Jamie Ramone

I leave tomorrow at 11 AM, I will be at

Jamie Petitt

200 E Main St

Richmond, IN 47374

Put your return address on the out side or it’s not deliverable. Thanks for all your support! I will be back soon. Your letters will mean more than you know!

Well I came out tonight in a BIG way about the whole jail thingy. The reaction was quite a surprise.

I was expecting half my followers to leave since I won’t be tweeting as much. Man was I shocked. My follower count skyrocketed and I had quite a few tweeps (not the creepy ones, they are NOT getting the address!) offer to write to me.

Thanks so much guys! I will continue to have a presence (however sporadic) on twitter. I’ll probably mail Crispy about 200 a week. I mean, what the fuck else am I going to have to do but write? I’m also starting on the book I’m writing. A rough outline is in my first blog if you’re interested. www.jamieramone.blogspot.com If you don’t start at the beginning it makes no sense, but I started it when I got clean off of heroin. I never knew I could write until I got a following here. Please don’t judge by the hit counter, just put that in 3 weeks ago! :)

So I have 6 days to go until I can provide you with some fabulous jailhouse tweets!

Time to tell you something that’s getting ready to happen to me. On July 15th I am going to prison for 10 months.

Two years ago I still had a nasty dope habit as did my ex-husband. He would go out and hustle up money in ways I didn’t want to imagine. As long as the heroin was still coming in I honestly didn’t care where from. I was about to change my tune BIG time.

As anyone who has ever known a drug dealer will tell you buys are not always cash transactions. There is a lot of trading that goes on in that world. Brian sold a bit of dope on the side to help support our habits. It was nothing new to me to see random stuff just appear out of nowhere.

Then one Saturday morning Brian was dope sick and a little on the violent side of life. He had lost his ID and could not take anything into the pawn shop to cover the day’s heroin. After a good beating to soften me up he asked me if I would and in my (once again) infinite wisdom I agreed to take in a Fender guitar he had acquired in trade for a gram. My husband would never do anything to put me at risk when he knew he was going to prison and there would be no one to take care of my kids if I was locked up right? WRONG!!!!

This was in September. Brian went to jail on November 3rd. I had finally let go of him after all those years and was determined to start my life over. I kicked the dope finally. Spent about 4 days dry heaving, sweating, and feeling like every bone in my body was going to break. It was worth it to me because I was FINALLY getting a chance to start over after all these years.

Then in December I got a phone call out of the clear blue sky from RPD. The detective informed me that the guitar I had taken in for my ex was reported stolen in a a car break in. I was gobsmacked to say the very least. I agreed to come in and make a statement. I wasn’t afraid to because I figured since I had no idea it was stolen, I would be fine. Boy was I ever wrong.

I talked to Brian at the jail the night before I went to the police station to ask him what had happened, who the shit had come from, and what he intended to do about it. He filled me in on the truth (or his version of it) and I figured I would be OK. I made my statement and thought it was over with. Again not so much….

In February one night I started getting dozens of phone calls from friends telling me I was on Miami Valley’s Most Wanted for a charge of receiving stolen property. It seemed a bit far fetched considering I am at the same address I have been at for awhile and they knew exactly where I was. They could have picked me up at any time. I guess it was RPD’s personal brand of psychological warfare, I can’t think of any other reason. I laid low for a couple of weeks, but never tried to hide. I was always at home. Then at the end of February they came for me, sending 3 squad cars. I am the most boring person on earth, so if nothing else my neighbors now think I am a gangsta. Lucky for me, my kids were not there as I was led out in handcuffs. They were at the Wayne County Jail visiting their dad.

So here I am. I could not afford a lawyer so I got a shitty public defender. I had repeated the story Brian had told me to the police because I assumed it was true. He had told me that a guy we know had provided the guitar. He hadn’t as he was in jail at the time. The police and prosecutor consider me lying an attempt at a cover up, even if I was unaware I was lying.

So I had to take a plea. It was either go to jail for 10 months or possibly get up to 6 years. I had to think about what is best for my family.

So in closing I am not twitterciding a week from Friday. Crispy is taking over my account for me and he will be tweeting for me. This is gonna suck, but can you imagine the tweets I’ll come up with from women’s prison?

As any of you that follow me on twitter and Facebook can attest to, I fancy myself a funny lady. So tonight I will tell an anecdote to cleanse the palate. It is the trifecta of sad, pathetic, AND funny!

When I was in high school I was not exactly the coolest person. I was considered weird and didn’t have any real friends. So my weekends were spent alone in my room writing and listening to sad bastard music. The boys didn’t exactly beat down my door for dates. I pretended like I didn’t care. Underneath it all though I was just like every other girl. I wanted to be swept off my feet by a cute boy and get de-virginized in the back of a Chevy, just like a good midwestern girl should be.

My Senior year prom came around. I had pretty much given up on any hope of an invite. Then one day the stars aligned and I was asked to go. The only problem was the boy who asked me.

I can’t remember his name for the life of me. He was an exchange student from Germany who barely spoke a word of English. To top it off his host family was my creepy 6th grade teacher who looked like an Amish serial killer. Anyone from my hometown can confirm that I am NOT exaggerating. Still, he wasn’t entirely repulsive, so I was happy that I at least got to go.

The preparations begun. My mom was poor from blowing all of her money on stupid shit from Fingerhut catalogs, so my dress budget was meager to say the least. We finally went to the Muncie mall and I was able to find an extremely unflattering dress for the bargain price of $65 (which she bitched about) But still, I was actually going to prom!

I grew up in a small town of 2000, so naturally the word about my date spread like wildfire. Soon Mr Germany was getting shit left and right about taking Jamie Head, the horror and shame of it. Must have been devastating for the poor bastard. A week before prom he came up to me during passing period and broke the date.

I went home crying and feeling like the worst reject to ever walk the earth. My mom asked me what was wrong, and in between sobs I told her. To my horror she called the host family and laid into them. Long story short they made him take me.

Prom night came and I spent the whole day getting ready. I was excited and hoped somehow it would turn out to be a magical evening, as I was a naive 17 year old. He had ordered a cab to pick us up. Since I was from an Indiana backwater, this was more exotic than a limo to me. We rode to Richmond where the prom was to be held in silence.

He took me to a pretty decent restaurant here in town called The Olde Richmond Inn. We tried to make conversation, but the dude could barely speak English. He tried to joke with me and I just stared at him blankly. The entire time I was looking at this big black case that was laying by his feet. I had first noticed it in the cab and had no idea what the fuck it was.

Our awkward dinner ended and we headed off to the Leland Hotel where the prom was being held. We posed for the obligatory cheesy pictures and headed into the ballroom. I sat with a table of people who I knew and didn’t hate as much as the others. Then the moment of truth, Mr Germany slammed his big black case on the table and opened it….

Inside was a CAMCORDER! He wanted to tape the prom experience for his weird friends back home. So he ended up taping the entire thing and ignoring me. Not one dance, plus no one else asked either. I just sat at the table wallowing in my own misery.

We took the cab back to the after-prom in silence. He tried to be nice when we got out but I told him to fuck off. So that was my prom, no dancing and not even any dirty after-prom sex. What else would I expect from a prom that’s theme song was “Take My Breath Away”? So I went home, told my mom it was great, went to my room, crawled out on the roof, and smoked a joint the size of my arm. After a few hits the absurdness of the situation hit me and I laughed so hard I almost fell off the roof.

This post is dedicated to all the boys from high school who never asked me out. You probably would have gotten lucky. Now I am hot and you are fat, pathetic, and trading stories of your glory days over Budweisers. So suck on that!

I believe that Crispy and I had a hall-of-fame-weird wake up call this morning. I am still scratching my head over it.
See, Crispy has been feeling ill since last night so he had to call into work. I got up and got the kids on the bus for school as usual, then hit the grocery store. When I got home I was a little tired so I laid down with him to take a nap. About an hour later we were awoken by very loud barking. For some households this would be normal, but not ours. We do not own a dog.
Allison’s bedroom is right next to ours and it was the source of the racket. We stood in the door bleary eyed and blinking in disbelief. There was a small dirty dog sitting on her bed barking and snarling like mad at the window. In said window hanging from the mini blinds was our kitten, shivering in terror. I thought I was hallucinating.
I was unsure what to do, but I did know there was no way I was getting within biting distance. I grabbed my daughter’s TV tray and started swinging at it, then I realized, “Wait, I have a man to take care of this!” So I left Crispy to handle it.
The noises from upstairs sounded like they came right out of a cartoon. There was barking, then skittering, and then yelping. He had tried to grab it nicely, but mini-Cujo was not having it and snapped at him. So Chris handled it like any civilized adult. He kicked it square in the face with his size 12 boot. The dog’s bowels let loose all over my daughter’s bed and somehow on the wall as well. Did the dumb dog run downstairs and out? Nope it darted into our bedroom and cowered growling under our computer desk.
I was sitting on the couch by now listening to the ruckus. I heard Chris bellow, “GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!” and the clattering of claws coming down the stairs. A black ball of fur jumped from the stairs at such velocity that it skidded sideways and slammed into the couch. Then it was running out the back door. I soon saw why….
Chris followed close behind hollering like an Indian going into battle. He was wielding a HUGE nail studded piece of wood and had a crazed look in his eyes. I was about to crap myself, I can only imagine how terrified the dog was. Then Chris sat calmly on the couch, looked at me, and said, “My head hurts.”
You see kittykats, when I came in with the groceries earlier, I had not gotten the back door all the way shut. The moral of this story? Men, always help your old lady carry in the groceries or you never know WHAT will happen!

I was quite a late bloomer, as in I was fugly until I was about 20. I still had the same hormones as any other midwestern teenager. Senior year rolled around and I was still a virgin and almost 18.

This was a great source of shame for me. My maiden name is Head so it was expected that I slept around. I went along with it since I was too embarrassed to admit what a loser I was.

I worked at McDonald’s that year and started dating a very fat kid that went to a neighboring high school. To give you an idea, our uniform shirts were purple and his nickname was “Grimace.” Adam was a sweet funny guy though so I didn’t care what others thought.

We dated for about 6 months and one night it was supposed to finally happen. His mom was out of town, so we finished closing McDonald’s and headed to his house to lose our virginity. I was a bundle of nerves since I had no idea what it was going to be like.

He had candles all over the place, very romantic. We started kissing and he moved on to going down on me. It was pretty awesome given that he was 17 and had never done it before. Finally I reached for the condom and asked him if he was ready.

Suddenly he turned as white as a sheet. He just muttered, “I can’t do this” and ran out of the room like the devil was chasing him. I just sat there wrapped in a sheet completely bewildered. I got dressed and dumped his ass immediately.

I found out years later he got scared because he was afraid his dick was too small, but GOOD GOD offering up your virginity and being shot down stung! Not to mention I was a virgin, what did I know about penis size?

Have to give him credit for a couple of things. First he went down on me first. Second he tried to bang me years later and it was one of the smallest dicks I have ever seen. I got my revenge. As soon as he pulled it out, I laughed and walked out the door.

Woke up today with my head pounding, just like most days. I am getting to the point where I don’t enjoy much anymore. Yeah I have jokes for days, but I am a miserable bitch in reality. It’s gonna be one of those days where it takes all of my willpower to not shoot up. It’s so weird that I still have days like this after almost 2 years clean. I call bullshit on the “addiction cure” infomercials. There is no such thing!