I love this blog... the deal with it is that most of my stories are true, some are sort of true and some are just that stories. I hope to leave it up to the reader to decide which category a story belongs in. This story however, I will give you the answer is true. This story isn't sad, it isn't funny and witty but it is one of those times I will always remember.
Today was a hard day at work, not so much because it was hot and humid and I was in layers of black hot clothes, or because the department seems to be turmoil from my perspective but simply because I know I will be leaving soon, and I have to work at not allowing myself to be sad. This is quite a struggle for me. I came home to a not so clean or together house, my son and I had a disagreement, he's my rock right now and my dog had again pee'd on the floor, why the hell do I continue to buy those stupid puppy pads. Needless to say I was not at the top of my game. The word for it was "feeling sorry for myself". I decided to bring my jammie clad ed self to the computer and begin my long journey of spanish 2311, dear god. My son had called and asked if I wanted him to bring me my favorite from the restaurant he was at. I felt better instantly that he and I were not at odds. Seems I am at odds with everyone as of late, because of me, not them. As I sat looking at words that meant absolutely nothing to me, my mind began to wonder. I tell myself all will be fine, the unknown is sometimes good. As I sat at my computer staring at my ocean pictures I received a call on my land phone. Umm, only bill collectors call my land phone. I look anyway, well shucks it is my friend, he's the only one who "ever" calls my land phone. I answer.
His deep voice bellows "whatcha doin", I decide to forego the poor me answer. Nuthin. Have you eaten? Nope, but the son is bring me take out. Nevermind. Why do you ask, were you going to invite me to Texas DeBrazil? laughter.... No..to Poncho's. Poncho's I repeat. Yep, but since you have plans. I quickly tell him, not on your life, give me time to change and I'll be at the door. Ok.
He picks me up and off we go to our old neighborhood or at least the area.
Poncho's is like caviar, it's an acquired taste. It was where we would go on payday as a kid, the flag, the all you can eat, the same building... the memories. We get our food, we begin to talk. We talk about about our families, our work, our issue's. I talk about my kid, he talks of his closeness to his wife. I have to say I like his wife, she has class, and spunk, she can cuss someone out and still hold her little pinky up as she is doing it.(just a little sidebar). We laugh, I nearly cry. I stop for a brief moment and really look at my friend. I have known him for years, yet it seemed we had all the time in the world to be friends. Now things are changing, I am leaving, we will stay friends but it won't be the same. I see the kindness in his eyes, I see his mother in his eyes, I see that he too is tired. I take that moment to store that 45 minute meal into my memory bank. Strange what we chose to store as important memories. I needed him to be my friend, I needed to know someone understood my continual struggle against the sadness this change has brought. I needed to hear his laughter. He tells me of a very honorable position he holds. He tells me all will be ok. We laugh when the two year old drops her soda cup on the baby in the carrier. (the cup was closed) but it was funny seeing the dad jump up... not everyone would have laughed with me. I tell my friend I felt honored that he called me to go to Poncho's. I truly did. He is my friend, and only a hand full of friends can get me out of my jammies once I am in them!!!Tonite, he was the friend I needed. Things do have a way of working out, things will be ok. I already feel better, and soon I will have to find something else to "whine" about because this sadness over this issue will pass. I want to thank my friend for being there, and his wife for always allowing our friendship to be what it is. Thank you to both.I have not told who my friend is because that is part of what makes this memory "my memory".My supper was spectacular!!! later chickies and chicketts. :)
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Wrinkled toes
My day today was less than exciting, however I have to admit today I was the wettest I have ever been in my career. I stood in knee deep flood water and told people who seemed to have no sense of if I am in knee deep water, or if they can't see my feet then perhaps they should not take their beetle car into the great watery unknown. I swear, I can understand teenagers, and old people, but grown adults. One lady who was trying to go around the barricades used to block the street because of high water... she goes through the bank parking lot, and "thinks" she sees the exit drive. Well what she saw was the cement culvert. She nose dived her old caddy right into that ditch. I get there, still wet from the last help me, help me.. and I just stand in the driving rain, with water running over, in, through my boots. I ask her.. just what were you thinking. She had some asinine reply. I look at the car, and there is her honey bunny man, sitting in the car, with two of the ugliest english bull dogs I have ever seen. She asks me to help her save the slobbery creatures... is she serious, can't dogs swim? She hasn't even mentioned the guy who is still sitting in the ever flooding vehicle. I tell her that she could go to jail, she begins to cry and tell me how she and her babies, are just at the end of their rope. Her and the dogs, or her and honey bunny? I tell her as much as I would like to feel sorry for her, she did a stupid thing and stupid things cost about 100.00 for the wrecker fee.
I manage through the rest of the day, wet socks, wet tee shirt, wet cold polyester pants, and my toes were as wrinkled as my fingers. What a miserable day, but at least no one was killed like in the past. Tomorrow will bring more rain, more wrinkled toes and a wait and see attitude. later yall.
I manage through the rest of the day, wet socks, wet tee shirt, wet cold polyester pants, and my toes were as wrinkled as my fingers. What a miserable day, but at least no one was killed like in the past. Tomorrow will bring more rain, more wrinkled toes and a wait and see attitude. later yall.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Panty lines - Yes or No
We have all seen them. Those hideous panty lines. Yes hideous I say. Now let me tell you that I know of one guy who swears he loves to see panty lines. "Oh my gosh,your a sick man.." is the beginning of the conversation I have with him. How can you possibly find anything of beauty from panty lines? He smiles that smile that all men have when they have a secret, or when they have no answer at all. He tells me, it leads him to wonder what kind of panties she has on.
I wonder about his thought processing abilities.
From time to time I find myself parked in the Walmart parking lot, just watching, for what ever.. car burglars, people arguing (walmart in a small town is a hot spot for disturbances don't you know!) you get the idea. I notice that the vast majority of shoppers are indeed women. I am not one to "look" at women, far from that, but honestly the man looking possibility is extremely limited to say the least. I see one woman, who evokes a reaction of "lord I hope those threads are strong". I truly believed that had one single stitch failed in its assigned duty of saving the shorts from ripping, that lady would have injured a child with the pressure that the material would release upon the thread failing. I manage to forget about the safety issue and I begin to realize that she has other issues that seem to be even more pressing. Yep, those darn ole panty lines. Fat, skinny, broad, narrow, panty lines seem to go on forever. This poor lady must not have owned a single mirror. I know same old joke, but even that deaf, dumb and blind kid that plays a mean pinball, the pinball wizard could have figured out the depth of those hideous lines. She not only had lines across her expanding hips, but in other less writable places. Bike shorts were made for those who own a bike, or for those who own a mirror or for those who know that panties do not go with yellow bike shorts. I shuttered for this poor woman whose butt jiggled as if she had found 4 kittens and decided to house them in her stretchy outfit. I cringed with embarrassment for her because her panty lines were beginning to ride up her cheekies...the most uncomfortablist situation of all clothing mishaps. I hoped for her sake her small daughter would not continue to walk behind her, pointing at her mother's butt and saying as she went along, momma your shorts have bumps and lines drawn in them. Yes, out of the mouths of babes. Even with this outburst, the woman carried on in her quest for food as opposed to a mirror, t-backs and denim!
I wonder about his thought processing abilities.
From time to time I find myself parked in the Walmart parking lot, just watching, for what ever.. car burglars, people arguing (walmart in a small town is a hot spot for disturbances don't you know!) you get the idea. I notice that the vast majority of shoppers are indeed women. I am not one to "look" at women, far from that, but honestly the man looking possibility is extremely limited to say the least. I see one woman, who evokes a reaction of "lord I hope those threads are strong". I truly believed that had one single stitch failed in its assigned duty of saving the shorts from ripping, that lady would have injured a child with the pressure that the material would release upon the thread failing. I manage to forget about the safety issue and I begin to realize that she has other issues that seem to be even more pressing. Yep, those darn ole panty lines. Fat, skinny, broad, narrow, panty lines seem to go on forever. This poor lady must not have owned a single mirror. I know same old joke, but even that deaf, dumb and blind kid that plays a mean pinball, the pinball wizard could have figured out the depth of those hideous lines. She not only had lines across her expanding hips, but in other less writable places. Bike shorts were made for those who own a bike, or for those who own a mirror or for those who know that panties do not go with yellow bike shorts. I shuttered for this poor woman whose butt jiggled as if she had found 4 kittens and decided to house them in her stretchy outfit. I cringed with embarrassment for her because her panty lines were beginning to ride up her cheekies...the most uncomfortablist situation of all clothing mishaps. I hoped for her sake her small daughter would not continue to walk behind her, pointing at her mother's butt and saying as she went along, momma your shorts have bumps and lines drawn in them. Yes, out of the mouths of babes. Even with this outburst, the woman carried on in her quest for food as opposed to a mirror, t-backs and denim!
Potty on Duty
All of you I hope are aware that I am not one to point out the differences between myself and my counterparts (male officer) however, in this one instance I think pointing out the following difference warrants being written about.
As a rookie female officer I learned very quickly that I had to "pace" myself. I had to learn how much water was too much water, how much gatorade would have a disturbing effect or god forbid the soda effect.
Let me begin by explaining the ritual of the male officer potty break. This ritual will take very little time or typing. My counterpart announces proudly "It's my potty break" off he goes. Into the bathroom, any bathroom will do, from truck stop to the cleanest hospital bathroom. He has no sense of discretion. He enters into the room, looks the door, and takes his stance. I have found he uses various words to describe his next action, he unzips gently of course, haven't we all heard "those" unzip quick stories!! He may unfurl, unfold, gently, yank, grab, take out his most prized possession. He tinkles, he drips, he shakes and then he replaces his little baby, bald sparrow, with big black closed eyeballs into its nest, nestled gently back into its cushisy little place of warmth. Zip up, gently of course, open the door, check to make sure no dripplees and off to the next adventure. This takes a mire 3 minutes, Yep, I timed one of them. Strictly as a investigative piece of information. Now lets examine the ritual of a female officer.
I will use my own experience as an example, my stories seem to be about me.
Female officers start out working with inept equipment for the ritual we are speaking of. First the gun belt, it is made for male officers, it is stiff, (unbending) it sits on our hip bones, well it sits on Lt.,Sgt,officer Cankles hips, like it does mine... his ankles, hips and family jewels all look odd to me. Anyway, I have to wear two belts, drawers (girl drawers, not boxers like some girls do)tee shirt, bulletproof vest, work shirt, pants, and then the two belts held together with keepers. So you can see the technical aspect of this situation beginning to unfold. Because I failed to pace myself, I begin to realize that I may have to tinkle.. oh please anything but that, gas, indigestion, maybe even crumbly tummy, but not that bladder issue. I think of my failed relationships, my woman crazed son, my hurt knee, or even the death wrecks of days gone by. Nope, not working, still got to tinkle.. I tell everyone I work around, for god sake don't make me laugh, run or hickup. They find this a challenge at times. Need I tell them my bladder has had a baby sit on it, 15 beers poured into it and several years added to its inception! Oh they love to make me laugh, Lt. A and Sandy! My mind races.. where is the cleanest bathroom. One stop, nahhh, 7-11 maybe, JJ's heavens no... ok I'll just race to the police department, I call dispatch and explain to them the severity of the problem. I have waited till there is no room for error or calls. I speed to the bathroom, it's not much cleaner but its safe, I convince myself. I park my car, I get out rather slowly, although speed would be warranted in this case, it is difficult to walk fast when you have your knee's stuck together at the knobby as if they are made out of barbie doll material, and your kegeling as you walk. Please, please if there is a god, don't let me sneeze, poot or laugh or I will have to go home and change. I reach for the door knob, it is slow motion, I think to myself if Linda is in that damn bathroom I am going to use the men's room, they never sit anyway. Ahh, it's unoccupied. I jerk open the door, I scour the room looking for obvious signs of coodies.. girls you know what I am talking about. I then have to work a miracle. I decide that my baby girl gunbelt should not be put on the floor, but what do I do with that unbendable leather size 30 gun belt with all kinds of junk such as tazers, guns and radio that has to be left on during this entire process. I know I will put it in the sink. I wipe the sink down, I begin to do a little dance. Time is a tickin!!! I have to get these stupid keepers off. Why do I wear three of them? I am beginning to chunk the keepers, sink hell, floor is good. I check my radio.. all I need is to advertise my bladder condition. I am trying not to touch anything but me and mine. Coodies! Keepers off.. now got to get this 100lbs of pressure buckle unlatched. Now its critical. This stupid hook, I swear to god, I am going to explode, I begin to sweat. I talk to myself.. got to get this buckle unhooked, got to get.. ahh its unhooked, thank god again. Oh now, did I key up that radio, listen, what the hell, why are they calling 234 I told dispatch I am in the bathroom. They sound like they are snickering while calling me. I can't answer them, it will echo in here, wait till I get out of this coodie room. I bypass the sink idea, things will be worse if I take anymore time. I strip off that second belt, and then there are those three layers to wade through. I have that down to an art, but in the beginning I think I weewee'd on my tee shirt tail once or twice. I get to the important part of the drill. WAIT, as all women know, whether you are a dirty doper or a pristine prissy girl, never, never sit down. Great, now I have to keep my work shirt tail out of the toilet, my tee shirt from being drippled on and my drawers, well they have fallen to my tactical boots and I am in a half squadded position. I am trying to aim to the center, not fall onto the coodie potty, watch the door, listen to the dispatchers giggle and pray my radio mike is not getting a staph infection. I manage to manipulate all these factors. It is almost like a rush, when the big moment arrives and passes. Then I realize I missed a step in my ritual, .. where is the toilet paper, dear god, no toilet paper, there has got to be a paper towel or toilet paper. Where in this coodie room would you hide the paper. There on top of the girl products container... thank you sweet Jesus. I waddle to the new roll, its only 2 feet away, but one has to use caution, no dribblies.... Why must this be so hard. I finally, complete all the ritualistic steps. I now must bend over, pick up a 8lbs gun belt, hoist it onto the limited amount of hips, I poke my butt out, let the gun belt rest on my poked out butt, I move all the stuff around then have to cram all my beauty into all those layers, make sure all is tucked in straight, keep the second belt velcroded, and then that stupid buckle. 234, 234... copy call. Damn it, they are not snickering... I get the buckle connected, the zipper zipped, no slow zipper for me (I have worked 4 hrs, with an unzipped zipper, and that was with baby blue drawers..nice uhh)I wash my hands, although they touched nothing but toilet paper, I swipe at my radio mike and out the door I go, throwing the paper towel into the trash just before the door slams shut on my boot shoe string, I nearly break my neck. This ritual that takes my counterparts 3 minutes, has been fine tuned to a mire 6 minutes. Yes, 6 minutes, from start to finish, no rest for the weary. So, back to my original statement. Female officers learn early in their careers that a potty break on duty is a treacherous situation. Later chicks and chicketts
As a rookie female officer I learned very quickly that I had to "pace" myself. I had to learn how much water was too much water, how much gatorade would have a disturbing effect or god forbid the soda effect.
Let me begin by explaining the ritual of the male officer potty break. This ritual will take very little time or typing. My counterpart announces proudly "It's my potty break" off he goes. Into the bathroom, any bathroom will do, from truck stop to the cleanest hospital bathroom. He has no sense of discretion. He enters into the room, looks the door, and takes his stance. I have found he uses various words to describe his next action, he unzips gently of course, haven't we all heard "those" unzip quick stories!! He may unfurl, unfold, gently, yank, grab, take out his most prized possession. He tinkles, he drips, he shakes and then he replaces his little baby, bald sparrow, with big black closed eyeballs into its nest, nestled gently back into its cushisy little place of warmth. Zip up, gently of course, open the door, check to make sure no dripplees and off to the next adventure. This takes a mire 3 minutes, Yep, I timed one of them. Strictly as a investigative piece of information. Now lets examine the ritual of a female officer.
I will use my own experience as an example, my stories seem to be about me.
Female officers start out working with inept equipment for the ritual we are speaking of. First the gun belt, it is made for male officers, it is stiff, (unbending) it sits on our hip bones, well it sits on Lt.,Sgt,officer Cankles hips, like it does mine... his ankles, hips and family jewels all look odd to me. Anyway, I have to wear two belts, drawers (girl drawers, not boxers like some girls do)tee shirt, bulletproof vest, work shirt, pants, and then the two belts held together with keepers. So you can see the technical aspect of this situation beginning to unfold. Because I failed to pace myself, I begin to realize that I may have to tinkle.. oh please anything but that, gas, indigestion, maybe even crumbly tummy, but not that bladder issue. I think of my failed relationships, my woman crazed son, my hurt knee, or even the death wrecks of days gone by. Nope, not working, still got to tinkle.. I tell everyone I work around, for god sake don't make me laugh, run or hickup. They find this a challenge at times. Need I tell them my bladder has had a baby sit on it, 15 beers poured into it and several years added to its inception! Oh they love to make me laugh, Lt. A and Sandy! My mind races.. where is the cleanest bathroom. One stop, nahhh, 7-11 maybe, JJ's heavens no... ok I'll just race to the police department, I call dispatch and explain to them the severity of the problem. I have waited till there is no room for error or calls. I speed to the bathroom, it's not much cleaner but its safe, I convince myself. I park my car, I get out rather slowly, although speed would be warranted in this case, it is difficult to walk fast when you have your knee's stuck together at the knobby as if they are made out of barbie doll material, and your kegeling as you walk. Please, please if there is a god, don't let me sneeze, poot or laugh or I will have to go home and change. I reach for the door knob, it is slow motion, I think to myself if Linda is in that damn bathroom I am going to use the men's room, they never sit anyway. Ahh, it's unoccupied. I jerk open the door, I scour the room looking for obvious signs of coodies.. girls you know what I am talking about. I then have to work a miracle. I decide that my baby girl gunbelt should not be put on the floor, but what do I do with that unbendable leather size 30 gun belt with all kinds of junk such as tazers, guns and radio that has to be left on during this entire process. I know I will put it in the sink. I wipe the sink down, I begin to do a little dance. Time is a tickin!!! I have to get these stupid keepers off. Why do I wear three of them? I am beginning to chunk the keepers, sink hell, floor is good. I check my radio.. all I need is to advertise my bladder condition. I am trying not to touch anything but me and mine. Coodies! Keepers off.. now got to get this 100lbs of pressure buckle unlatched. Now its critical. This stupid hook, I swear to god, I am going to explode, I begin to sweat. I talk to myself.. got to get this buckle unhooked, got to get.. ahh its unhooked, thank god again. Oh now, did I key up that radio, listen, what the hell, why are they calling 234 I told dispatch I am in the bathroom. They sound like they are snickering while calling me. I can't answer them, it will echo in here, wait till I get out of this coodie room. I bypass the sink idea, things will be worse if I take anymore time. I strip off that second belt, and then there are those three layers to wade through. I have that down to an art, but in the beginning I think I weewee'd on my tee shirt tail once or twice. I get to the important part of the drill. WAIT, as all women know, whether you are a dirty doper or a pristine prissy girl, never, never sit down. Great, now I have to keep my work shirt tail out of the toilet, my tee shirt from being drippled on and my drawers, well they have fallen to my tactical boots and I am in a half squadded position. I am trying to aim to the center, not fall onto the coodie potty, watch the door, listen to the dispatchers giggle and pray my radio mike is not getting a staph infection. I manage to manipulate all these factors. It is almost like a rush, when the big moment arrives and passes. Then I realize I missed a step in my ritual, .. where is the toilet paper, dear god, no toilet paper, there has got to be a paper towel or toilet paper. Where in this coodie room would you hide the paper. There on top of the girl products container... thank you sweet Jesus. I waddle to the new roll, its only 2 feet away, but one has to use caution, no dribblies.... Why must this be so hard. I finally, complete all the ritualistic steps. I now must bend over, pick up a 8lbs gun belt, hoist it onto the limited amount of hips, I poke my butt out, let the gun belt rest on my poked out butt, I move all the stuff around then have to cram all my beauty into all those layers, make sure all is tucked in straight, keep the second belt velcroded, and then that stupid buckle. 234, 234... copy call. Damn it, they are not snickering... I get the buckle connected, the zipper zipped, no slow zipper for me (I have worked 4 hrs, with an unzipped zipper, and that was with baby blue drawers..nice uhh)I wash my hands, although they touched nothing but toilet paper, I swipe at my radio mike and out the door I go, throwing the paper towel into the trash just before the door slams shut on my boot shoe string, I nearly break my neck. This ritual that takes my counterparts 3 minutes, has been fine tuned to a mire 6 minutes. Yes, 6 minutes, from start to finish, no rest for the weary. So, back to my original statement. Female officers learn early in their careers that a potty break on duty is a treacherous situation. Later chicks and chicketts
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
My friend is gone
Some may ask why anyone would put their thoughts and emotions out there for everyone to read. I ask myself that sometimes as I type the words that often seem to just flow without effort. I am no Hemingway but I can spell better than Patrick, (sponge bob or Bovea) I do it because for me it helps. Maybe because misery loves company, maybe because it helps to know other's have had or having the same feelings, good and bad. My last blog was funny, got to admit I was way off on that one. This one is more serious. I miss my friend. I have several friends both male and female that I know without a doubt they would be here for me if I truly needed help. I know they care about me even with my Roswell theories and my roulette thoughts. I am not one to be with my friends on Friday nite or to gather around the camp fire. Just having them is often enough for me. Yet, there was one friend. He was and will always be important to me. He was the one who knew me best. He knew my fears, my jokes, my pain and my love. He was a good man in a bad situation. He cared about me in his own way, the only way he felt he could. He had the capability to make me the happiest or the saddest I have ever been. He bought me the coolest gifts when it was gift giving time, otherwise that one was a money squeezer. I never wanted his money, only his time. He didn't have much of that to give and the world began to en fringe on our small little lives. I could no longer wait for my share of time, I could no longer watch him struggle to accommodate all that was expected from him. I would not continue to lose footing on that ladder of people. Do I doubt he cared or loved me, nope, he put up with alot from me, as I did in a different way from him. Did or do I love him, yes, I always will, he was my best friend, he believed in me when I didn't, couldn't believe in myself, he loved me for me and my cuss words as much as he disliked them. He was kind to me, patient with me and he was always nice about it! (inside joke)I miss him tonite. I pushed him away because it was time, our friendship had no space or time left, but the hurt is still there and the vacant place where once there were stories, phone calls and dreams seems so large tonite. I will cherish the memories I have of my friend and wonder why fate has a way of always having me just barely miss finding very own friend to keep. I have my very special friends and they make me feel better, and as greg says, sweetie it was just time, and he is right. Next blog will be about one of my other "odd" date, I will call one eyed wonder. later chicks and chickettes.
Half a foot
As many of you know I have been single most of my life. Yes, my baby has a daddy and we were married. So anyway my friend of many years must have felt sorry for me during one of my pitiful stories while he was checking my sinus's.. He tells me of his wife's cousin's friends uncle..I don't really remember but the point is I didn't find him myself which may be good or bad not sure. So I agree to meet the guy. Blind dates are not easy for anyone, and I am no exception. I meet the guy, I think we go to a restaurant, was a long time ago. He and I go to the lake just a few blocks from my home, we are sitting and looking at the lake,the snakes, and the moon, romantic right, well then it started. As we are sitting and talking and I am secretly watching my watch because as nice as he was, he wasn't MY nice guy. He turns to me and he says quietly, almost as if he is telling me a secret that he needs to tell me. My mind begins to do what it does best, stray.. I think to myself what the heck is he going to tell me on the first blind date that elicits such a strange beginning. I try to look at him like I care about what he is about to share. Again, we are sitting at the lake, in my car, in the dark..not the best place for a strange man to share his secret. So he says to me.." I have half a foot!" Well then my brain is spinning like the little ball does on the roulette game. What in the living shit does a woman say to a strange man in the park to the comment"I have half a foot." I quickly land on an answer and plan. In a nano second I decide that just my luck, this guy is a sex fiend and he is going to tell me about his "half a foot" then I jump to oh my gosh, he thinks I am a sex fiend and he thinks I CARE he has half a foot., and thennnn I think, if he plans on sharing that statement he won't have half a foot to tell about for much longer. He is staring at me, watching for my reaction. I make every attempt to look unalarmed, unamazed, unstartled, uninterested and to not tell him to get out and walk..who did he think he was, and what the heck did he think dinner gets a guy, not to mention..1/2 foot? was that a good thing or bad thing. So I tell him as nice as I can.."well that's good, that's not so bad, that's better than 5 inches." what does one say to that, I still don't know..I know one can laugh at certain points but this was not that point. He has a rather strange look on his face. He sits there for a minute, the frogs croak, the crickets crick, and my heart is pounding to get ready for that old fight or flight. Then I guess it registers with him what my response implied. He looks at me like I am an idiot..yes me the idiot. He continues and says..I have half a foot" I get it fella..half a foot..I don't care, get over it!!! He says finally "you don't understand" oh I understand. He says.. I was in a construction accident and half of my foot was chopped off..I have half a foot. I swear this is true. I look at him with an idiot look and again my faulty roulette brain has to say something..So I decide on two lifesaving questions: 1. How do you walk without falling down? 2. What do you do to keep your shoe from folding in half in the wrong place? His response "I put a sock in it, my shoe that is". I have never felt so stupid in my entire life. Needless to say the date ended quickly and I never heard from him, nor did my friend try to help again. My date with a man with half a foot.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
HGTV is wrong!
So after my heart wrenching previous msg, and the boohooo of it all, now I have a new issue. Yep, of course I do, this blog is all about me!!! Seems, I have watched way too much HGTV, that darn David Bromstead, I think he's lite in the loafers but he has a nice smile, so who cares...anyway, He and the other's say "just paint, for a new, cost efficient way to redecorate, JUST PAINT!" rite. I took that 30minute show at its word. Should have considered that 18 people are working on a 15x15 room. Well at my house not so much. I now have what appears to be a white washed 3/4 painted 15x15 room, with a massive pinch of pink peeking through. What is that Kilz anyway? So Noel and I get started, paint drops on my hardwood floors, little white dots that lead to the hall way, much have been on my sockies, and the furniture, well.. I know me, so I took the bed down, and brought the recliner in. So I am currently sleeping on a full, cheap mattress on the floor, convincing myself if John Lennon and Yoko Ono could do it, so can I . However, seems my junk doesn't bend all that well. I step up 2" to get into my bed, then I have to roll to the floor, put my feet on the floor with my fanny up in the air, and at all times taking great care in not letting my top heavy stuff topple me over. Not a drop of dignity. I finally get straightened out and look around at my HGTV creation and think to myself... maybe this could be Noel's room. The more I type and read the more I think "God I am pathetic" but funny as hell sometimes. later friends..p.s. I am fine.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I DON'T WANT TO BE A %^$#$*& CLOWN!!!!!!
Since I have been invited to "contribute" to this little ole blog of Rexannes, I would like to tell one great story (there are many) about Rex that have given me so much joy over the years.
As a supervisor, good things, funny things, terrible things and down right ^&%$ed up things happen to you. I'm not so sure I know which category the following falls into, I will let you be the judge.
Rex had a Sergeant named Terry. They were both assigned to the "CREW" C.R.U. Crime Resolution Unit. One of many duties they had was of course community events and one of the community events was a kid fire safety program that the fire department had started.
The fire prevention program had the need for many things, someone to set up the shows, write the shows, schedule the shows with the Azle ISD, etc...etc.. and last but not least, be "an actor" in the show.
There were "straight" actors and then there were clown actors in the show. I, of course was a "straight" actor, meaning I would assist in the show, but as an officer in uniform to introduce skits, actors and play the part of the "serious" one.
We all had our roles and everything was working pretty good with the fire department when one of the main players in the FD left the department to go to another department. What were we going to do? We had a schedule, dates set in stone and a key "clown actor" had up and quit.
The show must go on...someone would have to step up to the plate but I was not involved in that "selection" process. As days pass, no one stepped up and we were going to have to re-write some of our plays...rehearsals were needed and things went from bad to worse. It was going to be difficult without that key player...
The next day Rex comes storming into my office crying her eyes out trying to tell me something. But between the snot coming out of her nose and the huffing and puffing trying to catch her breath I couldn't understand a word she was saying except for a couple of cuss words here and there. I thought something bad had happened, Noel screwed something up again?, the toilet in her house backed up?, surely she did not leave the gas station again the with gas pump hose hanging out of her patrol car..again...again????, I really did not know what was wrong.
Finally, I told her in my very cool supervisory way to shut the hell up, quit crying and cussing and tell me what was wrong..again..in a very very VERY COOL supervisory way.
So she begins to tell me how her Sergeant has gotten mad about the "script" and that she will have to become the "star" of the show...meaning she would have to play the clown...well I got news for you...that was NOT a good idea. She began crying again and couldn't talk...but I got this much...she was not going to be the clown...
We rewrote the script...and the show went on...and Rex did not play a clown...at least for that show.
As a supervisor, good things, funny things, terrible things and down right ^&%$ed up things happen to you. I'm not so sure I know which category the following falls into, I will let you be the judge.
Rex had a Sergeant named Terry. They were both assigned to the "CREW" C.R.U. Crime Resolution Unit. One of many duties they had was of course community events and one of the community events was a kid fire safety program that the fire department had started.
The fire prevention program had the need for many things, someone to set up the shows, write the shows, schedule the shows with the Azle ISD, etc...etc.. and last but not least, be "an actor" in the show.
There were "straight" actors and then there were clown actors in the show. I, of course was a "straight" actor, meaning I would assist in the show, but as an officer in uniform to introduce skits, actors and play the part of the "serious" one.
We all had our roles and everything was working pretty good with the fire department when one of the main players in the FD left the department to go to another department. What were we going to do? We had a schedule, dates set in stone and a key "clown actor" had up and quit.
The show must go on...someone would have to step up to the plate but I was not involved in that "selection" process. As days pass, no one stepped up and we were going to have to re-write some of our plays...rehearsals were needed and things went from bad to worse. It was going to be difficult without that key player...
The next day Rex comes storming into my office crying her eyes out trying to tell me something. But between the snot coming out of her nose and the huffing and puffing trying to catch her breath I couldn't understand a word she was saying except for a couple of cuss words here and there. I thought something bad had happened, Noel screwed something up again?, the toilet in her house backed up?, surely she did not leave the gas station again the with gas pump hose hanging out of her patrol car..again...again????, I really did not know what was wrong.
Finally, I told her in my very cool supervisory way to shut the hell up, quit crying and cussing and tell me what was wrong..again..in a very very VERY COOL supervisory way.
So she begins to tell me how her Sergeant has gotten mad about the "script" and that she will have to become the "star" of the show...meaning she would have to play the clown...well I got news for you...that was NOT a good idea. She began crying again and couldn't talk...but I got this much...she was not going to be the clown...
We rewrote the script...and the show went on...and Rex did not play a clown...at least for that show.
Sadness abound
As I had said on the side of my blog... this is my way of letting go.. as much as I can. If ever you want to be taken off the list..please just let me know.. I won't be mad or hurt, I know that there are times I can beat a dead horse but like I said this is my outlet. So lets get with the topic that is making me crazy.
As most of you know I have worked for the Police Department for nearly 9 years... a long time when your my age!!! I have worked long hot hours, I have finger printed 100 kids in one event numerous times, I have had boogers smeared on my nice pressed duty shirt, I have had good times/memories, the kids are always precious, boogers and all...and I have the hurtful memories..
I have had mother's fight me to get to their dead children, and then faint in my arms, I have held a lifeless 1 month old baby boy while standing in the rain with the young mother begging me to save her baby, her screams I will never forget the look on her young face, the rain falling, the baby blue even in the dark, his little legs dangling, and me trying my best to breath life back into him... I sat with his little body in the hospital, I held him so he wouldn't be alone until his mother could bear the pain, I remember his little body wrapped in that white blanket, he was so small, so innocent, it was so painful. Lt. Arrington was the only one to ask me if I was ok...He really cares, but how can I be ok, if I were what kind of person am I? No one else cared that I held that poor baby, I felt the water come out of his nose into my mouth, I felt the coolness of his little body... dear god how do we do this. I went to the next call.. I went to the next day...You are an officer, that is all that mean man cares about as far as he is concerned with me. I fought the dreams, I often wonder how that young couple is coping with the loss of their infant son, What little I pray, I pray. When the mother asked me what she should tell her daughter, I tell her to say her baby brother was taken way to early...
I went on...
I remember my friend's daughter being mangled in that horrible car accident on 199. Strange thing, I guess to deal with the scene.. I still can feel that damn rain on my face again...I shut my eyes and see her beautiful red hair tangled in the wreckage, wet with blood and rain... her stunning blue eyes looking at the world, lifeless again. I see a penny that had fallen from her car...it was on the street, the blood running around it because the rain had thinned it so... All I could do was focus on that copper penny... dear god, she was so young, pretty, alive... on the way home from registering for college. I had a son her age, I could not survive such a lose.. to think my baby wrapped in the wreckage, alone, hurt, bleeding, in the rain, cold, gone, my baby... it is unimaginable for any parent at any age... yet someone called her mother, got to make sure mom gets to see the wreckage... Mom shows up, she doesn't believe it is her daughter.. I know it is her daughter, her driver's license show it is... Oh no, I know her mother... oh my god what am I going to say to this woman who will remember every horrible word I say to her. We are friends how do I help her, I do my job the best I can. My friend is not a weak woman, she is my size, but has the element of hurt and fear on her side. She begs me to tell her that it is not her baby girl. Her eyes are filled with absolute disbelief, her body is shaking, she is crying while we stand in that damn rain. I tell her the gentlest way I can..but there are no gentle words to tell someone their 19yrs. baby layes mangled in a car 75 feet away, covered by that dreaded symbolic white sheet. I assure you there is no way to "gently break" such news. I hang my head, I try desperately to hide my tears, I am a police officer, I have to stay in control, that is what I am told. I can't hide the tears. I tell her that she can not go to her daughter. She screams the most blood curdling scream I have ever heard. It has sunk in that I am telling her the horrible truth. I, Rexanne am destroying this woman's, my friend's world at that very moment. She begins to move towards the wreckage. I tell her she doesn't need to see her baby that way... She begs me, "Please, Rexanne, Please, I don't care, I'll do what you say, please she can't be down there alone. I can't just leave her alone there." I tell her again, I can't I just can't, you can't deal with it. She begins to fight me, she is a mother without her cub.. she is racked with pain, she doesn't see me anymore, only that of her child,who is within eye sight. I have to grab her, hold her, let her fight, let her scream, let her cry, let her collapse. I promise her that I will go be with her daughter. I will make sure she is treated as I would want someone to treat my baby boy. I tell her I will straighten her hair, I will make sure they are gentle when they place her on the gurney.. what can I do? My friend finds a very very small amount of comfort knowing that her "friend, Rexanne" is going to be with her daughter. My heart is broken, my spirit is low, what a waste, just like the infant boy.. so much life gone! I sit with the beautiful young lady, I quietly talk to her, I ask the medical examiner to take special care of her... he could care less, it's one more body, in the rain no less. I finally get sturn with him and tell him I know the young lady and I would appreciate a little compassion. He wraps her and takes her away... Penny and her husband leave with family to begin an unbelievably painful journey. Penny and I see each other from time to time and we still remember that day in the rain. I dream of that also, that red hair, blue eyes, and red rain water.
So this I know is a long blog... a sad blog... I am feeling sad. I am about to have to retire because meanness comes in all shapes and sizes. It seems the memories I have mean nothing, the kindness I truly tried to show doesn't matter, I have been told one too many times I am a weak officer, I need to...I need to quit trying to take the glory from the efforts of other officers. I am not worthy of a hello, or good enough for a little bit of credit for caring for the people of this town I have come to love. I will not be swayed by the thoughts of someone who has never held the dead baby and the mother, or know the fact that a child is scared because daddy beat mom the night before., I will not treat people like objects, I will not accept the comments that most of the parents in our small town are drunks and won't participate in helping their children, nor will I accept the continual mockery that I am a weak officer.
I have not hustled or asked for dates on duty,I have not damaged property, or brought shame on this town, nor have I tarnished this uniform I worked so hard to get to wear, and to have had the honor to wear.
My heart is sad, my tears are falling and my spirit is weak, but I will not let the meanness, insecurities of one situation change me. I no longer enjoy my job each day.. the people of our town deserve the best I can offer, and right now I have little to offer. I know there are those out there who appreciated then and will always remember my kindness, but for now the sorry situation wins, but I will rebound and I will find a way to win over this situation that has a title, that thinks it is allowed the privilege of lying to and about people, free rein on sarcasm and meanness. I will be called a disgruntled employee, a quitter, a bitch... all these I know are forthcoming. I don't care what some think, only what that of this town and my friends think, know, believe. Things to remember in past history there was someone with skinny lips, skinny build and a ugly moustache who believed he was building a perfect society at the expense of so many other good people. To my friends and family thank you for taking the time to listen maybe cry with me and to pray for me.
As most of you know I have worked for the Police Department for nearly 9 years... a long time when your my age!!! I have worked long hot hours, I have finger printed 100 kids in one event numerous times, I have had boogers smeared on my nice pressed duty shirt, I have had good times/memories, the kids are always precious, boogers and all...and I have the hurtful memories..
I have had mother's fight me to get to their dead children, and then faint in my arms, I have held a lifeless 1 month old baby boy while standing in the rain with the young mother begging me to save her baby, her screams I will never forget the look on her young face, the rain falling, the baby blue even in the dark, his little legs dangling, and me trying my best to breath life back into him... I sat with his little body in the hospital, I held him so he wouldn't be alone until his mother could bear the pain, I remember his little body wrapped in that white blanket, he was so small, so innocent, it was so painful. Lt. Arrington was the only one to ask me if I was ok...He really cares, but how can I be ok, if I were what kind of person am I? No one else cared that I held that poor baby, I felt the water come out of his nose into my mouth, I felt the coolness of his little body... dear god how do we do this. I went to the next call.. I went to the next day...You are an officer, that is all that mean man cares about as far as he is concerned with me. I fought the dreams, I often wonder how that young couple is coping with the loss of their infant son, What little I pray, I pray. When the mother asked me what she should tell her daughter, I tell her to say her baby brother was taken way to early...
I went on...
I remember my friend's daughter being mangled in that horrible car accident on 199. Strange thing, I guess to deal with the scene.. I still can feel that damn rain on my face again...I shut my eyes and see her beautiful red hair tangled in the wreckage, wet with blood and rain... her stunning blue eyes looking at the world, lifeless again. I see a penny that had fallen from her car...it was on the street, the blood running around it because the rain had thinned it so... All I could do was focus on that copper penny... dear god, she was so young, pretty, alive... on the way home from registering for college. I had a son her age, I could not survive such a lose.. to think my baby wrapped in the wreckage, alone, hurt, bleeding, in the rain, cold, gone, my baby... it is unimaginable for any parent at any age... yet someone called her mother, got to make sure mom gets to see the wreckage... Mom shows up, she doesn't believe it is her daughter.. I know it is her daughter, her driver's license show it is... Oh no, I know her mother... oh my god what am I going to say to this woman who will remember every horrible word I say to her. We are friends how do I help her, I do my job the best I can. My friend is not a weak woman, she is my size, but has the element of hurt and fear on her side. She begs me to tell her that it is not her baby girl. Her eyes are filled with absolute disbelief, her body is shaking, she is crying while we stand in that damn rain. I tell her the gentlest way I can..but there are no gentle words to tell someone their 19yrs. baby layes mangled in a car 75 feet away, covered by that dreaded symbolic white sheet. I assure you there is no way to "gently break" such news. I hang my head, I try desperately to hide my tears, I am a police officer, I have to stay in control, that is what I am told. I can't hide the tears. I tell her that she can not go to her daughter. She screams the most blood curdling scream I have ever heard. It has sunk in that I am telling her the horrible truth. I, Rexanne am destroying this woman's, my friend's world at that very moment. She begins to move towards the wreckage. I tell her she doesn't need to see her baby that way... She begs me, "Please, Rexanne, Please, I don't care, I'll do what you say, please she can't be down there alone. I can't just leave her alone there." I tell her again, I can't I just can't, you can't deal with it. She begins to fight me, she is a mother without her cub.. she is racked with pain, she doesn't see me anymore, only that of her child,who is within eye sight. I have to grab her, hold her, let her fight, let her scream, let her cry, let her collapse. I promise her that I will go be with her daughter. I will make sure she is treated as I would want someone to treat my baby boy. I tell her I will straighten her hair, I will make sure they are gentle when they place her on the gurney.. what can I do? My friend finds a very very small amount of comfort knowing that her "friend, Rexanne" is going to be with her daughter. My heart is broken, my spirit is low, what a waste, just like the infant boy.. so much life gone! I sit with the beautiful young lady, I quietly talk to her, I ask the medical examiner to take special care of her... he could care less, it's one more body, in the rain no less. I finally get sturn with him and tell him I know the young lady and I would appreciate a little compassion. He wraps her and takes her away... Penny and her husband leave with family to begin an unbelievably painful journey. Penny and I see each other from time to time and we still remember that day in the rain. I dream of that also, that red hair, blue eyes, and red rain water.
So this I know is a long blog... a sad blog... I am feeling sad. I am about to have to retire because meanness comes in all shapes and sizes. It seems the memories I have mean nothing, the kindness I truly tried to show doesn't matter, I have been told one too many times I am a weak officer, I need to...I need to quit trying to take the glory from the efforts of other officers. I am not worthy of a hello, or good enough for a little bit of credit for caring for the people of this town I have come to love. I will not be swayed by the thoughts of someone who has never held the dead baby and the mother, or know the fact that a child is scared because daddy beat mom the night before., I will not treat people like objects, I will not accept the comments that most of the parents in our small town are drunks and won't participate in helping their children, nor will I accept the continual mockery that I am a weak officer.
I have not hustled or asked for dates on duty,I have not damaged property, or brought shame on this town, nor have I tarnished this uniform I worked so hard to get to wear, and to have had the honor to wear.
My heart is sad, my tears are falling and my spirit is weak, but I will not let the meanness, insecurities of one situation change me. I no longer enjoy my job each day.. the people of our town deserve the best I can offer, and right now I have little to offer. I know there are those out there who appreciated then and will always remember my kindness, but for now the sorry situation wins, but I will rebound and I will find a way to win over this situation that has a title, that thinks it is allowed the privilege of lying to and about people, free rein on sarcasm and meanness. I will be called a disgruntled employee, a quitter, a bitch... all these I know are forthcoming. I don't care what some think, only what that of this town and my friends think, know, believe. Things to remember in past history there was someone with skinny lips, skinny build and a ugly moustache who believed he was building a perfect society at the expense of so many other good people. To my friends and family thank you for taking the time to listen maybe cry with me and to pray for me.
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