Albemarle County Police arrested two men for possession of narcotics, including crack cocaine and marijuana, following a traffic stop early Thursday morning.(More)
Officer Kudro, of the County Police Department, stopped a vehicle in the 1000 block of Seminole Trail around 12:30am Thursday. While conducting the traffic stop, the officer reports noticing a smell of marijuana coming from the vehicle. He also determined the passenger of the vehicle was wanted for an outstanding felony warrant.
Upon search of the vehicle, Officer Kudro located 133.2 grams of crack cocaine, 15 grams of marijuana, a 9mm handgun and $644 in cash.
20101023
See, I Told You So -- Eric Kudro Is Just MADE For JADE!
October 2010
20101019
5368 5139 5319 420ACM
I HeArTE JADE, quite purveyed,
How does your website grow?
With Taskforce tells and Dealer sells,
And State Troopers all in a row.
How does your website grow?
With Taskforce tells and Dealer sells,
And State Troopers all in a row.
20101015
Sequestrate The Elite
Wednesday I had to go to Greene County Courthouse for a motions’ hearing.
It was scheduled for 9AM.
We made it in front of the judge after 2PM.
Between others’ and mine, 7½ hours of proceedings.
Probably far more entertaining for me than for the gang of officers there for my case.
They did their waiting in a special room.
It was scheduled for 9AM.
We made it in front of the judge after 2PM.
Between others’ and mine, 7½ hours of proceedings.
Probably far more entertaining for me than for the gang of officers there for my case.
They did their waiting in a special room.
20101011
Oh. Yeah. By The Bye, I’m Out.
♫ No more cellblocks.
♫ No more crooks.
♫ No more guards’ dirty looks!
Five days served.
What. A. Total. Time-suck.
♫ No more crooks.
♫ No more guards’ dirty looks!
Five days served.
What. A. Total. Time-suck.
Da Maneira Que Eu Gosto
Silently interrupting our conversation I thrust my index finger frontward sharply to point at something through the windshield. From the passenger seat of my parked car, my Virginia State Policeman, Fox -- a more fitting pseudonym for him there is not, looks to see what I find important enough to disturb our chat. Across the road, in a separate lot, one of his breed is rounding a building in a marked cruiser.
Inundated by an explosion of excitement, I ask “Can you read the tag?”
The pulchritudinous man beside me casually but swiftly maneuvers himself until he gets a decent unblocked-by-botanies view of the license plate, then rattles off four numbers. Fox is so very accommodating. Armed with the digits, I ransack my mind all the way to the recesses to ascertain whether I’ve got photographs of that particular Trooper; at the same time I mentally try to establish where in the automobile my camera is. “I have 5288…” Under my seat? “And 5226…” Glove compartment maybe? “5446 too…” In the back on the floorboard? Upon comprehensive internal numeration I determine I do not, in fact, have any pictures of the Blue and Gray in question.
Fox has been watching me keenly, a flare of amusement mixed with I-don’t-know-what at my behavior. Perhaps he’s experiencing jamais vu -- though it’s not as if he isn’t familiar with my enthusiasms regarding chance encounters with officers. Shoot; on one of our first get-togethers, he had to practically drag me away by my hair to prevent me from examining a police car that, right before our eyes, had been inexplicably left wide open -- completely unsecured, windows down -- by its uniformed operator in an otherwise-empty parking lot! It so happens the reason for the abandonment was a flat tire, but, still, what kind of cop leaves his patrol vehicle wide open like that?!
Reminiscing about onset meetings with him brings to mind I HeArTE JADE activities and before I can stop myself, I blurt out at Fox “Do you think I’m obsessed with Law Enforcement?”
He cerebrates for a moment before giving me a carefully constructed answer, the kind I’d expect from a lawman -- even a scrupulous one: adequately ambiguous, designed to be favorable to any given person’s position. He has never vilipended my Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement habit though, thus I am content to accept his reply. Plus he’s hot, so who really cares what he has to say?
Fox and I carry on with our visit, but I surreptitiously keep tabs on the mystery Trooper. I track him moving to yet another square of pavement, and while I lose sight of him there neither do I observe his departure from the immediate area.
After my delicious VSP-man and I disentangle ourselves from each other and bid farewells, I roll off in the direction of where I suspect the unknown Trooper will be found.
Inundated by an explosion of excitement, I ask “Can you read the tag?”
The pulchritudinous man beside me casually but swiftly maneuvers himself until he gets a decent unblocked-by-botanies view of the license plate, then rattles off four numbers. Fox is so very accommodating. Armed with the digits, I ransack my mind all the way to the recesses to ascertain whether I’ve got photographs of that particular Trooper; at the same time I mentally try to establish where in the automobile my camera is. “I have 5288…” Under my seat? “And 5226…” Glove compartment maybe? “5446 too…” In the back on the floorboard? Upon comprehensive internal numeration I determine I do not, in fact, have any pictures of the Blue and Gray in question.
Fox has been watching me keenly, a flare of amusement mixed with I-don’t-know-what at my behavior. Perhaps he’s experiencing jamais vu -- though it’s not as if he isn’t familiar with my enthusiasms regarding chance encounters with officers. Shoot; on one of our first get-togethers, he had to practically drag me away by my hair to prevent me from examining a police car that, right before our eyes, had been inexplicably left wide open -- completely unsecured, windows down -- by its uniformed operator in an otherwise-empty parking lot! It so happens the reason for the abandonment was a flat tire, but, still, what kind of cop leaves his patrol vehicle wide open like that?!
Reminiscing about onset meetings with him brings to mind I HeArTE JADE activities and before I can stop myself, I blurt out at Fox “Do you think I’m obsessed with Law Enforcement?”
He cerebrates for a moment before giving me a carefully constructed answer, the kind I’d expect from a lawman -- even a scrupulous one: adequately ambiguous, designed to be favorable to any given person’s position. He has never vilipended my Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement habit though, thus I am content to accept his reply. Plus he’s hot, so who really cares what he has to say?
Fox and I carry on with our visit, but I surreptitiously keep tabs on the mystery Trooper. I track him moving to yet another square of pavement, and while I lose sight of him there neither do I observe his departure from the immediate area.
After my delicious VSP-man and I disentangle ourselves from each other and bid farewells, I roll off in the direction of where I suspect the unknown Trooper will be found.
20101009
Final 24
Tonight is my last twenty-four hours in Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Hooray!
Last weekend’s lockup was, for the most part, uneventful. They stuck me in an enormous cell by myself, presumably to keep me out of trouble -- as if I’d, I don’t know, incite a riot in general population -- and essentially ignored me for the next 40-something hours. I did have another run-in with the Bed Nazi. Her sole job and joy in life seems to be upholding the integrity of sheet and blanket placement on a narrow half-inch-thick mat. She totally cracks me up!
Still, I’m glad it’ll be done with. I have definitely learned my lesson from the overall experience. Granted, it’s probably not the lesson the darling JADE Task Force and their sycophants intended for me but, hey, contrary to their belief, they can’t win ‘em all.
Last weekend’s lockup was, for the most part, uneventful. They stuck me in an enormous cell by myself, presumably to keep me out of trouble -- as if I’d, I don’t know, incite a riot in general population -- and essentially ignored me for the next 40-something hours. I did have another run-in with the Bed Nazi. Her sole job and joy in life seems to be upholding the integrity of sheet and blanket placement on a narrow half-inch-thick mat. She totally cracks me up!
Still, I’m glad it’ll be done with. I have definitely learned my lesson from the overall experience. Granted, it’s probably not the lesson the darling JADE Task Force and their sycophants intended for me but, hey, contrary to their belief, they can’t win ‘em all.
Seasonal News
Sellers plead guilty in drug ring
October 2010
Salespeople in a Charlottesville-area drug ring, some of whom deposited the proceeds into a Wachovia Bank account, pleaded guilty to charges Friday in Charlottesville’s federal court.
Authorities said that Keith Aubrey Marks, Tangelia Lashiel Bulluck, Melissa Ann Putnam, Sherri Lynette White and David Anthony Payne were involved in the drug conspiracy between June 2009 and July 2010. Ronald Huber, assistant U.S. attorney, said in court that it is estimated the conspiracy moved 1.5 kilos of crack, more than 100 grams of heroin and some powder cocaine.
Rodney Wayne Barnes and five others were indicted Sept. 22 by a federal grand jury in connection with the drug ring. The indictment said Barnes, who pleaded not guilty to all charges during a Sept. 24 hearing, “developed relations with other drug traffickers” while he was selling drugs.
[...]
Detectives from the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force and their informants began buying drugs from some of the salespeople in the spring, Huber said in court. After Putnam was arrested on an outstanding warrant from a state court, the prosecutor said in court, she told authorities that she had been selling drugs and sending money orders to Barnes in New York.
[...]
The five salespeople, all of whom are incarcerated except for Bulluck, are scheduled to be sentenced Jan. 10. Barnes is scheduled to have a three-day trial in November.
(More)
20101007
20101005
1½ Minutes Out Of My 2nd 48 Hours At Camp ACRJ
Outfitted in a decorous dark-colored uniform rather than the frequently-seen gray Polo shirt and true-navy-blue slacks the guards wear, he pokes his head in my cell. “You request the Chaplain?”
Why -- do I look like I need my last rites? Oh. Wait. That’s a Catholic Priest, not a jail Chaplain. I smile broadly and tell the Correctional Officer “no.”
“What are you reading?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his eye.
In response, I flip up the large paperback in my hands which I’d dug out of the limited-selection book box from Intake.
“That’s a ‘girl book’’” he wrinkles up his nose and wisecracks; I laugh out loud.
Why -- do I look like I need my last rites? Oh. Wait. That’s a Catholic Priest, not a jail Chaplain. I smile broadly and tell the Correctional Officer “no.”
“What are you reading?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his eye.
In response, I flip up the large paperback in my hands which I’d dug out of the limited-selection book box from Intake.
“That’s a ‘girl book’’” he wrinkles up his nose and wisecracks; I laugh out loud.
20101002
Whatcha Doin' This Weekend?
Tonight officially begins my second 48 hours in the slammer. Depending on the capriciousness of they that run the place, I may be in there for 72. Any which way, here’s to great site fodder!
Some random stuff relating to last week:
On I HeArTE JADE blogging… I am so glad I held back publishing my account of the month in 2009 I spent in Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Aside from possibly incurring the beastliness of a handful of Correctional Officers during this recent stint, half my tricks for survival would’ve been rendered useless.
On hitchhiking there… I made sure I got to the area in plenty of time lest I had to walk the whole way to ACRJ from where I parked my car. The upside was I caught a ride as soon as I crossed the street and stuck out my thumb; the downside was I arrived at the establishment ridiculously early and had to hang around their waiting room before they’d let me check in.
On Intake… Through the pseudo-glass partitions I got a glimpse of my favorite ACPD troublemaker: Officer Eric Kudro himself. I thought of a million witty things to holler at the boyish-looking powerhouse who’s known for getting sloshed and slurping syrup but, considering he’s been being almost good lately, I just grinned at him and left it at that.
On ACRJ personnel… I recognized a lot of the guards from last time. Truth be told, a few are triple evil, a few are honest-to-heaven angels, and the majority are completely indifferent to everyone around them.
On hitchhiking back… ‘Twas a dark and stormy night. A mother of two, traveling alone, in a minivan picked me up. It got me thinking that maybe Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement should spitcan all their officers and replace them with soccer moms -- since they seem to be a lot less fearful than current Task Force members.
Some random stuff relating to last week:
On I HeArTE JADE blogging… I am so glad I held back publishing my account of the month in 2009 I spent in Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Aside from possibly incurring the beastliness of a handful of Correctional Officers during this recent stint, half my tricks for survival would’ve been rendered useless.
On hitchhiking there… I made sure I got to the area in plenty of time lest I had to walk the whole way to ACRJ from where I parked my car. The upside was I caught a ride as soon as I crossed the street and stuck out my thumb; the downside was I arrived at the establishment ridiculously early and had to hang around their waiting room before they’d let me check in.
On Intake… Through the pseudo-glass partitions I got a glimpse of my favorite ACPD troublemaker: Officer Eric Kudro himself. I thought of a million witty things to holler at the boyish-looking powerhouse who’s known for getting sloshed and slurping syrup but, considering he’s been being almost good lately, I just grinned at him and left it at that.
On ACRJ personnel… I recognized a lot of the guards from last time. Truth be told, a few are triple evil, a few are honest-to-heaven angels, and the majority are completely indifferent to everyone around them.
On hitchhiking back… ‘Twas a dark and stormy night. A mother of two, traveling alone, in a minivan picked me up. It got me thinking that maybe Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement should spitcan all their officers and replace them with soccer moms -- since they seem to be a lot less fearful than current Task Force members.
20100929
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.
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.
20100928
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…
Nothing!
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
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?
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…
Nothing!
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.
Blink. Blink. Yes ma’am, I do. But that cold chunk of concrete with the oversized overweighted doormat on it is not a bed.
20100925
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!
Also:
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!
20100924
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.
20100923
20100920
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?
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?
20100915
Yap
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.
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.
20100908
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?
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?
20100907
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 bêtises 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:
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