Evidence 101

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







Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Debbie Downer

Sista From Anotha Motha contacted me last night and emphasized how DEPRESSING my blog posts have been. I concurred. I am such a positive person in normal life even when it is tough, that when I write some things down I do not realize how dark those things are or how sad or falling apart I might be on the inside. Yikes. Let's keep them in the box.

As a cop, I had to suck everything up. Move on. Desensitize. I actually think it helped me cope with  a lot of personal crisis. So for that, I am thankful. Could you imagine if I wrote down every thought I had when I was on a sinister child molester case? I wonder what was really going on inside my brain. Were the inside thoughts being beaten down by the rules? Or were my outside thoughts really how I felt?

Who knows. Who cares? Right. That's an episode for Dr. Phil.

After decompressing for a year, my feelings are starting to reappear, the shell is cracking and falling off. Heavens to Mergatroid, Gertrude Applebottom! (That's what my daughter thinks I should change my name to.) Her father actually asked me last night on the phone, "So I need to know for airline ticket purposes, what name are you going by now?" Seriously. I responded in polite tone, "Are you fucking kidding me? You are going there?" He was blushing from foolishness right through the phone and tried to justify it by saying it was a legitimate question. Strong work there, DADDIO.

Shit. Poop. Let's put those all those divorce issues back in the box as well along with the cry baby poopy pants moments.

I like my stoic self much better.

It's a Dad day. I've been thinking about him a lot. I miss him. Bug missed out on knowing him. It makes me sad.

I don't know why, but on Facebook and on here, I had to share my thoughts about the negative happenings. For those that don't follow me on Facebook, I had posted a police shooting incident and was taken down temporarily by Facebook because of a reader complaint. Here it is if you can get to the link. If not, look up and like The Boogie Man on Facebook.

http://www.policeone.com/officer-shootings/articles/7127581-Calif-police-fatally-shoot-armed-suspect-after-pursuit/

Same thing occurred on my personal Facebook page, but the person complained the post I shared from Coffeypot about Hedwig, not Harry Potter's owl, and that the post had inappropriate nudity. It was a picture of her in 1933s cinema blockbuster, King Kong. Geesh.  The story, not the partial nudity pic is here:

http://www.all4women.co.za/lifestyle/inspiring/it-all-started-with-a-skin-flick

Here's what I think of being reported to Facebook Police, compliments of Dad, circa 1970s.


Put your big girl panties on.

 

Speaking of big girl panties, mine are on. I will not let life's spit balls, road bumps, pimples, potholes, or whatever you call them defeat me! I'm Ok now. SUPERSTAH!




Sunday, April 27, 2014

CUT! RETAKE!

A houseful of teenagers prevented me from going to the NRA convention in Indy for an opportunity of a lifetime. Beat me. Teenagers are all democrats. I kid you KNOT.

I learned this weekend that my child has reached the disconnect shared by so many yoots of today because their peers allow them to express themselves, which is a democrat thingy.

An example of disconnect:

Many times I would tell her something or call out to her (nicely) and she would ignore me, or pretend to. She was playing a husband. Once she got thwacked by a friend, and told her mother was talking to her, she would go..."Whah?"

Yeah. She was bustin' my balls.

They didn't talk to each other. It was quiet. I looked in the TV room.

I asked them if they were psychic and stared each other in the eye to read their thoughts. They pretty much thought I was losing it.

They were quiet again. So I peeked in. They were texting each other. Beat me.

They later said they were bored. What can we do, Mrs. Fargo? I wanted to dive into the largest bottle of wine and take a beer bath.

Yard games? No.
Board games? No.
Candy store? No.
Park? Maybe.

Teenagers are also food persnickety. They think eating at home has a choice like a restaurant menu.What do you do? Punt.

"I'm sorry,  Mrs. Fargo, I don't like pepperoni pizza."

Enter Chuckie. Not really. I put the knife down.

I already made the pizza and was serving it out when this statement was expressed by more than one. Before I realized it, they were throwing pepperonis across the room at each other. Animal House re-runs minus John Belushi.  Gah!

"Oh, I am sorry. You don't like pepperoni pizza? Huh. Whodathunk? I will make some hamburgers."

"No. I don't like hamburgers."

I made cookies!

*crickets*

I felt like a defeated June Cleaver who gourmeted all day for the Beavs and Eddie Haskell pissed on the cake. Only Eddie Haskell was nice to the parents and a shit to the other kids so no disrespectin' adults was had back then.  It was like I was stuck in Leave It To Beaver in reverse, and it was call Skin the Beaver, or something.

Record Scratch. That sounds pornographic or dirty. The Beaver was not skinned, shaved, or waxed. Wait! This is when my life took a turn in The Mountain Men. Like when they beheaded that dude head and rode the horses and shit.

So then I tried to be hip. The girls were talking about music and brought up the following:

Bug went on and on about R5.

"Oh, I love R5! So cute!"

I said, "R2D2! R2D2! Yay! It's really R2D2, honey. So cute."

"MOM, YOU ARE AN IDIOT! It's R5! Who is R2D2? Geesh. You're embarrassing me."

I should have thrown my child through a sheet rock wall, but I didn't.

Instead, I pointed my finger at her and said, "You don't know who R2D2 is?  Bam!" Then I did the loser sign over my forehead, shouted, "LOSAH!" and stomped off, shaking my booty.

Oh yeah, later, I told that was not cool to call her mom an idiot when she was upstairs and I told her in a non-cool parent way...like calm, collected, and did not yell. She cried. Mission accomplished. Big Momma tactics when it was a time to bring in Madea.

Retreating outdoors after serving up a smorgasbord,  I was mowing my lawn on the George Jones, which had a beer cup holder that was empty and I so needed a beer! I was in my groove when I looked up to see brown. It was not brown grass. It was a brown uniform. Sheriff's brown-that is.

I was pretty sure he doubled as the Terminix man.

"Mam, hi. We got a 911 call here. We called back and spoke to someone and they said everything was OK. Uh. Do you live here?"

"Yes, I do." I said this with gritted teeth, wanting to flick some teenagers on the forehead Fargo style. They had gone to the nearby park to play basketball. Miffed, I was.

What was more painful was listening to the deputy lecture me on how the 911 system works and that no matter what they have to send someone out to check. Enter weak smile and lots of nods. I was in a freakin' parade. Seriously, it was Oz.

I thanked him for his service and told him I was very sorry, I would talk to the girls.

He told me it was no big deal.

I looked at him like a crazed lunatic now overcome with thoughts of life lessons to teenagers in my head and said, "No. Hogwarts does not have fake 911 calls. If I call 911, you better come guns-a-blazing."

"Um, mam. It's really no big deal. It's Ok. Glad everything is Ok."

Yep.

This interruption caused my mower to die and smoke big smoke bombs. I had to run all the bad gas out of it and recharge the battery. Funny how it was working fine until the deputy rudely interrupted me.

Guess what?  When the teenagers got back from the park? They all denied it. It was like Bill Clinton trying to shine through the cigar only brushed his lips and wasn't shoved up an intern's vagina trick.

Yes. I did pull the Cop 101 thing and "let's look at your phones."

OH YEAH.

BUSTED.

GRRRRRR. And after the damn lecture about how 911 is important that I gave out to all the yahoos in Casper, Wyoming over 5,000 times...they didn't get it.

When all the teenagers were gone, thank you, baby Jesus, we went trap shooting today at the gun club after church. God and Guns. It should be a book title or a movie.

I got my Clint Eastwood on.

It was great to be surrounded by Republicans.

Friday, April 25, 2014

A Boy And HER Dog and The Easter Bunny

Going to the dentist is the same experience as going to the vagina doctor. I really wouldn't tell my dentist those exact words, but I am sure they understand the feeling from their patients. That really has nothing to do with the post. It has everything to do with an annual milestone. Now, all I have to do is get to Denver to have my asthma testing completed and I may have a clean bill of health at mid-life. This is coming a long way after being unemployed for so many months, without health insurance. What an experience to be having during an older part of my life when those things are necessary. It was scary. I am slowly climbing back out of the abyss. Talk about a financial and emotional drain. But onward!

New subject. Random schmandom. Let's talk about pets.

I was lucky enough to have parents who gave us kids pets. There is no greater love than a boy and her dog. I was a tomboy, non-gay type, and a country kid. I had a dog named Co-Co and another one named Shep. Those were my favorites. I think I learned how to love people the same way I loved my dog...unconditionally and I fell hard. Those qualities cause problems if you select the wrong human mate. But not if it is directed toward dogs.

Over thirteen years ago, I got a yellow lab puppy and named him Otis. He and I got along like peas and carrots. I sent him out for training because I wanted to get into search and rescue. Even though we didn't know if he was suited for that type of work, we tried it out. If he failed, or wasn't good enough, he was a good family pet.

He surpassed both mine and the trainer's expectations. Over the next two years, he and I were in training at the same time I was raising Bug who was just born about 11 months after Otis. She grew up with him and they grew up together. Bug loved Otis and pretty much tugged on him and made him her jungle gym. He blossomed into a fantastic search and rescue dog, minus the day he walked up to me and pissed on my leg in front of the Sheriff because he was mad at me. Thankfully, Bug never did such a thing.

I digress.

April 10th to be exact, I let Otis out to do his "bitness" (pee, poop, walk about) at 2:00 a.m. The bastahd woke me up out of a dead sleep.I got up and let him out.  He took off and I couldn't catch him. Now, mind you, he has been ill with THE CANCER, dreadful disease. And slow. He has been moving slow. Well, that was the last time I saw him. My memory was of his butt, me chasing him, and he ignoring me. Needless to say at that moment I was miffed. He had done it before, but usually ended up at the front door about 2-3 hours later.

April 19th, he still had not shown back up home. Moose was driving us crazy with his pacing and checking the window, whining, sucking on his blankie. (no shit-he really does that). Bug was moping and crying at times. I only cried late at night by myself.

I braced myself he ran off to die, but kept thinking maybe someone was taking care of him. The 19th, I prepared in my mind to do a memorial for him and announce his passing to Facebook friends and The Boogie Man blog with a nice tribute. Really, I had thought about posting earlier to the blog, but I didn't feel like it. Thus, I didn't feel like posting anything. I really was down in the dumps.

On top of that, it has been a struggle for me professionally, financially, and emotionally in the last year, but I kept telling myself the light at the end of the tunnel is near...maybe in a couple months. Reality is it might be in 4-6 months. I really have been pinching pennies and I don't know why we pinch things, it's mean. And it doesn't make pennies go farther. They are still one cent.

There were times when I would give things to people or help them and now I find myself at the other end of the stick which is a hard thing to deal with because I am more of a giver than a receiver. I feel blessed that there are so many kind people in the world and I don't know how to thank them properly or enough. How do you tell someone their card made a difference or that gift card to WalMart was just in time for groceries I couldn't afford. Or that $20.00 my mom sent in a card paid for gas to get to work. What about the friend that just thinks of you and sends you an email? Or the countless wonderful blog friends that send an email to see how you are doing because you haven't posted in a while? Have you ever had to call in sick because you didn't have gas money to get there? I know I have. I know some of my friends who have. For the first time, my privileged life is no longer. Don't get me wrong, I have had to work for almost everything I have had in life the hard way. I didn't appreciate my security before when I wasted money left and right and didn't save enough. Now I realize the value of that, working from the bottom up, being unemployed. Maybe that is the journey God had wanted me to take to bring me back down to the simple enjoyment of things and in turn, enjoying the simple things in people. I was so far lost at times emotionally with my first divorce and in the bowels of hell with my second marriage that I could not see the forest for the trees.

Can you really do enough or tell someone enough how much you appreciate their help? What a humbling experience. The first thing I want to do is return the favor or pay back the money, even though it is tough and you can't possibly at that moment. It's even harder when you fail at providing for yourself and your child at times.

This is embarking on a new venture for me, a new experience. I can't imagine what has happened to middle America and the decline of the nuclear family, but I saw it when I was a police officer. Now I am living in it, in the heart of the Mid-West where the fall of industry and manufacturing plants surrounds me.  You can see it in their faces, the blue collar and the white collar execs who are no more.

I really have a new appreciation for the fall of the economy and what it does to people, especially when they lose everything. My situation is a little different because I chose to leave all that is secure. I don't blame the government, the economy, or anything or anyone else. Moving for empty and unfulfilled marital promises was part of the result, the other...was an extremely positive one.

I can only express what I see in my child and the difference the move has made on her and our family as a unit. We are stronger. She is stronger and is growing into a beautiful young lady with a rock solid moral compass and a big heart.

All things that matter in life have become real again.

Sure, I lost my identity, my prestige and reputation in the community that I had known for over 30 years. However, I found myself again (the pre-1989 self and the 2010 self is resurrecting-two selves-egads! I knew I had voices in there) and I found my daughter.

I am proud to say, although we have our mother-daughter moments, I am very proud of the individual she is becoming. She is not me. She is not her father. She is herself and I am allowing her be just that. As a parent you can only hope and pray they turn out OK and that you do the right things to mold them into good people. Then you have to let them fly.

Well, she is a teenager, so she doesn't get pushed out of the nest just yet. It is more like tether ball. I don't even know how to play that game, but I know if you throw that ball, which is attached to a string, it beats itself up against the pole after flying around a little bit, then winds back down the pole and gets stuck. That's what it is like living with a teenager. That and it's similarities to dodge ball.

Again, I digress. The point I was getting to is near. I think.

The Easter Bunny has blessed me in several forms this month. I am loved. It is an amazing feeling.

Many gifts were given to me in different forms and I was overwhelmed. I withdrew from blogging for a while and I haven't written one word on any of my books for months. Shameful.

I was sent something from Missouri and I cried. I was sent something from Minnesota and I cried. The reaching out to me was coming from all directions at a time when I was defeated inside, but trying to hide it.  I was given something from Tennessee and I cried.

EB Rabbit sent a very nice surprise package to my front door from Michigan and I cried.  Bug was in awe that someone would think of her and her poetry.

On top of all this emotional roller coaster, I had a cancer scare, I had dental work, I got new contacts and my eye exam. It was huge. It was the first time I had REAL health care since December 2012. And Otis. He was gone.

I was in denial at first, still clinging to that last hope that he would be found or arrive back home. He didn't show up. I talked out loud to him at times. Bug was upset and I comforted her every day. Moose. Well, there was nothing helping that neurotic soul. He was just nuts. I cried every night when I went to sleep.

April 19th, about midnight, I just felt I needed to get up and go for a walk. I had not been sleeping all too well. I went outside in my jammies for all the world to see and walked outside, sat down on my bench, then walked around, thinking and talking to myself. Something I did along the river, which I was really missing. Those peaceful walks were my sanity at times.

As I turned to go back inside this yellow mass came running up to the back door, then turned and saw me, and ran for me.

OTIS. Dumb dog.

He wagged his tail and I petted him, then I hugged him. He was skinny. His front claws were worn down and it looked like he had been digging. Yes, I sobbed.

I really don't know what kind of journey he had been on or what his food source was, but I was overjoyed he was home. The next morning, Aunt Superwoman woke up to see a ghost dog, thinking it was the first time for everything, then she realized it really was Otis. Bug was so excited and Moose went back to his normal self.

It's funny how the return of a big, dumb, stubborn, bull-headed yellow lab can bring the equilibrium in a house back to par. Strange.

He is getting stronger and eating well, being his happy self. His farts are still extremely bad and I suffer. It's something you put up with when you love someone.

A new focus has become a forefront for me. It's a little thing, a small milestone, but it has given me a new drive.  My personality is not one to stay stagnant for long. I have been entering 5K races to drive myself forward in a new direction. Perhaps it is because death is inevitable for all of us and I have had a rude awakening with my lackadaisical attitude, taking myself for granted. I don't want to be old and decrepit. I want to embrace this latter half of life with vigor and strength.  It is nice that the university had a wellness program that affords these opportunities on a poverty budget. LOL. Maybe it will awaken the writer in me again so I can finish these half-written Boogie Man books.

So there you have it- The Harry Potter April Saga. The non-posts. The dead files.

Decompressing was necessary, however, I have missed reading your blogs, seeing your comments, and interacting. Most of all, I have missed some funny or intense moments which you all have shared. Not to worry, our lives are full of them and I realize there will be more. I just wanted you all to know that I do read your posts.

In retrospect, it is funny how hind sight is so vivid. We all have experienced this I am sure. Here I thought all this time I had been dealing with the first divorce so well in 2010-2011, that I lost sight of myself later down the road in 2012-2013 and what was going on with me in the second marriage- which beat my spirit into the ground. Perhaps my personal life had been such a wreck because I was trying to salvage something that didn't exist in the first place.

Well, I'm back. The ME is back, not the imposter fake person trying to get by with a smile on the outside and hiding what is going on in the inside. The aged me. I have aged on the outside. I am still a kid at heart. :)


                                                                                        My attempt at mommy duck lips of displeasure.





Thursday, April 10, 2014

Paddle This

Well, The boobies were not aligned in my favor.

I received a call from my doctor to get right back into the office the next day. Over the phone at 8:00 PM, I was run through a series of questions that felt like an interrogation. Nurse Ratchet asked me over and over-you sure you haven't felt any pain in your left breast?

My only response to her was that it really, really hurt during the mammogram when my boob got smashed and it was like an orange in a trash compactor, or how we would simulate it. Although, we didn't get any orange juice and now that visual just took a wrong turn down the dirty highway.

Anytatas, I got the paddle. And NO, Coffeypot, it is not what you think. Picture this. Boob on tray, paddle comes....slowly...then BAM! Paddle hits boob and smashes a size C to the depth of a dime. Yeah. Picture that boys. It feels about as nice as hitting your family jewels with a ping pong paddle back and forth like the Chinese champions do at the world tournament. FORCE. Think FORCE.

While I peed down my leg, Nurse Ratchet had no sympathy. Seriously, tears ran down my face.

Moving on.

That showed bad results. New test.

That test showed bad results. 'Nother test.

While I am laying on the table in the dark while an ultrasound is being done during some point in this process, my mind wanders to everything FINAL. It especially hit home when the doctor said, "Is it true, your last mammogram was 8 years ago?" I was appalled at myself. Was it? Had it been? Was I so busy as a cop and business owner that I had not made my appointments? Skipped out?

Wow.

I had screwed myself. Now everything had probably metastasized. This rang home when the ultrasound went to my rib cage all the way up to my shoulder. FUCK ME IN THE ASS!

I started to rewrite my will. I thought about Bug. I had an hour to lay there and beat myself up in the head. That's a hard thing to reach. According to my parents, it is extremely hard and stubborn in there.

You know when things go downhill real bad when your bottom lip starts to quiver and tears start coming and you try to stop it so you don't look like a fool! Yep. All that happened.

In the end, the doctor told me I was OK. I had benign fibroid-z- (two-plural) in there. Gross. The word sounds like aliens. So, I like to say I have alien abductions in my left boob.

Word.

Save your boobs. Save your life. Get checked annually and SHOW UP!

Oh, and yes, I was a little disappointed in not getting new fake boobs that are perky. Nurse Ratchet ruined all hopes for these puppies. They now drag on the floor.