Saturday, July 17, 2004

Martha Stewart: On the Inside

Dear Diary,

5:00 AM - Was awakened by my cell-mate's moaning: she was masturbating with my imported brass candle holder. How tasteless! I haven't masturbated in... well decades! Don't they allow cats in here!? Anyway, I negotiated a trade; my precious candle holder for a few feet of her graying pony tail.

5:30 - Deal completed. I threw in a vanilla-scented candle and she promised to shampoo before cutting.

6:00 - I made my bed; did a "nurse tuck", but was unable to measure neck level fold-down since they wouldn't let me have a ruler in my cell. Settled on 'four-fingers' width and hope that's close enough.

6:15 - Began knitting cell-mate's hair into a taffeta-like coaster. (She puts her soft drink cans on our small wooden "writing desk" and they leave rings!)

6:30 - I perform experiment trying to turn my urine into effective glass cleaner.

6:45 - ...I vant to be alone...

7:00 - Breakfast in the dining hall; silverware was plastic! Centerpiece was a galvanized bucket with no decorations whatsoever! Napkins? Get this: the sleeve of my jumpsuit!!! Fuck that; it's unconstitutional!

Eggs were overdone and apparently NOT from free-range chickens. (I could taste the fear and lack of freedom in them. How awful!) Bacon contained WAY too much grease, but I managed to sneak a few thimblefuls back to my cell; later, I'll try to convert the grease into a decent furniture polish.) I also swiped some aluminum foil, which I'll beat thin, try to color using shoe polish and lipstick, and then install in our cell window to simulate stained glass. It could work.

7:30 - Half-hour in exercise yard; most fellow inmates are lifting weights, smoking cigarettes, or discussing American Idol. I do some yoga, meditate in half-lotus, and imagine myself floating over the prison wall in a yacht. Overheard rowdy biker women planning a jail break; apparently, they'll stuff Tampons into the toilets, and when the water system overflows, they'll use that as a diversion and climb out through the roof.

8:00 - I'm allowed my daily phone call; spoke briefly to my stockbroker; told him to dump my holdings in Prison Management, Inc. due to inside information regarding upcoming plumbing disaster and ensuing public relations problems. Instructed him to buy big into Roto-Rooter. He agreed to destroy any emails relative to trade. (Hope he's not a lying, sniveling bastard turn-coat like that last little prick! Note to self: can pipe bombs be aesthetically pleasing? Do they have to be that hideous grey metal, or are other colors of pipe available? Google during library pass.)

8:30 - 10:45 - Contemplated suicide; considered a number of ways to die and still look presentable. Was distracted by that short piece of hair that constantly falls down over my eyes. Will consider cutting it and/or my wrist unless they give me some decent stationary to write on. (My apologies for writing this on toilet paper; not only is it degrading, but it's the SCRATCHY kind! --See not above re. scratchy TP as cruel and unusual punishment!)

10:45 - ...I vant to be alone...

11:00 - Fixed brunch for entire cell block using sauteed rats and roach canapes. (Saved skins; rat pelts might make a nice gift once winter arrives; tiny coozies? Gloves? Muffler? Consider converting more urine for hide tanning) Table centerpiece for brunch was made from my cell-mate's extra jump suit; fake orange carnations, orange roses, and orange day-lillies. It was spectacular, but could have used a different color from the same family of hues. Note: Petition warden for some soft pastels; (emphasize calming, non-violent nature of pink jump suits?)

12:00 - Went to library; read latest issue of my magazine. Please buy my magazine! (Began planning essay for next issue; title: "I'll Be Back!" -- has that been used before? Sounds familiar. Must check with copyright lawyer; don't need any more legal problems at the moment!)

12:30 - Had a BM; not a bad BM, but not as good as the BM's at home (see "scratchy TP" mentioned above!); the prison diet has definitely brought on a return of my constant and chronic constipation. Stress will do that, or at least that's what I read in an article in my magazine. Note to self: Ask warden for a bidet; I'll even pay for it!)

1:00 - Bribed cell-mate to allow me to slice a few inches of fat off her thigh for later conversion into moisturizing lotion for my crepe neck. Will melt it down after "lights out".

2:00 - Watched Oprah's show; had a story about my rise from poverty to riches, followed by touching tale of an overweight blind female dwarf who overcame disabilities and is currently top-rated NASCAR driver. Oprah has apparently bought the rights to her story and will produce upcoming film for distribution in '06.

3:00 - Begin writing a screenplay depicting my entire Horatio Alger-like life. Got stuck on Act II, where I have to justify my obsession with Quality and my deal with that shit-house purveyor of imported schlock, K-Mart. Will shelve for later.

4:00 - Nap time; listened to Yanni on my IPOD. (Note to self: Sleep doesn't come easy in such a situation; find some Billy Joel tunes ASAP!)

5:00 - Recreation Room - I gave impromptu seminar; spoke to fellow inmates on "Tapping Your Inner Bitch" -- gave them a copy of my magazine, Machiavelli's The Prince, and a biography of Joan of Arc. Agreed to start book discussion group and talk about similarities between me and various Catholic Saints.

6:00 - Got a visit from Larry King; fucker wants to interview me IN MY CELL! I agreed -- IF he can persuade warden to allow us to commission artist to paint 360 degree mural of Connecticut landscape -- and get my roommate sent to execution chamber. That's not too much to ask, is it?

6:30 - ...I vant to be alone...

7:00 - Dinner. Egg sandwich, onion rings, and pinto beans. Eggs were same old same old, onion rings were the frozen kind, and the pintos appeared to be of the dried variety. I'll be farting my ass off tonight. Should be a long evening, but it might persuade my roommate to petition for a move. She could do that -- or I can have her whacked. Hmm. Life's full of tough choices. What's a Domestic Diva to do?