Evidence 101

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







Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Climate Control

Sow what?

It is no secret I am a master gardener and I owned a tree nursery/landscaping business. Sometimes those talents bled over into my cop work. How? You might ask. Let me take you back in time for a Throwback Thursday moment to explain...

Family fights plagued the city for most of the evening. Sarge and I responded to an all too familiar address. It was the only ghetto rental in the big tree area which was home to moderate income families. Much to the neighbors disgust, their phones often dialed 911 for disturbances.

Sarge had arrived prior to me and had already been talking to the upset male half of the domestic. Apparently, the female half had fled the residence with her "new" boyfriend, leaving her husband behind. Walking up the rickety steps, I found myself in the middle of a garden...only it was supposed to be the living room. Potting soil, plants, pots....thrown all over the front room. To my right was a coffee table that had been "karate chopped". Much to my amazement, the only thing not disturbed was the new flat screen television.

ME: Wow. Been gardening, John?

ANGRY JOHN: (Sigh) Lady, I have been taking anger management classes.

ME: Looks like they are working.

ANGRY JOHN: Look. It's my stuff. I broke it. I can break my stuff.

SARGE: Well, sure you can. However,  it isn't a very good sign that your anger reduction plan is even working. Especially when we come to things thrown around, you are angry, red in the face, and the missus has disappeared. Besides, you are bleeding.

ME: I think gardening is a great stress reliever.

JOHN: You don't have to be a smart ass. I live here. I am under control.

SARGW: Apparently not. Look around you.

JOHN: Look I hit things. I don't hit people.

SARGW: Fair enough.

ME: Well...can I give you some advice?

JOHN: Oh, go ahead, lady. Like I have a choice.

ME: Philodendrons and cactus don't go in the same pot. Different climate and soil conditions.


Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Five-Oh BitchCraft



Five things you may not know about me personally and essentially non-PoPo related:

1. I like manicures and pedicures. It is the only time I feel like a princess, otherwise I resort to tomboy. I don't like to do them myself. I like the spa kind. My pocket book does not. Luckily, around these parts this here treatments is cheap. 

2. Gardening is my therapy. I used to own a nursery and landscaping business. I love all kinds of gardening, even pulling weeds. I need a lot of it. Sometimes I wet my plants.

3. When I go out to eat, I prefer Thai, Chinese, sushi, or a good 'ol juicy prime rib. Sometimes I like myself a little Mexican. I am very diverse. I am also not a cheap date and like really fancy restaurants. That's probably why I don't get out to eat much. And sushi is a recently (age of 47) acquired taste and I love, love, love it! Thank you for that adventure, Kevin!

4. I have tattoos...two of them. I love them. I want more, but then I think maybe not. It has nothing to do with my mother. I like tattoos on me and other people. It's sexy if it is done right and horrific if done all wrong. I get to channel my inner gangster. Before you utter a word, neither tattoo will be sagging down my pants as I do not sport any tramp stamps or booby murals. At a ripe old age, who is going to give a shit anyway? Back in the day, tattoos were for hoodlums, so they got a reputation. But then we got progress. Isn't progress great? The sagging myth I think was a poor deterrent our mothers made up and it went viral. If you don't like them, that's OK. They aren't for everyone. 

5. Some of the joys in my household are attributed to my daughter and my puppies. It's pretty crazy around the house and I like it busy like that. Me overreacting, probably. Except on Sundays. We all know it is relax day. So weird. I like Sundays. I like to fish.


Five things you may not know about me as a cop:




1. I love to drive fast. I loved to drive fast in the PoPo car. I would like to drive code...all the time. Sometimes I got reprimanded with a grin when I was not supposed to be driving fast. This is mostly at night because no one is out there and I needed to go. No sense messing around and I can't blame the traffic for slowing me down at that time. Day shift sucked really bad because I had to be good. Traffic created obstacles which was kind of fun like a slalom race. However, during the day you really can only go fast if you are driving code. I never crashed a cruiser going forward or fast. I only crashed a cruiser backing up. Who put those poles there?

2. Donuts are our friends. Let's stop hating on the donuts. Why do cops love them so much? Well, if you have to ask, then you don't know donuts. 

3. I was really happy on patrol all of the time. It showed in my physique and attitude. I had a lot going on in my personal life to keep me busy at both times when I did the duty (before and after I was a detective). When I was a detective, I was happy with a lot of stress accessorizing my outfits. It was very rewarding and I wouldn't change a thing about it.

4. I had bad dreams. Bullets flying, vests not working, near misses and sound effects. I still have those all the time.

5. I would enjoy patrolling the nice neighborhoods on day shift to get landscaping ideas. I would also critique their yards and some just had no knack or flavor. At night, I loved driving slow in the hood. I love the activities in the hood. Love, love. 

You can read my latest post on Uniform Stories here...

I'm so excited to be a guest writer on this site. Check it out!




Thursday, April 21, 2016

Letters to Mother

Pooped I am.

I have been working like a dog on writing and exercising. They do not go hand in hand, but they compliment one another. The bad thing is when I am lost in thought on a country road and have an idea...and I can't write it down. By the time I get home, it is gone.

And I have not been a faithful friend in the blog world. Apologies.

However, I am back because my brain is fried and I wrote 6 articles. Here are two published ones. I am so excited to be featured as a guest writer on Uniform Stories. You can read it here.  If you feel inclined to share it, rate it, or comment, please do. The more traffic it gets, the better chance I could have at a writing position.

And on my serious side...I went a little off track from the usual educational road...and put out a shocker. It is all about my mother. Or something. You can read it here. 

You have to watch this. Nova Scotia brilliance right here. It just makes me smile.



Instant summer has arrived and I am already hauling in the air conditioner unit. It is heavy. Ugh. Either that or I am getting older and weaker. Shad up!

The national news is pretty much the same so no need to give any more headaches without aspirin shots here. Stay alert. Be vigilant. 

Except...I am mourning the death of Prince right now. Sigh. 

RIP.

Monday, April 18, 2016

How To Eat Crow

All I dreamt about when I started working in a support staff position at the Casper Police Department in Casper, Wyoming, was being a cop. I took my time deciding if becoming a police officer was the right career for me, rather than jumping right in.  After a couple years, I tested for community service officer and was chosen for the appointment. This was a monumental time in my life. About 6 months into the job, my department had openings for police officer positions. I was eager to apply. It was a happy day when I was chosen to interview for oral boards. I passed with flying colors. 

My recruit officer candidacy was rocky- not because I didn’t pass the tests or oral boards with flying colors- but because I was thought of as “the nice community service officer” and not favored by the supervisors for the job of a patrol officer.  There was hesitation and doubts amongst the administrators with my lack of street experience.

Many sergeants vocalized to the department that I could not handle myself in a bar fight. Not because I lost one, mind you, but because I was so “nice”.  Other complaints had piled up in regards to me being unable to handle any dangerous street situation. This group of supervisors (men) protesting my selection started a chain reaction of holds and “do-overs” in the hiring process.

After I was informed my selection was being revoked, I was called into Internal Affairs (IA). The IA sergeant told me the situation with my candidacy being withdrawn and the concerns expressed by some administrators to create such a revocation. He refused to tell me the names of my protesters, but I rattled them off in a big list and he smiled. There was a long pause of silence.

Silence is awkward for me, so I had to say something for my cause.  I told him, “Sir, I promise to work so hard. You will not be disappointed. I just need a chance. If I fail after that chance, I will accept that this career is not for me and the sergeants were right. But if I succeed, move out of my way because I will not disappoint the organization. But I just need a chance.” I was dismissed after further questioning and my hopes of becoming an officer were diminished.

Several days later, I was relieved as the sergeant had found no grounds for me to be disqualified. He passed me forward onto the police academy much to the dismay of my dissenters. I was determined to make them all eat crow and boy, was I miffed. As the cards fell, I was given the badge number “Adam-96” and so fitting it became over the years. I completed the police academy with flying colors and moved onto the Field Training Officer Program (FTO).


Once we got the car per man program-I got the old 67 in 2012. Love, love!


The day I finished the FTO program, I received my team assignment from the lieutenant. When it was announced, I mostly got condolences. Not only was it the worst team comprised of old grumpy fart veterans, but the two sergeants running the shift were the gruffest of them all. No mercy had been bestowed upon me. I think that was cooked up on purpose because there was a pool going around to see how long it would take before I failed at being a cop.

I called my new blue family “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly”. The Good contained two patrol officers: one was my area partner and the other was another female. [We had 6 total female officers on the entire department (95 officers) including myself.] They welcomed me to the shift. In fact, there would be no greater area partner. He performed all of his police work to perfection and was a great mentor to me. He was also a Field Training Officer, so he was the cream of the crop. The Bad contained the officers with at least 10 years on who still thought humans existed. The Ugly were the 15 and overs; a bunch of ruthless men who acted like boys and were considered lazy.

They were all evil upon first impression, especially in mass. A time or two they would watch me fight someone all by myself. For all I knew, they could have been gambling on my success or the odds of my failure. I did not give up nor did I lose a fight. It may not have been pretty, but I had reached into some unknown bag of tricks plus used survival instinct to come out on top.

God gave me the strength to endure the alienation I felt.  In today’s times, their behavior would not have been tolerated including the times they wouldn’t help me in fights, nor show up when I called for backup (called circling the block). Certainly all of the severe hazing would not be accepted. It would now be grounds for disciplinary actions in most departments. However, I never said a word. I felt it was my duty to suck it up and work like a dog to prove myself as an officer and a woman. This created a dangerous mindset for myself. I did not trust my fellow officers.

There were times I called off back up on a traffic stop, told them to leave my call, or ignored them just because I couldn’t stand to work with them. I became John Wayne, only in drag, because I was the girl variety. It wasn’t smart. It was mental survival, while disregarding physical safety. I think I threw myself out there to the wolves and criminals without backup- without support-to show them I could do it and, in turn, I sacrificed “cop safety 101”. By the grace of God, I was lucky nothing really bad ever happened.

Then there was “the other girl cop”.  She was kind and helped me out, pushed me to prove myself, but still kept the wolves at bay. She fit in. She gave me pep talks and showed me how to put them in their place. Some of the time it worked, but mostly not. Her mentoring happened on breaks or off duty, because she worked about 6 miles from me on the other side of town.

We did go to calls together occasionally because back then, there were very few cops and a lot of city. We covered some ground in which I got lost and often. They ridiculed me every day about my directional challenges and silly mistakes. It was a marriage made in hell, but I owned all of it and kept going. I had the drive of a true blue flame. The work ethic drove the old veterans bat shit crazy because at 3:30 AM when they usually took naps, I was making an abundance of traffic stops and building checks which required backup. Despite their chastising of me, I continued to do it out of spite. Plus, I could not live with myself if I wasted time doing nothing. We had no performance standards at the time so the only thing pushing me was personal pride.

After about 6 months, I had proven myself on some big calls.  The jabs and estrangement subsided. They had to keep up or get out of my way. I think they underestimated the power of a scorned woman. Their anamosity had empowered me to fight for what I wanted to do. Not only did I want to do the job, I wanted to succeed as an officer.  


I had kept my mouth shut but after a few months, my mouth did not stay zipped. I think I took my peers by surprise by standing up for myself. Purgatory was over and I became one of the crew. Words cannot express how it feels when you are finally accepted by your team.

Despite our differences, we all became close knit and worked well together for a few years until I was selected as a detective. I also took that experience and protected any new rookies who made an appearance on my team from any antagonism my crew tried to dish out in my presence. Perhaps these behaviors would not fly in present day law enforcement as police agencies have all progressed out of those times. It was common practice in those days.

I have no regrets.  In fact, their antics made me stronger and helped develop my self-awareness and emotional intelligence. I have to thank them for that. I learned how to survive the dangers of the streets, and they were forced to work as a team…even if there was a girl on it.  We accepted our polar opposite views of the job and they embraced my strengths.




All of those on my original shift are now gone from the department, including myself. We are either retired, working at different departments, or embedded into a new career. We would still do anything for each other if we were called to action, in the line of duty, or facing a personal crisis.

Police officers have a common purpose to serve and protect the citizens of their community. During these moments of working in dynamic situations, you have to rely on each other. Only those in uniform understand one another to the point you  know when your partner is going to veer right and so you go left without uttering a word. Certainly we all know and understand the process it takes to get to the blue bond. 

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Strange As The Color 9

Today's piece is brought to you by the letters S,T, the word "range", and the color 9. I bet you just put that together as Strange as the Color 9. You might be right. 

Let me demonstrate in a meme...(it's been around the world a hundred times, but it is still funny)...




I think my first mistake was watching the news and then reading it online. It was a double whammy. If we were only to read headlines these days and not the entire articles, we might think we have reached the Zombie Apocalypse, several rebel groups have been forming on the outskirts of town to overthrow the world, the Wild Wests (Kim and Kanye) are running the country, and our placement into sectors has been determined on The Voice. Meanwhile, public stoning came back and people are put on death row based upon Facebook polls.

Sometimes I look around and wonder which planet I got dropped off on. Then the goat got kidnapped again...

This really got my goat today in the news....




Therefore, since my panties are in a wad, I am going to just go with the flow of weird across the nation and totally go off the grid just like everyone else. After all, I am a sheeple. (It really hurt to type that.) Good thing this post is full of false narratives and alien psychology. So here you go...

Word of the week is: midgin.

A person who has had no sexual intercourse with a midget

The state of being a Midgin is known as Midginity 
(Urban Dictionary)
Used in a sentence: Fargo is a Midgin and remains in the state of Midginity. 

Have fun with that. I have no idea. It was just there on the internet and I had to share because I had never heard of it before. Strange. I wonder how many Midgins are in the world and do we really care?
Another Color 9 moment is that Greg is supposed to report back to work today! Yay! Glad he is healed after Glockgate. See:Prelude To A Kiss for the entire write up. 
I know you all have been waiting on the history of color psychology and why it is so effective in marketing. I did learn something in college. Just in case you think I made this up, I am now going to provide you the quote from Wikipedia...so it is true...it's the like Google Bible of Random Knowledge and Facts. Of course, who knows who the authors are to most of the blips on that site, but there they enter these random facts for all of us to behold!
"Color psychology is the study of hues as a determinant of human behavior. Color influences perceptions that are not obvious, such as the taste of food. Colors can also enhance the effectiveness of placebos. For example, red or orange pills are generally used as stimulants. Another way in which colors have been used to influence behavior was in 2000, when the company Glasgow installed blue street lights in certain neighborhoods in order to reduce the crime rate. Color can indeed influence a person; however, it is important to remember that these effects differ between people. Factors such as gender, age, and culture can influence how an individual perceives color. For example, males reported that red colored outfits made women seem more attractive, while women answered that the color of a male's outfit did not affect his attractiveness."
I know for a fact that blue lights reduce the crime rate. Duh. I turned them on frequently when I was a cop and people magically got in the back seat of my car and stopped being naughty for a few days. Bam! Crime reduced. 
Red makes us women attractive? Attract what? Flies? Boys? Looks? Whistles? Shit magnets?
OK ladies...go get those red dresses. 
Boobs=more followers
I am a little too fat to fit into mine right now. However, I am working on that. I will have to use this picture to remind myself for inspiration and that I had boobs at one time not long ago that were not all over the place. 
Maybe today we need some purple. Here is purple color psychology according tot the internet experts: "Purple relates to the imagination and spirituality. It stimulates... (they used the word stimulates...[giggle])...the imagination and inspires high ideals heels. It is an introspective color, allowing us to get in touch with ourselves deeper thoughts. "I kind of edited some stuff in there. 
Have a great day! Go touch yourself! Go be purple today!

Thursday, April 7, 2016

21 Signs Your Body Is Not Taking Out The Trash


It's all about the bass...what weather? It's all about the bass...damn weather!

Hi!

Good day to you, normal people,  from rainy Oregoniana!~

Or, should I say Washindiana!

Blah. I love rain. Mostly in Wyoming because it never happened much and then I could go outside and run naked in it. Now...rain is melancholy. We were just talking in the office about how come Indiana does not have bright skies, but they are always somewhat filtered or grey. In the west, I have to wear my sunglasses all the time all year round or face piercing burns and blue eyed blindness. Here...eh. They aren't always necessary. Strange.

If we are going to be stuck in the rain, I think I need one of these:

Yes, please!
And each morning after watching the news, I am sadly disappointed I didn't start out the day with a Martini.

Things are getting interesting up New York way. Stay tuned. I think both parties are trying to beat out the other party's circus. Oh, the joys of mud slinging. You know what is amusing? I don't recall any election having all these protesters. Is this going to be the way of the new world?

"Oh, pardon me, I don't like you...read my sign." Except, it gets followed by a whack or a punch to the balls. So weird. I have a sign for you...
I don't like myself? Wait. I think I was
impostering  an idiot for an example.


Soon. We will all be fancying around town and having our feelings on our forehead in black Sharpie. Goodness. Maybe like Elvis....only different.

Yes, please!

Whiskey-tango-foxtrot.

This new generation that my generation created...is going to be the death of me. It's certain. I think they got really confused with the hippie generation when they actually protested for worthy causes. 

But, alas, arguing with idiots is like playing chess with a pigeon. Only funner.






Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Its Head Came Off By Accident

I love the title. The long awaited book review I promised is here! My mom gave me as a gift and I was immediately excited because the Mead family has quite a history in Wyoming.

The book,  Its Head Came Off By Accident by Muffy Mead-Ferro is a memoir. If you click on the title, it will take you to a write up. If you click on Muffy's name, it will take you to Amazon.



Let me preface things a little.

Muffy and I don't know each other although we attended the same classes at the same university and have the same major. We were strangers. I worked with her brother distantly on some cases when he was a US Attorney. But... I followed her mother, Mary Mead, a Republican, in politics. I am very familiar with the family ranches she writes about growing up on. I voted for Mary Mead. I also voted for her son, Matt Mead, the current governor. On a side note, I don't always agree with what he does and sometimes I get downright mad. I know he as a person tries to do what he thinks is right, but is influenced by outside forces. I will say no more about that.

Now that makes us close to family, right?

Ha. Anyway, I think Mary was defeated because she was a woman. I don't have anything negative to say about Sullivan, but I think that the people of the Republican Wyoming state did not quite embrace a woman as governor back then....even though it was 1990. Need I say more about progress.

Mary Mead died while on her ranch, working, and by a horse accident. I was greatly saddened back then. I remember hearing it on the radio first. It wasn't the voice of Walter Cronkite, of course, but the voice I remember told it as devastatingly as Walter Cronkite would have. Only it was the radio. I probably know the person who aired it first, but it doesn't come to mind.

She was the last of her kind, a tough pioneer lady. So with her death, came the loss of an era.

As you can imagine then... instantly, I felt I had to read this. Besides, my mom has good taste in books.

First, I must warn you, there is no plot...it's a memoir. Life is plot enough. It is also slow moving in some parts.

However, it is intelligently written and endearing.

It's funny how we relate to persons or characters when we read. Muffy describes things about the lands of Wyoming and her family held them as dear as I do. Ranching is a way of life, not a job. And the majesty of the land was too much to behold on some days. We also respected it.

Now her life in no way parallels mine except our parent (her mother and my father) both died young and we grew up on ranches in Wyoming on the same side of the state. However, Farson does not look like Jackson in any way. Nor is it near as valuable. Albeit, she grew up on legendary ground of many prime acres and I grew up on a nice plot.

I even teared up when she talked about Mary's death.

She really brought home the times we grew up and the era of the last American cowboy. Her family members were well off and politically famous. One even an ad star for cigarettes. But, I felt it contained compassion and love for the land, but lacked emotion when she wrote about her family. In fact, it seemed at times the family were distant with one another and mostly referred to each other as business partners. Maybe she was trying to be matter of fact in the history. I don't know.

Despite the downers I shared, It was well worth the read and very interesting. I enjoyed it. If you like western stories and want to know more about political history and the insides of a family, I suggest you get a copy.