Evidence 101

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

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Jesst Wednesday

Today's guests are Jessica "Jess" from La Fin Dumond Farm and Jess Mise Placed and her beautiful daughter, Wednesday. Culinary spectacular happenings at Jess Mise Placed and family farm adventures at La Fin Dumond Farm. Both well worth the follow...one of my first blog followers. We've been shaking up the blog world since our beginnings.

Crazy, fun, and very real. These two ladies tell it like it is. Mother-daughter perspective...coming to you from the Rocky Mountains...in Florida. It can happen.Great ladies with  fantastic attitudes and big smiles!
Tag along with them...I guarantee you'll want to stay...

Growing up in northern Utah in the 70’s - 90’s was what one might call, the last hurrah for keeping women in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant. I was constantly asked when I was getting married and who my missionary was I was waiting for ..(because I MUST be, considering I was turning into an old maid at the ripe age of 17.)

Needless to say women weren’t high on the list of values we were all suppose to uphold. .. Which I seemed to have a difficult time doing.

Say what you will regarding your own experience there, but mine was all about how worthless I was. Thankfully my mother had a heavy dose of upstate New York hippie in her blood, so rebelling against the establishment was encouraged.

This had one of two effects on the local PoPo; they either got a good laugh at my unruly attitude or I was harassed unmercifully.

I will note, the entire time I grew up there I never once saw a female officer. NEVER. As it was I had a healthy aversion to male authority over my life. While there were a few officers that befriended me and encouraged my trying out for the boys soccer team and the like, (Girls OBVIOUSLY should NOT be playing such a thing; besides, what NORMAL girl would even want to? ...:P ) there were a few who made it their personal quest to make my life miserable for even considering it, and putting their little boys to shame when I made the team and they didn’t.

(I should probably mention I had been playing soccer since birth, and that little bit with the qualifying for the Jr. Olympics for our state in cross country in 10th grade had a lot to do with it.)

One officer in particular would wait for me to leave the school parking lot so he could pull me over for “speeding”. Which meant I was doing 15 in a 20 MPH zone because I knew he was there. We would go through the daily ritual of license, insurance, reckless driving and how he was “letting me off” .. Because I never once got ticketed. I even went so far at to ask for a ticket, because the guy was a class “A” jackass. And, unlike the other “well endowed” girls he harassed, I couldn’t bring myself to cower down to his power trip.

He was one bad apple in a barrel of many good ones. After getting sick of the ogling and suggesting I behave like a lady, I approached an officer I knew who lived next door and whom worked in the same town. I let him know about a few of the other girls who were dealing with this same guy and he was all over it. In the end none of the other girls would formally complain, but my big mouth landed him a desk job .. If I understand it right.

The waiting for me after school was just one of the many places he would pull me over. Should I be anywhere in that one streetlight town, he would find me like a bucktoothed hound dog in heat.

It created an intense distrust of men in uniform despite the numerous honorable ones who were there to help.

I don’t think it was all a matter of a bad experience with a power hungry PoPo, but simply the environment at the time. When you are a small (as in under 100 lbs. .. At the time) female in Utah during the late 80’s with boobs, hips and the inability to see yourself as less than a man, it creates turbulence. You appear to be easily intimidated, so when you don’t respond in the traditional manner, it seems it upset the balance of natural order in the state. (The natural order being a smog of masculinity that is easily threatened.) Combine this with an individual in a position of authority, and there will be a mass migration of suicidal sheep running lemming-like into a really big fan.

At this point in my life I am more comfortable, and thankful for the PoPo. I have an intense respect for what they’re willing to do. With the way this world has gone, and with the recent targeting of officers in some locations, it makes me intensely sad to see the PoPo viewed as a “them against us”, bad element. Because it’s not. I do understand how one bad encounter can tarnish your perception for years. However, I think it’s vital to remember how hard the “good guys” have to work to compensate for those few bad apples; and this with the stresses that are on our heroes in blue in this day and age.

I don’t use the word lightly; so simply ask yourself; what would our life be like if we didn’t have them around? Someone has to play the responsible adult in a world full of people who don’t want to follow the rules. These days the rules and stakes are so much higher than what I ever had to put up with.

Having a rebellious teenaged son, I can say from experience, the PoPo are good people. The majority of our folks in blue truly care, and have demonstrated that to my family time and again. I mean sure, we know every Palm Beach county officer by name, and they know our son, but they have all shown immense compassion and support. Even when friends and certain family have dismissed him as a lost cause, our local PoPo keep trying.

I’m not much of one for painting a rainbow where there isn’t one, but I can honestly say there are few people in this world that I genuinely respect more than our first responders. -It’s not just my bloggy friendship with Mamma or the officers we’ve worked with regarding our son that I say this. It’s more that I am capable of appreciating the PoPo for what and who they are. I might not be able to see myself as less valuable than the next guy, but I’m smart enough to appreciate a beneficial entity when it keeps the bad guys at bay, and gives a young kid options in life.

Keep on keeping on Mamma; you truly rock! Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently!

.. And thank you. Should we ever cross paths, the coffee and doughnuts are on me. ;D

Now for my dear daughter. Gird your loins. Trust me on this.

“Wednesday’s” opinion; thirteen year old girl growing up in So. Florida.

What do I think of the police? Well, when my friends and I hear a siren we all grab this one friend of ours and say, “RUN!!! They’re coming for you!!”, just to mess with her. She freezes, says, “Quick! Hide my bag!”, (Although she never has anything illegal in there) and pretends to run. So the police don’t seem very scary when my friends and I hear them. We end up joking and laughing.

How I feel as a teen... Hmm... Well I can honestly say I just want it to be done with and never have to relive some of this drama, backstabbing, lies, manipulating and so on and so forth. I’ve come to terms with the fact that girls at this age are brutal, and the guys tend to be more laid back... even if they are a bit childish and immature most the time. So, instead of getting lied to, backstabbed, and all of that lovely stuff, I tend to have more guy friends than girl friends. And they are just friends! I don’t think of any of them that way.

Peer pressure has never really been an issue with me. Yes, I have had kids come up and ask if I want to try some weed or crack, (you name it, it’s Florida) and I’ve always made it clear that I don’t want to destroy my future of being a New York Times Bestseller. If they want to do it then go ahead, be my guest, but I refuse to take any of that stuff. I also see how my older brother has made dumb choices with some of the less addicting stuff. He ended up in the hospital once after smoking pot. Somebody laced it with something is what the doctors said. He’s the only reason I’ve ever really met the police. They act real tough in front of him but they are really nice to me and my parents. That’s probably why I’m not weird about talking to them like some people are. I don’t think they ever really met one. Maybe they needed to, and thats why they’re freaked out.

Alcohol has crossed a few lips of my friends but I don’t see the appeal of it. I hear there's an awful after taste if your not used to it. I don’t get why I would want to drink something that’s flavor is going to last only a second? I don’t understand teen drinking. They want their problems to go away, but they’re only causing more. I have a cousin that goes to my school and she’s made real problems for everyone with that. She even got herself kicked out of her mom’s house so now she lives with my uncle. At least he doesn’t drink.

My friends and I are pretty close. I don’t just choose anyone to be my friend, they have to earn my trust and keep it. If somebody earns my trust and loses it then it’s their loss, I don’t hand out many second chances. If I were to give out a second chance there are only two reasons why I would do so:

They have to be extremely close to me and I have to have known them for years for me to say “I forgive you.”

Or I’m feeling generous that day and what they did wasn’t really a big deal.

Even so, they will never have my full trust again.

My mom says that’s just Jr. High, and I just have to get through it. Then I will be one step closer to success because it didn’t kill me.

What I view as my life ahead is that I am going to be a New York Times Bestseller and a “will be”. I know what I want to do in life and I’m going to get there no matter what it takes. I’ve saved my money since I was 4 for college. I want to go to journalism school in Seattle. I don’t want to be that chick who had dreams and never accomplished them, I am going to be that chick who makes it in life. You are all going to see my name on that list, I promise you that!



Thanks so much to Jess and Wednesday for their thoughts! I have no doubts Wednesday is going to succeed at her goals! Go check out the family at Jess's blogs. You'll be treated by her latest sweets! Go stalk her!

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Be DEEdazzled

This post marks the first guest post in a series. This week is about looking back and looking forward, how we were raised, what we think of the police... now and then, parenting, family, and life through the teenager today. I guarantee the people you are going to meet will inspire, enlighten, and tickle your funny bone...all while we get serious.  I think you will find the masters behind these blogs interesting and a part of what makes America great...tag along with all of us.

Dee...at Redheaded Stepchild has gratiously accepted the challenge. She posts a variety of topics...keeps it lively...and hosts Say Anything where several bloggers are featured in a very unselfish blog boosting lots of good reads. She gives a lot back without asking anything in return. She interacts with bloggers and is a fireball behind her blog that I really enjoy talking to and sharing conversations with... a lovely lady...a smart cookie...here is Dee...

I spent my "growing up" years on a ranch in the SW Missouri Ozark hills. Our small family pretty much stuck to themselves, and had our own set of ethics we lived by. There might as well have been a big sign at the end of our long driveway that said Go Away. It was a seclusion that I liked, and began my lifelong journey to keep.

The friends I made, the life I lead, all contributed to producing an ornery redneck tomboy. I embraced the heritage. Probably too much so, during my teens, when I was constantly pulling stunts and pushing the limit. The popo = bad news. Underage drinking, skipping school, spray painting on the road....all of these were frowned upon by the POlice.

The sheriff of our county was right out of the movies. He was known for using his flashlight to subdue people, and more often than not, was a bit too aggressive with it. There were tales of him "busting" parties where there was alcohol & pot, only to join them. Stories about him being easily persuaded by the teen female species, ran rampant. Though it wasn't something I ever personally tested. For vague, unknown reasons, he didn't like my dad. And, considering the country life works on that whole next-of-kin thing, I avoided the sheriff at all costs.

The nearest town (pop.300) had a cop that Barny Fife was probably based on. Good natured, easy going, and easily fooled. The couple of occasions that I "met" him, he gave a half-hearted lecture about whatever law I happened to be breaking, told me to knock it off, and go home. Believe me, I did. As nice as he was, I didn't want to risk dealing with the county...which would bring me to the attention of the sheriff.
I married into a family that was well-known for their orneriness and scrapes with "johnny law". For the most part, there weren't any major crimes, just small, ornery stuff. Think Dukes of Hazzard. Things that, in that era, were considered harmless fun, and made good stories to tell.

It wasn't until I became older that I found some respect for the po-lice. To appreciate the job they do, and the help they provide. It was grudging, but respect nonetheless. Cops always seem so official, and stuffy. I'd never "met" one outside of their job.

Then, I stumbled across Momma Fargo's blog. Not entirely sure it was something I'd care to read. But I gave it a shot. To my surprise, I found a real, live person behind that uniform! She has a sense of humor. A heart. Scary stuff. A drastic contrast to the picture I've always had of cops. Through reading her blog, I gained a better respect for police.

Now, when I see a cop, my feelings are a bit different. I don't have that, "oh gawd, now what?" feeling. I just see a person, doing their job. One that I would never sign up for, because I couldn't handle it. And, if it's a female, I smile.

Thanks so much to Dee for participating. She rocks! Go check her out. And...NO, I didn't even pay her for the kind words...LOL. She's a sweetheart. Her blogs are fun and lively...go be a part of that here and here.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Shitdazzle Repo Moment

I know, Dollface. I can't believe it, either. But he's a man. What do you expect?

ME: Big O. You aren't helping. I'm pissed as hell.

Sweetheart, we are only men. Men we are. It's all we can be. We forget things. Shitdazzle happens. You're beautiful.

ME: How can you forget to pay the bill? For two months? In a row? Can you imagine the smucks when they came into the yard and said...HEY LOOK..WE'RE REPO-ING THE SHERIFF'S GARBAGE DUMPSTER. I mean...the county vehicle is sitting right there in the yard. How EMBARASSING. I only give him one thing. ONE THING to pay. And he forgets. It's like it's my birthday or something. It's a fucking dumpster. He puts garbage in it everday. Probably fantasizes about putting me in it...in a black plastic bag...like all the time. How could you forget to pay the dumpster guys? It's 40 damn dollars a month.

It's like I tell ya, Love. We're only men. We make mistakes. We fuck up. We still love you. Give the guy a break. He boo-booed. Little teensy weensy omission. Drink some wine. It'll be better in the morning.

ME: But...Big O...dear...LOVE OF MY LIFE...they repo-ed the dumpster from the guy who's truck says... SHERIFF.. on it. In my yard. The dumpster got repo-ed by the garbage guys. From the police. Who are supposed to pay their bills. How would you like it if I repo-ed your dog dish, your dog food...your nice fluffy wuffy dog bed? Huh? How would you feel? What if Bug and I stopped petting you? Huh? What about that? What if I stopped kissing you on the forehead? It's the same thing. What if I made you make the 30 mile hike to the dump with our garbage? Huh? We could strap it on you like those St. Bernards and their barrel thingys. Are you starting to see the problem? Not to mention the embarassing repo moment?

Ok. Ok. You're right. We should hang our heads in shame. Fuck. We're such white trash. You're beautiful. Darling...could I have some of that wine you are drinking?

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Deadwood or Bust...It's Not About Sex!

No limp dicks or boobies here. Well...

I'm going to Limp Dick, South Dakota. Wah, wah, wah. (That's Deadwood). I'm giving a portion of my winnings to Monkey. I'm on a Monkey Mission.

This is a post about vices and unorthodox fund raising.

While I'm in Limp Dick...don't be one...help out Monkey. Just imagine if 1000 bloggers donated 1 dollar each. That's a thousand dollars. Think about our potential. We can work miracles through the internet network. I'm donating $100.00 cash and some raffle items...stole the money from Hubs' hunting fund. He doesn't know yet. Shhhh. Don't tell him.

Rob, steal, pillage...whatever you can do. Yes...I say rape the cats and pillage the rich women. If you can't afford anything...grab the button from Ian. Chat it up about Monkey on your blog.  Maybe one of your followers will click on it and donate. I'm the popo...I'm a broke pig. If I can do it...so can you. If someone donates a $1,000 as a single donation...I will send them my autographed stinky black combat popo boots with street grime from the hood and a junior police badge. I can even throw in a free ride-a-long with the popo bitch from hell...that's me. OK..the rides are always free...but if you're a felon...I can sneak you in. I'd do it for anyone's kid...but this one needs us now. Come one...hand over that dope money. I know you make at least 5 G a week.

If you are in a motorcycle gang...I know you support kid's charities.

Mafia...come on...make Uncle Sam think you are stellar. Put your bucks where the government would least expect it.

Average everyday law-abiding citizen...embrace the children. Put your ten bucks down and send some love to Michelle.

When it comes to children that need help...money has no color, race, gender, or any other differences. It's all green. It all helps.
Go give Michelle some love at http://www.mypixiedreams.com/.

Do it! Do it!

We've got to move it, move it!

And when I return...guaranteed the LIEU and I will have a lot of funny drunk, gambling, spa disaster, mani-pedi, winery ,cabana boy, pole dancing, streaking, hot tub farting, buffalo tipping, golfing, poker, historical fiasco stories to share...only I'll do the storytelling. He gets a little animated. We're going to have to keep him to a one scotch limit. Perhaps we'll get arrested...or not! We can run faster than them thar fat cops and their horses. If I zig and zag I can outrun a taser, too.

I'm off to the old west...hopefully...Kevin Kostner will be in his bar...I've got a few things to tell him. You can find us at The Midnight Star. Maybe not, his machines are wound too dang tight...that stingy bastid.  I'll be playing three card poker...somewhere...and during the day...spa treatments. The six guns are going with me. My antique sheriff badge is in my pocket...might come in handy. And James Bond's first car is in one of the hotels...might take her for a spin. I'll be back at high noon, pardners! Wah, wah, wah...Limp Dick will never be the same...not while the sheriff is in town.

Click on monkey to donate...please help!

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Monkey Monday Minute


 Kudos to the Great Ian for his wisdom and tribute to support Michelle Pixie. Click on the button to read about Monkey and her battle with Neuroblastoma.
I mean...the name says it all. I think I have it,too, actually...self-diagnosing it...it sounds like brain blasting. Mine has been gone for years. How crappy could it be? Don't you think medical scientists could have named it something better. They suck.
And she's only 16 months old.
Get out there and give them some support, people!

1 - How old do you act?
25. I look that, too. MWWWAHHHHAA! See how immature I am? The uniform subtracts... like... 17 years or something. Everyone should try it. Do it. Do it.
2 - As far back as you can remember, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Rich. Famous. Beautiful. One of three isn't bad, right? LMAO. Guess which one? (It's the cheapest..and only shows on the inside...not the outside) Actually, in 1982 (yes, last century), I took a personality test. I didn't remember what it said until a few months ago when my mom gave it to me. It said I would best be suited to be......drum roll please.....
No shit. There you go. Subconscious thinking at it's best. Outloud...I always wanted to be the first three words up above...and married to David Cassidy. God Bless America that didn't happen. I would have totally missed my opportunity on Gerard Butler.
3 - If you were to write a book based on your life, what would the title be?
Actually, you are all living it with me...so I guess I would call it..
I have always and still do like ghost stories, haunted houses, and of course...the real boogie man. I'm fascinated. Sue me.
4 - What's something that you do that's considered "childish" by most?
Dance naked in the rain....sober.
5 - The last question isn't a question. Write a story of a time of when you or someone you know overcame great adversity.
Everytime I have to listen to my friend's kid poop...he screams because he's constipated all the time. Well, it's true...but not really the answer to this question/story/non-question question thingy.
You know...I don't have anything that could possibly sum up what Michelle Pixie is going through. But I did watch from afar how my aunt and uncle went through the death of their only son...
My aunt and uncle lost their son at the age of 22 to a terrible snowmobile accident. We lost them for 5 years while they went off the radar to seek some type of peace. Don't get me wrong...they didn't go on vacation or move away. Their souls left. They were numb. They left the church, they cursed God, they closed themselves off to family. It was a very sad and painful time in my life because they were like second parents to me when I was growing up. And community pillars...very social and always there for others. Not only did I lose my cousin who was like my brother, but I lost them, too... for those few years. Especially my aunt. She was there since the day my dad died. And I could always talk freely to her and she would be my rock.
They found some type of peace. They came back. They go to church again. They are there, again, also, for me. And now have two beautiful grandchildren from their daughter...who is like my sister. Yes...we are the Clampets...or something. At least we just borrow relatives as family figures. We don't sleep with each other and make more. Our family tree does fork...a lot.
So...I think the worse thing ever would be to lose a child no matter what age.
Or to watch your 16 month old battle cancer just rips my heart out. My heart goes to Michelle Pixie and her family...and lots of love, hugs, and prayers to Monkey. You just have to look at Monkey's pic to see what a beautiful child she is....it breaks my heart.
Get on the Monkey Mission...Do it! Do it! Link up at Ian's.
And I'm posting this early...cause I want to be the first to support Monkey. I'm always first...even if I have to cheat in line. I'll link up at midnight.
Happy Mother's Day!

Friday, May 7, 2010

The Five-O

I went to the nearest Loaf N Jug to score me some coffee. I don't get my second wind until about 9:00 PM...so at about 6:00 PM, I am not wound up enough and need lots of caffeine to sustain life.

KID: Hey, Cop!

ME: Hey, Kid!

KID: Are you the Five-O?

ME: Yep. Do you even know where the nickname Five-O came from?

KID: Yep.

ME: Where?

KID:  My dad. Every time a cop car goes by our house...my dad says, 'Oh, shit. There's the Five-O.' "

ME: Oh, really? And just where do you live?

KID: [points to the hood] North side.

ME: How old are you?

KID: 8.

ME: Drop out of school yet?

KID: Nope.

ME: Good. I bet your dad did.

KID: Yeah. He ain't finished school.

ME: You need to stay in school. And don't use the word AIN'T.

KID: Yeah.

ME: So...uh, can I meet your dad, sometime? [thinking he probably has warrants]

KID: Sure.

ME: Good. When you get home..tell him I'm going to make a surprise visit. I'll bring you an Honorary PO-lice badge.

KID: Cool. Can you bring me a Nintendo, too?

ME: *blink*blink*   Kid, the popo don't hand out Nintendos. That's Santa Claus.

KID: Oh. Well, the one my dad stole is broke.

ME: Nice. Sorry to hear that.

KID: Yeah, it sucks.

ME: You shouldn't talk like that. You're only eight.

KID: That's what my teacher says.

ME: Your teacher is smart. What are you doing here, anyway?

KID: Getting dinner. My dad gave me 6 bucks. Burritos tonight.

ME: Awesome. Why isn't your mom cooking dinner?

KID: She's in the pen.

ME: Nice. Why?

KID: Selling drugs. She didn't do it.

ME: Heard that before. Sorry to hear you don't have a mother around.

KID: Yeah. She is cool. She was helping dad. Said she did it.

ME: What? She took the rap for your dad?

KID: Yeah. Dad always says bros before hoes. What does that mean?

ME: That means your dad is so cool and knows that B comes before H in the alphabet. I need to meet him.

KID: [big cheesy smile]

ME: Make sure you give him my name. Here's my card. First tell him you don't need to be going to the store alone...then tell him I'm going to pay him a visit.

KID: [big cheesy smile]

The future generation. Oy! I think it's Global Warming or something.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatball

Redheaded Stepchild over at Say Anything... challenged me to write about the funniest popo story during my career so far. That was tough. There are years to wade through and lots of laughs. But...one sticks out in my mind. So...it's the funniest story right now...this minute.

It was a dark and cloudy night in spring of 1998. Yes, I can remember this.

Also...found my police journal awhile back. This story was in it.

Working on the Ruthless Crew...at this time in my life I was a whopping 115 pounds of police power. Mostly mouth.

Anyhoo, on my shift was a large fat bald man I called Meatball. Huge. Like Chris Farley without hair. He used to call himself Ton Of Fun. Randini called him Tubby. I preferred Meatball...it was more fitting.

On this night, we got into a vehicle pursuit which lead to a foot pursuit. Only Meatball was the lead car. That's like me running a marathon. I might get to the finish line the next day. Only because I gauk around, get distracted, and don't focus. The Boulder Boulder is my type of run...music, activities, etc. Meatball's excuse was because he liked donuts. Lots of them.

Meatball called out the foot pursuit which sounded much like cat wheezing and furball coughing. Pretty soon...we heard nothing. He didn't answer his radio. Back in those days...it was simple. No GPS. No Bat signals. No emergency buttons on our police radios with GPS tracking. Nothing.

Randini and I arrived first. The rest of the backup was behind us or around us. Some spread out in a different area, so we could be more effective in finding Meatball. Afterall, it wouldn't be very hard. Fat man...in a little ciiitttyyy....or something. Tommy Boy had been out by then and was probably our favorite movie and reminded us all of Meatball.

Turning the corner of a terraced business district, we still were at a loss. We called out...we flashed our flashlights. No Meatball. We started to wonder if he got ambushed by the bad guy. Pretty soon, we heard...

"Psst. Hey, youuu guuuyyyssss! I'm up here! Help me. Help me!"

Randini and I looked up. There was Meatball hanging off a chain link fence which was 3 feet on one side and 6 feet on the drop side. His little stumps of legs were running in place and he was going nowhere as his duty belt was hung up on the top. We busted out laughing. Meatball didn't think it was funny.

MEATBALL: "Get me down from here."

ME: Nope. You look like a trophy on a wall. I'm getting my camera.

RANDINI: Yeah...get the camera.

MEATBALL: Don't you dare. I will hunt you down.

ME: Hey, look...it's Pig On a Stick.

RANDINI: Hey, Tubby! You look like one of those Dum Dum suckers. Emphasis on Dum Dum.

MEATBALL: You guys are fucking comedians.  Get me down.

ME: Maybe we ought to wait for the sergeant to get here.

MEATBALL: Get me down. You know he will write me up. He hates me.

So, Randini and I tortured him for a little bit. Then we had to make plans to get him down. I got up on the 3 foot side and Randini stayed on the drop side so he could help with the BIG DUMBO DROP.  As hard as I tried with all my might to pull his duty belt off the top of the fence to release Meatball, my efforts were futile.

RANDINI: You look like a monkey fucking a gigantic football...actually like the Goodyear Blimp. Let me get up there and you come down here to this sodded area where we can drop him down.

ME: We need a damn crane.

MEATBALL: You are such a bitch.

RANDINI: Hey. Who's the idiot stuck on the fence?

AnyChristmastimebynow, Randini went up on the terraced part and I went down to the drop off side. He thought about it for awhile and looked over the Meatball situation. He said he was going to try to pull the belt up. It didn't work. He said he had another idea. Operation BIG DUMBO DROP was underway again.

Randini released Meatball's belt keepers and the belt gave way. Meatball fell. As he was coming down...I saw my life flash before me. It was slow motion. Meatball was running and flailing and falling in mid-air. I was not moving...in shock...wide-eyed and thinking NNNNOOOOOO. Down he came...and landed... on me. Knocking me over as I misjudged and he flew farther out than we all planned...his bald head hit square in the middle of my gut. It knocked the wind right out of me... for awhile. Meatball and Randini were laughing so hard they may have peed their pants. Finally, they gave a shit and asked me if I was alright.

ME: Yep. [barely able to talk]So glad you didn't land a few inches shorter. I wouldn't be able to have kids.

MEATBALL: Doh! That would have been funny!

ME: Pervert.

RANDINI: Yeah, pervert.

Needless to say, Randini and I were sworn to secrecy. I agreed only because I thought I could use it to my advantage later. We made up a story and told the sergeant that Meatball's portable radio had died and of course, the fat man lost the bad guy. This is the first time I have broken my secret pact.

Sticks and Stones

The very clever and handsome Coffeypot made fun of my initials...MF. So I decided to own it. Yep, that's right I'm MF. Go ahead...make fun of me. I love it!  And Coffeypot meant this in a funny humorous kind of way...so I thought I had to play on this. And yes...blonde hair shining through...I did not even think of my initials that way.  This brought up some other nicknames that have come along the way while being the popo beside the usual bitch, whore, and other lovelies.

When I was a rookie...I was young, dumb, and no...not full of that other stuff that rhymes with this and refers to the male half. But I was really, really blonde. Blonder than I am now. Driving around one night...I had a drunk in front of me. Activated the Christmas lights and sirens and he wouldn't stop. I had me one of them thar real live pursuits...my first one. At 10 MPH. Yeah. It was exciting.

Calling out my whereabouts, this speedy drunk kept turning and turning and pretty soon I didn't know where I was. Happen to tell the troops that we were now turning left. That helps. It was also a full moon. Go figure. So after the drunk finally stopped at an intersection...I got out and read the signs...over the radio. Sounded like a real dork.

This was when I was on the shift with the good old boys that hated girls. They lovingly called me Moonbeam after that. They joked about how I navigated with the stars and the moon. I wore it with honors. Pretty much deserved it. Then after shift, I came out to my personal car to see the entire shift...bent over...bare butts. I guess they had to give me a royal Moon inauguration. Yep, gotta love cops.

Two years later, on a much younger shift...and much wiser was I...myself and another officer responded to a disturbance. When we got there...a man off his meds with schizophrenia on meth was fighting everyone...and ended up fighting the popo. Fire personnel and paramedics arrived to help get him on the bus so he could be given some Vitamin H. Back in those days, Vitamin H was the cureall. Too bad we can't go back to that.

Anyfighter, we got him strapped up on the gurney. I leaned over him and told him to knock it off and be nice to the paramedics. He stared at me...and stopped acting like The Hulk. Then...with tears in his eyes...he said..."You are my one true love...you Beautiful Blonde C*nt! Stay with me." Yes, meth is a wonderful thang...

You guessed it...once that got around...all my equipment was engraved with BBC...my clipboard...flashlight...etc. Thanks in part to the mad engraver and shift of guys that thought they were funny. Just the other day that came up again and the initials started popping up everywhere on my gear again. Maybe that's why I dyed my hair red. LMAO. I'm going to have to get rid of all those guys from the old days. Bastids.

Anynames, Coffeypot, I love MF and I will use it 'til I wear it out! Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me...nanny, nanny poo poo. Only because I am such a hard ass bitch...names make me laugh.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Monkey Mission

Deb at Just Short of Crazy honored me with a Sunshine Award. Coming from the Sun in the land of Michigan...I am so honored. If you haven't checked Deb out...you are missing one crazy, funny, super great woman and a blog! She is an avid follower and we have a lot of the same blog tastes (can you taste a blog?) and humor. We stalk the same people often. Go check it. She rocks!

Because I am a rule breaker...I am giving this award to the one and only great super mother...Michelle Pixie for her little Monkey who has been diagnosed with cancer. Her story was posted on the 4th of May. Grab her Monkey button and support her. She and her family have a tough battle ahead. Internet hugs and love go out to them. Children are the weak link to my heart. They are innocent and it's our job as adults to protect them. Pray for Monkey and show Michelle Pixie some lovin' and support!

Check Michelle and her wonderful family out here...

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Bucket List...World Peace

The Captain came into briefing. He asked me where our Sergeant was...

ME: *blink*blink*

Man, it was good to get even.

Then he said he saw him going to court in his uniform, so he suspected he would be down to work. He wasn't working today. Then...the Captain got rowdy as his rowdy goes...

ME: He's in a uniform because he doesn't have a suit. And probably can't afford one.

CAPTAIN: Suits are for pussies. People that wear the uniform...they believe. [touches himself on the badge, looks to the heavens] It's all about pride. [smirks]

ME: Pffst. That's a bunch of horseshit and you know it! I've been here long enough. Don't try that bullshit on me. Go find some rookies.

CAPTAIN: 96, what the hell are you here for if you don't believe?

ME: I'm here for the people, Captain!

TROOPS: [laughs, jeers]

CAPTAIN: That's damn funny.

We joke about it. We make fun...because we are jaded cops. Most of us really do have pride and really do believe, and are here for the people. I just want World Peace. Is that too much to ask?

Monday, May 3, 2010

The Daily Dose of Insanity...Serial Killah Monday Minute

Another Monday...another INSANE Monday Minute. This one takes the cake...er, finger. Ian,  the serial KILLAH...has asked them...I was required to answer. He puts so much pressure on me! Check the freak him out here. Don't leave your IP address, tho. He might hunt you down...and you might end up in his freezer...or something. See my responses below...but first...some POLICE BLOTTER...

Another fatal accident...I'm going to rename our little city advertisements from their current slogan to..FATAL ATTRACTIONS...COME GET SOME ACTION. PEOPLE ARE DYING TO GET HERE.

Why can't people fly drive right? We are seriously raising some concerns on the different reasons why people are having extreme crashes and fatalities. Some are drunk, sober, huffing, high...
There is no rhyme or reason or pattern. It scares us coppers.

Here is some police radio traffic DE-Cyphering cop code for all you scanner peeps...

I call this officer BIG CHEESE...beause he looks like he's from Wisconsin and eats a lot of cheese.

Big Cheese was the first to arrive at the fatal accident last night. Here is the radio traffic and some of our conversation. There was debris and carnage everywhere on this one.

BIG CHEESE: (over the radio) Roll medical. SEVERE head trauma.


BIG CHEESE: (over the radio) Disregard medical. Fire is here. They're going to call it.


BIG CHEESE: (over the radio) They called it. We have a 79. Notify the sergeant.


I get on scene and go check it out. I looked down at the dead guy...looked up at BIG CHEESE.

ME: You actually were going to call medical on this one?

BIG CHEESE: Well. [shrugs shoulders] There are people watching up there. [points to top of hill]

ME: Half his frickin' head is missing, dude. *blink* blink*

BIG CHEESE: Yeah, I know.

ME: What. Did you think the paramedics were going to do? Duct tape it together?

BIG CHEESE: Yeah, I know. It's great for everything but this scenario. [cheesy smirk, giggle]

Sarg shows up.

SARG: [to Big Cheese] What. Did you think they were going to put all that back together and tape it? *blink* blink*


1 - How much would you have to be paid to eat a human cadaver's finger?

Gut reaction to this question: What the eff is wrong with you, man? *blink* blink*

Well, first, I am very worried about how many of these "trophies" Ian is keeping in his freezer. Can you say Jeffrey Dahmer? YIKES! Well I am all about Fear Factor and being a money whore! I need to know if the finger will be frozen, fresh, sloughing, or liquified? Diseases? And I would only eat the birdie (FU) finger. PPPPP-UKE! I have a trigger gag reflex. You would have to promise me BAZILLIONS weeks in advance..in cash...in small bills... and then I probably would still barf and cave. Then... I would take that money and run before anyone could catch me not fulfilling my end of the bargain.

Seriously? Where does Ian come up with this shit? Probably while sitting on the pot...taking a number 2.

2 - Describe the worst physical fight you've ever been in.

Myself and a veteran officer, Munchies, responded to the homeless transition home for a woman that was being kicked out of the housing district. She wouldn't leave when told to since she broke the rules and her housing contract. She had been evicted through the sheriff's department and the next step was physical removal of her person by the popo.  And she was scaring the residents and had assaulted a worker. They also suspected she was high on meth or some other drug. They didn't want to press charges, they just wanted her to leave. So...we enter her 4 x 5 room.

Large woman. Six foot tall. Gurlzilla type. We tell her the way the city runs the housing. We tell her the law. We tell her to leave. She had sat down on the bed prior to our arrival and appeared calm, but stubborn. She said she "felt depressed." The other officer said she was not getting out of it by claiming she was depressed...she had to leave. She said she "felt a little suicidal." The other officer said we could take her to the mental ward and she could check in there. She said NO. Taken aback by a dumb response...we figured she was trying to get out of the problems and take the easy way out to free room and board.

Then...she said she would show us she was suicidal. She had been sitting on a pair of scissors and in a split second grabbed them and stabbed them into her stomach. Little did we know...she was mostly acting and due to her fat rolls, she had not penetrated herself. But we acted. Munchies grabbed her arm and hand with the scissors. I grabbed the other. The fight was on. We were in a sardine can fighting the BIG TUNA.

So Big Tuna goes psycho. Initially...we had poor control. And add drugs to adrenaline...you get retard strength. She got a few punches in and knocked Munchies glasses off. I unloaded my entire can of pepper spray in her eyes. Munchies unloaded his. No effect. The scissors had been taken away from her and now she was throwing punches. And so were we. No tasers in those days. I punched and punched. Munchies punched and punched. No effect. What the hell? We gave her a MILLION knee strikes and some landed in her belly...over and over. All she did was make "oof" noises on top of her banshee screaming of pyschotic rage.  I, in the heat of the moment, had still been clinging to my can of pepper spray and so my punches should have been extra kung pow terrific. The Big Tuna bitch was something else.  I think except for most of the face shots, that our punches were futile and were absorbed in her fat rolls, resulting in just small effects.

It dawned on me that I had my pepper spray can in my hand. They are made out of sturdy metal. So I took that hand...my good right hand..and I'm right handed (unless I shoot...which is left handed with long rifles, right with handgun. ) and I hit her as hard as I could on her forehead with the end of my pepper spray can. Down she went. Ding dong... the witch was dead ...out cold. Ha!

Perhaps you can guess that with the unloading of two cans of high potency pepper spray in a small room with no ventilation that  Munchies and I were practically blind, his glasses were broken, and we were gagging, coughing, and spewing mucous from every membrane. It was beautiful.

After the ambulance got there and we strapped the Big Tuna to the gurney...with smelling salts...she awoke. I looked down at her. NICE! I had implanted a perfect impression of the pepper spray in her forehead. BONUS! Thank you, Defense Technologies! She looked up at me and said I was one mean bitch and so was the other girl. Poor Munchies. He doesn't look like a girl. Maybe he hit like one. I don't know.

We later learned she had taken PCP laced marijuana. Nice combo. Super RETARD strength added to psycho, huge, and a bitchy woman! Can I say retard strength enough times?  Our uniforms were torn, Munchies had a black eye, and broken glasses. I just had some bruises on my legs and a few scratches on top of my uniform carnage. So what happens when you give PCP to a big fish?...MARVELOUS CAT FIGHT!

3 - Name one song that if you never heard it ever again, you'd be thrilled.

ANYTHING BRITTNEY SPEARS. Or Justin Bieber singing love songs. I get visuals and isn't he like, 8? Ick.

4 - Describe the "drunkest" situation you've ever been.

I would tell you...but I don't remember...HA! College was bad.

Probably the night my college roommate drove drunk and parked the car on the lawn in Prexie's Pasture at the University of Wyoming. So there, became my desire for lawn parking that I would do later in life myself as the popo. Star performance and so glad she didn't kill anyone. We actually woke up under a tree and found the car later. Have no idea what happened before that.

Or this one time at band camp, again, ...in college...when I discovered I am allergic to Vodka. Passed completely out and woke up in the ER. At a .38 BAC. Asked for a popcicle. NICE. It cost me $643.00. Friends had video. It was like Kim Bassinger in Blind Date. WOW. Apparently, I danced on tables at a bar (fully clothed) like Elaine's (Julie Louis-Dreyfus) magic moments dancing on Seinfeld (beautiful), got up and sang like a freaking tone deaf American Idol with the band on the stage,  and punched a 300 pound bouncer in the face, then fell right in front of him. Nice big man carried me to the car and friends promptly took me to the ER.

Proud moments in history. NOT.

5 - What's your biggest regret?

Oh, there are lots. My VERY biggest regret is not being able to give Ian a NUT CHOP for these questions he forces us to answer.

Ian's cop pop quiz answers are below. See how you faired:

Ian’s (Last Friday) Questions…True or False

1. In 2003, I went undercover to investigate a prostitution ring for 6 months. It scared me at first. After awhile I got used to being a ho…or at least pretending. My information made the case go federal and the FBI took over it.

False. Never happened. Dang and I wanted to dress like a slut.

2. My first case as a detective was a huge counterfeiting ring also involving over $300,000 in stolen property. Two of the suspects died in a fatal crash. The ring leader had a phony identity he had used for years and he was enlisted in the US Army. When captured, he commended me for figuring out who he was and stated… even the US government had no idea who he really was. He asked, “Who are you? The FBI?” His father had been on the FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted list and one of the US’s most famous bank robbers.

3. I told Vince Neil (Motley Crue) he was a troll at one of his concerts.
True. We often get assigned to concerts as the popo because of obvious problems and large crowds.

4. I have had several suspects threaten to kill me when they get out of prison. The one I believed would try to do it, died in prison and I always believed he was a serial killer. No charges of murder were ever brought against him, although the federal judge said his record was the worst and most violent he had ever witnessed in his court. The judge, being a federal judge for over 20 years, was very upset and gave him the maximum sentence possible for his parole violation which was a whopping 2 years max sentence. The judge said in open court he wished he could mandate life.

True. And I took my weak ass shit case to court to save people because it was all I had. He also had a state charge and 3 year sentence on top of the 2 year federal one.

5. I did CPR on a dead guy and encouraged a citizen to help me.

True. But we didn’t know he was dead yet. Well, OK,  I figured he was.

6. I have been on CourtTV and A & E’s Cold Case.

False. Spoke to them about some of my famous bad guys, tho.

7. Once when trying to crack a tough robbery, case, I got a blank VCR tape and put “ Holiday Inn Express Robbery” on it and set it in front of the bad guy and left the room. When I came back, he confessed to robbing the hotel at gunpoint. The rest of the case was shit and I got lucky.


8. I arrested a man who was reported naked in the park and trying to fart…”Whistle While You Work” while holding a rake and raking some leaves. Then… he was chasing kids in the park with the rake. He was about 30 feet from the mental ward. He had escaped while being treated for severe mental problems.


9. While talking online to child predators, my moniker was “dirtygirl14”. I bragged about being the “blow job queen” in junior high. Upon capture, one of the predators flew into our town and was wearing a leopard print thong. I greeted him with my Glock in his face. I couldn’t look up. It was crazy

False. But we may have arranged a takedown like for a different type of child predator’s capture.

10. Last summer, my trainee and I arrested a man, naked, walking around and only wearing a short Dale Earnhart, Jr. jacket and a ballcap…on his head. I told him he disgraced Nascar and no one wanted to see his one inch erection.

False. My trainee was in charge and kept asking the guy, why? If I hadn’t held my tongue…I would have surely said all the above.