Valancy Jane

Sumer - “How was the band Sat. night?”

Valancy Jane - “What band?  I went dancing.”

Sumer - “Oh, right, that was me.  I saw a band. ……………………… It was good.”

….. that we were driving through the rural town I spent so much time in back then, when I dated a boy who lived there.

But there was that, combined with the fact that I was riding shotgun with the windows down and the music up on a hot summer morning, home from an all night party.  I was thinking of nothing at all but how cute my new sunglasses are, and how very big the world is.

And I swear, I really was 17 again.

Valancy Jane - “My pants just almost slid off my butt again.”

Sumer - *giggles*  “Again?  You really are losing weight.”

Valancy Jane - “It’s all that walking, living downtown.”

Sumer - “Nice.”

Valancy Jane - “I gotta get new pants.  Or a local boyfriend.”

Valancy Jane - *pouty face*  “You guys got pretty colored folders.  She went to the cabinet and got me a plain manila one.”

Girl in front of me - “Yeah, me too.  I wanted a blue one.”

Valancy Jane - “Green would really have gone with my outfit.”

Guy in front of us - “They’re color coded for how many DUI’s you’ve had, and been through the program.  Believe me, we’d all prefer to trade for your manila one, and just a three month class.  Mine is 18 months.”

Valancy Jane - “I love you, manila folder.  You are so beautiful.   I’m so proud to have you on my arm.”

Today was my enrollment orientation.  Facing the logistical nightmare that is these classes, two some weeks, some weeks three, and all the ways you can get in trouble and lose your chance a restricted license and have to start all over, and pay all over, it’s making me sick to my stomach.  One minute late to class?  Unexcused absence.  Forget to turn off your cell phone?  You’re out.  Miss(or late) three in a row?  Or five total?  Start all over, license gone. 

And it starts to feel unfair.  Ok, I get it.  I’m one of the good kids, and treating me like scum doesn’t bring out the best in me. 

I was all set to indulge in a pity party, but a few things helped my perspective today.  One, a chat with a friend who’s been through this all and can describe what the end of this tunnel looks like.  Two, remembering that I’m a plain ole manila folder, not blue, not green, not yellow and thank god, not red.

Three, the results came back today, and Sumer does NOT have leukemia. 

So all things considered, life ain’t so bad.

….. that I fall very gracefully. That when I fell out of balance, I flailed and kicked “like a swan being shot down” with pointed toes.
I told her at the time that I wasn’t sure how to take that.

But now, I hope it’s true.

Because I have definitely fallen out of favor with myself. I find myself in trouble for the one thing I was certain I would never be in trouble for. I am the not so proud recipient of a DUI.

Yes, seriously, yes, me. Well, maybe you aren’t shocked, but I am. I don’t drive drunk, hell, I can’t remember the last time I WAS drunk. People who drive drunk are irresponsible idiots who put other people’s lives in danger. I once said with a snotty tone that if were ever jailed for a DUI, I wouldn’t call anyone, I’d “leave my sorry butt in jail where it belongs.”

Part of me wants desperately to defend myself, to say that I still don’t know how a mere three drinks in five hours (seriously, that’s it!) could put me over the legal limit, and that if I’d had any clue about that, I NEVER would have driven myself home, that nobody told me I should have asked for a blood test, that this just had to be some fluke of body chemistry, but I’ve been advised not to discuss it in detail, and also, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m blowing this off, Paris Hilton style.

Sure I didn’t mean to, had no clue that I was, but I broke the law. And in the words of a friend, “I don’t think anyone has ever been half as mad at me as I have been at myself.”

I have to say the whole experience was the most un-bad-ass night of my life.  I was a sniffling wreck. Would it be tacky to say that in hindsight, parts of it were downright funny?  The cop, who I suspect really didn’t want to take me in (and who moved my car into a nearby parking lot instead of impounding it, YAY HIM), pulled out his cuffs and told me to get my purse outta my car. I picked it up off the seat, along with my book. He looked at me like I was nuts and said, “You can’t bring a BOOK to JAIL.”

I slid into the backseat, cuffed, and asked, “How *sniff* do I *sniff* buckle my seat-belt? *sniff*” He was like, “You …. you want your seat-belt?” and I was like, “of course, I’m not stu- well, uh, I just always wear it.”
“I’ll come around and get it.  Nobody’s ever asked me to before.”

My tiny-freaky-gypsy-carnie-small hands kept sliding out of the cuffs. And like the good girl that I really am at heart, I kept trying to shove them back in.
Finally when we got to downtown, and he opened my door, I shot him an apologetic look and held my arms out in front of me, cuffs dangling from my left wrist, “Ok, uh, don’t be mad” I sniveled, “but I can’t get them back on.”
The cop smothered what I suspect was a laugh.
“Ok, I’m just gonna take those off. Don’t attack me, ok?”
“No, I won’t, I swear!” I said, before realizing he was kidding.

The cop offered me a lucky penny he found on the ground, and told me I’d be the prettiest girl in jail.  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but it was nice to hear (especially considering that he looked like a dark haired Matt Damon.  I have very good taste in the men that handcuff me).  I said that I doubted it because I was a red-eyed, runny-snot mess, but he said my lack of a meth habit and/or an abusive pimp would give me a real advantage.

I got a pat down search from a woman who first asked me if I had a lot of things like knives or guns or needles, and my responses went something like, “No, no, no, no, I don’t even *sniff* know what that is, no, no and no.”  A nurse asked me if I was suicidal, I told her only if she called my BunnyMama and told her where I was.

My cop bagged up my purse, told me he’d never seen so much stuff in one purse before, and wished me luck.

At first I was put into a general holding pen with about 8 other women, who took one look and me and collectively their faces softened.  “First time, hun?”  I nodded, still sniffling.

One girl said to another, “Aw, she’s purple (my wristband).  She’s just here ’til she comes down.”

I felt the need to pipe, “No, no, until I sober up. *sniff*  I don’t do drugs.”  As if it was really important that a room full of hookers not judge me.  For hookers they were.  I learned a lot that night.  No, not the sort of things I really wanted to know, somehow it didn’t seem like the right time to ask those sort of things.  But a hooker with no front teeth and no big toes told me things like, if you ever get pinched for prostitution, toss your phone in the bushes, or refuse to sign for it when you get bailed out, because otherwise, they’ll use your text messages to prosecute you.  I figure that’s advice we’ll, uh, all need at some point.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

As we waited, I thought to myself, “oh, I haven’t done my yoga yet today.”  I rolled my neck and went into warrior pose.  And I could feel every eye on me.  It occured to me that maybe this wasn’t the best time.

After that they moved me to the “drunk tank” which was just a large room with very narrow benches, cold floors, a mirror (as if I wanted to know what I looked like at that point) and a phone.  Oh and exactly the sort of muscle bound lesbian you would be afraid of being locked up with.  She was sleeping.  I sat down and went back to crying, until she picked her head up and glared at me.  I stopped crying. 

Within a few minutes, I was joined by CeCe.  (At which point I stopped being the prettiest girl in jail, by a pretty large margin, I have to admit.)  CeCe called her mother and boyfriend, telling them that she’d be out in the morning, and to please come get her.  She sat down next to me and smiled.  I smiled back.  She pointed out that her prison sandals exactly matched her nail polish.  I giggled in spite of myself.

We exchanged stories, very similar.  “I had no idea so little alcohol could put you over the legal limit!”  “I know!”  We tried to sleep, but the benches were too narrow and the floor too cold.  CeCe looked at the phone for a few minutes, then at me.  “Hey.  We can call anybody, right?”

“As long as it’s local,” I repeated the instructions I’d been given, “yeah, and we can make as many calls as we need.”

“So…… anybody, right?”

I shrugged a yes.

CeCe started prank calling radio stations, while I giggle sniffed from my bench.  I told her to call Lola and tell her that her name and number were on the wall there in jail.  CeCe DID.

I love CeCe.  I think she’s my girlfriend now.

Somehow, we made it through that agonizing long night, and were released within a few minutes of each other, around 6:30am.  I called Sumer and asked her to come get me, wailing out the last part “at the JAIL.”  And of course, being the princess that she is, she did.  CeCe and I shook hands and agreed to NEVER get together and do this, ever again.

So what happens now?  Well, I sure as hell don’t drink for awhile, for one thing.  I’m afraid to drive anywhere now, for fear my own shame and embarrassment will ferment in my stomach.  I asked a lot of people that I trust if they think this means I have a problem with alcohol and to a man they all said no, but I figure it won’t hurt to prove it by just not drinking for a few months.  I won’t know much until my hearing in April, it seems I’ll be facing a restricted licence, a couple grand in fines (bake sale?) and lots of classes, which I’m not going to wait until they’re ordered to take.  And I’m going to donate a breathalyzer to the club I was at, in hopes that someone like me, on their way out, realizes how little it takes to be over the limit, and saves themselves from this horrible situation.

And I just hope that I can face this fall with a little grace.  Keep your toes pointed for me?

….. “Sumer, chica, I’m so proud of you, this isn’t even the cheapest champagne from the corner liquor store.  This isn’t the $4.99 stuff, this is the $6.99 stuff.  Who loves you baby?  That’s right.”

My Homie in Marketing - “And the Employee of the Year is ………….. [Coworker L]!!!!”

Valancy Jane - *cheers*

Sumer - *cheers*

Valancy Jane - “He so deserves it.”

Sumer - “Yeah.”

Valancy Jane - “We danced at the Christmas party, and he was the only guy who didn’t put his penis on me.”

Sumer - “Wow.”

Valancy Jane and Sumer - *stand and cheer*

Sumer - *at my desk*

Valancy Jane - *sitting on desk*

Sumer - *playing solitaire*

Valancy Jane - “Oh hey, you can move that seven of hearts over to, yeah, there.”

Sumer - “Sweet, thanks.”

**silence**

Sumer - *hums*

Valancy Jane - *hums along*

Sumer - *hums louder*

Valancy Jane - *sings softly*

Sumer - *sings along*

*full on duet*

Valancy Jane - “Oh and if you move that king of diamonds, and the black queen over, yeah, there….”

Sumer - “Good lookin’ out.”

Valancy Jane - “Do you think we spend too much time together?”

….. “Dude.  I am in a full blown funk, I have GOT to snap outta this.”

And somewhere between the girls all meeting at my desk, and the giggling, and the sweet invite from Lou, and spicy snack mix, and a bottle of wine, and Neil Diamond, and more giggling, I realized that hey, life ain’t so bad.

Happy weekend, lovies.

…. that “Naw, I don’t want anything from Taco Bell, thanks for asking,” actually means, “Please bring me some of those cheesy potato things, because if you bring it without me asking, the calories don’t count.”