Friday, June 11, 2010

Thank YOU my LOVES! :)

Is there another word that describes WOW? Even when I spell it backwards it still just is WOW and that is not nearly enough to describe what the past few years have been. More tumultuous than climbing Mt. Everest, a tad bit of the element of riding a Roller Coaster. I tried looking WOW up in the Thesaurus and that just made things even more complicated so we will just stick with WOW.  For NOW. Hey that rhymes.

I went from living in Music City, USA, hanging around some pretty amazing and talented people, to moving to Pittsburgh, PA after a pretty horrible ‘overkill’ on the part of the NYPD. Thought I found love and got engaged, ended up in a dangerous situation and tried to start over. And NOW I’m going to be a MOMMY! I’m shocked, happy, extremely ecstatic, and sort of scared. I started dating one of the sweetest guys I had ever met a few weeks after I moved into my new place and after all, being quite lonely he was so wonderful to have around. I can honestly say to this day I’ve never met someone so docile and sweet towards me. We are very different, but he is the father of the new love of my life in my belly and I couldn’t be more in love with the baby already. Truth is, I really do love kids... I'm sure you've seen pictures of me showing a very different side. I'm not even close to being that person anymore. See I DO love kiddos.  I'm not born to be a party animal but a Mommy.  :)

The main reason for this entry is to thank the people who encouraged me. I consider myself to be an extremely strong Christian who has dedicated my life back to the Lord and is SO in love with Him. Yet we all make mistakes. My baby however, was a surprise, but not a mistake. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for every single person who commented on my Facebook, sent me a message, and treated me like any other normal person would. I will not forget that. I also received some rather hateful messages and judgmental statements b/c I am a Christian. Let he who is without any sin please cast the first stone. Thanks. LOL. I still plan to live my life loving my God with my entire heart, as He does the same for me. There’s a thing called forgiveness, ever heard of it? When we are hurtful, or pass judgment on others, it’s just as bad sweet pea. So again thank you to all my AWESOME friends, family, and acquaintances who have offered their support, I need it more than you know. I can’t wait to keep you all updated on this journey. Right now I’m 2 ½ months along. And I need ALLLLLL the suggestions I can get!  We better pray I have a girl. ;) Just kidding I just want a healthy lil baby that can tell jokes and entertain me.  Also, I'm craving a heck of a lotta Waffle House... I need to move back down South :(   


p.s.  Oh, and one more thing... Rest in Peace Gary Coleman, we will miss your antics.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I'm obviously not 'Religious' but I have this thing called an AMAZING “Relationship"

Waking up feeling defeated isn’t something that can easily go away. Sometimes it’s literally a fight, and I mean a knock down drag out fight, to face the day. I had one of those mornings yesterday. I am quite certain that I am not the only one to have experienced this. The enemy is always going to try to drudge up the past, and try to bring it to the forefront of our mind. As well as put fear into our hearts and minds, sometimes that does not even exist. At these times it’s our turn to quote the scripture that our Jesus did. Just as Satan tempted Jesus in the wilderness, he is going to tempt us to forget the wonderful, perfect, and most beautiful sacrifice that has ever been given. When Jesus died for our sins, all that was paid for. So when we begin to dwell on our past, and our past failures, we are denying that gift that Jesus gave for us on the cross that day. When we wallow around in the hurt our own sin has caused us and caused others, we are again; acting is if that gift didn’t matter.

Do you remember when you were little and even before Halloween rolled around you were telling your parents exactly what you wanted for Christmas? My mom raised me as a single mother, with not a single penny from anyone else. I’m sure she scraped up all the money she had to buy that Barbie dream house that I had been talking about the entire year. Those things weren’t cheap! Not to mention the hours she said it took her to put it together. Case in point, it was a sacrifice for her. If I had woke up that morning and just said, “Thanks but I don’t deserve that, you can take it back” I’m sure her heart would be broken. It was something that she wanted to do, something that absolutely thrilled her to make me a happy 5 year old. I know in no way, shape, or form is this a comparison of the sacrifice that my sweet Jesus made for us on that day, but it just makes me think of how hurt that He is when we don’t accept the gift of Grace that He wants us to take hold of and apply to our life so freely.

And this is me and my precious Mommy!

After I graduated from Bible College, I began to experience abuse and various issues that I had never experienced before. Hurt I never knew I could feel, and I didn’t have a plan. Instead of going forth with the plans that the Lord had for my life, I followed the world’s plan of masking my pain. It all started with one drink and ever since that first one, almost 10 years of sin, hurt, pain, suicide attempts, becoming physical ill to the point of nearly dying, the rock bottom came. After all the running, I finally saw that the Lord was waiting for me the entire time. He had a plan for me. In between events I would ask for God’s healing. As I knew He was my answer, but right before the wound was completely healed, I’d roam back down some wrong path, and that would was ripped open, making the new one even worse. Imagine being mauled by a grizzly bear, only to come out having scars and emotional damage that took a long time to heal. Before you are completely healed you go back out and do something to get those scars ripped open again. Instead of going to the doctor for treatment, you try to treat your pain in your own way, and that’s a sure fire way on a path of destruction, even death. That is where I was headed. Time after time after time. Why is it different this time? Because I am healed completely. The prayers and sacrifices that others have made on my behalf, the Grace that God gave to me so freely, and the infinite and unconditional love that surrounds me has brought me to my knees and to an entirely new level. I’m beyond excited to continue to share with you the journey, paths (both horrendous and beautiful) that have brought me today. If one mistake I made can help someone to avoid the same, it’s worth it. I’m not embarrassed. Because I’m free. Thank you Jesus. And thank you to my friends that never gave up on me. There were always the ones who talked about how horrible I was, or how far I’d fallen off the wagon. But there were those who loved me anyway. Your gift will be great for all you did. I LOVE you all. I can't wait to share the rest of the stories.... :)

Rikers Island. And it's not the Caribbean. :)

Rikers Island. And it's not the Caribbean. :)
OK, So Back to the ordeal of a lifetime. I left off in the holding cell where the other girls and I were sitting for hours. Me, about 14, some shorter, some longer. Erin had met someone in the airport and flirted her way into getting me one of his lawyer friends to come down to the courthouse to my arraignment. Little did I know how much this was going to cost me?

Finally, a ‘C.O’ (Corrections Officer) as everyone calls them, handcuffed me and led me to the most beautiful courthouse I had ever seen. It looked like a ballroom in some sort of castle. And scattered throughout it were people like me, and some not so much. People that hadn’t slept for days, some wounded, and some still strung out on drugs, and some that simply didn’t pay their entire cab fare. I had a two minute conversation with my attorney, who said a lot of discombobulated things that made no sense to me whatsoever. We approached the judge and since I was from out of state, no one there to post bail for me, the judge was new, and wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. I was accused of selling two pills to an undercover cop. None of which I remember doing. It was a confusing situation all around, and so they said I was to go to Rikers Island.

Rikers Island is an infamous place. 2Pac wrote about it in his songs, Sid Vicious spent time there the day before he committed suicide, (or was murdered), and some of the most hardened criminals of our time have spent time inside these walls. After they took all my information, I was handcuffed to a girl with NO and I mean ZERO teeth in her mouth. She was a tall Hispanic girl with strawberry blondish hair. She seemed out of it, but still didn’t feel like she wanted to talk to me. Well if you know me well enough, I’ll strike up a conversation with the guy begging for money on the corner, or the Pope. So I started to ask her about Rikers. She said, ‘Keep to yourself, don’t bother anyone and they won’t bother you’ apparently she had been there more than once. There was some old hip hop song on the radio and she began to sing every word. We were handcuffed together on this rattling old bus with bars in the front, back and beside each seat. There were even Juvenile offenders on the ride with us. To say they were bothering me would be an understatement. But I was in such a daze, such a state of ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me’ that nothing phased me.

When we were escorted out of the bus, we were booked inside, and locked into another holding cell for around 5 more hours. I still had on my strapless leather dress, and my chunky black strappy heels. The C.O. let me know there was no way I could wear that into my cell block. So I had to search through old bags of clothes to find something to cover up. They don’t give jumpsuits to someone unless they are sentenced. Since I was just being held until my bail was paid, I had to wear normal clothes. I found a blue Hollister polo and put it over my dress, and had to still wear the bubble skirt underneath. I literally looked like a homeless Barbie on crack. As they put me in yet another holding cell while my paperwork was being processed I fell asleep on a hard wooden board, along with my handcuff friend who had no problem being there. She acted as if it was a hotel stay.

In Jail, you get yelled at for everything. I had to call my mom to tell her what we needed to do to gather money for bail, tell her I was ok, and try to hold myself together. I sat down while I was talking and got screamed at to, ‘YOU ARENT ALLOWED TO SIT DOWN WHILE ON THE PHONE’. Ok, so I didn’t know. This happened over and over during my stay in the fabulous Island of Rikers. I once got screamed at for going upstairs to my cell to brush my teeth. Some CO’s were nicer than others. Certain ones would let us listen to the radio and I LOVED watching the black girls from Harlem and Queens dance. It was nothing like I had ever seen. When I first arrived, I was told to not look to the right or to the left. Catcalls like “Where’d you get that tan white girl” “Hey Malibu Barbie looks like you is Prison Barbie now” And the cackles were heard from all the way until I reached my new bed. If you want to call a piece of plastic covered with a sheet a bed. It was lunch time when I arrived in my ‘Cell Block’ so I got in line and got my food (if you want to call it that) and had no idea where to sit. I saw a table of girls who told me I could sit with them and they just stared at me in amazement asking, “What did you do white girl”? When I told the story, the entire cell block was imitating my southern twang, and began to warm up. By the second day, I let them braid my hair into corn rows. There was nothing else I could do with it. I have super curly hair, and no hair products were allowed only soap and shampoo. I wish I could’ve had a camera.

Getting to know these women, their stories, their hearts, why they were there, I wouldn’t trade for anything in this world. Hopefully someday I can tell the rest of the story, but I think about these women every day. One of the sentences that stick with me more than anything is this… “Once that cell door closes, I cry myself to sleep” and almost in unison the women said, I feel you. So do I. There was a point where there were 3 itty bitty bibles lying on the CO’s table. Everyone wanted one. Everyone wanted to go to the church services. They may have been bored, whatever the case is, and it’s a HUGE chance to minister to these women. An open door. Their hearts are broken, as well as their spirit. Imagine all hope being gone. It’s hard to imagine. Having no control over when to eat, sleep, or even sit down is something most people in the world will never experience. Some people most definitely DO DESERVE this treatment, or even worse. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be forgiven, or have hoped for and to possibly feel what REAL and UNCONDITIONAL love is.

There is so much more I want to say, I’ve taken a LOT of flak for sharing my all and sharing all this with my blog. But I do want to start living my life as an open book. If there is a question, I’ll answer it honestly. I want to hug, love, help, give, and do anything I can to prevent amazing people from making the same mistakes I have.

I love you all so much.
So many people were involved in helping me. Mommy, Gran, Mike, Lisa, and many more, you have no idea what all of your prayers meant to me. I’ll never forget it.

If you’d like to write me, please send an email to

Infinite X’s and O’s,


But What Did I Do?! Really? What??

As my hands were quickly jerked behind my back and cuffed together it felt like a mix between a dream and a role in a movie. I had no doubt in my mind that Ashton Kutcher or some other goofy character would pop out from behind a bush(even though I’m clearly not a celebrity) and ‘Punk’ me. Instead the contents of my purse were dumped out onto a table while I was shoved into the back of a van where the seats were made of wooden boards, one on each side of the van facing each other. I began crying out, ‘What is going on, what did I do, someone PLEASE tell me what is happening to me’ because in my mind, I truly, without a doubt, had no idea what was going on. (Unfortunately that's what every criminal says, even if they ARE guilty of a crime) That was until I saw my Prescription bottle on the small table outside of the van. With approximately 6 officers, all wearing latex gloves, counting the pills, and writing down the inscription on each pill, the doors were slammed and the van started to move. With my friends still inside the club, and no phone, coat, pillow, blanket, or even the state of mind to say a prayer, I lost complete consciousness.

I woke up being escorted to a Police Precinct in Manhattan, and just stepping foot in the place gives you the creeps. I was fingerprinted and got the prettiest mugshot ever taken. I looked like a mix between Don King and Courtney Love. I wish I could get my hands on it. It’s a real ‘beaut’. They walked me down the hall to a cell, gave me a ratty old blanket and locked the door. I remember still being in and out of consciousness until I finally fell asleep.

Around 8:00am the next morning, they came to get me to take me to a holding cell at the Courthouse right in the middle of Manhattan. It’s a couple of blocks from SOHO, so you are smack dab in the middle of the city. The officers helped me out of the same van I had been put in the night before, (rolling around like a pinball because there no seats, only wooden boards) and I asked again, ‘What did I do, and why am I here’. I had drunk so much that I blacked out and don’t remember doing anything wrong. One of the officers, said, ‘Did you happen to sell any pills’. I said ‘Of course not, that’s disgusting who does that; I’m not a drug dealer’. ‘He said did you take any pills yesterday while you were drinking?’ I replied with a yes, and then he said I apparently wanted to die young. After that, I at least had a clue of what must’ve happened, but still couldn’t put the pieces together. I’ve never sold or gave anyone a pill in my life. I always thought pills were skanky. But, for the past month, I had been taking a Percocet here or there, by self-medicating to ease my migraines and my depression all at the same time. It had made me forget all of my pain I had experienced and took away the horrible disturbing memories, and if I had a drink with one, I had no sadness at all. Those made me feel better, even though it was only temporary. And afterward, I felt a million times worse. Not to mention too guilty to go to the Lord for the forgiveness and help he would have so easily given to me.

As we were walking to the Courthouse holding cell, the officers asked me questions like what I did for a living, a bit of small talk, then led me to be ‘inspected’. Before I was led to my cell, I had to go get checked out by a female guard. I threw up because my nerves were a wreck, mixed with the amount of alcohol I had consumed the previous day. She proceeded to say, ‘I don’t have time for this you crackhead b&%^$. She screamed at me for having wire in my bra, and proceeded to tell the officers waiting in the other room to get the crackhead b&%v$ out of her face, she was ready for the next one.

The officers then mentioned that I’d only be in the holding cell for about an hour, and I’d get to go home. Um, WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG. More like 14 hours. The cell was about as big as the kitchen on the TV show ‘Full House’. Sorry but that’s the only reference I can think of because when it comes to measurements, you’re asking the wrong chick. There were 3 of these icky plastic green mats. One toilet, with a sink on the top. I don't even think it had a door. When I walked in there were 5 other women inside. Head down, still confused as can be, with my short leopard print strapless dress on, chunky heels, we all know what they thought I was in for. I don’t think I even have to say it. One of the girls was a lil fashionista who I still keep in touch with today. She had worked at a Fashion magazine and someone accused her of stealing. One lady didn’t pay her cab fare. Another was in for driving without a license, one for cussing out a police officer, and the one with no teeth, a crackhead. Throughout the day, many more women trickled in the holding cell, and at one time, there were so many of us, there was not even a place to sit. Much less lie down. The one lady I still think about and continue to pray for was a prostitute. She was so beautiful, and said that as soon as the judge let her go, she had to find a client, or she would be beaten when she got home. We continued to talk and I tried to tell her about other paths she could take. But she was adamant that she wasn’t smart enough for any of those things. I mean it from the bottom of my heart that I think about her every single day.

See, in this holding cell, we were all waiting to be arraigned, to be seen in front of the judge. At that time, he would let us go with a fine, give you probation, or send you to jail, to await trial, or drop all charges. Listening to all these women talk, and tell their stories was fascinating. Calling my mother from the payphone located inside the cell, not so much. No matter what I’ve put her through, she’s always been the person who was there. Never did she love me any less, nor did she pass judgment on me. She’s the most beautiful Christian I’ve ever known. And if I could be half the person she is, I’d be beyond blessed. The minute I called her, she prayed with me, and I immediately felt the peace of God surrounding me in the cell. No matter what I had done, even though I DID know better, He was there with me, and His Holy Spirit comforting me all the way. I felt like the Prodigal. Even sitting there in that cell. I even started to laugh a little. The prostitutes started to roll in like an army. And they were laughing the entire time. Some of them had been locked up 30 to 50 times. There isn’t much of a punishment for them for some reason. But once I talked to them, asked how they got where they are, I could write a book about each and every one. I could see sweet hearts and souls in some of them, and wanted to rescue them. God doesn’t love them any less than he loves the Pastor of your church. God is nothing like the self-righteous idiots who hold up a signs protesting gays. (I will never understand why people do that? What purpose does it serve?) But as far as all the secrets He knows about you that no one else does. He really knows. (Like, know knows.) And He loves you just the same. It’s that unending love, undying love that’ so very very hard to understand. I’m praying today to learn to understand it. I’m hoping it will help me to act the way Jesus wants me to. And not the way I want to. I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m trying.
I can’t wait to tell you the rest of the story, and how God has restored my life to its fullest. And I blessed to be able to do so. XOXO

Love Love, and more Love,

This Isn’t Vegas?!

I had posted this blog a bit ago, but someone told me to take it down, due to their embarrassment of me. To me, it's a story of God's grace, protection, and the millionth chance He has given me to get it together. He never gave up on me. And He won't give up on you either. No matter who else does, I know that I know.... He won't.

It’s been almost a year. And it still seems as real today, as it did then. I’m writing this to share my journey, and can’t wait til you hear the rest. :) Love you all! Muah. Grace truly does restore visions and dreams. True Story. ;)

I hear Vegas is the place to be on Memorial Day Weekend. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I will ever find out for myself just how fun it truly is on it’s summer kickoff weekend. My girlfriend Erin and I were sure on our way though. I had recently been ‘considering’ a move to Pennsylvania to work for my father’s company, and Erin was living in Columbus, OH. The plan was to meet up with Marisa for her birthday in Las Vegas. Everything was paid for, even our flight…. But I ended up paying for much more than I’d ever imagined…..

Marisa is one of a kind. Perfect skin, hair, legs, perfect everything. Not only is she perfect but she is extremely talented, and comes from an extremely affluent family. Carrying on a conversation with her can sometimes be trying, because it can quite often consist of trying to convince her whether she should buy the pink Gucci boots with rhinestones or without. In the end she usually ends up buying both pairs. However as spoiled as she may be, she has the heart of gold and is extremely loving. So for her own birthday she finagled two plane tickets across the country for myself and our other girlfriend Erin, along with VIP access to the biggest parties, and a suite at one of the best hotels in Vegas. Marisa was on a reality show on Bravo called ‘Millionaire Matchmaker’ and one of her many escapades around the country she caught the eye of a Vegas hotel owner, who set us up for the entire weekend. We were set, and I was so excited for the best Memorial Day Weekend ever.

Thursday nights in Mount Pleasant, PA were always my favorite nights of the week there. Mount Pleasant is a very “Norman Rockwell” type of town about 45 minutes south of Pittsburgh. I had only been here for about a month and had absolutely fallen in love with this town and the calm effect it had on me. My father had recently been remarried and getting to know my ‘new’ family was also refreshing.

There was a dive bar on the edge of this tiny picturesque town called “Fatboys” and Thursday night was karaoke night. My current place of residence was Nashville, TN. I had spent the past five years and living and playing in music city, with lots of friends in the music industry being around some of the town’s biggest stars seemed to be the norm. Being in this small town bar was a lil hard to get used to at first, but then I fell in love with it. I even started to date a small town rockstar but in the end it didn’t work out because he had a bigger ego than someone that had just released their Greatest Hits album.

Anyway, back to Mount Pleasant. The Thursday night before I was to go to Vegas was no exception. Erin was driving in from Columbus and wasn’t going to be able to pick me up until 3am. So there was no way I was going to miss my weekly karaoke party. My step-sister Melody and I hopped in the car and headed to Fatboys and it was as fun as ever. I felt like heaven there. I still to this day do not understand it. We left the karaoke fun at around 2am, and she dropped me off at my father’s house and I finished packing. Erin arrived at about 3am and we started what we thought was going to be the most amazing weekend of our 20nothings. 20 nothing is how old we tell people are if we are asked. :) At the time I was 27. Erin was 28.

Erin is also a one of a kind in the purest sense of the word. She is from Cincinnati, Ohio and has a two year old little red headed girl named Kixxy Love. We usually call her Kickers. Erin is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen. As well as one of the sweetest. It seems that everyone who meets her, girl or guy, falls in love with her. It’s uncanny really. I’ve seen it happen time and time again, and I really don’t know how she does it. She has a very giving heart, but I think it tends to turn her into a sort of follower. I myself can fall into this category too. And on this occasion, I most definitely did.

Flying on a Buddy Pass is apparently usually pretty easy to do. Except when you are flying on Memorial Day Weekend. And especially when you are flying to Las Vegas. The people who have actually paid for their tickets, in this case $600 one way, obviously get first priority. Second are the family members of crew members, or the crew members themselves. Lastly, are people like Erin and I, who were given Buddy Passes by a crew member. While our flight from Pittsburgh to JFK in New York City was fine, once we got to New York, we knew we were in for a problem. We got off the plane and went to check in at the desk, and the women at the counter with their thick Bronx accents laughed right away. “Girl you picked the wrong time to fly on a buddy pass, it doesn’t look like you are going to get out of NYC anytime soon”. The wind was taken out of my sweet little sails immediately, and I wanted to fly straight back to Pittsburgh. This wasn’t the case for Erin. She was adamant about the fact that we would get to Las Vegas one way or another.

We had hopped on our flight from Pittsburgh to JFK at 7:00am and arrived in NYC around 10:00am. Keep in mind we still haven’t been to sleep yet. But we were hungry, and wanted to iron out our plan for the day. We ate at a delightful sports grill and while Erin had a Bloody Mary, I had a Screwdriver and the waitress talked us into a double for only $2.00 more. We shared breakfast nachos or something and Erin talked me into trying to get on the next flight to Vegas. So after two drinks, and another burst of energy we were on our way to check in for Vegas flight #2. At the flight desk there were about 8 other disgruntled passengers also traveling on Buddy passes except they had been there since the night before trying to get on a plane to Vegas. Which meant they were all ahead of us in line. Flight after flight was called, and Erin kept my hopes up saying we were definitely going to be on the last flight from JFK which left the airport at 9:00 and arrived in Vegas around midnight. Marisa, the birthday girl, was adamant that we would make it on that flight, and called the Captain who had given us the Buddy Passes, Al, who was going to make a special appearance and meet us at the airport, to make sure we made it on that plane.

With that said, I just assumed all was well, and figured the last few hours at the airport would be just fine. Erin and I tried to take a nap, made a little fort without suitcases and tried to fall asleep. Only to awake 15 minutes later with a strange guy in a towel wrapped around his head guy staring at us. Erin woke up and said, “hi!!!”. He then asked if she was ok, and asked where we were going. After that, neither of us could fall back asleep. So we decided to go to the bathroom, do our hair and makeup, and put on the outfits we wanted to arrive in Vegas in. We took all of our things into the large handicapped accessible bathroom at the end, and began rummaging through our suitcases oohing and aaahing at all the stuff we wanted to borrow from each other. We went over to the sink area and plugged our curling irons, chi irons, and barrel irons, and laid out our makeup as if it was a runway show at the airport. We had our own little fashion show and finally we were ready to go back out and await our flight to Sin City! I had decided on a peasant skirt with a purple ribbed wife beater. The skirt was a little long so I opted for my blank chunky summer platforms, after all, they were easy to walk in, and pretty comfortable. I felt so refreshed, and by this time it was almost dinnertime so we were going to grab a bite to eat, before hopping on our flight. With my suede pink rolling suitcase in one hand, and my large Ed Hardy leather purse in the other, walking down the very center of JFK began to feel like a balancing act. And as my pretty new pink peasant skirt was still a little too long, I could feel it get caught under my chunky black platform sandals, and there I went. JFK airport on the starting day of Memorial Day weekend was more than packed with people to say the least. And most of these people were people watching…. I felt the suitcase spin around and I tried to balance myself on it but since the wheels didn’t want to help me out, I fell pretty hard, and pretty fast. Ouch. I instantly heard “ooooooh”. From about what seemed like 50 people but was probably more. I looked up and Erin was dying. I began to laugh so hard too, but the instant purple bruise on my knee kept me from laughing too long without an ouch at the end of every giggle. Ok, so I just ate it in front of Lord knows how many people. And I composed myself and decided we needed another meal, and a drink to accompany it.

Erin had the bright idea that we go to the Duty Free store and just buy a bottle of liquor there, and mix our own drinks, and I concurred. We picked up a bottle of Grey Goose and just couldn’t get over the fact that it was only 15 bucks! It was a pretty quick choice and so we went to the counter to pay for it. The Hispanic man at the counter rolled his eyes in disgust when he asked for our itineraries and saw we were just going to Vegas. And continued his disgust as he explained that this was only for people that were traveling out of the country. Oopsies. I should have known this one!

Oh well, we thought we would try this really funky Asian place that seemed to be hoppin’ and enjoy our last couple of hours in NYC. We had made friends with the other disgruntled travelers traveling on Buddy Passes, and a sweet guy named Eric, joined us for dinner and a cocktail. When we sat down for dinner, I was the only one interested in eating, so I opted for some edamame and a bottle of sake. We had our dinner, and waited on Al the pilot to arrive. This restaurant ended up being pretty crummy, so we left after one cocktail, and went back to the first place that we had visited for breakfast. Erin and I headed back to the sports grill, and waited for Al. While we were waiting, we met a guy who owned an Italian restaurant in the city, and he bought us a shot of tequila, and each had another round of drinks. Pretty soon Al, showed up and he was more than delightful right away. What an all around wonderful person I thought. The three of us ate dinner, had another drink, and headed to terminal number 9, and got ready to board our plane. Finally! Al went up to the desk, even introduced us to the pilot who would be flying us to Vegas, and there we waited. All of the other disgruntled travelers that we had been with all throughout the day were there too, and they all got on the flight, and we were ready to go. At the last minute, we were told that we would not be able to make it on the flight. We missed it by one person. If there had been one less person on the flight, we could have gotten on. How could this happen? How did this happen?! I felt tears well up as all I wanted to do was go home. With a tingly feeling from the alcohol, and dreams of a nice bed to sleep in, all I wanted was to go back home to Pennsylvania. We were told we could be on the flight to Vegas first thing in the morning that we would be first in line, and Al said he would put us up in a hotel by the airport for the night. All I could think about was that nice fluffy bed and a mint on my pillow and agreed. I had no idea that I wouldn’t see a bed for days….

Al hailed a cab outside the airport and told the driver to take us to the JFK Holiday Inn which was about one mile away from the airport. As we pulled up to the airport, Al quickly got us our room, and he, Erin, and myself carried our things up to the 8th floor, and checked into our room. Right away Erin asked Al if he’d go down to the lobby area where she spotted a bar, and get us each a drink. She has always been one to not be afraid in the slightest to be up front with asking a man to do things for her. I could never, and would never be able to do this. I guess I’m a pushover. She seemed annoyed with him already, but I was just thankful that he had gotten us a room to sleep in for the night. I was ready for bed, but Erin convinced me that this was our ‘one night’ to do something fun for Memorial Day weekend, that we may quite possibly have to just go back to Pennsylvania in the morning. After a few more minutes of her begging, I gave in. We picked out our dresses for the night, as Al said his friend was going to meet us in the “Meatpacking District” in Manhattan, and that he would take care of everything for the night. I choose my blue leopard and black strapless dress, as it is one of my favorites and fits in pretty much anywhere. It had a bit of a bubble skirt, was quite short, and had a cute lil strapless butterfly neckline. I wore some super high strappy black heels, as I have the shortest legs possible and wanted to look a little taller for my night in the big city. About 10 minutes later Al came back to the room with a huge “Big Gulp” sized vodka and soda for me, and another drink for Erin, and we were ready to go.

We waited in the lobby as Al called for a car, and ole boy had gotten us a limo. The three of us hopped in the back, and chatted it up about nearly everything under the sun, and poured another drink as we got closer to our destination. When we reached the Meatpacking District we got in line for one bar, and the pretentious and might I add extremely ‘Mean Girls” in front of us, were making fun of a girl close to the front of the line’s ‘cankles’. I announced loudly, that I don’t want to go to a club whose patrons are so ugly and miserable that they have to make fun of people’s ankles. And with that, the two blondest and prettiest girls head on over to a smaller little club about three doors down. (that would be us). ;)

When we walked into the bar, we got a table, a bottle of grey goose, and then things for me start to get a little fuzzy. I remember meeting a girl from Spain who was in town for a tennis match, and we invited her to our table to have a drink. Lots of people were coming over to our table to enjoy a cocktail from our bottle, and mingling and having a great time. I have a fuzzy memory of a man and a woman who said that he was an ‘Adult Film star’ and they were there celebrating the release of his latest flick. Little Rachel from the hills of West Virginia had never met a real life "Adult “film star before. And I had so many questions... How does this happen, why would you do that to yourself, etc, etc.... I vaguely remember him telling me that the woman with him was his manager, and that is the last thing I remember until I stepped out of the club.

I can still feel my black high heel stepping down on the step out of the bar and being surrounded by cops, and angrily yelling that I was under arrest….. The following seconds, minutes, hours, and days changed my life forever. It will most definitely never be the same…..