Evidence 101

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

Monday, August 31, 2015

Stark Naked Updated

Blog Glog

My posting is sporadic if best. I think mostly because my life is filled with kiddo stuff and mom duties and my time to myself is limited. That's where you would find me in the past. Online writing a ditty. Now it's driving to and fro, watching sports, running, and trying to keep up with life. Life is kicking me in the booty.

It would be no surprise that editing the Boogie Man Is My Friend and rewriting the entire book is going at less than turtle speed.

After all, I have to now fit in time for my renewed love for fishing and cop friends. I have neglected many of my friends, actually, and I've missed the socialization.

Chug The Bug

The only thing I am sure of is my daughter is thriving in school here both in academics and sports. Her social life is average. The nice thing is all the moms keep a tight rein on their kids so I don't feel like a meanie weenie. For the most part, my daughter is top notch. We have our teenager-mother moments of holy shitness, but I am very proud of her.

Page The Wages

A hunt for a new job is constant in order for me to get ahead and not behind in life since my wages do not sustain life. No kidding. My inventory is now all sold from the store. Basically, I just got rid of it at a fire sale price. The release as the last item was sold was immense and I didn't realize how much that ate at me. Business is closed. Ah. Joy.

I'm tired of living below the poverty level. For reals. I've learned valuable lessons.

I'm still slated for Greece. That makes me excited about something.

Harry Potter Updates

Oliver continues to be the pantie thief. He is fast and furious. My new underwear were shredded in 2.5 seconds yesterday. My good ones. I can't afford anymore underwear additions and I am very picky about underwear. I do not like granny panties. I only like certain bikini styles and with my allergies, I have to be picky about fabric.  I'm not into chafing either. Therefore, we punt.

I have been very careful about putting clean ones away right away and he can't get them in my drawer...AND keeping dirty clothes out of reach until laundered. However, Bug is not. She is a misguided teenager living in bliss. Well, I wish the examples would be her undies not mine. She just takes laundry out willy nilly and throws it on the sofa without folding any of the clothes or putting them away. Grr. It eats my goat. And I don't even have any goats. I think we just need to resort to all being stark naked like times of Adam and Eve and heck with this humility and vanity. It would be cheaper.

Murphy and Moose are very clingy. It's odd, really. I often wonder if it isn't because they sense my sickness and battle with skin issues right now. Maybe they try to heal me with love or fur ball osmosis. Perhaps they have some voodoo magic.

Both of them snuggle up to me and lay their heads on my shoulders, lap, or feet. It feels like Otis squared. Oliver continues to growl at both of them when they get too close to his territory, but he is fickle and it is only when Sasha Fierce shows up, his alter ego. Otherwise, they all three surround me. Bug is not a fan and tries to deter their attention to her.

That's about it. I'm a ball of fire, I tell ya.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Tough Talk

This is going to be a rough ride. Most people might click off or go whisper around town that I have let the cheese slip off my cracker. It was brushed upon slightly in my last book if you read it.

So what really happens to cops in certain assignments? Like undercover work. Drugs? Prostitution? If they are doing online surfing for child predators, do they skate over to delve into the deviance of unlawful solicitation? No. In fact, that question might enrage people. WTF?

What's up with all that, Fargo? Where you comin' frem and wher' ewe goin' ta? Wall I well tell ewe.

Isn't hillbilly writing fun?

This might be more meaningful than my words.

Anyway, basically...sometimes you get some mental damage or mental garbage...i.e mind channeling dyscombobulation...going on in your head which may or may not be recognized by yourself or others.

Whew. That was a lot of science in one sentence.

For example, when I had a case involving a creepy creeper child molester (yes, that includes all of them) with multiple child victims and the cases included creepy touching, fetishes, and brutual mental or physical victimization...I sometimes went through periods of time where I could not have sex with my husband. I didn't want to. Anguish. That would describe it. It wasn't like the well went dry to be blunt. It was all up in the head and trickled down to the vagina and no desire. In fact the thought grossed me out a time or two. Nothing against my husband at the time. But I was broken.


Yes, there will be those naysayers out there who say..."Oh, you are just a girl and it is just a hole, stop saying you didn't haven any desire or things didn't want to work that way. Excuses. Lube it up and go." And those who say "a man is sensitive and we can understand about the kiddos, but the vajayjay takes a pounding and no big deal."

See. I still have some issues with wording from my cop days. It just all comes out like that. Crude and shit.

Did I seek any assistance like counseling or some super hot sex therapy or some sexual study?


Was there a magic pill to take?



Cuz there wasn't any. I didn't ask a doctor. Besides, Viagra was new. There was no Viagra for women and that wouldn't have cured the images in my head that were messing with my thoughts. I mean, when a 79 year old tells you the 3 year old was promiscuous and wanted it...it fucks you up. Especially, when you see the sexual assault aftermath to the child.



I couldn't even talk about it to my husband. Conveniently I would find something to kill that moment whether it was exhaustion, more work, kiddo stuff, or stalling. Occasionally I would have a drink to take the edge off and just be dutiful.

He sometimes noticed I wasn't myself. Or that I was not enjoying anything.

I lied about it.


Not cool.

Anyway...along came some decompression time...patrol duty...and the sexual revolution of me in my 40's. Wahoo! I was alive and horny. Like way.

It still continues. Not the dysfunction. Anyway. TMI.

Endorphins run high at my house! Woop! Woop!

Now you know the rest of the story.

You're welcome.

Speaking of mind gunk...

Recently, I realized my antisocial behavior and decompression mode has actually damaged my fun meter and now that I am back at being a social person at work and in my personal life with fishing and cop culture...I feel a little sunshine coming back. And confidence. I'm running and racing. Not winning the pack, but not last. Family (Bug and dogs) stuff is going full bore again.

Yet, I still love my independence and alone time. So I need to find a balance. When you are in the fog of war, you are oblivious to what goes on around you sometimes and how things affect you until it is over. It is true with work issues, depression, family drama, and decompressing from cop life. You just know you aren't on par and sometimes you aren't really happy. It sucks monkey ballz actually. You have to figure it out.

I was in a rut for a long time. Here is briefly what I learned...actually...it's the stripped down commando version...

Book writing saved me during the serial killer moments. Running has helped me physically and mentally. Food is energy, not a crutch. I must never stop drinking on occasion and smelling the roses to make sure they do smell.

And sometimes when life hits you in the kiester, you need to use butt salve and move on with it.

Yep. There it is.

This is new and can't be used by cops.


That all needed to be said.


Because I know I was not alone out there.


I know.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Vodka Moms

There is so much action and chaos at the Harry Potter House on school mornings.

It overwhelms me.

First, I try to get up before anyone else so I can enjoy my morning cup of joe and get my game face on before getting into the shower. Murphy is lazy and tries to talk me into staying in bed longer than my alarm tells me. Moose usually goes to Bug's room.

Oliver is Oliver. He starts all the drama.

His morning starts off with nabbing the discarded panties from Bug on the bathroom floor and running at full speed down the stairs keeping them from Murphy who wants the other end. This pretty much sounds like a herd of Fat Bastards. Usually, this starts a tug of war and wallah! The panties become sling shots and strands of cotton.

Which is all followed by a screaming teenager and buckets of tears.

I think it is actually an effective learning tool of picking up clothing items and putting them where they belong...LIKE IN THE HAMPER.

All this.

Whilst I drink my coffee watching the news or a recorded show. My peace interrupteth.


It's like living in a house full of kids.

And only one speaks English...but very LOUDLY. She has no inside voice.

Ring ring. Phone. Answer.

Man cop, "I caught a robber! Woohoo! Whatcha' doing? Getting ready for work? Gas station. Girl victim.Gotta go."

For a moment, I got a jolt and it wasn't from my coffee. Was it adrenaline? Surprise? Anxiety because it wasn't me on the robber thingy? Or just too damn early in the morning to absorb things?

I choose the latter.

Yep. Grand Central station.

At least I am entertained.

It is fully understandable why some mothers get committed to the funny farm and have to wear white jackets or drink Vodka at 6:00 AM or pop pills with Vodka at 6:00 AM.

Although...I'm not considering it...it is something I comprehend.

Perhaps it would have helped me to have some empathy on the job when I dealt with Vodka Moms. Lesson lost.

This looks particularly refreshing....

I am now accepting products for reviews on any type of Vodka or wine.

Friday, August 21, 2015

Decompression Days Disaster...

The stench was overwhelming. It triggered senses that I had long forgotten existed. Plus my nostrils were super sensitive to that familiar smell. Where was the body?


Never put your wet wading shoes in the trunk of your car in the heat of summer.

Beat me.


Gag reflexes still work marvelously. Sometimes, I wonder where I place my brain. Perhaps I need to call Serv Pro and have them do an overhaul on my car. No need to tell them it was a fishing episode. I could have fun.

"Yes, I am needing someone to come clean the dead body smell out of my trunk. How much does your company charge for that?"

In different news...I have made some observations...

I forgot how I acted when I was a cop until I observe other cops while being on the outside. It made me think how much I must have driven others crazy and I was wound so tight that even a pea would not have fit up my butt. Not that I would have tried that, but just an observation of how much stress law enforcement are under.

For example, I realized this last week that I, too, would get upset when my off duty plans did not work out according to plan. Everything was scheduled and thought out and if it went awry, it made me discombobulated. It works the same in man cops. Throws off their game.

Maybe it's because the off time is so precious.

I also got my game face on for work. Plus my game coffee and my game music on the way to work. I think this is a necessity. The difference between man cops and girl cops is I think the men brood longer and are more serious about game faces. Mine was a "Rocky moment." Theirs' seems to be more of an "Ortiz moment."

We waste so much time on these mental garbage moments that we don't adapt very well to change sometimes. Sometimes I think back and that might be why cops don't like new policies, learning new equipment, new rules, new demands. Now, things are much more relaxed for me.

Too bad all of law enforcement organizations didn't require cops to have a paid hiatus for about 1 year in the middle of their careers. I think it would be healthy. But no one is going recognize that unless they take a break.

When I came back the second time to duty, I was way ahead of the bus. Not to brag, but it puts life and cop work, communication skills, and dealing with people in a whole new perspective. I gained a lot in the 9 months I was off the job...and no I was not pregnant. It probably helped I was farming and making the world beautiful with my landscaping therapy.

Now, while I watch my new found friends from an outside point of view, I feel their pain. I really do. It tugs at my heart and trying to help them relax and decompress on days off by giving my advice probably falls on deaf ears. I don't know if I would have understood it myself back then.

So, I just have to shrug it off and lead by example. Maybe it will strike a chord someday.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

I'm A Bad Bass Fishergirl

I'm pretty sure I am going to lose my shit and the house and everything I own due to Oliver.  He keeps snatching up underwear and playing tug of war with it by inciting a riot with Murphy. This leads to rippage and destruction. And one pissed off Fargo. And my budget cannot handle another screaming teenager demanding another set of new underwear. I think I am about to go commando.

I'm dead serious.

Ok. I have to let that go. Talking about underwear brings up all those emotions when you see your cute dog wearing them on his head and bikinis now resemble a thong.

In other news...

I have had to go to the doctor twice. Like right now. They put me on steroids and I am not taking them unless I have a life and death attack from mosquitoes. They make my butt look big. The mosquito bite reactions keep getting worse. It's the strangest thing. The other day I looked like Elephant Man and now they are doing some things which make me think I am being injected with alien babies.

That actually would be brilliant if the aliens used mosquitoes that way.

Or our enemies with germ warfare.


I also have realized that bass fishing is not easy. Those bastards. They hide from me. I'm really good at catching trees and garbage. It's fucked up fishing.

What I do enjoy is getting used to this artificial, which I refer to as fake bait thingy. It's not even lures...which in Indiana they call it "lerrs." It might be a Norwegian thing. Do people know they named their kids Lars after fishing bait? I would really hate that if I were a kid.

So this fake bait. It's weird but kind of fun. I've got it down to a science now how to make those squiggly jigglies look like live critters. It's my finesse. Now I just have to figure out what the fuck they eat because it's not my squiggly jigglies. However, everyone else catches them with their fake bait. And I'm pretty sure that there is a piece to the puzzle I am missing. Maybe it's because at first I put things on that looked like real bait and then I started using the pretty ones. I mean seriously, how am I supposed to read a bass? Who would know that the damn things are picky. With trout it was flies and worms. Pretty basic...and they fight good.

Around here, these bass are heavy and pull but don't really fight hard like thrashing like a trout. They're just fat. It's like dragging fat bastard in from a donut binge. Except, I'm haven't caught anything lately.

But I still don't like it when they swim between my legs. It gives me the heebie jeebies.

So what am I going to do to improve my skills? Practice for one. Number 2 don't go to Dick's and ask them to help you because they set the girls up with the shit that doesn't sell.

And then cops laugh at you and you have to use a lot of fucks.

By the way, that store is appropriately named.

I even downloaded a book on how to read bass. Bend over. Yes, it is on my Kindle and was free. Why? Because I don't need any smart ass cops coming into my house and browsing my bookshelves and noticing any of that. Geesh.

And you guessed it...river fish act a lot alike...if they are in the teenager stage. Otherwise, it's anyone's guess.

I miss trout fishing.

But this is a challenge, so I will continue. I can say one thing...wow...there is a lot of litter and trash in the rivers around here and no one cleans it up. I was very grateful I didn't snag that tire, garbage can, and all those beer cans. It is really sickening. My complaints of the filth in the water landed on deaf ears. I think the cops around here think it's like conducting a search warrant. You never know what you might find. It makes me wonder what kind of fisherpeeps are out there being trashy slobs.

And it angers me. You don't want to piss off the Fargo. Just ask Oliver.

That's enough chaos and strange thoughts for the day.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Decompression Day #959

I learned a lot about myself this weekend.

First, I haven't fully decompressed from police life, but I see a progression.

Yesterday, on a hunt for an old but new fishing spot, I realized that man cops are wound really tight. I used to be like that. Not a man cop, but wound really tight. Plus, everything they do, they think they are going to be jeopardizing their man cards, so they tread lightly and go afraid.

Trudging through the river and rocks for some distance, we were pointing out some good spots where the bass might lie in wait. Mind you, I'm a trout person, so this is somewhat different for me. Good thing most river fish think alike so I didn't look too stupid.

As I was walking along the rocks, I noticed a natural phenomenon. I stopped suddenly. The man cop behind me kept making noise and talking about the great rock area on the bank as the best place to cast.

Then it happened.

I was surrounded in tornado fashion by hundreds of butterflies. They landed on me. I put my arms out to enjoy all the magic.

Then it happened.


"Yeah. So."

"It's amazing. Isn't that the coolest thing?"

"Who cares about butterflies? Did you see that rock area on the bank? Prime fishing holes."


I chose to ignore the triteness.

As I watched, the butterfly brigade reformed into a glob on some more rocks. I snuck up on them like Elmer Fudd. I braced myself for another tornado effect.  I did this over and over again. Apparently, it did not amuse man cops who could not appreciate such a natural wonder.

"Here I am so excited about a great fishing spot and you are fiddling with butterflies."

"Excuse me. This is magic. Look. One just landed on my boob."

"Not impressed."

"With my boob or the butterflies?"

"I really think when we bring our poles down I am going to work that bank with the rock ledges."

"Oh wow. Look at all the different colors!There's an orange one and a blue one..."

"You are like oh let's go...fishing! and SQUIRREL!"


Not that I wasn't excited about fishing because it is good for the soul and one of my favorite things to do. BUT...how often do you get tornadoed by hundreds of butterflies in the wild?

I think I had been wound that tight at one time when everything had to be according to plan and just so. If any off road driving occurred, the car was derailed. What a bitch I must have been.

Yep. I'm pretty sure I acted like a bitch.

Note to self. Take a moment to enjoy new things and gifts put in front of you.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Little Vampires

Fishing In The Dark

It's cool. Indiana has no fishing hours. 24/7. Limits are large.

You might be surprised that I have gone fishing. It is really peaceful and nice to get away, even though here in Indiana, I can't really be alone in a wilderness setting. And weird...the water is warm, not Rocky Mountain cold. Luckily, some nice farmers have obliged for a private short retreat. Then came the mosquitoes. Ah well. What's a little misery and Benadryl and chronic itching? I took one for the team.

After my legs were swollen and beyond inflamed to hot as hell fire red, I snorked down some Benadryl and went into a deep sleep. I woke up feeling much better, but apparently also sleeping through my alarm for work.


I blamed it on the mosquitoes but my office manager was not impressed. Maybe that has never been attempted before. I'm all about breaking new ground.

You would not believe how many people are blaming these reactions to me having Early Onset Menopause EOM ( it is a disease) and my body changing. Really?

It's fucking mosquitoes! The little bastards.

Benadryl is the most powerful OTC drug ever in my humble opinion. Ok. So that opinion is based upon it's effects on me. There are many side effects. For instance, I feel like I should declare it National Siesta Day. Like.Right.Now. Worthless I am. One capsule and I am out for an entire night and next day. Slug. You can also mix it with alcohol and create your own roofies. Bonus!

What goes great with fishing? Beer. Duh. Add Benadryl. Not a good combo.

In the meantime, my house chores are not getting accomplished starting with my grass which looks like a hay field accompanied by my trophy weeds in the garden. So what do I do? Scrap all fun activities just to keep up with being neat and orderly? Nope. I am slumping into ghetto life. After all, the weeds will still be there in the morning and make new ones. But fish? I might miss the big one.

The Shriners Are In Town

The Republican Debate is tonight. Woohoo! I hope to watch it unless I get interrupted by household members. Can't wait to see and hear what goes on around the podium. Should be informative and full of entertainment. Will Trump be bombastic or tone it down? Will they have anything valuable to say or will it be filled with political fluff? Inquiring minds want to know. You know...how colorful can Donald Trump get in 45 second blips? Hmm.

Give Me Death

And in non-related news...the plague strikes Colorado. Erg. What the erpie derp? We should fly over America with a massive amount of flea spray and combat that problem. I'm all about bombing the shit out of things before they become an epidemic...just like ISIS. If you don't mess around, you tackle the problem out front. Bam. No more of that. Or we could all go on a safari and kill prairie dogs and gophers. They would only make the fleas find another host. Hmm...that might remind me of  another small issue we had...al Quaeda. See? I could be the Secretary of Defense.

In all seriousness, I think it is the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse. Television fooled us by thinking it would start in Atlanta. It really started in Fort Collins. Whodathunk?

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Off Road Driving

I have not expired on some side road by the hands of a serial killer in case you were wondering. My life plate is full right now. Edits to all the old books are in order and occupy much of my time as does my social calendar. What am I going to do with them when they are redone? I don't know. It will make me feel better.

Bug's birthday was yesterday and now we coast into the next holiday. Only so many days before Labor Day. Gotcha. You thought I was going to give you one of those Christmas plugs.

On the way to work today for some reason my mind started wandering about court testimony. Weird. I have no idea what goes there. Perhaps it was an idea which generated in my head about my next serious post (yikes boring topic) for the site I write for. Or maybe it is a sign I am going nuts. You pick.

Then, when I got to work, I got the computer rolling, all that morning prep stuff and checked my personal email. I know...bad me. I had offered to help my friend's son (33 yr old) choose a profile pic for his online dating adventure. We discussed cropping the pic to make it nice without the background stuff. And...I offered to help write his blurbs so he possibly attracts a NICE girl instead of a ho. So...directions...clean up...put a nice shirt on and take a selfie. Yeah. Don't send Auntie Kathryn your penis. And wear pants. SMH. I swear. No off road driving with Fargo. Come on.

I might be able to see where the evolution of ho's comes into play.

My life. Extraordinary. It's what's for dinner.

Not the penis.