Evidence 101

EVIDENCE 101...Wherever you go, there you are...







Tuesday, September 24, 2013

DUSTiny

Do you ever feel like you gather dust?

Sometimes I think I have a different purpose in life than the one I am serving now. Other days, I feel I am right where I need to be.

Do you ever feel that way?

I like to help people. I want to help people.

I guess I am where I need to be right now.

My third book is going to be out soon. It's going to be at a better price, both a bargain on Kindle and in paperback. It's different. It might be somewhat familiar.

May my inspiration leave you with this...create a positive destiny...don't steer toward DUSTiny.

Just sayin'.

Dust yourself off once in awhile.

Dare. To. Be. You.

I dare you.




Monday, September 23, 2013

Respond To This

On Facebook, I threw out the question about response times of first responders. It was an interesting mix. Let me throw this out to the audience...

What is expected, reasonable? What are you willing to sacrifice? How can we improve it?

IN Wyoming, I was lucky. 10 hut 10 hurry. The Chief had our response time for Code 3 emergencies down to an average of 3-5 minutes. And that is still if we had to go clear across town. The city is widespread and vast, however, we had 4 lane thoroughfares in some places, Outer Drive, and two lane one ways from one end to the other. And that was including traffic.

The roads were in great condition most often and if not, they were repaired very quickly.

We did it. Without killing small puppies. Were there ever crashes? Rarely in an emergency and if so, it was most often the fault of a citizen. When we piled up cars, it was usually on routine patrol because of various reasons, but not code runs. You have to understand our city responded to over 700,000 calls a year with 7-12 on at a time and that was if they all showed up. Sometimes we ran short when officers were on vacation, training, or sick. When I started in the 90s, our staff minimum including the sergeant was 6. The teams were comprised of 7 officers. We had two sergeants per shift. They eventually cut back to one sergeant per team and in 2012, went back to a two sergeant team with 12 officers. When I left in 2012, our officer minimum staffing was 7, not including the sergeant. Our minimum staffing requirements could not include special response teams such as PORT, TRAFFIC, K-9 units, or the swing shift when it was operating.

I was shocked when I came out east and found in a densely populated and less isolated state, response times are a lot longer. In fact, in the small town I live in we have 5 marshals, 2 deputies, and two state troopers. I was told I would be lucky if the response was 20 minutes. They laughed. I didn't. I didn't think it was acceptable. I can't fathom why in the world it would take that long and why in the world the town thinks it is OK to live with that. As I see it, they aren't allocated their officers in order to meet a schedule that can accommodate the citizens calls. More than the shock and awe of it, was the fact the officers and deputies laugh about it. I told them there was no need to respond code to my house because the bad guy will be taken care of by then or I will drive myself to the hospital.

So it seems there are issues to response time, place, and resources.

GunDiva reported that she was spoiled in Fort Collins, Colorado,  with similar responses that Casper, Wyoming gave the public. Now that she moved outside of the big city, the response might be better or worse depending on where the units are located at the time of call out. It also helps she lives close to the law enforcement and fire head quarters for her area.

Indiana has the worst infrastructure I have seen. I want to know where all the road money goes? They aren't repaired, there are gaping pot holes that could swallow elephants, and I am certain the road condition would easily take out a patrol car. Is this a problem in your area?

Obviously if you live in the country, you may experience longer times. Can you defend yourself? Can you be resourceful?

Shoot me some discussion.

Going To The Dogs

Because of my age and squirrelitis, I may not have mentioned on here that Otis has the cancer. He is doing well most days. He had a really bad slump awhile ago. Some times,  his old self comes through and other days he rests. He still loves me all the same if not more.

One thing I've noticed is that his hair is shedding much worse. It drives me crazy. I also give him regular baths and brushings to pamper him and keep the hair down. It's still a chore. I would comb the hair on any old friend's back if it would make their cancer feel better.

Last night, while vacuuming, I had a great idea. I remembered the days of The Flowbee. As I was thinking about this great idea, Otis came and sat next to me. Moose...he runs away from the thing because he is a scaredy chicken cat. So...as I was holding the vacuum, it just happened to leap over to Otis and start sucking his hair. I have a powerful vacuum. He loved it.

I continued to vacuum all over and he rolled on his back for me.

Distractions happen. I can multi-task.

As my daughter was yelling at me from upstairs and I averted my attention to her, the vacuum meandered to Otis's man parts. At some part, his wanker got sucked up into the abyss of the tube. It didn't take Otis long to jerk out of a relaxed state into a state of surprise. This got my attention.

ME: What is the matter? Oh, oh shit. I'm sorry. Oh. Nasty. Oh. Geez. Off! Off! Abort! Abort!

Yeah. My dog got a blow job. I'm so proud.

Yes. I cleaned the vacuum cleaner nozzle.

No, I didn't ask him if he enjoyed it. It was a given by his behavior afterward.


This also brought up an old story about the first K-9 dog handler and his wife at Gotham City. We tortured her. As an entire police department. At the time, she also worked at the police department as support staff. So...someone, not me, got the brilliant idea to tell her that since her husband would be getting a K-9, there were certain duties that had to be done by the handler. However, we were informed that he was delegating some of the home care to her. She was told that because the police department got dogs that were not neutered, that in order for them to perform at top notch standards, they had to be "serviced" once a week, otherwise they got screwy and lost their head. In case you aren't getting my jist, she was told to give the dog a hand job. We told her it was just like marriage and it could be on Wednesdays. She totally believed it. After several days of fretting and stewing, she came to grips with her new duty and decided she would do what she had to do for the good of the company. Later, several days, maybe weeks, she was finally told that we were pulling her...uh leg. I and several others, placed specimen jars on her desk thereafter as a constant reminder of her gullible-ness. Great fun was had by all except the disappointed dog. 

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Neighbor Chronicles, Episode 8980

Today was a family tradition. I made fresh salsa in September. Usually, my mother and I would make it after going to a farmer's market and retrieving the fresh goodies. However, this year she is there and I am here. I also received the ingredients free from my neighbors and friends which was quite a nice surprise. Things grow in abundance here. It's like Hawaii minus the bananas, umbrella drinks, tropical paradise, and cabana boys. Sorta.

It appears that news travels fast that I made salsa, so I told those that gave me goodies that I would give them salsa if they also provided me a container. So beganeth the labor of love.

I completed the task in high fashion, donning my People of Walmart garb and up-do.

With so much vegetable guts to dispose of, I felt it was fitting to put them in the compost pile. I so happened to do that at the same time that Lord Farquaad was in his backyard which shares a fence line with mine.

FARQUAAD: Looks like you mowed your lawn super short. What's the purpose.

ME: I'm into Brazilian grass. 

FARQUAAD: I don't follow.

ME: I'm getting ready to treat it for bugs and creepy things. I wanted it short. 

FARQUAAD: Oh. Why you do that, you just send them to everyone else's yard and then when it wears off, they come back to your grass. It's like a bug vacation.

ME: You seriously think that's how bug killer works?

FARQUAAD: Around here, bugs are huge and so many of them you can't kill them.

ME: I see. (roll eyes) Apparently you don't know who I am. I am the master bug killer. I. AM. THE. BUG. LAW.

FARQUAAD: Yeah. I pretty much don't get you. What are you doing?

ME: Feeding my compost pile.

FARQUAAD: Uh. Did you notice it's right by my fence?

ME: Duh. It was the farthest from my windows and doors. Perfect space. And in the corner.

FARQUAAD: It's a bug magnet. 

ME: Well, if you would use the bug killer...

FARQUAAD: You just impossible sometimes. Heard you were making salsa today. Missus told me.

ME: Yep. Yep. Just finished.

FARQUAAD: Do you think you could spare some for me?

ME: Sure. Help yourself. (pointed to the compost pile) You might want to hurry before the bugs get in there. 


Yes. I am ornery. Yes. I did give Lord Farquaad real salsa, but not before being an ass. Besides, I thought I was damn funny. Sometimes I amuse myself.

Best Trail Book

I get really excited when I read a good book. It is even better when it was written by someone I know and love. It makes it super special. That's how I feel about the new book, "Tales from the Trail", by C.S. Wilson. She takes you along with her as she describes herself embarking on a new adventure in the mountains as a wrangler. You feel as if you are a member of her trail gang, perhaps even that new customer who sees how treacherous the Rocky Mountains really are for the first time.

Tales from the Trail is for everyone. She made a point to tell me that since she and I favor the "f" bomb on occasion. So with that in mind, I had Bug read it. She questioned it's validity. Not that the stories weren't real, but that our real friend wrote it. And then she spouted off..." I hope she didn't write about you like that one time, remember? When you fell into the river."

Yeah. First she is a teenager. You can only believe half of it. Anyway, it was a creek not a river. I was brutally bucked off by a Friesian stallion after 1 hour of exhausting ninja skills of hanging on before falling to my doom on boulders...and the little trickle flowing through at the time. It didn't save my fall. The water. Nor did the boulders.

C.S. Wilson gives a descriptive narrative of her journeys on the trail. It's not just that. It has substance. It has spunk. It has heart. It truly is an American treasure.

So anyway, the book is not about me.

It's about a girl. Who is awesome. Who has so much love in her heart for horses and the mountains, that you can't help but love her, too. It's more than just that. It's heartfelt. Wilson learned through trial and error about guests, the trails, and the horses. Her description of the horse personality I found most interesting. I also loved how she had a different relationship with each one. Then...along came The Queen. Queen Estes. You have to read it. It's good for the heart. It's good for the soul.

It's every little girl's dream to have that much exposure to a horse. If you are a horse person, you will understand and feel the love all over again. If you are not, you will want to.

I suggest you pick it up at the very low price both on Kindle and paperback on Amazon.com. Then share it with your children and/or your grandchildren. Especially give it as a gift to a friend.

Fargo Knocks Down Rookies

I knocked those bastahds down in the dirt...


For a limited time...The Rookies is on sale at a great Kindle price. Go check it out. The Boogie Man is now available for a short time on Kindle Matchbook  for $1.99 and on regular Kindle for $3.99. The third and fourth books are the works. The third is not a series of The Boogie Man...the fourth is...and it is has been so much fun writing it.

Tonight...we talk a book review. We chat up about police topics that hit Big Trouble in Little Towns. We talk dogs. It's all good. Most of it is funny. Some of it is serious. The Boogie Man has multiple personalities just like that...all with a twist of Fargo.

What is coming in the future, pray tell? One of Fargo's favorite holidays...Halloween. You might see a pic of The Harry Potter house once it is donned in holiday garb. It's fun. It's Fargo.

Halloween is also a topic this month...sent me your emails as I am building a great post. It will talk history, religious thoughts, American traditions, and my thoughts on All Hallow's Eve...and other cultures celebrate similar but different called The Day of the Dead. They are different days. What also goes with Halloween? The PoPo. They are always in the way.

So...send it this way. I don't care if you hate Halloween or love it or don't "believe" in it....send me your thoughts...or questions...or concerns.

BRING IT ON!

Friday, September 20, 2013

Tin Cans and A String

A student came in to talk about her program choice and ask some questions. Talking to a college student is like looking at a Picasso. Sometimes you get an arm coming out of a head. Sometimes you get a square body. Sometimes you get wheels for brains. Sometimes your dress is a rhombus. It's just that their mind goes so fast and all over the place. I can talk college.

So...this student got distracted by the receptionist telling her about the new iPhone updates coming. They both talked "Valley Girlish" about the negatives. Pretty soon another student walked in and joined in on the conversation.

Apparently, they are all freaked out about the "government" getting your fingerprints from apps and GPS tracking.

I told them that is why I don't have a cell phone, that I have a tin can and a string.

Pretty much listened to the sound of crickets and looked at deer eyes.

The conversation continued...

STUDENT 1: Yeah, like, they would need a search warrant to get that stuff and I would have to delete everything on my phone and I don't like them watching me through my camera or uploading my information.

ME: Yeah. That's why you need to go back to a tin can and a string.

STUDENT 1: Well, the police can't do anything and they will not violate my right to privacy because I know the laws. I took a Criminal Justice class.

The receptionist started to smirk about now and looked at me. Me who was playing dumb.

STUDENT 2: Well, they can just take your phone away except they can't take your fingerprints. Those are protected. So if they want to take a picture of you, you can hide yourself.

This went on for 10 or so minutes and I added in my two cents about how cell phones were evil and going to be the downfall of our souls.

Finally I had to pipe in...

ME: Well, cops can get your fingerprints without a warrant. And photographs.  And if you don't want to give up your phone if it contains anything of evidentiary value...for instance you are discovered to hold valuable information on there, even if it incriminates you...BAM! They are going to take your phone because of exigent circumstances. They may get a warrant in a few days or a subpoena depending on the state law, but your phone is gone. For days. No phone. Your life is over.

STUDENT 1: Well, I would sue because I know my rights. They would pay me big money for my loss.

STUDENT 2: Uh. No. They would have your phone. For life. Because you are an idiot. And I would cooperate because I have to have my phone. I don't care if they see my naked pictures.

ME: Are you my long lost daughter?

STUDENT 2: Uh. I don't think so.

ME: You should be.

STUDENT 1: Well, that is just ridiculous and I know they can't do all that and that is not right and they can get in big trouble. Brutality and stuff.

ME: Actually, she is exactly right. And brilliant.

The receptionist giggled.

ME: (looking at the receptionist) They don't know who I am, do they?

RECEPTIONIST: Nope.

ME: Let's not tell them. After all, WITSEC would come after me.

We giggled.

STUDENT 1: Well, I know.

STUDENT 2: Maybe you should go talk to your Criminal Justice professor and ask him.

STUDENT 1: Well, I only took one class and I failed it, so.

ME: Tin can and string, girls. I'm telling ya.

Calls To Campus

I don't talk about my new job. Why? It's not part of The Boogie Man Is My Friend. It's my "other" life. Rarely does it cross over.

I am enjoying college. It's like watching People of Walmart only at a higher level.

The students are fun. It is refreshing to see someone embrace life and hold on to the seat of their pants. They are like little sponges. Sucking up knowledge and life.

So...I saw this...

What does that do for me?

It's an uneducated response. I won't even argue the points, but let you fire away and give out your best discussion here.

I can best describe what is happening in America by my own experience. Wyoming recently went to an open carry law state wide. I was on patrol when this was being thrown around the legislature. Police chiefs and Sheriffs around the state were busy debating this topic in Cheyenne. Some were for, some were against. We might have all been apprehensive at first look because it was out of the blue.

We asked ourselves, "What's wrong with life as we know it?"

It was passed. Before it became in effect, we were handed down the "prepare for battle" speech from the Chief and other Administrators. At the same time we were to enforce the freedoms granted back to the people.

We asked ourselves, "What's going to become of this? John Wayne? Or Lil Wayne?"

It was The Law. It came to pass. It came to be.

We went on with our police lives.

We started to see some things happen. We started to see old ladies deterring armed robberies. We started to see hotel clerks defending themselves. No one got killed. The police arrested the bad guys. The towns hailed the citizens as heroes. We came to find that most gun-toting citizens were for the greater good. And freedoms. And The Constitution. They weren't freaks. They weren't crackheads.

So as I see the campus students embracing freedom of speech and holding demonstrations, passing out copies of The Constitution, shouting out for PETA, and whatever dear thing they hold in their hearts, I wonder where we have failed in our education. It saddens my heart that most are afraid of the unknown.

The Bullet Goes Round

Sometimes I get on a soapbox. Sometimes I get on a pedestal. Sometimes I shout from the highest tree. Tonight will spark a small series of posts. They will be of various topics which are a far cry from each other... including 'getting old debate" of gun control, teenagers, patriotism, moves in the university world, and cop stories. Most importantly we will talk books. Feel free to jump in at any time and change the way these conversations evolve. And please, don't save yourself. I really hate a conversation with myself, but if I must.

The first order of business is going to lead into others.

I really want to know why we must lose a hero, several, or have a mass disaster before we band together or even show a glint of what it means to be a Patriot.

That's capitalized by the way. Pay-tree-ought. I don't care if you say it Mid-western, southern, or with a twist of New York. What I really care is if you live it and feel it. And I'm not talking about a goose to the rear end-type of "feel it".

What does Fargo mean with this post?

What I mean is Officer Bradway of IMPD for starts.


Information courtesy of WTHR



He was killed and I woke up to the news. I don't care if I am no longer a cop. I still bleed blue for my brothers and it made me tear up when I should have been enjoying my morning coffee. It doesn't matter if you know the emergency responders or not...when they die tragically or are killed...it sinks our hearts.

Not only that, but the office manager and myself watched it unfold in the office early this morning and we were both wiping tears. It was too close to home. The day started out somber. You could almost feel and hear it in the soft rain we experienced all day.

Tears from heaven as it felt. It just summed up the week of lost heroes.

This on top of the Navy Yard disaster. Now we are going to analyze every minute of the bad guy(s)' lives and solve nothing. We are going to debate gun control and Facebook will come alive with screams of removing the devices from our hands once again. And now the Vice President will say shotguns are also evil. Fuck me in the ass.

I won't debate that guns are not the problem because it is so much common sense. I wish Congress would devote as much time to trying to fix people as they did arguing about lost causes and gun control. 

We are a mentally sick and morally bankrupt society. Notice nothing going toward that effort except those wonderbrains and smarties that realize there is a problem there. I'm not talking about our average mental disorders or those with depression. I'm talking about those that are "shut off". Those that have no moral compass. It's an epidemic.

I think people are scared. They should be. Of people.

Station Break...Best Law Enforcement Blog Ranking


It is a great honor to announce that Background Checks.org has featured me amongst the best and brightest law enforcement bloggers of 2013, listing their top 50 for your perusal on their site. Click the badge to your right to connect you to the post. They ranked me number 16 which is terrific and such a nice surprise! Kudos and congrats go out to all my counterparts who were also featured as their top choices!

Go check them out. Their reasons behind my selection on their list was very flattering and complimentary...


Background Checks.org 50 Best Law Enforcement Blogs of 2013

Background Checks.org

50 Best Law Enforcement Blogs of 2013



"Our Editors and Readers selected your blog because of its high standard of quality information mixed with your excellent commentary.
 
We enjoyed reading your posts and we find them very informative."
 
THANK YOU!
 
For more of their review, go check them out...at Background Checks.org~
 
 

Thursday, September 19, 2013

The Abduction

Teenagers get abducted by aliens at the age of 13. We can see the development of becoming a target for this capture at about 11 and progressing rapidly by 12. Sometimes, claws, scales, and big buggy eye balls start to appear. Other times, it is a mental transition. Every parent in America should be prepared for this event.

ME: Hi, honey. How was your day?

BUG: Marvelous! I got an A in science today which brings my bad test score up.

ME: Great! Did you ask about additional work you could do to improve or how you could better prepare for the next test?

BUG: Mom! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WRITE A LETTER TO MY TEACHER TO ASK THIS. It's not like preparing for the end of the world. It's my life! You need to pay attention.

ME: Uh. No. I told you  that you needed to take the initiative and approach your teacher and be prepared that she could say "no" and you have to live with it. I was going to write a note to ask her about your study habits or what she is observing in class. No need to yell at your mother.

BUG: OH. FINE! NOW YOU ARE A SPY. 

ME: Well, as a matter of fact, I have uploaded the GPS tracker device your father and I installed in you when you were a baby.

BUG: That's sick. I just want normal parents.

ME: Actually, that is a fantastic idea. And we are fresh out of normal. So what did you learn in school today?

BUG: We had a presentation on our you know...periods.

ME: English class? (snorting because I am so giving her a hard time)

BUG: NO! MOM! YOU KNOW WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT! 

ME: Oh. The OTHER period. When would you like to sit down and  have the sex talk with your mother?

BUG: NEver! MY moTHER does NOT HAVE SEX and I DON't WANt TO HEAR abOUT it! UGH! 

ME: Hmm. Well, you could have the talk that my parents gave me.

BUG: What was that?

ME: DON'T DO IT. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. NICE GIRLS DON'T DO THAT. It ruined me. So unfair. I didn't have cool parents. I learned about sex through dad's Playboy magazines, the library, and the boys at school. There wasn't even any television shows that showed any of that. NICE GIRLS. Do you know how much guilt goes through your head when you are a horny teenager and NICE GIRLS are not supposed to think that. I began to think I was the devil spawn or something for having sex thoughts. 

BUG: EW! GROSS! Yeah. I know this already. I don't do it at all. I don't want to do it. CHANGE THE SUBJECT!

ME: Good. You should wait. 
I was a nice girl until I was 22, then I was really mad at my parents because if I had only known what I was missing, I would have had a lot more fun. Picture this...I went three year of college with no sex. The last American virgin in college in 1989...

BUG: MOM! GROSS! I DO NOT WANT TO PICTURE YOU HAVING SEX! STOP TALKING ABOUT IT. I CAN'T BE HAVING THESE PICTURES OF YOU! NASTY!

ME: Pictures? No, we never took pictures back then. That's all new stuff. 

BUG: Why do you do this to me? Why? You are a horrible mother. Who does this to their child? I am not listening any more!

ME: I don't want you to be freaked out about sex, honey. We should be able to talk about it and any questions you might have. It's a wonderful thing, just not until you are older and ready for it. (big smile) In fact...

BUG: STOP TALKING ABOUT IT! I SAID I AM DONE! DONE WITH THIS CONVERSATION!

ME: Ok. Do all you teenagers talk in capitals to your parents and yell, or just you?

BUG: IT'S BECAUSE WE ARE TALKING ABOUT SEX! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW OR HEAR IT EITHER! IT IS GROSS! SEX IS GROSS AND NASTY! I HATE EVEN TALKING ABOUT IT!

ME: Super. Plan A worked.

BUG: What do you mean?

ME: We are in the yard.

BUG: Yes. I know THAT, MOTHER!

ME: Well, every boy in town just heard you yell that you hate sex and it is gross and nasty. Mission accomplished. Could you yell louder so the next two towns over could hear you as well?

BUG: I SO HATE YOU!

ME: You might want to summon the mother ship now. 

BUG: I JUST WANT A NORMAL MOTHER!

ME: *blink*blink* Yep. Yep. We all can dream. 



Tuesday, September 17, 2013

September Sale

THIS...is on sale this month...Kindle Version only....get it while you can. It goes up in October. It's the latest version. It has one extra story in there that you first edition peeps didn't get. Otherwise...it's the same.

In 12 hours...it drops. Fall special. Why? Because I love fall.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Ammo Love!

My good buddy.. The RussianBear... sent me a package. I got to pick from a selection. Must I say, YURI, this is some FINE ammo you sent me. Woo hoo! You know how to make a girl happy, happy, happy! It's so purty I don't even want to shoot it up. I just want to look at it.

Not really.

I can't wait.

Range day coming up!

Um..yeah. Like I looked like a monkey fucking a football trying to get into this. It was taped more than the boxes I get from my mother. You two went to the same taping school. There is such a thing, I am certain.

Seems there was a little crash landing at the Harry Potter House. I'm not sure if it was UPS or me excited trying to get into the box.

Wait...

Wait for it...

Ah. That's some fine looking ammo, Yuri!

Thanks so much! You know how to make a girl's heart sing with some bling bling! Fargo is happy, happy, happy!




Saturday, September 14, 2013

LITTLE THINGS

Maybe I think different than most. I was always criticized by both ex-husbands because I put everyone else first...ahead of myself. Perhaps I did that too much, I don't know. It was and is who I am. It's too hard to change that part of myself. Even if we are giving people and are taken advantage of by takers, we are still going to give. It's the nature of the beast. I guess what we can do is be more selective in our giving. But what does that mean? Can those that are givers be selective? Is it in their nature? And can you be giving without being selfish? Are givers unselfish? The answer is maybe and it depends. I can say "no" on the giving part. I give to those that don't deserve it. I give to good people. I give to bad people.

I give to those that don't deserve it. I said that twice because that is what is very important to remember. If you give to those that don't deserve it...that instills positive change.

I give to those that have everything. I give to strangers. Sometimes I don't want to give anything to certain people. Many times it doesn't matter how many times someone hurts you, you continue to give to them.

There are many that think like me. At the same time, there are not enough? Does that make sense?

Have I stopped giving to someone? Yes.

Have I refused to give to someone or help someone? Yes.

What does all that mean? How do we process a balance?

My first ex said I constantly did things for others and was thoughtful, but never getting the same in return. I didn't expect anything in return. That is not what giving means. Giving isn't expecting receiving.

So if both ex-husbands hated the fact I was a giving person to others outside their little bubble, is it a problem that I should reevaluate? Two men, not just any, but two men I married...said the same thing. They didn't just mention it. They were upset about it. They didn't like it.

Eh. I don't even care. Will I care if it pisses off a new perspective man? Nope. It's a part of me. I might think about dropping them like a hot potato. One thing I have learned to change is I am not going to date or be with someone that is mad or upset or jealous because I pay attention to details.

What bothers me in the world, however, is that giving can be as simple as a kind word. Giving can be as defined as "noticing". We often get in our own little world and fail to open our eyes. Did we notice that our elderly neighbor had difficulty getting the sack of groceries out of her car? And did we rush to her aid? Did we notice that cute little kid peeking out at us from a rack of  clothes at Walmart? And did we smile or wave at the little guy when he sheepishly waved to a stranger? Did we say "good day" to someone or just rush pass them in a huff? Do you greet your office every day with "good morning" or do you scurry into your office with your cup of coffee?

We aren't perfect.

Have I forgotten a special date? Have I stood someone up? Yes. I felt rotten.

Did I get involved in my own world that I rushed around and was thoughtless? Yes.

Did I forget my anniversaries? No. Did I forget the day my close relatives and friends passed away? No.

Did I forget their birthdays? No. I may have been late or early in getting a phone call or card in the mail, but it was important for me to say something. To notice. You see, my dad treated my birthday as a national holiday, so I got spoiled. That's what I do for Bug. That's how I feel. Your birthday is the one special day that is yours alone. So don't forget your secretary's birthday. Don't pass it by. Make an office list.

Every year, my sergeant made a big deal by giving us a gift certificate, card, and making the whole team bring cake and goodies, sing a song. My sergeant was a man.

Hell, that was awesome! Why? Because he was a man. He was thoughtful. And also both my ex-husbands forgot my birthday on more than one occasion. And he made the team pay attention even for that one thing he deemed to be special. It made a difference. It made a person special for one moment.

My mom is HUGE into birthdays and holidays. She rubs off on me.I get that those things are important and she raised us kids to do the same.

The police officers who are women will often bring goodies or meals into their teams. It's what we do. It's nature. It's our social up bringing. It's something we have let diminish in our society...kindness...gatherings...food gifts. There is still some spark of it out there. But how often do you hear about May baskets anymore? How many of us give cookies or pies to our neighbors just because? Do you get 100 fruitcakes during the holidays?

Most comments I hear are..."well that's something that my wife does...or a woman is supposed to do those things." No. It's up to all of us to pay attention. We all let the little things float by and disappear into the wind.

 Even paying attention to the bird feeder at your house is important. Fill it up once a year and leave it empty. What do you think those birdies are saying when it runs dry? Bastards. That's what they are calling you.

My 95 year old grandfather never lets them run out. He pays attention. He also sent me a sweet birthday card. As did my aunts, my mother, my friends. But grandpa is on time and he never forgets and he puts $10.00 in there every year. Bless his heart. I notice. I would love him the same even if he didn't put money in there or even if he didn't send me a card. But I think he is extra special because he does.

My birthday has not always been a day of celebration and for many years, I have had to get the noise out of my head. It has taken a long time to think of it as my special day and my national holiday again.

After it was always a day of celebration and national holiday-ism by my family and close friends for years, it carried a dark cloud for some time during my adult life.

When I was a rookie, I received a message on my birthday from dispatch. I will never forget it. One of my favorite dispatchers called me and said, "I know it's your birthday. I'm sorry to tell you this. I just wanted you to know first before you heard it on the news that Jim died today while volunteering at an elementary school to help put up playground equipment."

Jim was my boss. He was also my friend. He had two very young boys that were his pride and joy. He shared a lot of personal stories with me. I used to be his secretary before he became my sergeant. He always made my birthday a national holiday. LOL. I'm sure he didn't plan to make memorialize it like that. Every year I remember his boys. Every year I would run into them on the street or on Facebook...like yesterday. I saw his oldest boy's post which made me smile when he remembered his dad and wrote about it. I wrote a message on his post. Why? Because that day is more important to Troy than any other. And I wanted to share the fact I noticed and I remembered his dad, too. We don't often know how we impact others, but a kind word can make all the difference.

Some years later, my birthday was again landmarked by something special. My husband of 20 plus years told me..."Happy Birthday. I want a divorce." It was the only time he remembered besides my 40th birthday. I actually remember on my birthday that particular day as well and I am thankful I am not married to that asshole anymore. The serial killer? I didn't matter to him, therefore it didn't either.

What is the point of this message? Oh, yeah. Pay attention. To the little things. Help your neighbor. Smile when you go to work. Stop being such a crab ass.

Wave to the little kid. Give that waitress a tip.

Send a card to those who lose a loved one.

Pet the damn dog once in a while. Geesh. We treat our dogs better than people.

Despite the fact that some strange or un-ordinary occurrences have happened on my birthday, it is still my special day. It is my national holiday. I celebrate people's birthdays. They are important.

Yes, BROTHER OF MINE, even Amazon.com remembered my fucking birthday. I still love you, tho.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

My Doll

Driving home from the volleyball game today, my daughter told me her back really hurt and she had stomach pains. I started to laugh. Then I panicked. Then I smirked.

BUG: What, Mom?

ME: You know what that means?

BUG: No.

ME: Yes.

BUG: It really hurts, Mom.

ME: Well, I will give  you some Midol when we get home.


BUG: What? NO! NO, Mom! You can't give me that stuff. That is what you too when you were pregnant. I'm not pregnant. I don't even think about that stuff. I don't want that MID...whatever you said. NO!

ME: What in the heck are you talking about? I didn't take that when I was pregnant.

BUG: Yes, You did. The doctor prescribed it for you. You had to take special vitamins.

ME: (laughing) Uh. Yeah. Those are not prenatal vitamins. Midol is for premenstrual cramps.

BUG: Oh. 

ME: I so love you. I love that fact that you are so innocent. Now, remember if you come within 1 foot of a boy, you could get diseases in your downstairs or pregnant.

BUG: Mom. Seriously? I'm not that dumb. 

ME: Nuts. 

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Left Handed Shooters

I had to work off some frustration and my very way of doing that is shooting. Tonight I sported a shotgun. It's nice to have friends that own farms. It's also nice they let me go by at the drop of a hat. It's really nice when they like to help you.

So there I was...shooting, shooting, shooting and hitting everything they threw. Until...round 28. Then I sucked. For the rest of the time. I sucked so bad, I was more frustrated than when I started. I couldn't even hit things standing still. It was so bad.

But then there was George. He is 86 and a World War II vet. He is also a gun smith. George and Art were talking behind my back like gossip queens.

GEORGE: Damn, Art. She is pretty good.

ART: Yep. I don't want to piss her off.

I think after I heard that, I fell apart. Once I started missing after a bit, I played head games with myself, beat myself up, and didn't even recoup my losses. I did hit the last two. Those would be rounds 59 and 60, I thinkish. Pitiful. I don't even think I hit 50%. I know. It was gross.

GEORGE: Fargo, you did great.

ME: Uh, you need new glasses.

GEORGE: I don't wear them. I don't need them. Us left handed shooters have to stick together.

ART: Fargo, you did good. We need more women shooting around here. You're purty, too.




ME: Well, you are a sweet man, Art. I like my men older and blind. You two will do.

GEORGE: Let's go to Wendy's.

ME: Ok.

GEORGE: My treat.

ME: Even better.

We went to Wendy's. George had lost his wife of 55 years about 3 years ago. He gave me relationship advice.

GEORGE: Many of my friends asked me how I got to pick such a good one. She liked to hunt and fish. She went to Wyoming with me on many hunting trips. I told them marriage is give and take. You also have to be picky. Pick wisely. I told my friends that they couldn't be takers all the time. And many of them was. They was always wanting it their way. And some of the women, too. I said to them that my wife liked the arts and liked theatre, so I took her to some of those things as well. She was also big into her sorority and we traveled the US going to her events. See...we loved each other. We really did. I miss her a lot. Now, I'm having a hard time finding someone that likes the same things I do AND isn't so damned attached to their grandkids. I mean, family is great, but I am no live in babysitter. I want my time, too. My wife and I both had that agreement...we would love our grandkids, but we would not be tied down so much that we couldn't go and do things on our own time before we were not able to do them. My girl now can't even leave them alone to travel or go do something during the day or evening. I don't know why she wants a man like me or any for that reason. I think it's all about sex.



Yeah. I know. I can't explain it, either. Except George is a mover and a shaker.

Sweetest man...tho.

Left handed shooters. You have to watch out for them.

********************************

After that, I got to make a very special phone call. Yep. To The Queen's father. This post is dedicated to him. Why? Because he is the cutest thing ever and funny like his daughter.

He told me he was reading my book and would have kept reading it had the helicopter not landed in his back yard. I asked him if it was coming for him. He said it wasn't and he knew right away it wasn't a helicopter for him because there were no strait jackets.

Yes. I have lust in my heart.

He also has a birthday this week, the 12th! I wished him happy birthday. He wished me happy birthday as well. We are both virgins...I mean, Virgos.

So...this post is dedicated to Dick! Happy Birthday, Dick! You rock!

And thank you for having a very wonderful daughter who chats with me, kicks my arse when I need it, and supports my works like a pimp loves a hoe! I also know she loves her daddy very much and I was a daddy's girl also. I got it from my mother who is another daddy's girl. From us daddy's girls...we all wish you the very best birthday ever!


********************************
Tomorrow...I reveal what Yuri sent to me via special delivery. His recent post is brilliant, by the way.

Stay



Today, driving into work, I felt I should listen to the radio and maybe get myself updated with local news instead of being stuck in my bubble. I always pay attention to national news and used to be up on local news until I started working at the college. Now my local news has been taken over by college news. I was relieved to know that I hadn't missed anything in the summer months. I could tell the new construction was all restaurants and college housing. A homicide occurred. People were calling in to win the morning radio show prizes. I think I am good now for the next quarter of the calendar year. Or perhaps I will make the morning show part of my driving routine as I used to do when I was a detective.

I might rap it out on the way home.

After the 10 minute blurb about news, the DJ played this song which has been one I enjoyed since it came out on the radio. Got me all hot and bothered on my way to work with papers. So awesome!

Funny thing is, when it first was aired way back when, I didn't realize it was Rhianna. After I searched the internet to find out who sang the song, I was impressed and I liked her new sound. I still run to a lengthy list of rap and other songs including Rhianna's Disturbia and Rehab...so adding this to my running mix is not conducive to getting a good pace. It has, however, been added to my cool down part where I walk for a bit before returning to my CrossFit garage workout or just inside if it is my short day.

On a separate note, it's a sexy song and reminds me of intense lust or a developing relationship.

If I felt things like that, I mean.

Sorry, Mom and Aunt Sue, the Fargo in me came out.

The Kathryn you know, on the other hand, is a quiet, nice virgin.

Somewhere.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Strange Brews

Bug and I had an eventful day. We picked all the colors out at the paint store for the Hairy Potter House. We only purchased one gallon of the base paint and a quart to paint over the barn graffiti mess on the north side.

I put her to work on the barn. Luckily the graffiti was done by short people. Probably midgets.

She did a fabulous job.

Meanwhile...I was scraping, using a wire brush and screwdriver to get the house ready. I had already taken a garden hoe to the entire place. I think I might invest in a good paint scraper, but next month. I started to paint the base paint, Knight's Armor. Love it. In fact, all of our paint colors are conducive to the Harry Potter House style...Knight's Armor, White Owl Farts, Raven's Feathers, Black Magic, and Dragon Balls. It's going to be awesome! Someday. I'm doing it the medieval way as well, a little at a time. Not because I don't have a cabana boy, well, yes, it has something to do with that. I, for one, want to relish in telling people it took MONTHS to get it done. Second, if I did it for more than 5 hours at a whack...I would hate, resent it, and paint it one color.

I have come to find some problems. My posts holding up the front porch are too small and not strong enough. Sheriff Mike and I found some larger ones, but that means I need man help. I don't have any. So...before winter...possibly...I am going to become a man. Or maybe ask Lord Farquaad and Sheriff Mike if they could assist. I haven't decided yet if I will tackle it myself.  I know what needs to be done, it just may take someone or two people stronger than me. I also found some foundation work that needs to be patched and sealed. No problemo. I can do that one all by myself. I am a contractor...at least in my mind. For an 1898ish house...I thought that was pretty darn spiffy. It needs a new roof, but it doesn't leak yet. Maybe mother nature will give me one next year. Potter is starting to show some age...

While we were busy little bees, Bug asked me a series of questions..

BUG: Mom, what do you want for your birthday?

ME: An oil change in the Gold Beast. In fact, I want the garage to come pick up my truck at work and deliver it to me when I get home. They do that in town at the college, you know.

BUG: Uh. Mom. That's a gross birthday present. Anything else?

ME: New tires on the Gold Beast.

BUG: Mom! You can't get those kind of presents for your birthday. Yuck! Don't you want something pretty?

ME:  Antique gargoyle lights on the front and back of the house. I need two.

BUG: I am not talking to you until you can give me a good answer.

ME: That was my answer. In order of importance.

BUG: You are so going to get nothing for your birthday.

ME: Yeah. I know.

Pitiful birthday list. As I thought about it, it was probably the lamest list I have ever come up with in all of my life. At my age...celebrating the 17th anniversary of my 29th year, I really don't need anything "pretty". Those things are nice, but not necessary. This year it's about necessary. It doesn't please the Bugmeister who is all about giving "pretty" presents like perfume, jewelry, something flashy. Maybe I'm growing up.  But it's a good list and I like everything on it. Maybe I will write to Santa...

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Paying It Forward and Back

I cried today. A lot.

Why? Because I am a big 'ol baby.

I had plans to get a pedicure and mentioned it in the office. I was excited because as an employee of the campus, I received a coupon book and in it was a discount to get one for only $12.00. Now that's a deal. Even I'm not stupid.

I saved it for this week because it is a special week.

So, it didn't work out as I planned. I mean I worked myself up to this for two weeks.

In the office, you see, I have done some things on the sly, or so I thought. A lady's father died suddenly and I placed flowers on her desk when she returned to work. I brought peaches for everyone to enjoy. I have cleaned up the kitchen and conference room just because it needed it after some events. I took on extra projects because I wasn't as busy as some of the other employees. One of the ladies is having problems with a coworker and can't get any resolve. I placed some flowers on her desk and a sign to cheer her up. None of this cost much of anything because the flowers are cut from my yard and the vase's are jars I had laying around. I worked for the peaches. Doing extra work is nothing.

Or so I thought.

As I left work, I was accosted by two friends in town and I will refer to as Doris and Colleen. Me and my big mouth for announcing my coupon intentions to the world.

I didn't really know a good nail place, so I was just going to use the coupon. It just so happens I wasn't going to do it alone. Three with coupons? Why not.

Or so I thought.

Once I got there and explained my desire to have the best $12.00 coupon pedicure they could muster, I was summoned to the back. When someone puts you in the back, you should always be cautious. Especially when they bring two of your new found friends.

Or so I thought.

My pedi-specialist as I refer to her as...was Vietnamese. Not a Chinese Nancy. But I was OK with that. Although, sitting in the spa chair, I did miss her. I did think about her as well. Especially when my lady said the magic word. Her name is Ngoc, but she wrote down "Shirley" for me. I think it is her stage name. I pointed to her certificate and asked why Shirley and if it was her porn name. That really was NOT the proper thing to say. A pin could have been dropped. Doris and Colleen gasped and then laughed hysterically. I had to back pedal on that one and remember my humor is not universal and not multi-cultural. Epic fail. Actually, it was an exceptionally bad error as it could have gotten me kicked out, beat up, or hooked up with Sumo Ted, the bouncer of the place. He spoke very little English and had a fu-man-chu that had a frowny face appearance. I shut my mouth. It was a historical moment.

Vietnam Shirley started to work on me. I was staring at her because she had such a natural beauty, modern hairstyle, and wonderful skin. Then she said the magic words only Chinese Nancy could utter so eloquently...

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Wewax.

ME: (instant smile): Oh, sorry.

For some reason it brought me to familiar. Then I was waiting for Shirley to tell me my fortune, but it never happened. Instead, something far worse happened.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Do you want salt and oil rub, paraffin wax soak and peel? $5.00 extra.

ME: Uh. No. I better....

DORIS: Yes, she does. I am paying for it.

ME: Uh. No. I have a coupon and I am perfectly happy with this.

COLLEEN: Ok. Whatever. Shirley, do her up.

ME: *blink*blink* I will fork out the extra 5.

DORIS/COLLEEN: No. We got it.

So we all went back to our spa pedis and I was enjoying mine so well...until...the old lady next to me farted. I mean, really. Who farts in the pedi room? There is no effing where to run. You are stuck there, snorting that shit. Until it dissipates. And you know what Doris said? Yep.

DORIS: Fuck me in the ass. Who farted?

ME: *blink*blink* I think I found my soul sister.

OLD LADY: Oh, excuse me (tee heeing) I got so relaxed it just escaped. So embarrassing. So sorry ladies.

Well...shit.

So...I, we, dealt with the fart. It was horrible. I should have gotten a $5.00 pedicure.

Soon, I was taken out of my relaxation mode and alarmed by Shirley taking a chainsaw and dremel tool to my feet.

ME: Were my summer feet in flip flops that bad? I mean, I used to get these every two weeks, but I haven't had a pedicure since December of last year.

I shouldn't have said that. Shirley held up the disposable rug and we all grossed out. How embarrassing.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: You no wait no mo like dat. You nee com in ewey two wee.

ME: Uh. Er..k.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Yah. you do. Nahsty. Must be bootiwall wady. Not dis nahsty fee.

ME: I know. Just isn't in the budget.

I don't know if she understood, but maybe so. She just smiled. Doris and Colleen were looking at magazines and had funny looks on their faces. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I could sense something wasn't right.

I enjoyed the rest of my pedi and it turned out amazing. Shirley was wonderful.



Or so I thought.

It was a conspiracy.

When she was finished, she started to chatter again. Have you ever had to deal with a language barrier? I know I concentrate, open my ears and my eyes...and squint. I look like this...

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: You like na don? Manna?

Now we were talking Spanish. Or something.

ME: Uh?

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Nays? You need nays today? They shor and no goo.

ME: Yes, I know. Not in the bud..

COLLEEN: Yes, she is. Go take her out front.

ME: No. I can't.

COLLEEN: Ok. Here it is. We know what you have been doing at your office. We love you. It's your birthday week. Shut it.

DORIS: Honey, you are such a blessing to us and you make our days bright with your humor and positive attitude. Plus we know you work hard. You work, take care of Bug, and run your shop. And still have time for us! We want to treat you.

The flood gates opened. I couldn't stop it. Ugh.

DORIS: Oh, sweety, we aren't trying to make you upset. We just wanted to give you something fun. We know it's hard to get back on your feet.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Oh. No cry. No cry. We fix. Come heeayah. Seet dow.

I was plopped in a chair at a nail station.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: You like colah?

I nodded my head.

DORIS: No full set.

ME: Uh.

The lady next to me told me to go for it and no color. It looks "natural" and pretty.  She showed me her nails. It was the same as I used to get in Wyoming. Happy joy joy.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: You get Frenchie? You lie?

Now what the hell?

ME: Ok. Frenchie. Go for it.

I closed my eyes and braced myself but it was just nails. Whew. It would have been the first time I kissed a girl like that. I didn't think I wanted to, but my friends were treating me. Not really. I knew she meant French Manicure.

While Shirley was doing my nails, she looked at me in horror about halfway through. She actually gasped. She pushed my hair aside and off my face.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: Oh, honwee. Eye bra? No no no. You loo lie moanster.

What is a moan-ster? Is it sexual? How could she tell by my face? I wasn't even in position.

DORIS: Do it. Do the eyebrows.

I really started to cry. Not only was the spa treatment too nice and thoughtful, I had let myself get a unibrow and I was unkempt like Cinderella. I was a monster.

VIETNAM SHIRLEY: No cry. No cry. We may yoo prehee lady.

ME: O...(sniff sniff) k. Thank you.

Doris was rubbing my back and Colleen was patting my leg. Pitiful.

Soon, a Vietnamese gentleman came over.

VIETNAM SUNI: It Oh kay. We may yoo ower and yoo lee here new lady. (big smile)

The nails were gorgeous. She even put a flower on them with bling.

 
After the nails were in place and drying, the girls hustled me off to another room where I lay back in the dreaded eye brow chair.
 
VIETNAM SHIRLEY: We do lip and chin? No. You no nee that. No hay there. Loo good. Just eye bra. Uck. Oohh. Bad bad.
 
She ripped and pulled and winced so much I was sure I was almost a Yeti bride rescued from the woods. Blah! I should have taken care of those at home better.
 
DORIS: Don't you feel better, honey? You look wonderful.
 
COLLEEN: Happy Birthday, sweety!
 
Gee whiz. I sure have some very nice friends.
 
On a side note, when I get my budget increase (please Uncle Sam-are you kidding me? I was not going there. I can get my budge arranged all by myself)...it is nice to know that here in the near south...pedi-manis are a third of the price that I paid in Wyoming. Thank you, baby Jesus.
 
And when I got home, I had to show my new self to the boys.
 
I'm not sure if Moose liked my nails as much as I did.

Otis...he liked me petting him with my pretty bling nails. And I could scratch his belly better. Until he relaxed so much he farted. And then it was like a spa day all over again. Gah!

All is good in the Harry Potter House.

Except for the missing Bug...she was off at a church retreat. She will surely not recognize her mother all cleaned up and minus the Bushman unibrow.

Do you think Moose he needs a facial wax?



Thursday, September 5, 2013

Me And The Girls

Attending my daughter's first home volleyball game was a treat. It was different. It was not the same as when I played back when stone tablets were used as composition notebooks. The rules have changed. The uniforms have gotten slutty. They don't match. It's crazy.

One thing remains the same, however. There is always that one creeper that sits next to Fargo. It couldn't be more obvious. I opt for the nosebleed section where I can have my back to the wall and I can zoom in and not disturb anyone while I take pics of Bug.

Except the creepers follow me there. Not only did the creeper come up to nosebleed section where only I chose to dwell, but he sat right next to me and smiled. I did the fake smile thing. He didn't notice. It wasn't too long into the first match when I observed him checking out the girls.

Not just "the girls" but THE girls. Mine.

Being the helpful person I am, I leaned over to him sorta close....because my whispering was going to disturb someone up there (eye roll)...

ME: It's fun to watch the girls, isn't it?

CREEPER: Yep. Yep.

ME: Which one do you like better?

CREEPER: What?

ME: Do you have a favorite? Any relatives out there?

CREEPER: Oh. No.

ME: I see.

CREEPER: Yep. Yep.

ME: They just normally out there bouncing all over the floor like that where you usually see them?

CREEPER: What? Huh?

ME: (talking louder because he must be deaf) The girls? They are bouncy!

CREEPER: Yah. Yah. They never sit still.

ME: You like the brown or the green ones?

CREEPER: What?

ME: The teams. Which team?

CREEPER: Oh. They are both fun to watch.

By now, I didn't know if I had a dirty old man who was watching THE girls and THAH girls. Who sits up in nosebleed next to Fargo except some perv?

After the first set of matches, two more old codgers joined me and I felt I was at the raisin ranch. They asked Creeper if he was driving the bus. That did it.

ME: You drive the bus? For the other team?

CREEPER: Yah. Yah.

ME: I was set up.

CREEPER: Why?

ME: You always have to watch out for the green ones.

CREEPER: What?

ME: I'm brown.

CREEPER: Huh?

ME: Never mind. You get enough naps in?

GREEN 1: Earl take a nap? Hee hee.

ME: Yup. More than one.

GREEN 2: (yelling for no apparent reason other than he didn't have his hearing aids) Earl! Earl! You best not be napping when you drive them home, now.

ME: That makes me feel much better. Go green.

CREEPER: You got a kid on the green team?

ME: (sigh) I really have no idea anymore.

GREEN 1: You don't know which kid is yours?

ME: Nope. I know I have a couple of girls. That's it.

GREEN 2: Do you need us to help you find them?

ME: Nah. I think I will manage to round them up when it's time to leave.

GREEN 1: Ok. Well, we will help you if you ask us.

ME: Yep. Yep.

GREEN 2: Earl! Go get the bus started. It's time.

CREEPER: Huh?

GREEN 1: The bus.

CREEPER: Oh. Yah. Gotta go. Nice meetin' ya, Miss.

ME: Yep. Yep. Same here.

GREEN 1: We can keep you company until you find your girls if you want.

ME: Oh, that's OK. I don't want to hold you up. You go do what you gotta do.

GREEN 2: Well, let's go find our girls. Grandkids. Sure hard to keep up with them these days.

ME: Duct tape.

GREEN 2: Huh? Oh...yah. Hee hee. Duct tape them to the floor. That will hold 'em.

ME: Yep. I usually do it the other way, tho.

GREEN 2: I don't follow.

ME: Yep. Yep. You folks have a nice day!

GREEN 1: You too, young lady.

GREEN 2: Good luck finding your girls!

ME: Yep. I have a feeling they will pop up somewhere.



Is it wrong to mess with old people?