Last week I introduced many of you to my super-duper cousin, Jake Nodar. If you have not yet read that post, I suggest you do that here before proceeding.
Did you read it? Good. Now I give you Jake Nodar:
A little about me…
I’m a horse trainer by profession, I love pretty much anything outdoors, and I’m what we in the biz call a homosexual.
When I came out to my mom, her response was, “well, there were signs early on, like the times I would finish waxing the kitchen floor, you would put my maxi pads on your socks and pretend to be an ice skater, and you also really enjoyed hanging naked Barbie’s by strings to the ceiling fan.”
I’m not really sure how the latter was a sign of my gayness, more like the makings of a serial killer.
Tracy was kind enough to ask me to guest blog. I was so flattered. Tracy and I have a freakishly similar sense of humor, one that seems to scare most people.
One of my favorite memories of cousin Tracy was on Memorial Day at my Grandparents house. She was probably around 12 or 13, just shy of 6’3, and all of 83 pounds. Her attire was priceless (I was judging fashion at the age of 6, yet another sign). She wore a gorgeous white blouse combined with a spectacular pair of Jams shorts. I respected her for such a bold statement. Tracy would swing me by my feet until I would be moments away from throwing up, she would even let me play on the big green electrical box that had a huge yellow sign on it that said “Keep Off!”
In my introduction last week, Tracy made mention of my Easter trip to the “Mountain Top Rodeo.” I have not shared this story with many, mainly in fear of loosing clientele, but what the hell.
The Mountaintop Rodeo
Easter was just around the corner, I was in the early months of a new relationship, and I was sentenced to a week in prison. Ooopsies. The details aren’t important. It would be the first holiday I would be spending without my family. As soon as the judge told me the dates I’d be “going away” I began to panic. I immediately started coming up with ideas to tell my boyfriend and my family as to why I wouldn’t be around for Easter. I had been competing in bull riding and steer wrestling with the gay rodeo association, so naturally I went with that. “How about a mountaintop rodeo!” I thought. This was genius. Nobody would want to go to the middle of nowhere with me on a holiday, and better yet, there’s no cell phone service on mountains, so that would explain why I wasn’t able to answer my phone.
I made a video of myself eating a dinner, with all the appropriate conversations my family routinely goes through. The nice part of doing it this way was that I was able to have my whole Easter meal in the comfort of my own home and without any pants.
Now that I had the excuse, I began my preparation for my first visit to the slammer. I did my research. I knew you couldn’t bring pens because you could shank someone, so I bought a box of 64 crayola crayons. I also learned that the wiring on spiral notepads can be used to hang one’s self, so I opted for a colorful pack of construction paper. During “intake” there would be a strip search, so naturally I found a pair of snap-down-the-side athletic pants so I could tear them off for a dramatic undressing.
I packed my bag and drove myself to the rodeo. Right before going in I took a handful of sleeping pills in hopes of sleeping through the first three days.
I entered and immediately felt out-of-place. This feeling progressively got stronger and stronger as the intake process went on. I was in a room with 10 rather rough-looking individuals. A very burly officer dumped out the contents of my backpack, and then it happened. 64 crayons spilled out across the entire room. I began sweating profusely. I then was asked to undress, and trying to be cooperative, I whipped my pants right off. Apparently the officers left their senses of humor at home. We were then asked to all go into a group shower room (happy Easter to Jacob), strip and shower. Oddly enough out of the ten of us, I was the only one with a bikini brief tan line and a tramp stamp of a magical horse. It may as well have been a tattoo of the Target logo on my backside.
After showering, we were given our frumpy orange jumpsuit. I don’t think I’d ever worn something so loose and baggy. I asked for one that was more form-fitting, but this request was denied. I continued my intake process. At this point the handful of sleepy pills were kicking in, and I was looking more like some of my fellow inmates that were clearly cracked out.
Next, I got to have my mug shot taken. This was so much fun. I’m a natural in front of the camera. This combined with my addiction to America’s Next Top Model made for one amazing photo shoot. I smiled and smized (smiling with your eyes) like there was no tomorrow. The female officer (I think she was female) was not amused. She informed me that this was very serious. I informed her that this would probably be my Christmas card photo, and then proceeded to ask for a few more shots so we would have several different angles to choose from.
After over an hour of the intake process, I finally got to go to my suite. General population was over capacity, so they told me I would be staying on “The Yellow Brick Road.” “Yay! How nice!” I thought, “They must know I’m a friend of Dorothy!” On the way there, one of the officers noticed my tongue ring. I was told to take it out. Apparently, it had rusted on, and I couldn’t remove it. I was brought to the medic, where they used two pairs of pliers to remove it. As I was walked down the yellow brick road (this was when I found out that it was actually the maximum security section for people who could not be in gen. pop (Ohhh, look at me using prison lingo… I’m so butch!) I had a man yell out “Put him in here with me… I haven’t been laid in years.” I quickly responded, “Sorry, I’m seeing someone.” The officer broke out laughing and then told me that he was in for murder. What a nice time.
My week there was a magical experience. I used a staple from the bookbinding I was allowed to take into the cell with me to keep my tongue ring hole from closing. I stayed in a gorgeous 8 x 10 foot cage for the next week with my new bff Alejandro. He didn’t speak any English, but I pretended to understand all his stories. I feel like it was a great opportunity to really refine my amazing acting skills. We had a toilet bowl between our two cots. I told him not to eat his meals so he wouldn’t have to poop in front of me. He didn’t understand. I even used my Spanglish. “No poopo in el bowlo.”
My feelings were bittersweet as my week at the mountaintop rodeo came to a close. The checkout process was nice. I wanted a memento from this special chapter in my life, so I stole the one pair of granny panties that they had given me to wear for the week. I thought they would look nice framed with my mug shot. They seriously went from my mid-thigh to just below my nipples. The woman finished up my paperwork and said, “Have a nice day. “
I replied “See you soon!”
And there you have it, a little slice of Jake.
Categories: Guest Posts