All personally identifying information on this site discovered utilizing resources readily available to the general public. All publicly-obtainable court documents, media reports, and any content of similar nature, provided herein or linked to were pre-published elsewhere by parties other than myself. General images along with my personal photographs are garnered via publicly accessible sources through legal means. The purpose for republishing or otherwise publicizing the information is simply to support the content contained herein.


Me, You, And A Dog Named Camo Green

2 Minutes Out Of My 48 Hours At Camp ACRJ

The eminent male Corrections Officer, who, really, belongs in a Calvin Klein ad not a jail, unlocks my cell and swings open its door. “The nurse wants to see you.” I pad along behind him in my mismatched-by-bleach blue inmate-issued shoes to a compact room where perched at a desk sits a blonde woman wearing a white coat and more mascara than Drew Barrymore.

Nurse Imperious: Have you gotten a [mandatory] PPD recently?

Me: Not since the other one I got here last time -- over a year ago.

Nurse Imperious: You know if we give you one now, you can’t be checked until…

Me: I thought that’s why you called me in here -- to check it; y’all already gave me a shot.

Nurse Imperious: Didn’t I ask you if you’d had one recently? Didn’t I ask her if she’d had one recently?

Me: Oh, I thought you meant prior to this one. Forgive me for thinking the facility who just administered the thing to me two days ago would actually have a record of doing so.


La-Dee-Da-Dee-Dee La-Dee-Da-Dee-Da

Mkay here’s the story on the five days:

Remember back in July of 2009 when I sat in jail for, like, a month? All those days trapped in there? Well, that time apparently counts for…


When I was arrested this past March for the “violation of court order,” Denise Lunsford, the Albemarle County Commonwealth Attorney, had the charge amended to the original obstruction of justice charge -- purely so she could invoke the six month suspended sentence I’d been given in that case. In order to still have a remaining amount to hold over my head (dare I continue endlessly teasing the police via the Internet), Miz Lunsford asked the General District Court judge that I be given only sixty days out of the six months; instead the judge, the man who found me guilty, gave me ten days -- which I’m told is pretty standard for violations.

At some point it dawned on Miz Lunsford -- presumably when word trickled back to her I was making inquiries into it -- that by her having the charge amended, I would be entitled to credit for the time I’d already served.

This is how my attorney put it
“Under Virginia Law the Violation of Probation and Good Behavior is not a separate new offense, but merely the imposition by the court of all or a portion of the original sentence.” “Under Code Section 53.1-187, time must be credited for all time spent in confinement with respect to a charge and [I am] clearly entitled to a credit of 29 days…”
So this month Miz Lunsford went into Albemarle Circuit Court, where, of course, a different judge, a woman, was presiding, and rabidly insisted I was arrested under the charge she earlier denied in General District Court that I was brought in for. Not only that, she demanded the judge not rule on the matter at all and leave it up to Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail’s discretion whether I get the credit!

Obviously the only reason the CA would ever request such a thing is because she already knew what the jail’s position would be. I later learned she had, in fact, been burning up the phone lines with the facility.

The judge ruled she didn’t have to rule. My fate to be determined by the detention center.

Wait, it gets better.

My lawyer asked for one week to allow us an opportunity to work out the applicable credit issue with ACRJ. The judge refused and declared she was not going to allow for that “because someone else might ask for the same thing.”

That’s seriously what she said. “Someone else might ask for the same thing.” She considers that a legitimate reason?! That’s the kind of hairball “logic” coughed up from authority figurines these days?! And women wonder why men deprived them for so long of even the right to vote. Really. The judge didn’t even bother trying to look sensible.

Denying me a week’s extension doesn’t prevent anyone else in the future from asking for a decent minimal amount of time to sort a questionable situation out. And why should anyone be thwarted from doing so regardless? More importantly, what kind of judge bases her decisions on hypothetical other people and what they may imaginarily do?

I can’t even ridicule it; it’s so perfectly ridiculous on its own.

The end result is that I am to serve weekends until five days total incarceration is achieved.

What happened to my ten day sentence, you ask? Well, there’s this systemish thing about time for good behavior; the gist is you serve half and you get credit for half -- one serves six months for a year-long sentence, thirty days for a sixty-day sentence, five days for ten, et cetera.

That’s right folks; I don’t get credit for the time I already spent on the inside, but I do get credit for the time I’ll never have to spend there.

‘Tis too bad I don’t have unlimited funds to take these malevolent people to task in a lawsuit. Lucky for me I’m content forthcoming mild mockery of five specific officers will somewhat balance the injustice of it all. What fun! On that note, can you believe one of Charlottesville’s policemen is highfalutin enough to live in a gated community?

30 Seconds Out Of My 48 Hours At Camp ACRJ

The churlish endomorphic Corrections Officer steps into my cell to glower “don’t you know how to make a bed?”

Blink. Blink. Yes ma’am, I do. But that cold chunk of concrete with the oversized overweighted doormat on it is not a bed.


Wrongful Imprisonment

I’ll try to fully explain later, but for now:

I am off to jail for the next 48 hours to re-serve time I’ve already served. The Hook may or may not have a story about it while I’m incarcerated.

I will say in brief:

One would imagine the twits who control the City and County would be doing everything in their power to keep me out of their Kingdom rather than repeatedly dragging me into it on purpose. They seriously seem to have all the logic and critical thinking skills of a dust mite, so, you know, duh!


Given that Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail provides no parking for “weekenders,” and I am not local to the area, I’ll be leaving my vehicle at a place where it won’t get towed or ticketed, and hitchhiking the rest of the way there. Obviously I’m assuming I won’t wind up dead in a field but I figure I should have my travel plans on the record -- just in case.

Until next week:

Kiss, kiss!


Car 54, Wear Are You?

If you’re going to treat a courtroom full of people to a view of your backside for any length of time, do make sure your trousers aren’t eating your coattails.




5 For 5

If anyone wants to know why five non-Task-Force Officers -- represented by the accompanying pictures -- are soon to have every ounce of information about their respective lives efficiently rifled through by yours truly and potentially subsequently dispersed as humorously as muster-able in a feature spread on I HeArTE JADE, just ring up Albemarle County Commonwealth Attorney Denise Lunsford and ask: 434-972-4072

Oh, and, while you’re on the phone with Miz Lunsford, would you please tell her I thought the femdom-evoking-yet-flatteringly-flirty heels she wore today were waaaaay to drool for?

CPD Nissan Versa XNT-2682



I have a Vivicam25 I purchased months back in lieu of a traditional throwaway. It’s not that great but I figured, rather than splurge on a new high-quality digital, I could make do with the thing until Law Enforcement is compelled to return the equipment that they stole. Unfortunately the maker, Vivitar, is one of those cruddy companies that forces you to use their institution’s software to transfer your snapshots to your computer. Since I couldn’t find the CD for it, I went looking on the web for a downloadable driver. Waddayano? It wound up being a disposable camera after all!

On the up-side, I realized I could use the USB cable that came with the worthless appliance and finally get at some antecedently-unseen-by-me photographs I’d taken with another device at the JADE office back in, golly, I think 2008. Getting to view years-old images -- that even BCI Special Agent Jason Trent and associates had combed through before me -- was uber-elating, even if not all the stills were:

____________ ____________

I recently asked Charlottesville Detective Todd Lucas if he minded that I’ve posted pictures of him on I HeArTE JADE. He wouldn’t commit to a direct answer but he did articulate specifically that because of the kind of work he does, he would prefer to be low-key. I quelled the temptation of then asking him how low-key it was for him to be featured in C-Ville.

____________ ____________

Regardless of if the material itself is the same in both instances, there is a huge difference between “saving” and “documenting.” Surely you understand, my dear Stephen Cosgrove friend.

____________ ____________

The other day I told a Virginia State Policeman I’m acquainted with that I think all VSP guys should have hot wives or girlfriends. Wahhoo baby, did he get Offended-with-a-capital-Oh! How big of a fruitcake do you have to be to feel insulted when someone believes you merit a total babe? No doubt the poor man frequently masturbates in the shower -- instead of pruriently sweatin’ up the bed sheets with the woman he picked to demonstrate how very unshallow he is.

____________ ____________

My exceptionally creepy estranged husband went on an Internet rampage; posting on various sites, he proceeded to, under numerous identities, converse with himself about me and Task Force Officer Brian O’Donnell. And to think I married him for his intelligence and integrity.

____________ ____________

I’ve heard from neither of my attorneys about either of my upcoming cases. I’d consider hiring a third lawyer but I reckon my job at Burger King doesn’t pay enough for that.

____________ ____________

Does anyone have a clue what the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is doing these days? I mean, anyone besides The Game.


A Change Of HeArTE

A black linen pencil skirt paired with an emerald green shirt, matchy-matchy patent leather skinny belt and sling-back pumps...

Today was my arraignment for the charge brought on by Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives Agent John Stoltz. There was also a hearing for an Order of Protection -- incorrectly but better known as a “restraining order” -- scheduled by the same officer. Oh yippee. Law Enforcement members must be safeguarded from being made fun of on the Internet, don’t-ya-know?

When I caught sight of the Greene County Courthouse, a flashback hit me full force: four years earlier anxiously glued to a rear bench inside that awful courtroom, me, in a multi-colored polka-dot shirt, jeans, a red rabbit-fur pom-pom scarf looped loosely ‘round my neck. The suited, decidedly-Irish-looking JADE TFO Mr. O’Donnell seated next to me, his knees relaxed apart, fingers comfortably intertwined, calmly reassuring me in whispers that facing down my accusatory husband would be okay -- that everything would be okay.

I vigorously shook my head to clear the reminiscence, pulled into an empty parking square, and appraised the surroundings. Mr. Stoltz’s eye-catching blue Dodge Charger was nowhere to be seen.

Once I was situated in the General District Court building, I noticed the Commonwealth Attorney, Ron Morris, and more memories of Mr. O’Donnell exploded like landmines in my brain. To distract myself, I focused on the many uniformed men muddling about. Checked me out some handsome Troopers. MmmHmm.

I was briefly entertained by some LaWanda Drama; the lively narrative of two local women beating “the devil” out of one another had many of the occupants in the room snickering.

By time I was called -- both first and last name pronounced wrong -- before the judge, I had learned Mr. Stoltz’s Order of Protection request had already been granted on a prior day. I’d been officially summoned to appear for the dang thing on this date. Not only did the ATF guy deliberately misquote and mischaracterize me, he’d circumvented me from defending myself from his malicious asseverations. How underhanded! I was informed I could appeal the decision, but, still, what the hell?

Due to the circumstances of my arrest -- my current Albemarle County attorney being a potential witness -- I was appointed another representative for this case. Good Lord, this is gonna get confusing.

As if I wasn’t feeling poo enough, to make it to my next destination I had to drive through an area where my estranged nearly-fifty-year-old husband would take the ten-year-old girl that he was sexually pursuing. Bile swirled in my stomach at the reminder and I raced to get out of the town before emesis.

For solace, I went all the way to Richmond to hang with the State policeman I’ve been seeing for months now. Only to have him tell me he could no longer swing cheating on his live-in girlfriend. Ho hum. Okay.

I was unsure whether I wanted to hear raging tunes or melancholic melodies on the ride home, so I opted instead to listen to the music of my thoughts.

I have ongrowing court costs and fines, two lawyers, one less lover, no GPS, and a website I’m afraid to update lest I be hooked-up and hauled off to jail.

Not exactly a Chart-topping song, is it?


Search, Seize, And Stultify

So the skillful fellows got an after-the-fact search warrant for the stuff in my vehicle they illegally searched and seized. I still have not been provided an official list of what items of mine are in the possession of Law Enforcement. I did note that they swiped my unmarked backup CD of Photoshop but left me my disc with “VSP Trooper Long” sharpied on it. Incentive to mislabel such objects for future potential grabs of my belongings by the police, wouldn’t you say? No doubt doing so would provide me lawmen-related bĂȘtises to further ridicule -- as if there aren’t enough already. This last one has finally convinced me these guys truly suck at searches. According to Greene County Sheriff’s Office Investigator Snead -- I believe this is him, though because of the surname I first thought the man handling the case was his cousin, another Greene County Officer, who participated in the Colby Eppard murder -- my property was promptly shipped to the state crime lab in Richmond, Virginia. Funny, my laptop still has the fabulous “evidence” sticker tape on it from the last time it was sent there! Heck, I was just there in that area myself the week prior, I think it was, taking pictures. I’ve been expanding my photography territory, you see: