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!

Monday, April 25, 2016


Oh for Pete's sake. Poor Pete. I thought I would get caught up in the world of news since I had been out of the loop the last week. The first headline I see on ABC News is Cruz, Kasich conspire to stop Trump and Trump calls it collusion. Collusion is such an ominous word. Well, yeah.

Or if you want to sound dirty...it's a conspiracy! But not a secret one. This election is wearing me the fuck out. My brain is heavy.

Not only is this "collusion" a media theory, but the two have announced it. It's true! So, I guess then it is true. Yep, it must be.

Like we all didn't see that coming. Those establishment Republicans. Geesh. Well, we all know that is why Kasich is still in the race. He has no chance and anyone with half sense would bow out. But see...that way he can make a mess of the delegates and dilute the votes. Kids they are. I would almost die laughing if they lost that plan in a ball of fire. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

It seems like the Ohio mass killing of a family might be a marijuana drug operation style execution. Holy ballz. Mary Jane is such a bitch. But the great state of Ohio will get down to the nitty gritty as 100 investigators are on the case. Shizzle me. That would have been our entire police force.

On. one. case.

It is mind blowing. However, the danger is not over for other family members they say. They said that outloud. Like on the news. Sheesh. Whoever the Rhoden family ( Cartel?) pissed off are plum mad.

Homicides and shootings everywhere including one at a prom. I can't imagine. Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. Why can't we just duke it out like the good old days?

I think I liked my life of quiet bliss without news. I might return to it.

In Fargo news, I did get another article published on Uniform Stories and I am so excited about this. Here it is in all it's glory.  It's about a lot of snark and truth: 7 Myths About Female Cops. Check it out. Woohoo! This venture is super awesome right now!

And, lastly,  this is my personal struggle with working out:

Five miles last night though was cake. I am loving it. It might just be one of those days or perhaps the music choices I made. Or perhaps it is that last hoorah before I croak. Who knows? But it was awesome!

But alas, I'm old and things do not quite work without a little grease in the joints. Ok. Stop. That sounded really bad. And I have no problem in that one spot. It's the knees! Too much ...NO! Stop. This is not the hour of gutter talk. Those issues can be found on another site.

I should train to be healthy and fit so I can live an active lifestyle. I would rather get hit by a bus than have to imagine not being able to move around at least a little freely. ..even with a Rascal or walker, you still have motion. Cops should train for that reason and to survive fights, attacks, and any enemy who presents him or herself. Why? Because the bad guy does and we don't like to lose any of those battles.

In the races, I don't want to be last, but in life, you want to be the last one standing.

Be safe! Be vigilant!

Ginger Reflections

There are many problems in the world of communication. My biggest problem has always been my mouth. It's true. Wait. You are laughing? Ok. So that was redundant.

Much to everyone's surprise, I have been told that since I was a wee little baby. It did not just develop one night, but I was born that way. Hallelujah!

The main issue is that I don't sugar coat shit and I have no filter. Maybe that isn't an "issue" but a wonderful character trait of mine. This was sometimes helpful when I was a cop.  However, when it comes to the real world, you get a barrage of Fargo and this is problematic. Why? It is the explosion of goodness or not so which accompanies the limit of with I can stand.

It takes a lot to get me to X you out of my life. A lot. That rarely happens. I am usually always here. However, that gets taken advantage of and I become a doormat. A doormat keeps hoping some people will change or turn nice because they believe in the kindness of humans. It isn't always so. Sometimes people are just poops.

So here are 5 of my faults:

1. I am a fixer. Everything and everyone can be healed and just needs to know the love of Fargo. The world will be great and the fairies will fart rainbows. I swear. I am there for you through thick and thin...whether you like it or not. You don't have to ask. I just read things and here I am for you. Ta da! I don't feel I am annoying at this part, but I just seem to be the one people confide in or expect to make it better. This is a fault? Yes, sometimes I take on too many burdens and sometimes I just need not to be the counselor.

2. I don't like conflict so I want to resolve it right now. Even when it isn't a good time for everyone else. Right now is a good time for me. I think conflict festers and there is no sense not to work things out or clear the air. Life is too short to have stupid stuff get in the way of it. Watch out because in order to resolve conflict you have to get real. I get real. My diplomacy goes out the window.

3. When I am done getting run over by the bus of forgiveness, I am done. It takes umpteen times before I leave your world, but when I am gone...it's a true western ending. My Christian ways have limits. I know, it is so not church like.

4. When I am mad or you have hurt my feelers to the deepest point, you get hit with an artillery bombardment of whatever it is that pissed me off. Ratta tat tat. When the Irish, Scottish, German temper subsides, I have left nothing behind. Like NO MAN. In fact, they wouldn't want to be with me after the aftermath of my words. I like to think I am making them better for the next woman so they don't fuck that up. Flames!

So when everything builds up to the snapping point, I will make you rue the day you were born. But when I am happy, you have my undivided attention and affection and I even cook and shit.

Oh, you didn't know that I have red roots and dye my hair blond to be a strawberry blond? Yep. Sometimes I am really, really blond and the ginger is just in my blood, so it doesn't show on the outside.

5. I give so much there is nothing left of myself. And then I don't have enough for my kid or myself. I'm trying to change that.

Sometimes these pew pew pews are good. Sometimes they are very, very bad. There are days I have regrets about going off on a binge of vocabulary. But then when I clear the battlefield and the smoke subsides, it seems maybe that was the way the world was supposed to be. Maybe I was supposed to drive that person away because that was a toxic situation. Maybe I was a big fat asshole and they benefited from not having me in their life anymore. One way or the other, it is what it is. I do this all without hate. I might be angry, but I don't hate anyone. It's just my breaking points have reached that exact moment you want to be on another planet.

It worked good for the bad guys. They needed counseling, scolding, or fixing. I was probably more diplomatic with them at most times. Sometimes you just have to speak the language of the streets.

It doesn't work so good all the time for the other humans. Perhaps I am too brutal in the ending and I should find softer landings for the carnage. But why do people push me? Oh, I know why! Because I am so nice and forgiving and I am resilient. Gah.

I have grown to the point if you don't impress me as a man (dating) in a few months, you aren't going to and I think the serial killer taught me that. And maybe a couple boyfriends after that divorce. What a great life lesson that was. Egads. We don't need to relive it. I think I handed out more forgiveness than God gave me sense in that relationship. I should have punched him in the junk about a gazillion times. How many knocks in the head with a baseball bat does one person need before they wake up? I have no idea, but I think I hold the record.  Oh, yeah. I will give up my soul for growing old with someone and finding love. It's the ginger way.

Oh, I still wait around for that magic moment and I still forgive and forgive. I say I am sorry over and over again even when I have done nothing wrong. I take the heat. Why? Because I like to resolve conflict even at my own expense. What's more than umpteen? A lot. That's how many times I forgive. I do that more so with friends than courtships anymore.

When I was younger, I never cared much for bad times and tried to make amends even when I felt it wasn't my place to do so. My eyes are wide open now. I don't think I can always do that.

I am beginning to learn that you have to know which bridge to cross and when to burn it. But should I cross it first and then burn it? Or burn it first and take a different rout? It's all so confusing. I was never good at engineering.

I liked it better when I was a cop and dealt with other people's problems.

I am trying to be kind. Just like my grandmother taught me. No matter what. But that ginger in me keeps appearing at inopportune times. Oh well.

Life is a drawing board, right?

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. 


Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Sex Offender Island

Sex Offender Island  

Here's a little blast from the past and an excerpt you might have heard me spout off...
My solution to our problem with child predators? Sex Offender Island.   
Think about it. 
Over the years, I have debated this question in my mind over and over. I firmly believe they can never be rehabilitated. Professionals will tell you the same…at least the ones that are honest with you and not trying to give you political window dressing and rehab fluff. 

Several sex offenders will tell you the same about themselves…they can’t be rehabilitated. THEY WILL SAY IT ABOUT THEMSELVES. (tap, tap) Duh! Hello! That is what we in law enforcement call a C.L.U.E.

I think, secretly, in their mind they hope for it; that they can be rehabilitated. But what tells us the most about whether our systems are successful in this battle is history and the offender him- or herself. 
No one single sex offender hit home more with this reality than one I put away for over 20 years. He even said that 20 years wasn’t going to be long enough. His criminal career started out in the 80’s when he was labeled the mysterious “unsub” (unknown subject) on the west coast as "The Columbia River Rapist". Stalking young children, raping and sodomizing them, and then beating them with shovels until almost dead was his MO (Modus Operandi). I read the case file before I interviewed him about the cases I had piling up on him in my town. What was even worse-he told me the back story.   
Once captured, he blamed the police for planting his DNA inside the children’s vaginal and anal cavities. That was his defense. He was sent to prison. Then he was released after serving a short sentence, changed his name legally, and moved to my town.  

I first met him in 2004-one hundred (100) or more victim children later. I took over the case that was long ignored by law enforcement and DFS. He had been reported over and over. No one could prove anything. It was one of those cases that rode the fine line of attention and although we all knew something sinister was going on, we needed that one thing: proof. In fact, my DFS partner prodded me to look into some strange reports she was getting through citizen complaints to her department. 

My DFS partner and I worked his case for several months, traveling the globe (at least our little globe of Wyoming and Colorado).  Finally, arrest and search warrant day came. We went toe to toe-only he had grown wise to the system and was much harder to crack. He changed his MO to avoid capture. He befriended parents. He groomed children. He slipped into church and school functions. He took kids out of town. The violence still inside his mind plagued him which caused him to act out his fantasies. This time he learned to control his temper and desires and to avoid the injuries to his victims,  but instead displaced the abuse onto his wife and children. He sodomized his own sons. He beat his wife. He beat his kids.  
Incredibly, he succeeded in his activities. He became several personalities. It worked for over 15 years. That’s how they think. All of them. Some worse than others.  
The criminal mind fascinates me. Often when I got a confession, I dove into what drives them. I wanted to know what was inside their mind? They would answer. Our conversation must have resembled what they revealed to their therapist. Only it was me, Fargo the Cop.  I think most perps can psychoanalyze themselves as well and regurgitate what their psychiatrists tell them. They are all the same. I could cut and paste their brain activity and thoughts and the next guy would say…“that’s me.”  
So how do we fix them? We can’t. They cannot be rehabilitated. What they have told me is they can somewhat function in society with very high supervision and a tough monitoring system…and a very tight leash…with a choker chain.  
Another child molester told me what worked best for him was his weekly psychiatric visits, monthly polygraph tests, an ankle bracelet with GPS, probation and parole home visits, drug testing, and a work release job away from children. The address registration is just part of the process. Then there is the flyer notifications to neighbors, warning them of a potential threat. That’s a lot of tax payer dollars. When I spoke to him in 2008, he had not had any police reports, complaints, or victims come forward for 10 years.  Do you know what his program had to cost? Wow. But that's what they need.
Now, do I believe he has re-offended? Yes, at least in his mind. Over and over. And inside his mind he is planning the perfect opportunity. If it lands in his lap…so to speak…it will happen. He knows that. He told me he struggles to live every day without bad thoughts and he can’t. He worries every day he will offend a child. And he will someday if the perfect opportunity comes his way. Would you want to risk that man victimizing your child? Or any child? Absolutely not.  
Sex.Offender. Island.  
Sounding better all the time, isn’t it?  
I’m a cynical and sarcastic former cop…and a wishful thinker. But it isn’t something that will happen unless Martial Law takes over the land. THERE IS NO CURE. They are like Zombies, only we aren’t allowed to shoot them in the head, but they don’t have a virus, so they really aren’t like Zombies at all. Bad analogy.   

So, in the meantime, while we are all waiting…the best thing I can suggest is a very precise and detailed monitoring system for these offenders and at the same time try to make them productive enough in society to pay for their own system. 

First and foremost…innocent people’s needs and safety must prevail over the criminal... for once.   

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. 

Friday, April 15, 2016


Goodness me! Our little sleepy town is up to 2 homicides this year already! They are both shootings thus far. Do we classify it as gun violence? NO! I hate those words combined. The guns didn't do anything but become an instrument. Sadly, some of our community members exercised violent behavior and selected a weapon of choice as a firearm. Public enemy=mean people, not firearms.

Even though I live in a Republican dominant state, I live in a Democrat town. So, you can imagine what is going to come of this. Perhaps you thought it would say: Gun Violence Strikes Our Community Again.



This is truly today's headling:

Muncie man shot dead; suspect released


I love the drama. Oh, the police just let the dude go? Wait. There is more.

The paper said this is an area of town where "gunfire" is frequently reported. Like it's a fucking mysterious epidemic thing. Egads, Myrtle, we might want to invest in bullet proof attire when down on Kirby Street. 


So this is a quote: "The preliminary result of our investigation is that it looks like it was self defense," Police Chief Steve Stewart said. "The investigation will continue."

There you go. Fast justice. 

The two were cousins. I think this is not good for family relations. 

Meanwhile in the rest of the world, spring's arrival was welcomed with 72 degree temperatures as I mowed and danced outside in the Vitamin D and Germany conducted a raid of 900 (I mean, who has that many cops in one place for sluts?) officers on a brothel organization. Thank you, baby Jesus, that I was not working there last night as I would have gone to jail. So glad I have been conducting myself business in America under covers wraps. Crazy as hell. But THAT...was entertainment for me this morning. Keep your dick in your pants, gentleman. Well, actually, it is legal there...to have it out, that is....or to do it in a brothel. They didn't pay taxes and should not have partaken in human trafficking. Naughty.

You do not FUCK around in Germany. 

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Funny Haha or Funny Odd

A gallon of water.

That is the goal today set forth by my fitness coach. I have set my water out and will pour during the day. However, I forgot my lemons and it does not go as fast without them. Setbacks. This fitness challenge I accepted is not easy, but that's the point...it's a challenge. The water part was supposed to be easy, but now it's hard...

I am tired of bodily functions going awry! Ack!

  1. 1.
    a call to take part in a contest or competition, especially a duel.
    "he accepted the challenge"
    "he accepted the challenge"
  2. 2.
    an objection or query as to the truth of something, often with an implicit demand for proof.
    "a challenge to the legality of the order"
    synonyms:test, questioning, disputestandoppositionconfrontation
    "a challenge to his leadership"
  1. 1.
    invite (someone) to engage in a contest.
    "he challenged one of my men to a duel"
  2. 2.
    dispute the truth or validity of.
    "employees challenged the company's requirement"
    synonyms:question, disagree with, dispute, take issue with, protest against, call into question, object to
    "we challenged their statistics"

I think my current challenge ranks in all of these above definitions at one time or another.

Explanation of what I am gisting (that is a word, damn you spellcheck...it's my derivative of the word gist) at-NOUN: 1)A contest, 2)objection of truth-(my fat barking out at me to stop), ...VERB: 1) inviting myself to continue with lots of pretty pleases, and 2) question why the fuck do I do these things?

Yesterday I ran for an hour but I didn't make it through my PiYo/strength training. I fell asleep. Epic failure. The day was cluttered with so many frazzling university emergencies that after I ran for an hour, I took a shower and went to bed. Wow. The life of an adventurer. Added stress for the next two days is that I am hosting a professor from London and I hope I don't start talking back to him in a British accent. I have a tendency to mimic people when I am with them for a long time. Egads. It's not on purpose. He is a delightful fellow. See. It is happening already.

Maybe that is why I am so ghetto?

Challenges are everywhere. I think we are faced with them every day. Sometimes, there are those who just face the challenge of getting out of bed. I know what that is like on a rainy day or working nights without good rest. However, for some people the challenge goes deeper than that into dread. Those days are really scary. I hope none of you face those moments or if you do you find the courage to escape the blanket monsters.

So do you challenge yourself on occasion? Like a food plan, a hobby, a project, a new goal, a race, a vacation plan, hiking, biking, kayaking, writing, grilling, new recipe? If not, what are you waiting for?

I'm challenging myself to vote this year. I would never skip it, but it is going to be deep dread. I'm worried the establishment is going to be nasty and not sway the delegates so we have an open convention. Boo hiss. Let the dice fall. The Republicans have got to get their poop in a group. How many times can I say that? Ack! It's time to bring in Madea.

Ta ta for now! I'm off to take an English gentleman on a roundabout and off to David Letterman we go. I hope I don't do something totally stupid. So far he is very nice, funny, and full of knowledge. I'm going to soak it up like a sponge.

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!

Monday, April 11, 2016

Thorns: Being A Prick In Society

Nothing as exciting as Greg trying to blow his hands off on the blog today. I know. Sorry to disappoint, and I will not be surprised if you just click off and go away now. But maybe, at the bottom, I will show some really gory pics of something new or something really creepy. I even have captioned the paragraphs so that you may skip over anything unpleasant to your palate. There will be a lot of prefaces. Say that three times fast. It sounds like an infection.


Until we get to the bottom, let me just preface this day by saying I was not greeted with enthusiasm today walking into the office. It is to the point, I would like a back entrance so I don't have to deal with negativity. I think I might also start bringing my own beer fridge and stick it under my desk and deal with work life through a hops filter. My boss is gone and I am now under fire by the OM who used to be my friend, but now I don't know what I call this relationship. The UNfriendship?

But I smile, nod, and wave and even do extras because she has cancer. I offered to drive her to chemo, got shot down. Just "no". Ok, then.  I offered to take her to lunch one day and that was shot down. I don't need three strikes to get it!

She did invite me to her awards ceremony so I am attending. I am not sure what I did to fuck up the friendship, but I am too old to stress myself out about it. It's mostly amusing now at what jab to dodge during the day. I think at my age, you just live with it and say "fuck it." However, I am really not invested here either. I need to shit or get off the pot, I guess. I don't know. Girl drama is for teenagers. I don't want any part of it. This is why I liked working with men. Need I remind myself to get that Master's Degree and pronto.

I am very thankful my boss and assistant boss are very pleasant to work with and we don't have these issues. The big boss is also very encouraging and kind. We have the same humor. But when the big mice are away...I become cat litter.

And my students are wonderful, but there is a need to micro-manage at times, then let them have some freedom of self-management, then rein them back in. Oy.

Life Un-events

My life has gotten really narrow and super boring. I'm not sure I like it like that. My book is coming at such reptilian speed that I might be done by the time Thomas the Turtle turns 150. I'm trying. I just need some inspiring days.

I am trying to pinch pennies into nickels. I make the same as I did in 1997. Wow. Eye opening let down.

To protect myself from more personal drama, I am really concentrating on running, early morning workouts, and eating right. This is also for my psyche. Combatting drama, one cucumber at a time.

Plus, if I keep my breaks and lunches open for errands and walks, then I don't have all the other troubles of office drama. I am logging all my food on myfitnesspal.com, fitbit steps are auto populated in there, and I am taking measurements, weighing every so often, and making myself accountable. Bikini season, here I come! Only not yet, because I don't want to get harpooned on the beach nor do I want someone to put me back into the water.

Next, I planned a really cool event with Bug this weekend.  A local flower shop and nursery has a free breakfast with the owners event and I RSVP'd weeks ago. We get to have coffee and scones in the flowers and ask garden questions. I am so excited. It will be a refreshing change from the rain.

The poopies (my bodily functions) are regular and I got a clean bill of health from the doctor the other day. Sadly, she is leaving to go to Florida because her overly successful doctor husband got a super great job there. I am not happy about this and she had no recommendations for a new one, except her doctor was in Indy. Well, poop.

Oliver, Murphy, and Moose continue to be full of spring antics and I enjoy them so much. Their fur is my crack on a rainy day and while I type away at my book or work around the house, they are by my side. Bug is somewhat jealous of their attention to me. I think the dogs sense she is more into boys and Pretty Little Liars than paying homage to them. So, they go where they get loves and kisses. The world is so much different now then when I was her age.

What is really weird is my child loves animals, but not to the emotional investment that I have. I mean, I really have a sensitive heart when it comes to them, even though I don't have a problem killing predators. I even cry over strange animals and wildlife getting abused, killed, or injured. I can't watch animal rights videos or those ASPCA thingies. They are too hard on my heart. My child embraces electronics more so than pets.

How did we create such a princess? She says she likes the outdoors, but I have to force her out. When I was a kid, you had to force me in...rain, sleet, snow, or shine.

The Harry Potter House

Paint scraping by hand begins on The Harry Potter house at first butt crack of sunshine. It is a strange type of therapy for me. Despite me helping friends on their home projects or whatever they need me to do, they do not offer to help with this. AND I ANNOUNCE IT TO THE WORLD AS A SMALL HINT. I don't blame them. Who would want to? But, that just isn't how I roll. I do shit jobs for friends. Golden Rule.

I have done some dirty deeds for friends. Maybe they find me an easy target?

World Blips

It is still mostly turmoil with gusts of crazy in the world. Bring your umbrellas to avoid debris from the sky.  Police are being shot at and harmed almost daily. Ambushes may not be as rare as we thought, but now instead of just thoughts, thugs are taking actions. It makes me sick.

Many times I suffer from Tourette syndrome when the news is on blasting visions of police shootings or situations of civil unrest and social digression. The medication doesn't work. Why can't society make any strides toward peace and normality?

Politics. What is there to say about that? There is a reason why it begins with a derivative of the word "POLE". Bend over here it comes again.

Public opinion is starting to rule the world, rather than ordinances, laws, regulations, and such. If you bully the business, government org., or program into rethinking an action or process, you might get it your way. Or...now you can just hold up signs, picket in front of the place of repute, shout bad things about a person or business or organization and... if they don't listen... (because they expect you to protest without violence and they choose to ignore)... you can just whack them on the head with your sign and punch them in the vagina as they pass by or get near you.  That will make them listen.

Here's what I want to know: Where are the Martin Luther Kings? Where are the Gandhis? Where are the Malala Yousafzais? Do we have any peace makers? Do we have any one dedicated to stop this civil unrest---even starting with our country? Are any of them Americans? Are any of them white? What are we doing as a world united to combat ISIS attacks and future terrorism?

Fargo Gets Stoned In Public

Sometimes I don't know what comes over me or why I can't control what comes out of my mouth. There needs to be a PC monitor at the tip of our tongues and an ABORT button. 

I know if you have a disclaimer or preface to story, everyone says...right, Fargo. It must be true you are a shithead because you told background on the whole saga. Not true. It's called setting the stage. Shut up and listen. 

Now keep in mind I am not a bigot nor am I a racist or fascist or whatever name you want to call someone who says things that are not PC. I grew up in a time where none of us were PC-everyone threw out terrible jokes, or said things about high water pants, being pansies meant you were very unfit and not strong-NOT GAY...and in fact, gay meant happy back then.  Maybe some people in my town were prejudiced against something whether it was the color green, trucks without gun racks, or short skirts or against race, color, or creed...but not me nor my friends or family. We grew up with Hispanics, a couple mixed race families, Native Americans, Polish, Jewish, Catholics, Mormons, Baptists, atheists, many gays and lesbians, etc.,  but we didn't notice those things in school. They were just people. We didn't look at them like that. We did not put them in a category. We may have separated people into jocks and smart ones...nerds. I kind of got thrown into both categories. I was a smart athlete. We all intermingled at the school. Now granted in the 70's and 80's most gays and lesbians kept all that to themselves, but all of kids knew. We still loved them for who they were as people. This is very unusual for a small western town. Today, the townsfolk are still close and if you go back to visit, they want you at the bar by 7 PM to discuss your life and you better eat at the local restaurant at least 3 times. Or, you visit in secret, because if you didn't show yourself to visit, you would be scolded. 

There were little drugs...at least not in my circles. Maybe some weed and later a scant of cocaine. But that was reserved for two people in school...that we knew of and saw white powder on their noses. Most everyone else drank a little or a lot depending on how good the bonfire was on any given Saturday. 

Nowadays are different: 

No matter what comes out of people's mouths, you are all OK in the eyes of public opinion if you smoke weed. Except I don't smoke weed. Therefore, I will never be accepted. 

I'm sure many would be amused or relish in the notion that I got high and found some really potent weed this weekend. But I fooled you, because this post is not about that. I'm talking about the traditional type of stoning...like with rocks. I was at lunch with some friends (all die hard Democrats) and we were discussing families and babies. 

BARBARA: Oh, I have to tell you about my friends. They just had a new baby named Caitlyn. 

ME: Is it a girl or a boy?


Yeah. I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it crappy. At the time I was in deep thought.  I have nothing against transgenders. The words were just like there and I think I might have been possessed by Satan for that one moment. It just happened. I don't think I will be invited for lunch ever again. The public stoning did not feel good. Unlike the characters in The Lottery, I lived. 

So that is how my life is going right now. 

I'm awkward. 

Wait for it...