Evidence 101

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

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

East Side Is In Da House

My guest today is Mass Hole Mommy from the east side...

I have been an avid follower and she linked up to my blog early on...and stayed. I'm guessing her computer is broken or she would have left me long ago. She is great. Her blog hosts a variety of posts and she interacts with her readers...and check out how many follow her. She still has time for the little people...like me. 

Yes, it's true...I gave her "fluffy" topics. I am so sad she isn't going to talk about underwater basket weaving and shell collecting at the dump.  I knew she wouldn't go there...just the detective in me. She broke the rules and went all Rambo on me. So give her a warm welcome!

I was honored when one of my favorite ladies, Momma Fargo, asked little old me to write a guest post for her. Imagine? Someone so cool as her wanting to hear from me? Wowza! Once I got over my initial excitement, however, I was faced with a dilema. What in the H-E-double hockey sticks was I going to write that would ever compare to the hilarity of the "dumb criminals" she writes about over at her place. I was stumped, so I asked her what she would like to see from me. She sent along a nice little email with "fluff" topics, but one thing really stood out to me. Sawyer Porn. Yes, you read that correctly.

But first, a little about me. First and foremost, I am a mom. I have two boys, who are five and two (they will be six and three this summer, though). If anyone said to me ten years ago that I was going to be a mom, I would have told them that I didn't have what it takes to be a mom, but once the bug hit me to have a baby (when I was 28), it hit hard. So the next month I found myself prego with my first little guy and it was the happiest time of my life to be honest. It was the best I'd ever felt. Ever. Then once he was actually born, I was overwhelmed with these feelings of love, joy and the need to protect him. It was crazy. At the time I had him, I still worked full time, but I worked "odd" hours, so my scheduled was opposte from my husband's. We hardly ever saw each other, but it was fine. We were paying the bills, had a nice house in the burbs and a perfect little boy.

Then two years later I decided that I wanted another baby. I always knew that I wanted to have two kids, so I expected to get prego right away with #2, but that didn't happen. It took almost a year to get pregnant, which was pretty stressful for me and my husband. That stress, coupled with the fact that we barely saw each other because of our work schedules, wasn't good, but we were making it happen. I gave my notice at work about two months before I was due. I wanted to be a SAHM and the hours I was working were insane. I had some 12 hours days mixed in there and I knew that was never going to work.

Three years and 13 days from the birth of our first son, I popped out my second. Well actually he was cut out, but who's counting? That pregnancy and delivery wasn't as nearly as enjoyable as my first and I had multiple complications with the recovery. It took me about three months to heal completely, and being home with a toddler and a newborn was HARD. My husband was working two jobs and I was ready to pull my hair out.

About four months after I had the baby, my husband and I went to a friends wedding and on the way home he told me he was leaving me, so I found myself a single mom, which I was in no way ready for, but I didn't have much control over it, so I had to go with it. I didn't want to be "single". I like having a man in my life to take care of me. I put myself back out there on the dating scene soon after my ex-husband left me. The truth is, it was over much longer before he actually left, so it wasn't as mind-blowing as it would have been if i wasn't somewhat prepared. So, it was about three months after my ex left me that I met Chris, the man I am gonna marry this October.

But back to the Sawyer porn thing. There's no denying it, I am totally boy crazy. I love to look at a sexy man with a hot bod. Who doesn't, though? We are all human, right? As a society in general I think we are taught to covet those people blessed with good looks and I sure do love me a good lookin' man! Sawyer, who is a character on Lost (Josh Holloway) just so happens to be one of the hottest pieces of meat on the planet, so I post half nekkid pics of him on my blog every week along with a little recap of the show....that noone reads because they are all there to look at the picture. I haven't decided what I'm going to do once the show is off, but I'm thinking of something along the lines of "Half Nekkid Wednesdays". I find my fiance extremely hot, but I also find a long list of other men extremely hot, too, so why not look?

So, in closing, I would like to thank Momma Fargo (I just realized I don't even know her real name) for having me take over her space for today. and remember, when times are tough, there is always a picture of a skantily clothed man somewhere to make everything better!
There you have it...a big shout out and thank you to Mass Hole Mommy with the Sawyer Porn. It can't get any better..Hot Nekked Men, right? And she is a great mom! Celebrate great mothers! Parents make all the difference...choose to be an outstanding one! Check her out here! She rocks!

Monday, April 26, 2010

Memoir Monday...with TV Travis!

Here's a little Memoir Monday...thanks to Travis at I Like to Fish...

Doing a three-fer post today. I think I'm on crack or lack of sleep is getting the best of me...OK,OK, the only crack I've had is ass crack...and it's not like I want it all up in my face! Anyhoo...here goes the memories. Run like hell!

This one is for my brother. He is still in his thirties...asshole. He has Crohn's disease and is in the later stages os PSC liver disease (same as what Chris LaDioux had) which became a complication from the first disease. My brother is handsome, kind, very tall, generous, and the most gentle soul. Yes, I'm the worst of the two. He, for many years searched for the right person to marry...and his sister axed most of those hoes. UGH. He had bad taste. He finally landed the love of his life who accepted the turd with his terminal illnesses. After thousands of dollars and invetro help...he and his wife had a beautiful baby girl. She looks just like him. Very cute and adorable as most children come.

So, anyway, back to the memory. This one was part of the making of my brother...I helped mold him as much as I could...Don't tell him, but he has a big part of my heart...and I always felt after dad died that I had to take care of him. Before that...I was a typical, mean, big sister...

I was 7, he was 3..

In our basement in Minnesota, we had a wide open floor with smooth cement. I often liked to roller skate or ride my big three-wheeled trike down there. Now, mind you, I had a nice shiny bike outside...but there was just something about racing that three-wheeled bike around the posts that was fun. And I would like to go fast. And I thought I was Mario.

He had a little Radio Flyer trike with tassles...his very own. It wasn't as cool as my big three-wheeler. He looked up to me. I was Big Sis. I was a bitch even back then. It was too late for me. He would follow me everywhere. He would SO get in the way of my glamourous nomadic style...doing my own thing...exploring the neighborhood, yada, yada. Who wanted a kid brother taggin along? Let alone one three years old? It cramped my style.

But my mom made me. Since...forever...I remember having to take him or do things with him. UGH! He was totally dissing my style. And how could I pick up neighborhood guys with him at my side..or even look like the cool tough chick on the block. I was the blockmafia chick in the making back then. The underboss...or something. Well, anyway, I always did what I was told. Under protest, mind you.

So, one day, I was in the basement...cycling away. He was watching. He would always whine and ask me to push him fast on his trike. So i did. It was really annoying. But, I was doing my duty as Big Sis.

He kept whining and wanted to ride my big trike. I told him NO. He kept whining and whining. He was such a little whiner. So, I finally said FINE. And put him on my big trike. I left him there and taunted him from across the room.

ME: See, you can't even reach the pedals.

[Bro's feet are dangling in his sleeper (with feet) pajamas]

BRO: Push me. Push me.

ME: No. You are a big boy on my trike. Pedal.

BRO: I can't reach! Push me. Push me.

So, irritated, I did. I pushed him. Then he liked it and demanded I did it...over and over. Well, now I wanted to play Barbies. Yes, most days I made him dress like a girl, play Barbies, and be the school kid I hit with a ruler. But at this age...I wanted to be independent. I wanted him to fly...baby bird...just go play with something.

I pushed him one last time...really hard. He had a big grin, I had a bigger grin. He went flying alright...right into my dad's gun case. CRASH! It broke. Glass all over. Bro was crying like a big sissy. He didn't even get cut. I was over him being a pussy. So, I moved him and told him..."SEE. SEE. People get hurt on big trikes. Quit crying, you will get me in trouble." Then...enter THE MOTHER.

Well, needless to say...I was in the gallows for quite some time. Maybe after about 40 spankings, I would get it. I was stubborn back in those days. I think she kept spanking me because I almost killed my brother and she panicked. I didn't hate her. I just had a sore butt. And Dad was none too happy about that whole incident when he came home...or countless others to come. I was destined to become a famous criminal like Butch Cassidy or Cattle KATE. Who knew I'd become a cop.  Mom always believed things like that were my fault. Didn't she know it always started with WHINING...from him? Life just wasn't fair.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Sex Offender Island

I am guest posting over at Slam Dunks today. Don't forget to check out his series on What To Do With Sex Offenders. It's very informative and educational for everyone.

These crimes can strike anywhere, anytime, and happen to anyone. Even if you are cautious. So I encourage you to tune into his posts about this hard to talk about issue, but one that is very important. Adults and children...sex offenders have no boundaries with their victims. Education is your first defense.

Check it out here.

Monday, April 19, 2010

I Like To Fish...And So Does Travis...With Memoir Monday...Only No Fish Today

Doing a twofer today...

Seven out of my bazillion years of life were spent living in the "Burbs" of a town in Minnesota...small town...with lots of lakes. I always longed for the country and would go to my Grandpa's farm. He is such a great man...both he and my Grandma are in their 90s and living strong. They were my rocks as a kid.

Grandpa would always get right into all the dirt with us kids. Salamanders, snakes, mice....yeah...the mice...in the corn bin. For those of you who have never been in a corn bin with 40 or so schizophrenic mice...you are missing out.

So I was six. It was like a popcorn machine. Grandpa and I would grab them mid-air...put them in a bucket. They were so cute. I would put the lid on and giggle. They were so cute.

Of course only about 20 would fit in one of those big plastic ice cream buckets that came with the milk and the milk man delivered them back then. Yes, dating myself. I had to bring them home to show my dad who owned a hardware store back then.

Arriving home, I was so proud. My mom screamed bloody murder and told me to get those (&#*$(*@& things out of the house. In horror, that was the first time I ever heard my mom cuss. Because she doesn't. So I was mortified that she did not approve of my pets. And I still had to show my dad. Mom was in the least bit happy with Grandpa. He laughed. A lot. He is so cool.

Anymickey, I went off to the neighbors with my bucket-o-mice to brag about my new found friends. Mr. Nelson was one of my favorites. Yeah, back then...I didn't know anyone's first names. My parents would have killed me. So, Mr. Nelson was so awesome and he had older kids, so he liked the little ones like me because I was cute back then. And so were my mice. His wife always had cookies for the neighbor kids. And NO he was NOT a chimo.

He was working in his garage. I said, "Mr. Nelson!" He turned around with a big smile and asked what I had in my bucket. So, I put the bucket down and opened the lid. It was like popcorn...the little buggers were hopping around. They were so cute. Mr. Nelson was proud of my hunting escapade and patted me on the head. Then he asked me to come inside for cookies with Mrs. Nelson...to leave the mice in the garage.

Excited about cookies. I did just that and...tripped...over my bucket-o-mice. They fled like prisoners stuck in Alcatraz for decades. Everywhere. In his nice garage. And the house door was open. And they went there, too.

I did what any good kid that was about to get their ass whooped would do. I held my bucket and balled and screamed at the top of my lungs...

Mr. Nelson panicked and told me everything was going to be OK. His wife came out and gave me a hug and brought me inside the house. Who does that? I would have killed someone if a bazillion farm mice got into my garage and house. Anyhoo...I got some really good chocolate chip cookies, milk, and Mr. and Mrs. Nelson got a story for life. Because even today...I hear about that story every time I go back to visit. Only I bring cookies now...and the mice stay at the farm...with Grandpa.

EnvironMENTAL Monday Minute

It's that Monday thing again with Ian. Check him out here. He is funny. And it appears he drank a lot before he married his wonderful wife. You can read about that over there, too. Since last week when he got his FREAK on with everyone...he has lowered the bar of personal a little bit. And become random. But why do men always focus on poo? I don't know. It's a mystery. So here are his questions...and my replies...about shit and other things...

1 - Ever take a shit in the woods?

Hell to the NO! I usually leave it right were I find it...poo...of any kind...if I happen upon it...stays there...and then I run like hell...because it's gross...and I didn't put it there. I once took my little brother into the woods and tried to get him lost... he was a little shit. Does that count? So...I'm confused as to what you are referring to. I answered both ways, I guess. And don't give me any SHIT, either. Especially in paper bags lit on fire on my porch. And another thing...why do people look at their poo? People stare at it and other poo they find along the way, too. Why? If I did take a shit in the woods or perhaps give a shit in the woods...because pooing is giving...I wouldn't tell you...and you couldn't smell it either...because I smell like roses! And I probably buried it. Why? Why are we talking about poo?

2 - If you won $1,000, what's the first thing you would do with it besides give me (Ian) a cut?

I'd cut you alright, Mr. Ian...shank you if you tried to take my  money... or...cut you right out of that money. Shoes. Lots of them. No, just kidding. I think I would like to donate it to charity...mine. And then spend it on a spa day or two or three or four... and really nice lunches to go with...just sayin'. Would $1,000 buy a sexy escort for a day to do all that to me?

3 - What's your favorite phrase

Put your big girl panties on and deal with it..OR... Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away.

The phrases were so close to meaning the same that I had to include them in the same sentence. HA! Anysaying, I thought I would include one I say a lot (first one) and one I think a lot (the second one).

My actual signature phrase is to say something really off the wall...and then after follow it with...


4 - Fill in the blank - the world would be a better place if __HATERS____ left the planet.

How can I pick just one? I could give a whole new universe of answers here.

5 - How do you take your coffee or tea?
Black. Rocket Fuel Black. Like my boots. Only cleaner. Without the street grime, path house sludge,  and nastiness of the hood that is stuck to them. On the bottoms anyway. The tops are spit shined. Only today. Because I had a uniform inspection. So...I like my coffee black and shiny...and very, very hot...like Gerard Butler. And in a big mug or coffee approved container, preferably.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Holster Your Pickle

Last night, I got to work a little early. Wanted to touch base with one of my friends who is currently on day shift. She was sitting at a computer and I walked up behind her...stopped in my tracks to see...a King Size Peanut M & M wrapper (empty) and a Mountain Dew bottle (empty). I told her she had better be logging those into evidence for some case. She laughed. Then she told me this story that happened earlier...

Apparently one of our very good friends who is a big boy from Oklahoma and ex-cop had to make a police report on a damaged vehicle. I will call him Okie. He is huge and he giggles like a girl. So he fits right in with the girlfriends.

My friend starts to take down the information while talking to Okie...only for some odd reason his big lab (dog, not a large science playground)  is circling her and nudging her holster...over and over again. She pushes him away and he comes back, almost knocking her down trying to get her gun. Finally she kicks the dog.

HER: What the fuck is wrong with your dog, Okie?

Okie: Uh...[points to her gun] maybe he wants that nice, juicy pickle stuck in your gun holster that resembles left over lunch, sister.[giggles]

HER: Oh for shit's sake! [laughs until she is red in the face and embarassed] I can't even get away with sneaking shit off my diet. [giggles] At least it was you and not some other person.

Okie: [giggles] What's that supposed to mean?

HER: [takes the pickle and throws it in the back of his truck] Because you are one of us, nutsack.

Okie: I'm not a cop anymore, goofy. [giggles]

HER: No... a girlfriend.

So the way she told it was so funny that I had tears in my eyes. Then I had to be serious. She asked me if I hated her for cheating. I said, no, but she had to go tell everyone  in the briefing room her stories.

So she did. And everyone laughed...and then The English spoke...

The English: Oh, hey, that reminds me of this one time when ( my last name) and I were at this working dog class and she had Otis...and they told everyone to make sure they had their dogs' rewards, toys, or whatever in their packs before we hiked out on this mock search. So when I was teamed up with (my last name) she said she was set and we left. So, Otis did really, really good and found the guy. I was waiting for her to take out Otis's toy and give him a reward. And you know what Otis's reward was? A frickin' huge ham sammich. It was like the biggest Dagwood sammich I have ever seen. And he ate it...all... while wagging his tail and about peeing hisself without chewing.

HER: Aw...a guy after my own heart.

ME: What can I say...Otis hates toys...he likes food. We are two of a kind. [giggles]

In other news...Otis has recovered and the vet said he is fine. However, he is physically not the same and I am sadly, going to have to retire him. I had been gearing up for that anyway, but he was still being called on little kid emergencies since he was such a good dog. He will be spoiled until his last days.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Monday Minute with Ian at The Daily Dose of Reality

This is my first time playing Ian's Monday Minute at The Daily Dose of Reality! Go check him out. He rocks! And he dotes on his wife which I totally think is super spectacular. Here goes...

What's wrong with fake breasts?

Everything is wrong with fake breasts. I think people should embrace what God has given them. But onto the very basic details...when you get a little romantic, you can't feel a thing there. Duh. They're fake. What a waste. Or when they are too big and look like Dolly and weigh more than your ass. They can't weigh more than your ass. Not pretty! You can get black eyes...dangerous. Definitely not suited for certain careers like professional marathon runner, police officer, underwater basket weaver (for flotation reasons...defeats the purpose)  firefighter, or professional bungy jumper.

They can also cause an imbalance.  And when women get boobs like that, they look like they will tip over and that's just silly. And they are expensive. If something goes wrong...wow. Disaster. If one explodes...cancer.

The only perks would be just that...you would be perky for life. Never have to tuck 'em in your pants. Ever. Ok. So there is NOTHING wrong with fake breasts. Period. I need some.

List your latest run-in with the Carnival of Idiocy.

Stranglers...nutters...where Wrangler jeans are so horrid that men touch themselves constantly, adjust, scratch, pull at, and hold their balls in front of God and everyone. And they think I want to watch that. It is no different than the McDonald's "Chef" picking his nose and then putting your hamburger together. I would rather hang with butt crack and boxers on the gangstas than with the Cowboy Stranglers. And that's saying something...cuz butt crack ain't purty. At least then, I could dance by the moonlight or something...When men wear Wranglers, they need to be good fitting ones. Cowboy up!

I really never have a problem with people parking too close to me like Ian. In fact, I often find my police cruiser has several empty spaces around it. Go figure. And if there isn't a parking spot, I park on your lawn. Sometimes in the street, or in the yellow zone, or in the fire zone, or on the sidewalk, or the golf course pathway...but never in the handicap spots. I have scruples. And that's another idiocy...don't park in the handicap section if you are not handicapped. I slash your tires and then write you a ticket. Not really. But that's what I'm thinking. I only do one out of the two things...guess which one.

Name one thing you'd like to tell your ten year ago self.

I was pregnant. I was just puking. That's all I did. I couldn't really go back and tell myself anything like that. Because I am a chain puker. So my 42 year old self and 32 year old self would both be puking. All I know is what caused that...and we haven't done that since. LOL. [snort] just kidding about that last part.

What's your favorite word that's not in the dictionary?


Why do fools fall in love?
Because they are into self torture and weird stuff like that. Or because they are stupider (that is a word...see above) than other people. Not really. Fools are great. I'm one. Fools in love are even better. I'm one of those too.  And I don't know the answer to this question. Maybe it's because love isn't easy and fools that fall in love weren't afraid and realized you have to work at it. A lot. Together. Forever. Right now I have worked 20 years off my life sentence. I always went along with Mr. T...."I pity da fool!" until later in life when I figured it out. Who the hell said that in the first place...a broken-hearted weenie? Suck it up. Fall in love. Torture yourself. Do it. Do it.