly crying, he jumped out of his car to see what was going on.  He looked down and saw Muttly lying there.  He then let out a sigh of relief and said, “Oh, its just a dog, I thought a child was hurt”, and then ran and jumped back into his car and sped off.  I couldn’t believe his comment, but I was too worried about Muttly to think about it.  I look down at Muttly and started to cry.  By then Lady had turned around and was standing by us trying to figure out what had happened.  She looked at Muttly and the sniffed him and then ran back into our yard.

Muttly was bleeding from his butthole, and his left eyeball was hanging out of its socket and was dangling by a few veins and he didn’t appear to be breathing.  I dragged Muttly out of the street and onto the sidewalk so that he wouldn’t get ran over again and quickly ran into the house to tell my mother what had just happened.  I didn’t want to tell her because I knew it would devastate her, but I had to.

I ran into the house and screamed out, “Mom, Muttly was just hit by a car and he’s dead”.  She ran out of her room, and said, “Oh my God, what happened”?  I told her he had been hit and that the car that hit him just kept going.  She asked me, “How do you know he’s dead”?  I told her, “because, he’s bleeding from his butthole, his eye is hanging out and he’s not moving or breathing”.  She broke down and started crying and then told me to get a sheet or something and cover him up and drag him into our yard so that we could bury him.

I didn’t want her to have to deal with it, so I told her I would do everything.  I grabbed a big white sheet and went back to the place where I had dragged him up onto the sidewalk.  I covered him with the sheet and somehow managed to drag him into our front yard.  Then I ran around to the back yard and got a shovel so that I could start digging his grave.

I uncovered Muttly and then looked down at him.  He was a mess.  I didn’t want him to be buried with his eyeball hanging out of its socket and I wanted to close his eyelids like they always do in the movies so I took a corner of the sheet and grabbed the eyeball and pushed it back into its socket.  It plopped right back out.  I grabbed it and pushed it back in again.  It plopped out again.  I became frustrated, but I was determined to get his eyeball back into its socket and to give Muttly a proper burial so I went into the house to try to find something to keep Muttly’s eyeball in his head.  The only thing I could find was Scotch Tape.  So I grabbed the Scotch tape and ran back outside to fix Muttly’s eyeball.  Once again, I took his eyeball and placed it back into its socket.  With my other hand, I managed to close his eyelid.  Even though the eyeball was starting to swell, I managed to tape his eyelid shut.  The tape didn’t stick to his fur very well, so I had to use really long strips all the way around his entire head.

Once I had his eyeball taped in, I covered him back up with the sheet, grabbed the shovel and began digging the hole where he would be buried – right in the front yard.

When I was on about my 3^rd shovel full of dirt, I looked over at the spot where Muttly lay and the sheet started to move.  I thought I was going crazy, but then it moved again.  It was like watching a ghost and scared me a little at first.  The next thing I knew, the sheet was standing up.  Muttly had somehow managed to get up.  I dropped the shovel and took the sheet off of him.  He was stumbling all over the place.  I kept trying to get him to lay down, so that he wouldn’t hurt himself anymore.  I couldn’t believe he was alive.  I ran into the house and screamed, “Mom, Muttly’s alive, Muttly’s alive”!  She said, “Oh my God, we gotta take him to the vet”.  She grabbed her keys and told me to pick Muttly up and bring him to the car.

I grabbed Muttly and met my mother around back.  She opened up the hatchback part of her green Chevette and we put Muttly inside.  She looked at Muttly and said, “why in the hell does he have tape around his head”?  I explained to her that I had to tape his eye back into the socket because it was hanging out.

Muttly made it to the vet and they were able to put him back together.  The vet bill was close to $2,000, which was a lot of money back in 80’s, but Muttly was back in action and that was all that mattered, at least to Mom.

I usually don’t join them because I’m not what you would consider a very social person and their events usually consist of a 10 to 1 ratio of men to women (much more men).  Most of the men who visit them are family and they are visiting from Jamaica.  In addition most of them are married, yet they still try to see if they can sleep with you.

I left my daughters grandmothers house and it was about 9:00pm.  When I walked into the house I could hear my neighbors laughing really loud.  It sounded like they were having a lot of fun so I decided to go on over.  When I walked up everyone was still laughing.  The older couple I knew and their daughter and her husband were there.  There were also six males.  Everyone was drinking and having a good time.  I said hello to everyone and my neighbor’s wife (we will call her Vee) asked me to have a seat.  I was wearing big grey sweatpants and a brown tee-shirt and flip flops.  I probably looked like I was wearing pajamas.

Vee asked me to sit down and offered me some Jamaican Rum.  For some reason, Rum makes me horribly ill, so I declined and instead asked if they had any beer.  I like beer and it doesn’t make me sick.  Vee asked me if I liked Red Stripe beer and I told her, “yes”.  She asked her husband to hand me a beer because he was closest to the refrigerator, which was outside.  Vee then asked me if I wanted something to eat.  She was a great cook and brought me plates of food on several occasions.  I accepted and got up and followed her into the house.  She cooked roast pork, jerk chicken, rice and peas, and potato salad.  Potato salad was one of my favorites and she made some of the best.

Vee was a very good hostess and she liked seeing people eat.  She piled my plate up full enough for 3 people with roast pork and rice and peas.  Then she handed me the plate and told me to help myself to the salad and potato salad.  There was no room on my plate for anything else, but I managed to slide it all around and find a small space for the potato salad.

Before we headed back outside Vee asked me if I was going to hang out with them.  I said, “Sure, I will”.  We went outside and I sat down with my food and beer.  Everything was delicious.  Everyone was drinking and teasing each other and making jokes.  There was a guy sitting across from me who looked like he was about to fall out of his chair.  Everyone started teasing him and saying that since he was looking at me so hard that he should open up his mouth and talk to me.  Vee told everyone that I was single, she’s always telling me that I need a man to help me out.  Then the joke became who was going to be the guy to have the balls to say something to me.

I really wasn’t interested in meeting anyone and none of these men were really my type.  However, this was irrelevant since I was only there to have a few laughs.  One of the older guys came and sat next to me and asked me if I had a boyfriend.  I knew this particular guy because he was always at my neighbor’s house and he was always staring me down or trying to strike up a conversation with me.  He previously informed me that he lived close and that he was a plumber and had his own business and he frequently went fishing.  I’m not that young, but he was old enough to be my father and I am not interested in older men.  On top of that, I didn’t like the way he stared at me.

Anyway, I told him that I didn’t have a boyfriend, because I don’t and he asked me if I was sure I didn’t have a boyfriend.  Now I don’t know how you cannot be sure whether or not you have a boyfriend, but I assured him I didn’t.  I knew he went fishing because he invited me to go with him a couple of times when I saw him cleaning fish in my neighbor’s backyard and he knew I liked fishing because he saw me carry in my fishing poles one day, so we started talking about fishing.

He invited me fishing again, told me about his business and his properties in Miami and his acres of land in Jamaica.  I really didn’t pay much attention to the invite, but kept up the fishing conversation.  He asked me why I never talked to him or gave him my phone number before when he asked.  I didn’t want to be rude so I just told him that I had a boyfriend at the time – which I did at that time.  He then asked me if I lived alone.  I told him that I lived with my daughter.  Then he asked me if I was sure I lived alone.  I told him again that I lived with my daughter.   He then proceeded to tell me that he wanted to know because he didn’t like drama.  At this point, I’m on my second Red Stripe Beer and I’m sitting there looking at this old man, who is about 5 feet 2” tall to my 5 feet 4 inches, has a stomach like he’s going on 7 and a half months pregnant, ears so full of hair that he wouldn’t need ear muffs in the Antarctica, and I’m thinking WOW!  Who in the hell gave him the idea that he was going to come to my house?

I tried to laugh it all off and I told him that I didn’t like drama either hoping to leave it at that.  Then he went on to tell me that I should give him my phone number or leave it with Vee so that she could give it to him (he is good friends with Vee’s husband).  At this point I’m thinking, “hmmm…..let’s see how far this old fart takes this”.  I find human behavior interesting and amazing at the same time, so I just sit back and start to listen to his spewings (my word creation for spitting out bullshit).  I like to name everyone, so let’s call this one “Old Goat”.

Anyway, Old Goat goes on to tell me that he hates drama too and that he is a “happily married man” and that his children are grown.  He then tells me that since he’s been married, he’s had a girlfriend for 9 years and that she worked for the government and that he was really “Good” to her – keep in mind……..the girlfriend is in addition to the wife he’s “happily married” to.  He then says, “You know, I never even asked my girlfriend for money or anything”.  About this time, I nearly spit out my drink.  After filling me in on his benevolent acts with his girlfriend he asks me again about my phone number and taking me out and then finishes off the conversation with the, “I’m a Happily Married Man” quote of the year.

All I could think was damn, “I’ sure am glad I’m not Happily Married “.  I then excused myself and went home.  I wanted to vomit.  The next day, I see Vee and she thanked me for coming by.  She then brought up Old Goat.  I assured her that I wasn’t interested in anyone’s husband.  She laughed and said yeah, “especially one that needs Viagra”.  We both laughed.  She then told me that Old Goat’s wife was very sick.  Am I wrong for wanting to stab this man?

When I was growing up, my mother was pretty damn broke and we ate a lot of baloney sandwiches.  I was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio in an all African American, poor neighborhood.  My sister and I were what they called back in the day “high-Yellow”.

During the summer, the local swimming pool served as “free” summer camp for my sister and I.  We took swimming lessons, joined the swim team and spent our entire day at Maryland pool from 7am until sunset.  Maryland Pool was huge with 3 sections.  One section had shallow water for small children and people who didn’t know how to swim.  Then came the middle section, which included the 50 meter “lap swim” section and finally the deep end which had 2 low dives and one high dive.On really hot days,  the pool would become so crowded that they had to stop letting people in.  Racist individuals referred to Maryland Pool as “The Ink Well” because there were so many African American children in the water at one time that you could barely see the water in the pool – I never knew what they meant when they used the term “Ink Well” until I became an adult.

Since my sister and I spent the entire day swimming we became very hungry.  The recreation center affiliated with Maryland Pool provided all the kids with free lunch.  Most of the time, “free lunch” consisted of a banana, fruit punch (in a small, cardboard, triangular container), a piece of cake, and the main staple a “baloney sandwich”.

The pool manager and all the lifeguards would blow their whistles and scream for everybody to get out of the pool to take a break and eat lunch.  Everybody rushed to get in line for free lunch.  We must have eaten baloney sandwiches at least 3 days a week at the pool,  and often went home to eat more baloney sandwiches – the only difference was that we were able to fry our baloney at home and put it on Wonder Bread with Miracle Whip – sometime’s I ate mines with a slice of American yellow cheese melted on top.  I was always fascinated by the bubble that formed, because of its circular shape when frying the baloney.

A few years ago, I was falsely arrested for stealing a vehicle and had to spend two days in the county jail (you can read more about under my post “Background Check”. It was funny because they served us baloney sandwiches the entire time.  I was the only person who didn’t complain about it – I actually looked forward to mines.  I like them when they have been sitting around for a while at room temperature, so they were perfect in jail.  You would think I would get sick of baloney sandwiches, but I actually became addicted to them and still eat them today.  The difference is, I don’t use Wonder Bread anymore, and for some reason, I now prefer Kraft mayonnaise rather than Miracle Whip.  And, I only eat “beef” bologna.

How do you like your baloney sandwiches?

You never hear about this type of sh*t in the newspapers do you?

My recruiter drew up false child-custody papers on my daughter to get me in. I almost lost my child because of them.

The health care they give you is equivalent to what public assistance gives you. Most of the time you don’t even get to see an actual physician – you are usually treated by a RN or Physician’s Assistant.

They say they are going to pay for your school. What they don’t tell you is that your “financial aid” is based on senority and it is distributed on a first come/first serve basis. Then there’s the issue of them moving you around from state to state and country to country. How can you possibly earn any type of degree when you’re being moved around constantly.

Lies, lies and more lies

You WILL be deployed, often!  And when its its time for you to actually go home it never happens – or it happens two years later, even though you are promised otherwise.

Mothers and fathers, do NOT send your daughter’s to the armed forces. There is more sex going on between male and female soldiers than there is at the “Chicken Ranch”.  Please stop blaming the superiors (sergeants, lieutenants, etc.) because while some of them do harass young female soldiers, most of the younger female soldiers are throwing themselves at their superiors and every other male soldier. You would be better off sending your daughter to Freak Fest/Spring Break and Cancun all at once.

Did I hear someone say sign-up bonus? They fail to tell you that the “sign-up bonuses” are divided into small increments throughout your term – that $10,000 dollars you thought you were getting upfront essentially winds up being about 2,000 a year or every other year.

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.”-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe-1749-1832

Anyway,

I select all and bam, like an instant “friend magnet” I have about 50 or 60 more friends (if that’s what you want to call them).  I flop off of MySpace and get back to the real reason I’m on the Internet in the first place and that was what?  Oh yeah, to do my homework.

The following day, we will call that Tuesday; I receive a few emails from some of the friends I accepted the previous day.  Most of them were thanking me for my acceptance of their friend request – most of the time I try to respond to them with a “you’re welcome” email. One particular email stood out for me because the guy in the picture was wearing a suit and holding a book in his hand.  He looked very professional.  And “professional” is not something you see too much of on MySpace.  I looked at his email a little more and noticed he was the author of a book on relationships.  I thought I might be humorous and comment on his book, so I sent him back an email saying something like, “I could tell you a few things about relationships, but it sure won’t sell any books”.  A couple of days later, he responded back with something funny and then asked me to check out his book.  I responded back asking him what it was all about and he responded back again telling me to purchase it to find out.  I then proceeded to tell him that I was also an author and working on my book.  I also told him I have a couple of other friends who are authors and was looking to network with other up-and-coming authors.  I then ordered his book and asked him if he would give me his opinion of an excerpt from my book since his book was doing quite well and he was self-published, as I was planning to self-publish as well.

He sent me his email address and I sent him the excerpt.  Then he sent me another email, along with his phone number on MySpace stating that I (me) seemed like a very ambitious/go-getter and to call him.  When I received his book, it was personally signed by him (he tries to sign most of them).  I called him because I was genuinely interested in finding out more about being an independent author and marketing and self-publishing my book.

Let’s call him “Mr. PHD” (even though he doesn’t have one, but claims he does).  So…..Mr. PhD and I ended up talking on the phone for a couple of hours that first conversation.  I don’t remember exactly, but I think I called him another time and we ended up on the phone again for a few hours.  The conversations were very interesting for Mr. PhD and I.  He expressed how he couldn’t believe how many people were in bad relationships and how many people, especially women, were cheating on their spouses.  Mr. PhD complained a lot about how women were always throwing themselves at him and that he couldn’t help it that he was a successful author, young, and good looking.  As a matter-of-fact, he is very good-looking and very intelligent and I could imagine a few women throwing themselves at him.  He also tells me how he has friends who work for the FBI who will look up anyone’s information and tell him whether or not they are legit or not.  (I don’t know if this was supposed to be a threat/warning or what).  And that he only uses that service when he feels he needs to protect himself, because he has so much to lose.

He was also very good in sports and almost made it big time.  I could relate to this because I was good in music and almost made it big time too.  I also hated it when married men or women were unfaithful.  We were both from the Mid-West; we both had the same political views and religious beliefs.

We ended up spending many nights on the phone until one of us fell asleep – usually him, if you haven’t notice already, I”m good at running my mouth.  We exchanged pictures, he told me about his life, and I told him about mines.  I showed him a few marketing techniques for his book and he gave me a few pointers for mines.  Then Mr. PhD starts telling me that he wants me to be his girlfriend and that he’s really feeling me – he wants to come see me, etc, etc, etc.  Slowly but surely, I begin to think he has a drinking problem because at least 2 nights a week, he calls me drunk out of his mind from either a club or limo telling me that “no one loves him” and that “he’s tired of fake people”.  Each time he calls me drunk, sometimes waking me up at 2 or 3am.  Most of the time he is cursing the people out around him, very loudly, and he hardly even knows where he is.  I am concerned for him so I try to talk him through it and ask him to promise me he won’t drive home drunk like that.  He tells me he’s not driving.  He then calls me back several times confessing his feelings for me throughout the night and telling me that a drunk never lies and that’s why he’s confessing his feelings and that I should appreciate the gesture.

One particular text message sent on June 22, 2009 at 9:17am – verbatim, “I can’t wait to hold you and make love to you and experience the joys of life with you, you were on my mind so I had to text you that…. baby, have a good day”.

- By the way, we still haven’t physically met.

One day he asks if I still have feelings for my ex and I told him yes, somewhat,  and he starts saying, “oh god, this is my luck, I always meet someone who’s still in love with someone else”, “and I thought you were different”, “maybe we should just do business together and forget about the personal shit”.  I’m like, “Whoa”!  I talk to him and assure him that having feelings for an ex is natural after being with someone for over a year or so.  Supposedly, everything is ok at this point.

After about the second time he calls me pissy drunk, I tell him (the next day of course) that he really needs to stop drinking so much, that it’s not good for him.  He brushes off the advice and tells me it’s not like he does it everyday.  I figured well he’s less than 30 years of age, perhaps he just going through a phase.  Nevertheless we continue to talk and we have good conversations.  We decide we are going to do a radio show together.  He calls me and puts his niece on the phone with me.  A week later, unexpectedly, he calls me and puts his mother on the phone with me.  He tells me he wants 2 kids and what he wants to name them.  He asks me if I would consider relocating, blah blah blah blah

He plans on him coming to see me the first week of July.  He continues to call me with his drunkenness and I ask him to stop getting drunk before he hurts himself.  One day I change my picture on MySpace to a very “who gives a fuck” type of picture that I took of myself standing in my restroom at my place of employment.  He asks me about it and seems to have a real problem with it saying that it isn’t professional

Glo and I were running late so I decided to speed all the way there.  I was driving a 2000 gold, Dodge Mini-van that a producer friend of mines we will call him Mr. Producer, let me borrow because my car was broken down at the time.  Mr. Producer was always in an out of town and always had several cars around. When he saw that I had no car he told me that he had an extra van that was a rental that he wasn’t using and that I could borrow that until I got my car fixed.  It had been two weeks since he loaned me the mini-van and by then I had my two-years car seat in it, my fishing rods, mail and anything else I could fit in it.  It desperately needed cleaning, but I was too busy working on my so-called music career and working to have time to clean it out.

Back to the story…..here we are riding over the I-95 expressway eastbound connecting Midtown Miami with Miami Beach.  I am driving and Glo is in the front passenger seat.  The speed limit on this section of the road is 55mph and here I am doing at least 70mph.  All of a sudden I hear the sound of a cop car signaling for me to pull over.  Glo and I both turned around and looked out the back window of the van and saw Florida Highway Patrol behind me.

I pulled over before the “whoop whoop” sound ended.  All I could think was, I hope he hurries up and gives me my ticket so I can get to my friends performance.  I really wasn’t concerned because my record was clean and I had never even had a parking ticket.  I started to get out of the van, but the officer instructed me not to get out of the car over his loudspeaker.  He then got out of his patrol and headed towards the van.  Upon reaching the van he asked me for my driver’s license and registration.  I gave him my driver’s license and continued to dig around for the registration.  After much digging around in glove compartments and door panels I found the registration and handed it to the officer.  I also informed him that this was a rental and it was not my car.  He asked me if I knew how fast I was going and I told him, “yeah, probably about 80mph”. He said, “No, actually you were going 70 something”.  He then asked me why I was going so fast and where was I headed.  I told him I was going to see my friend perform and I was late.  He then told me to give him a second that he needed to run my license.

I sat and waited and waited and waited.  I was clueless as to why it was taking so long.  Nearly 15 minutes had gone by and he was still sitting in his car with his partner.  I wasn’t sure what he was doing at this point.  Glo and I both began discussing what might be taking them so long, but I assured her we had nothing to worry about since I had all the required documentation, I had full coverage insurance and my license was spic and span clean.

Finally the officer got of his car, waltzed up to my window and told me that I was under arrest.  I gasped, “under arrest, for what”, before he could even finish.  He then said, “You’re under arrest for grand-theft auto which is a 3 degree felony.  Glo looked at me in shock.  I looked back at her in disbelief.  The other officer on the scene had pulled up behind the arresting officer.  He got out of his car and went over to Glo who was still in the passenger side of the mini-van and told her that she needed to call someone to come and get her because I was under arrest.  He also proceeded to tell her that he could take her down too as an accessory, but that he was going to be nice today and let her go.

I was then told to step out of the car with my hands in the air.  I was very confused at this point.  I didn’t know what to think.  I thought maybe they had mistaken me for someone else.  I thought, “This must be a dream”.  So many things were running through my head at this point.  I stepped out of the car with my hands in the air and was then told to put them behind my head.  I was then handcuffed.  For some reason, I cannot remember if they frisked me or not.  I was read my rights.  I still couldn’t believe what was happening.  I began to cry.  Glo got out of the van and told me that she would call My Ex, my daughters father and that they would come and get me out.  The arresting officer then left me standing there and went back to his car.  The handcuffs were the plastic kind and they very tight and were cutting into my skin.  The tears were rolling down my eyes and then my damn allergies started acting up.  So not only was I crying, but I was sneezing and snot was running down my face. I couldn’t wipe it because my hands were tied so I just had to try to shake if off.

The arresting officer came back after about 6 minutes – by this time of the other officer was back in his patrol car sitting down.  The arresting officer then grabbed my arm and led me to his patrol car.  He opened up his squad car door and put me in the back seat.  My nose was really running like crazy by this time, but there was nothing I could do about.  It must have been a funny site to see, me sitting there with my eyes all red and snot all over my chin and lips.  Although it was extremely annoying I was only concerned with finding out why I was being arrested.  I knew he had stated that I was being arrested to “Grand Theft Auto”, but I still didn’t know why. Mr. Officer sat in the front seat of the patrol car filling out his reports and making calls.  I asked him why I was being arrested for stealing and automobile, when I didn’t steal an automobile.  He said, “The rental car company reported the car stolen because whoever rented the car either didn’t pay them or renew the payment on their credit card”.  He went on to say, “Whenever this happens they report the car stolen”.  That was his explanation.

I sat there in amazement.  I told him that I didn’t even rent the car.  That a friend of mines had let me borrow the car and that I knew nothing of him paying or not paying.  He said, “I’m sorry, but I still have to take you down”.  Then, he said, “your friend is lucky we didn’t take her down too because we’re supposed to”.  He then got out of the car and made a phone call.  He told whoever he called that they, “should drive over and see what he’s got here”.  He was referring to me.  Shortly thereafter, another patrol car and officer pulled up.  He parked and then got out of his car and came over to the car I was sitting in handcuffed and peered in the window at me (he had this look on his face as to say, they had a good catch)  – sort of like a hunter showing off a prize deer.  Then he walked back over to the arresting officer and they shared a really good laugh at my expense.

When the two officers finished getting their laugh, the arresting officer came back to his car and we drove off to the detention center.  To this day, I don’t remember the name of the first detention center they took me too, but I remember it being a long ride.

I was scared to death.  Even though I knew I didn’t do anything wrong I was scared.  When we reached the facility they took me to a booking room.  They asked me a whole lot of questions, made me remove the hair extensions from my hair in front of everyone, made me strip butt naked and squat and cough with absolutely no clothes on.

Back in the common area, all of the correction officers and guards thought the entire situation was a big joke.  One guard flirted with me asking me where I was from and another joked that if I was going to steal a car to make it a mustang the next time so that I could get away.

Then I started to get mad.  I’m thinking to myself why in the hell would I steal a mini-van, drive around in it for two weeks, put my daughter’s car seat in it and my fishing equipment?  Are there really people that stupid?  I seemed to be the joke of the night.  And there were hardly any other inmates there so I guess they needed some form of entertainment and my story was a funny one, from their perceptions.

They gave me my one phone call, so I called my daughter’s father.  We had just recently broke up. About this time it was 3am. I told him I was locked up and the reason I was locked up.  He then hung up in my face.   Since he hung up in my face, they let me make another phone call, so I called my friend Mr. Producer, who got me in the situation in the first place, and cursed him out and told him I never wanted to speak to him again.

Immediately after I hung up the phone, they escorted me to a puke turquoise/lime green cell with small window in it – about 18 long x 8 inches wide filled with extremely thick bulletproof glass.  They also took my shoes and gave me a pair of foam slippers.  The room was freezing cold (felt like 55 degrees to me) and consisted of a metal toilet, sink and bench.  When the officer locked the door it sounded like they were locking a huge bank vault.  I was alone in the cell because I was the only female “felony” that night and they don’t mix felonies with misdemeanors.  This was the first time in my life that I wanted more people around me.

About this time, I conveniently found out that I was slightly claustrophobic.  I had never been trapped or locked up before, so I didn’t know I was slightly claustrophobic.  As soon as the door clicked shut, and I looked around at those horrible green walls, I started to feel like I couldn’t breath.  I began to hyperventilate and I started banging on the door for them to let me out.  They couldn’t hear me.  After a few minutes of banging and no one coming to my rescue, I managed to get my psyche together and calm myself down.

I was soooooo cold.  And I hate cold more than anything.  I usually keep my house about 78 and I’m comfortable.  So, I’m freezing my ass off and thinking that I’m going to spend the rest of my life behind bars.  I really believed it was the end of the road for me. I’m thinking, “shit, if they can lock me up for driving a rental that was reported stolen for a expired credit card, then they could surely find a way to keep me here for as long as they wanted”.

I started worrying about my daughters and what would happen to them.  Finally I somehow fell asleep.  Into what seemed like 15 minutes of my sleep I was awakened by a guard opening my cell.  She came in and asked me if I wanted something to eat.  By this time I was starving.  I hadn’t eaten all day.  I was led out into the commons area and the guard pointed me to a box on the floor with boxed juice, and baloney sandwiches with cheese.  She said, “this is all we have tonight, hope you enjoy it”. Then she looked at me out of the corner of her eye as if to say, “I’m glad I’m not eating that shit”.   What she didn’t know was that I loved baloney sandwiches and the longer they sat around and got mashed up the better.  I grabbed two sandwiches and a juice and was led back to my cell.

I fell asleep again after eating.  It’s amazing how quickly a human being can adjust to just about anything.  I probably slept about an hour or so and was awakened by another guard telling me that I was going downtown.  I didn’t ask any questions, I just got up and followed suit.  I was led back to the commons area and was then lined up with other prisoners or whatever you want to call them.  They lined us up in two rows side by side and then handcuffed and shackled us by our ankles like a chain gang.

I thought, “wow, not only am I going to jail, but I’m also going to do hard labor some where far away”.  And for some reason I kept thinking no one would ever see me again.  The guards told that we were going on a little trip downtown and asked us to walk slowly through the doors leading to outside.  I don’t know how else we could have walked.  We were shackled and handcuffed.  Nevertheless we made it outside and were boarded onto the long gray prison bus headed to more hell.  We sat down on the bus with our shackle buddy of course.  The bus driver boarded and spewed out a bunch of shit and we were off.

We didn’t even make the first turn before my shackle buddy started boo-hooing and snotting all over herself.  Then she started crying and talking in Spanish.  Now I don’t mind a little boo-hooing because I do that myself from time to time, but she was loud.  I had the aisle seat.  I looked over to my right and gave her a “shut the fuck up look” and she didn’t get it.  She kept crying so I screamed at her to shut the fuck up.  Things were bad enough for all of us.  We definitely didn’t need loud whining on our trip to hell.

We finally reached TGK Detention Center in Downtown Miami.  We are ushered off the bus and taken inside down a long hallway through a lot of doors.  On the way to our cell, I noticed a bunch of male inmates on the other side of the building.  At the time I didn’t know where we were, but I was actually relieved to see the guys.  It gave me a sense of possibly being able to see my family again for some reason.  We were detached from our shackle buddies and sent to different rooms, one by one.

I was taken to another cell, but this time it was filled with female inmates waiting to either go to court, get released or be sent to a more permanent place.  The cell they put me in was about the size of a very small bedroom and there had to be at least 40 women in it.  There were also benches, which were all full, and the typical metal toilet that we were supposed to use in front of everyone there.  It smelled like ass, shit, piss, vomit, and crotch.  I wanted to throw up.  When I first arrived to this particular cell, there was nowhere to sit so I just stood.  I really didn’t know whether I wanted to sit or not anyway.  I have to say.  This was one interesting place to be.  Nearly four-fifths of the women were African American.  Everyone looked like all they needed was a good nights sleep and a shower, including myself.

The guards would come in every 15 minutes or so and call an inmate or twos name and take them with her.  Inmates also kept coming in to replace them.  After about the second time the guard came in, I was offered a seat and I took it.  By then I was tired of standing.  As I sat there I listened to the women’s conversations.  I wish I had had a tape-recorder.  Reality shows of today have nothing on the stories I heard that day.  One crack head that sat next to me was pregnant.  She was telling another crack head how she couldn’t wait to get out and have this baby so she could get her some more crack.  She looked to be at least 7 months pregnant.  All I could think was “poor child”.  I heard pimp stories, domestic violence stories, drug stories and all.  I had nothing to say.  I just listened.  Besides who wants to hear about the girl who got arrested for driving a mini-van that was reported stolen because of an expired credit card?

Hours went by and I must have watched the entire group turn over.  I started to think I would never be called.  My hopes went up and down like bipolar episodes.  Then, finally, my name was called.  I jumped up and ran to the door of steel bars.  The guard reconfirmed my name with me and then let me out to follow her down the long hallway.  She told me that bond was set and that I was being released.  My bond had been set at $5000.  I didn’t even know who had paid it or who was coming to get me, but I didn’t’ even ask.  I was ready to go even if the devil had fronted the bill.

They had me sign a bunch of papers and my bondsman showed up.  He was a friend of my daughter’s father.  My bondsman and I met in a room and he told me that my ex had bonded me out and told me everything I needed to do.  I don’t think I remembered anything he said, except that I had to go to court (which I already knew) and that I was free.  That was all that mattered to me at this point.

When I got outside my friend Glo and my ex were waiting for me.  Three weeks later I went to court to finalize the case.  I was the first one in the courtroom and I think I showed up an hour early for my session.  I wanted to make sure there was no reason for me to get into any more trouble.  The courtroom filled up and the honorable Judge Robert Pinero, entered the courtroom.  Everyone in the room was asked to rise out of respect and we were then asked to be seated.  The first name that was called was mines.  I was so anxious.  Judge Pinero called out, “Angela Beasley”.  I jumped up so fast, he probably thought I was on crack.  I quickly responded, “Yes, I’m right here”.  Judge Pinero said, “All charges have been dropped, this case is closed, and you are free to leave”.  I said, “Thank you, thank you (like a freed slave)”.  And then ran out of the courtroom.  I was so happy that this was all over.  Consequently, I found out later that this producer so-called friend of mines was actually using stolen credit cards.  I don’t’ know if they arrested him or what.  I just know that I never spoke to him again.

Five days ago, I applied for a new apartment.  I paid an $80.00 application fee and spent days gathering check stubs, w-2 forms, statements, references, etc., hoping that my daughters and I might move into a much needed larger and better place.  When I went to drop off the $5.00 I owed the leasing agent for having my papers notarized, she told me she had bad news.  I knew I didn’t have the best credit in the world, but I was working on fixing that.  Other than that I always, always paid my rent on time and I was always an excellent tenant.  I even had letters from my past landlords, thanking me for being such a great tenant and asking me to sign up for another year.

I asked her what happened and she said, “your criminal record”.  She said with her very strong Cuban accent, “I told you we don’t accept people with criminal records”.  Then she said, “see”, and pointed to the box on the leasing application that stated that they would not rent to people with criminal records.  She then showed me the paper and Whoop there it was, Angela Beasley, 3 degree felony, grand theft auto.  Well I told her thanks ran out the building.  I knew I couldn’t get my deposit back because I was already told that it was non-refundable.

I hurried home and jumped on the Internet at http://www.miami-dadeclerk.com to see if I might be able to see what she had pulled up and Whoop – there it is!  The same exact record.  Me “Angela” aka the Dodge, mini-van culprit.  I called everyone I knew and asked them what to do.  My ex-sister in law told me to contact the judge who saw the case.  So I went back online and printed off all of the information I could find.

The following day, I called the judge Rosa Rodriguez’s office.  For some reason, even though I saw Robert Pinero, her name was on the case.  I guess they work together.  I know nothing about legal humdrum so don’t start me to lying.  Anyway, I called her office and spoke to her secretary.  She was very nice.  I explained to her what had just happened to me.  Apparently she looked up my record when she put me on hold because when she came back she said, “yeah Ms. Beasley, I see you have nothing else on your record”.  I said, “I know”.  I think I had a parking ticket once and one for running a stale yellow light.  She said, “With your record you can petition the courts to either seal or expunge this off your record”.  So I asked her if that was going to remove it from my record altogether and she told me, “No, you can never completely remove this off your record”.  WOW… Then I said to her, “but I didn’t’ do anything”.  She said, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do, the judge already did her part, but I can refer you to the State Attorney’s office”.  I asked her if she was sure there was nothing that could be done and she assured me that all I could do was seal or expunge the record, but it would remain there.  She then gave me the number to the State Attorney’s office.

I got off the phone with her and called the State Attorneys office to plead my case and see if I could get any results.  I spoke to his secretary first and I explained to here what just happened to me.  She promptly put me on the phone with an attorney.  I then explained to him what had just happened.  He was very nice and sympathetic.  But he told me the same thing the judge’s office told me – that I could expunge or seal the record, but it would never fully come off.  I then told him, “from what I’ve heard if its still on there certain government agencies can still see it whether it’s sealed or expunged right”?  He said, “yes they can, but it’s the only thing you can do”.  Then he told me where I could go to the get the papers to start the process.  He also informed me that I could “TRY” to do it myself or I might want to hire a lawyer to help me.  I asked if there was fee to file the papers and he told me yes, there are a few things you have to pay for.  I told him, “but I didn’t do anything.  Why should I have to pay for something I didn’t do”?  He said, “I know.  That’s just how it is.”  Then he finished his encouragement with the following statement, “Unfortunately, this happens to a lot of people”.  WOW #2

I thank him, hang up the phone and then begin to look for the papers online to save some time and driving around downtown.  Now just two weeks ago, I was summoned for jury duty, but I opted out.  At the time, I felt guilty for not contributing to my country.  Right about now, I’m guessing you could imagine how I feel.

How long and how many times am I going to have to pay for this crime I never committed?

By the way, I also pulled my credit before filling out the leasing application.  Nearly 80% of the information on it was incorrect and Equifax and Experian both tried to convince me into paying them $14.95 to monitor “MY” credit so that I could catch the inaccuracies that they put in there!  WOW #3 – Is that a Mafia Move or what?  Isn’t that like charging stores for protection in certain neighborhoods back in the day when the only gangsters were the Mafia?

This invasion of privacy shit has gone way too far. I understand wanting to keep child-molesters and killers away from you by doing background checks, but the legal system needs to catch up to these new tactics and sync the laws accordingly.  Aren’t we supposedly in the Middle East fighting for so-called human rights?  Well damn, can we get some fricking human rights here in America first?

Mom got heavy into the church.  I hated the church.  This had to be the most corrupt place with the meanest people in the world in it.  All everybody did was talk bad about each other and put each other down.  The kids at church were more prejudiced than the ones at school.  The pastors were all screwing all the women in the congregation and damn that shit lasted all day long.  I thought if there was a hell, this had to be it. The only good thing about it was the bake sale down in the basement afterwards.  Well, after you starved to death for 8 hours.  We would get there at 8am and get out at 3:00pm.  And all everybody did was try to see who was wearing the best hat.  Then sometimes we would be there all damn day and come right back that same night.  Night service was when they cast out the demons.  Well at least that was interesting to a little kid.  It was like an exorcist show – the lights going on and off and people howling and screaming and shit.  I was never scared.  I just thought they were all nuts and faking it.

I did like one other thing about church.  That was the music.  My church was a Holiness church and boy did they know how to jam.  The music was great.  And I liked to see the people get the holy ghosts and speak in tongues.  I also liked when the people would line up for prayer and he would slap them in the forehead so hard that they would pass out.  I always thought to myself, “Damn, if they slapped me in the forehead that head, hell, I would hit the floor too”.  It was like a circus act.  If it wasn’t for that, I probably would have killed myself sitting there for 8 hours listening to somebody tell everybody else what’s right and what’s wrong when you know they’re doing all the “what’s wrong”.  And here we were again the “sore thumb family”.  My sister, my mom, and me looked like a bunch of white people in a place we didn’t belong.  Not to mention the fact that my sister’s father, the one who used to pistol-whip my mom (the man married to another women) was one of the preachers at this same church.

And last but not least.  I never could understand why on earth when it was your birthday you had to give the church money.  Our church had this old, plastic, white cake with pink flowers on it.  It was like a piggy bank in the shape of a cake with a hole in the top of it for you to put change into.  And whenever it was your birthday the entire church would sing a church birthday song and make you go up in front of everyone and put pennies in the cake, according to your age.  I never did understand that.  I always thought they should be giving you something.

Mom and Doris Magwood became friends.  Sister Magwood was an usher in the church.  Ms. Holy bible herself.  This lady went to church at least 4 days a week.  One of the main things I can remember about her is that she always had halitosis (bad breath), because she was always fasting for Jesus.  Every time she would come over and talk to my mother or me I wanted to gag.

I don’t remember how this came to past, but somehow mom ended up having a nervous breakdown and was put in a mental hospital.  Great for me!  Not!  Well I ended up living with Doris Magwood.  Not only was she Ms. Holy she was strict as hell.  And she had the biggest black ants in her house you would ever see.  She didn’t have a husband, but she had a 17-year-old son named Johnny Magwood.    He was really involved in the church.  He was in the choir and he was a junior usher and all.  Well one day when I was asleep on Sister Maywood’s couch, Johnny’s fingers digging around in my vagina awakened me.  I was still 7 years old at the time and this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to me.  When he saw me wake up, he stopped and tried to act like he wasn’t doing anything.  When I spoke to my mom I told her that I wanted to get out of there, but she said that there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  I didn’t tell her why.  I just told her that Sister Magwood was really mean, hoping this would get me out of there.  After that day, I slept with one eye open.