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

Collusions

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?

Friday, April 22, 2016

Riding With Mother



As many law enforcement organizations have a ride-along program, my former department does as well. Once a person signs a waiver and passes a brief background check, the program is available for citizens who meet the requirements of being warrant free and of non-felon status.  These programs are a great community bridge for law enforcement to connect with citizens. In turn, the public can view the world from inside a cruiser and witness firsthand how the police work. It can be a benefit for spouses, family, friends, and aspiring officers to understand the dynamic career.

After umpteen years I finally convinced my non-felon mom into riding along with me. She only wanted to ride for an hour.  Maybe she thought an hour with her daughter was more than enough. I don’t know.

Picture a cute little old lady who is a classy dresser and acts a tinge like Betty White-that’s my mom.  She is also a lady and very proper. Much to her chagrin, I did not pick up those habits, although I could act the part if forced.  My jaded police side often clashes with her refinement.




She seemed very nervous for the adventure. I considered it payback. It was the only chance I was going to get.  Ever.  She lived in Minnesota and was traveling around the state of Wyoming to visit friends and family. Naturally, I jumped on the opportunity to intrigue her with the idea because her Friday night was free. I had longed for this day. Finally, I would be able to show her how effective my command presence and emotional intelligence was in my community.

After introducing her to my shift after briefing, I took her to the basement to my patrol car and gave a short instruction on the ride along rules. Mom strapped her seatbelt on and off we went. It was quite boring for the first hour in the crime world, but we had good chit chat as I explained the uniqueness of my area where I patrolled. 
 
Not long after my preface and short rendition of police 101, a report of a drunk driver appeared on the mobile data screen. The call came into my area but was given to another officer. The responding officer found the lucky bastard. To showcase great teamwork to my mother, they needed backup and the responding officer called for my assistance.  I was far away and since it was dark, I drove somewhat like a madman, (but not against policy), to get there. 

You know as mothers are at home, so they are in your patrol car. “You’re going to kill us, Kathryn Ann! Watch out! Look over there! Don't hit the! Kathryn Ann, you can't drive like this! What are you doing? The cars! My neck!” 

I very calmly stated to my dear mother, “Mom, I do this every day. I'm the Popo.  It will be fine. Enjoy the carnival ride”.  Sweat beads began to form on my mother’s forehead at this point because I was going 5 miles or so over the speed limit.

Upon arrival, the officer informed me of the situation. I offered to take the call. The driver, a man named David, refused to do field sobriety tests and would not answer many questions. He just turned around and put his hands behind his back stating, “Arrest me. I will fail all your tests.” I told him the processes of a DUI and he agreed to oblige. Indeed the field work showed he was impaired and he was under arrest.


David got me by surprise as I steered him to my back seat, “You must be a rookie.” Little did he know, I had 13 years on the force.

“Yep. Why do you say that?” 

“You got your supervisor in the car next to you”. 

David was a total rocket scientist disguised as a drunk. 

“You are absolutely right about that!” I giggled along with my mom.  

“Well, you are the nicest police officer I've ever met”. 

“Oh, yeah?” I said as I drove David to jail. Mom patted me on the leg and beamed a proud look at me.  Like that was a compliment! I had worked so hard to be tough and strong in front of my mother. I did not want people to shout from the tree tops that I was the “nicest” officer on the block.
     
“Yep, you are a rookie. But nice. Thank you for being so nice. And professional. I'm drunk. But you're the nicest cop ever. “

We arrived safely at the jail. When we exited the patrol car, David had a revelation when I said, “Mom, we’re going into the jail. You need to get out of the car now.”  You could see it in his eyes.

“Honey, do I need to take my purse?”

“What? Uh, no, mom. We don't take our purses into the jail. I don't think anyone will steal it”.  I rolled my eyes.  Could you imagine if we came strolling into book-in with our purses slung over our shoulders? I would never live it down.

David piped up, “THAT is your mom? No way!” He looked at my mom, then looked at me. “That IS your mom. You ain’t no rookie. How long you been a cop?”

He looked at my mother and said, “Your daughter is a nice cop.”

The world was crashing down on me. I had this image of wowing my mom with my experience and calm edge. Luck would have it I had picked up a sappy nice non-cussing drunk. I needed a raging asshole so my mom could see I was in danger every day. And that I risked my life in this job. Plus she raised a tough kid so she could tell people about my strength. Now she was going to brag about how “nice” I had been. Yuck!

Walking into the book-in area through the iron doors, my mom was in awe. She had never been in jail.  Ever. Not even to pick me up after bailing me out.  Why? Because her daughter had never been arrested. I could tell Mom was taking all of this in. She was very quiet. 

David sat down in a chair upon my order to do so and I started to fill out paperwork while I waited for the process to begin at the jail’s speed. This depended on what was happening on the other side of the doors. It could be slow or it could be fast.

While I was working, my mother turned to David and looked him square in the eyes, “Thank you for saying my daughter is nice”. 

What the? No! No! No! Now we thank the criminals? What has the world come to? 

I gritted my teeth and booked the guy in. The detention officers took his belongings and put him in holding after removing his handcuffs.   

The detention officer happened to be my favorite and started to jest with me as was usual practice among cops. “Jeez, you didn’t even bring in a crazy one this time? The guy is nice?” I had quite a reputation.

David turned to my mother and said, “It was real nice to meet you, ma’am.” He then looked at me, “And thank you for being so nice, officer.”   

I smiled weakly.   

 “What the? Are you kidding me? [Jabbing my side] Sir, she is a flaming royal...bi..“

(THWACK) 

 “That’s my mom, Jason, shut up.”

 “That's your mom. Well, HELLLLOOOOO, Mom! Nice to meet you!” 

My mom grinned like a huge Cheshire cat so proud that her daughter was thought of as “nice”. She extended her hand to Jason, “Hi. It’s very nice to meet you.” All the detention officers heard my mom was with me through the camera and audio system, so they came out to meet her. We are all family in my county.

Jason escorted David to the next location to sit on the bench to await his cell assignment. “Once again, it was really nice to meet you, ma’am, but I hope I don’t run into you like this again.” 

“Likewise. David.”

All of a sudden my mom disappeared from behind me. She went up to David and shook his hand before I could intervene.  “It was very nice to meet you, sir.”  He shook her hand and smiled. 

I drug her back out to the garage. While I retrieved my firearm and holstered it, I thought I should give some advice to my mother about etiquette. “Mom, we really don’t go up to prisoners and shake their hand while telling them it is nice to meet them.”

 “Well, he was really nice, honey.”  Un-freaking-believable.

Two days later, I drove my mother to church. The ride was pretty quiet. About 10 miles down the road, she asked me, “Honey, how do you suppose David is doing?”

“Who?”

“David. The man you arrested for drunk driving.”

No! No! No! We were not bringing David Whoeverthehellheis into my day off. She referred to him by first name like he was family.

“Mom, who cares? He’s probably into a six pack by now.”

“Was that lady who asked him all those health questions a nurse?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Do they do that with everyone?”

“Yes.”

“What will happen to David now?”

“I don’t know. I hope he is crossing the street when I’m going to church.”

“Why would you hope that, dear? Is he out of jail?”

“Yes, he is out of jail.”

“Can he drive?”

“Yes. He can. But his license is suspended. He’s not supposed to drive. He will go to jail if he is caught driving. Can we talk about something else?”

That really made my mother mad because my tone was a little brash. I had had no sleep after a 12 hour shift but it was tradition to go to Easter church service. It was silent for the next 15 miles. 

Church went without a hitch except for my mother’s cell phone ringing in the middle of the sermon and my 9 year old spouting off, “When is that bread thingy going to happen?” During the offering she also declared, “Mommy, did you see that guy put a lot of money in there?” My family were truly imposters and I wanted my old family back pronto.

On the way home from church, mom asked, “So, did David blow really high on that test? “

“Mom, David didn't want to take the test, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. You should really not drive so fast”. The rest of the visit was uneventful and my mother left for a vacation west of my town on the next day.

Six days later my mother returned from her adventures in Rock Springs, Wyoming. She came into the house toting a new cake pan because mine was “old and yucky”, therefore no good. She was proud of her purchase.

“Very nice. Don’t you like your new pan?”

“Yes, mom. Thank you very much.”

“So how is David? Did he go to court? What ever happened to him?”

My head hit the kitchen table like 30 times because I was trying to get an ambulance ride so I could avoid talking about David. I have no idea why there was this fixation with a transported drunk, but she was greatly concerned about his well-being.

She eventually left to go back home to Minnesota. On Mother’s Day, she called me to wish me a happy day. After we exchanged pleasantries her chatter went on and on. She blindsided me with a question, “How’s David?”

What. The. Hell.

Mom asked me occasionally about David for the next year until he faded from her memory like Gene Autry into the sunset riding Trigger. (Yes, that was Roy's horse. Gene rode Champion. Get it? That was my life. The wrong horse.) I was so grateful for that moment. In all fairness, it was a joy to have mom ride along with me. She did get a new appreciation for police officers. I do not know what became of David, but I would not be surprised if he ever so often toasted a drink to my mother.
 
 
 
  

  

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.

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

9hunderd

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.

Bwahahahaha!

Nah.

This is truly today's headling:

Muncie man shot dead; suspect released


Yep. 

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. 

Ok. 



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!



chal·lenge
ˈCHalənj/
noun
  1. 1.
    a call to take part in a contest or competition, especially a duel.
    "he accepted the challenge"
    synonyms:dareprovocation;
    "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"
verb
  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!