so this one time in jail.

I've been to jail - twice.  I know what you're thinking, "preacher's kids" really ARE the worst!" I'm about to prove you right. I don't mind writing about this because I'm certain that someday when my husband runs for president, there is going to be some sort of background check and it's going to be so scandalous when they post my mugshot online and Entertainment Tonight starts airing the teaser for the story about Jason Riveiro's Wife Behaving Badly. I think it would be better if you hear it straight from me.  

Early 20's Hannah was a heck of a lot of fun. You'd definitely want to hang out and party with her, but you wouldn't really want her to house-sit for you, run an errand for you, watch your kids, expect her to show up on time, return your phone call, pay you back that money she owed you or trust that she would do anything remotely responsible in any way.

Once I was out from under the watchful, responsible eye of my parents and started being responsible for my own grown-up things, it all started to fall apart (bills, filing taxes, paying rent, owning a vehicle.. and I say "owning" very loosely because my parents co-signed for every single vehicle I ever had until I was married and made the payments half the time.. and I say "half the time" loosely because it was more like 90% of the time.. and I say "every single vehicle" because I went through about 7 of them in a matter of 3 years like they were disposable contact lenses, but that's another story for another day). 

One beautiful Spring day, I was cruising along at about 65 miles per hour down Paddock Road in my 1998 VW Beetle and I saw the blue and red lights behind me and my stomach knotted up for several reasons.  First, because I was speeding and I knew it, second because I knew I hadn't paid my last speeding ticket(s) and most likely had a suspended license (which had already been suspended at least 4 times) and third, my tags were expired by at least 6 months.  Yep - it was all true AND I had a warrant out for my arrest for not showing up to court for the above mentioned ticket(s).  When you've had your license suspended a few times, you lose luxury of being able to just pay the ticket and get on with your life; you actually have to start showing up to court to explain why you can't pull your stuff together and start obeying the law. After a major ugly cry style meltdown, the officer graciously let me go without an arrest with the understanding that I was to drive directly to the place he'd instructed me to and "take care of my business". I didn't take care of anything.  I went straight to the movies or straight to dinner or something more important and forgot about the whole incident about 30 minutes after he let me go.  That's how I rolled. 

The Beetle - probably still my favorite car. If I weren't such a grown up now, I'd probably get another one  ;)

One year later on a beautiful Spring day, I was cruising along at about 65 miles per hour down Paddock Road in my 1998 VW Beetle and I saw the blue and red lights behind me.  I pulled over, rolled down my window and heard a familiar voice. It was the voice of the officer from last year saying "Miss Smith, please step out of the vehicle. You didn't take care of your business did you? You have the right to remain silent, etc". I was cuffed and freaking stuffed in the backseat of the cruiser before I even knew what was going on.  He allowed me to use my phone to call my fiance Jason and my brother Jon so that they could come and bail me out.  

Jon really knows the ropes on bailing people out of jail, but that's another story for another day, too.

As we started to pull away, I remembered overhearing a conversation between two ladies a few weeks earlier going something like this:  "Girl, if you get arrested, make sure they take you to Queensgate cause you ain't wanna go to the JC (Justice Center)".  I wrestled my way up to get my face near the little fence in the backseat of the cruiser and politely asked the officer if he could take me to Queensgate.   He replied "HA! No, we are headed to the Justice Center". I cried like a baby, but he was familiar with my little tantrum from the previous year and ignored me.

The next 5 hours of my life were spent inside a glass 12X12 box with what seemed like 50 other women who were loud and using amazing cuss-word-combos that I'd never even heard.  I was simultaneously terrified and impressed. Why hadn't I thought of these combos before? There was a frightening energy in the plexiglass box that at any moment someone was going to punch you in the face or shank you or something like that, but that was probably just something I made up in my head from watching too many movies.

At one point, I actually thought to myself "Oh CRAP!! I have on a red sweater! They're going to think I'm a blood, they're going to think I'm a blood!! What if there are crips in here?! They'll kill me!"

I spent the next 20 minutes or so imagining that the quiet girl next to me would start humming "Dear Momma" by Tupac under her breath and that I would take over and start rapping it, which would be awesome because I know every single word to that song and it was my absolute JAM back in the day. I imagined the shock and awe on the faces of the cuss-word-combo girls as I flawlessly executed the greatest female version of "Dear Momma" they'd ever heard and one of them would yell out "dannnng, white girl gots made skillz though!" It would earn me tons of street cred and then we'd all be cool like those hardcore inner city kids on Sister Act 2.  When it was time for me to leave they'd all high five me on the way out and try to memorize my phone number so we could all hang when they got out of the joint. Looking back on those 20 minutes I'm certain that may have been a stretch for even my wild imagination ;)  Back to reality...

Hamilton County Justice Center

In the plexiglass box there were women coming down from crack who would yell out crazy things every now and then and freak everyone out and the cuss-word-combo girls would let them have it for about 10 minutes, then it would be silent for about 30 seconds until the next abrupt scream and the cycle would start all over again. It smelled like an old wet ashtray, really dirty hair and urine. The built in benches were made of the same concrete as the floors and it was freezing. The best part of the whole thing was the stainless steel toilet right in the middle of the floor that the cuss-word-combo girls weren't afraid to use. Awkwaarrrrd.  i guess you gotta do what you gotta do in the joint, right?

The toilet sink combo looked like this, only not clean at all

I was released due to "overcrowding" and ran into my fiance's arms and vowed to "take care of my business" so I would never have to step foot inside a place like that again.  That was the first time I went to jail. You guessed it - I went back for round two. The second time I was in there for a few days. See "So this OTHER time... in Jail" .