Well, that was different...

I answer the office phone and hear this:







“Um, yeah, so I was running from the cops last week and I think I lost my ID somewhere around 4th street. Has anyone turned it in?”






I looked him up after I stopped laughing. Surprise, surprise- no ID has been turned in.

Let's Pretend This Never Happened- Jenny Lawson

From amazon.com: Jenny Lawson realized that the most mortifying moments of our lives—the ones we’d like to pretend never happened—are in fact the ones that define us. In Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, Lawson takes readers on a hilarious journey recalling her bizarre upbringing in rural Texas, her devastatingly awkward high school years, and her relationship with her long-suffering husband, Victor. Chapters include: “Stanley the Magical, Talking Squirrel”; “A Series of Angry Post-It Notes to My Husband”; “My Vagina Is Fine. Thanks for Asking”; “And Then I Snuck a Dead Cuban Alligator on an Airplane.” Pictures with captions (no one would believe these things without proof) accompany the text.




Ok, this is a look at the life of one of the funniest bloggers I've ever read, and OMG is it twisted. Funny as hell, and occasionally sad, but twisted. If I had experienced some of the things that Jenny did, I'd probably be even crazier than I am today. From Stanley the Talking Squirrel to Beyonce the Metal Chicken, there are stories that will gross you out, make you laugh, and make you wonder HOW some of these things happen.

Monday Musings- things not to say to me at work when I'm tired and cranky and my responses to them

1.       You look tired. (No, really? Silly me, I thought I looked bright eyed and bushy tailed)

2.       *coworker, snapping* I don’t need any input from you, I know how to do this. (seconds later) Um, how do I do this? (Kiss my ass, bitch, you said you knew what you were doing) 

3.       Are you having a bad day? (no, I always bite my lip until it bleeds)

4.       *person on phone telling long rambling story that is of no concern to me at all* blah blah, protecting the criminals and not the victims, and you sound like you don’t even care. (you’re right, I don’t)

5.       Did you want to finish your dinner before you start this? (I’d love to finish my dinner instead of entering your stupid search warrant, but I can’t eat with you standing there staring at me AND my coworkers telling me you’re there, as if I don’t see/hear you)

6.       Why don’t you ever look happy? (I work here, idiot, what do you think?)

7.       There’s another officer at the window. (Did I miss your promotion to management? I’m dealing with an idiot phone call, my computer is locked up, and he’s not going anywhere. If you’re that concerned, type your shit in faster and get him yourself)

8.       You’re going to hate me for this….. (Yep)

9.       Are you sure I need a report number for this? (No, I just like to hear you call dispatch- WE ARE GOING INTO YEAR 4 ON THIS SYSTEM, YES YOU NEED A %$*@%*@%&*@#%&* REPORT NUMBER)

10.   Wow, your face is really broken out! (Thanks. Your penis must be really small)

Paris In Love- Eloisa James

I wanted to love this book. I really did. I love Eloisa's fiction and I love memoirs. Sadly, this one just didn't click with me. She is honest about the fact that the book is largely made up of Facebook & Twitter posts from the year they were in Paris, with a few things fleshed out into longer essays. The problem is, the shortness of the posts makes them much less interesting. There needs to be MORE- more background, more detail, something.

Monday Musings- Silly Me

As mentioned before, I don't have children. I have cats. My three fur-balls have taken it upon themselves to make sure I still get the surreal moments associated with parenting. For your consideration (a brief version of this appeared on my FB page the day it happened):

Felicity, who in her senility has taken to pooping at random spots around the house, was in the litter box. (welcome change) Greymalkin just couldn't wait for her to finish her business and clear out, so he hopped in with her. The box is big, so there is theoretically room for both of them. Sadly, Liss was in at an angle across the middle of the box, so Malkin decided to straddle her....and peed right on her.

How do I know this? The litter box is in the utility room and I was in the process of putting in a load of laundry. I never in my life thought I would hear myself screech "Are you out of your tiny little mind?!? Don't pee on your sister!"

Well, you know what had to come next. I reluctantly grabbed a pissed off (and pissed on) Felicity and headed for the bathroom. I closed the door, turned on the tap in the bathtub and began operation All Hell Breaking Loose. Felicity screamed like a banshee. I managed to get her under the tap and she twisted around until her head was by my foot (I was sitting on the side of the tub by this point) and sank her fangs into my big toe. Now *I'm* screaming like a banshee.

What felt like hours later (but was probably about 90 seconds), I pried Liss's little jaws apart and freed my toe. I decided that first aid was going to have to wait until this little demon was clean. I let go for a second to grab the kitty shampoo, and she started doing laps around the tub. By this point, there was water everywhere and she couldn't manage to claw her way out. She finally went limp when I grabbed her again and let me finish scrubbing & rinsing her.

For all the fuss that Felicity puts up when she gets a bath, she DOES enjoy the post-bath drying off. I didn't use the hair dryer on her this time (see earlier posts for Adventures In Felicity Bathing), but got her fairly dry with the towels. I carried her limp little body out to the living room and placed her in her favorite window...which just happened to be in full sunlight with a warm breeze blowing through. She rolled over to get maximum sunlight on her belly and allowed as she thought she might live.

Time spent wrestling demon cat in tub and post-bath grooming: approximately 45 minutes

Towels and bathmats used to clean up the wet cat explosion: 6

Time spent cleaning bathroom, cleaning self, and administering antibiotic ointment to my foot: roughly 60 minutes

Having dry, happy, sweet smelling kitty crawl into my lap, all snuggly and purring, once everything is over: Priceless

The High Street- Alice Melvin

This little gem has a very British feel. Sally has a list of 10 things she needs to buy. She explores the shops on High Street while she searches for her items. Each shop has a lift-the-flap page that gives the reader a view of the shop's contents, and the list is repeated as Sally locates each object.  Does she find everything? You'll have to find out for yourself.

Monday Musings- Dear Officer edition

I was scrolling back through my email archives and found this little gem that's going to make it into the book someday. The incidents that prompted this took place approximately 4 days into the new year.

Dear Officers,

Here is a less-than-friendly reminder that it is NOT my job as a property clerk to do any of the following:

1.       Look up your case in the computer and read you the list of all 120 items submitted as evidence because you are too inept/lazy to look it up yourself.

2.       Pull any of said 120 items and open them to see if they contain a computer power cord. Since they were submitted by the Crime Scene Unit and they document EVERYTHING, if it was in one of them, it would say so in the description. If you want to check anyway, bring your happy ass down here and open the packages yourself. I am not opening myself up to an evidence tampering charge because you’re an idiot.

3.       Unload the gun you just brought in. Unless you want me to unload it by popping caps in your ass for being dumb enough to hand me a loaded gun in the first place.

4.       Determine what kind of drug you brought in. If I ask you if it’s crack or powder cocaine (and for federal reporting purposes they ARE classified separately), do not tell me to put it in as whatever I feel like. You’re likely to get a property slip that says “Baggie of crap that officer is too stupid to identify.”  If you really don’t know, just say that. I can list it as unknown powder and the lab will test it.

5.       Classify the item you brought in. You only have three choices- Evidence, Found Property, and Personal Property, so I don’t know why you have such a hard time figuring it out. Dithering will get you cussed out and the item thrown at you. If it isn’t found property that you don’t know the owner of, or personal items that the jail wouldn’t take or you forgot to give back, then it is EVIDENCE. Period. There is no such thing as Found Evidence, or Just Property.

Seriously, you need to start remembering these things. Many of you have been told them REPEATEDLY. I will start branding you with  “I AM AN IDIOT”  labels if this continues. My therapist and I thank you for your consideration.

BookSpeak- Laura Purdie Salas

This is a great little book of poetry that explores the world of books and reading. There are poems about book covers, the characters that populate the books we read, what might happen in a bookstore after hours, and more. The illustraions are a melange of  hand-drawn work, digital images, and clipped art. Very charming, and just as much fun for adults as for kids.

Monday Musings- I can't make these stories up

I may get in trouble for the call I’m about to describe to you, but it was worth it. This happened last week:








Idiot Caller: Where you say this was?






Me: Police Department Property Room






IC: What’s that?






M: We store evidence for officers.






IC: What kind of officers?






M: I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.






IC: Do you just store property for the Christian officers, or do you store stuff for those godless Jews & Muslim officers too?






M: *jaw dropping* Um, we store evidence for any authorized LMPD officer, regardless of religious preference.






IC: That ain’t right. Making Christians take evidence from heathen officers- do you store that junk separately from the good stuff?






M: *wondering if this is a test or if my antihistamines have affected my brain* Ma’am, we store all evidence in the appropriate places, again without regard for the officer’s religious leanings. (My co-worker is now staring at me in disbelief and starting to crack up)






IC: That just isn’t right. Don’t you think, as a Christian, that it’s wrong to do that?






M: *what the hell* Actually ma’am, I’m not a Christian.






IC: WHAT?!? *goes into tirade about godless heathens, the decline of the world, and ends with* Just what DO you believe then, missy?






M: *giving in to the urge* I worship Satan ma’am.






IC: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. *click*






M: *putting down the receiver* I bet she doesn’t even tell anyone that I was the most polite Satanist she’s ever spoken to.










(My coworker is now on the floor, gasping for breath)

**updated**

I didn't get in trouble- at least not yet. She did apparently call back and got my Sgt. This is usually not a good thing, but he wasn’t in the mood for BS like that today, but he was in a good (for him) mood. I walked in and was greeted with “Hail Satan!” He said she was screaming about how we shouldn’t be allowed to do the job if we weren’t Christians and what did he intend to do about it? “I told her that we’d just gotten you to stop making sacrifices in the parking lot on your break, and you only wear horns three days a week now. She shrieked ‘Lord help us all!’ and hung up on me.”







I was going to ask what made him so sure it was me she’d talked to, but let’s face it- if it’s a situation THAT bizarre, with a comment that smart-assed, it’s going to involve me.

Another day, another stupid phone call at work

I was just informed by an irate caller that they’ve “been up and down this road for an hour and  you are NOT on Industrial Blvd.” That’s right. We’re on Industry Rd. “Well isn’t that the same thing?” No, and in fact, Industrial Blvd is halfway across town. “Well, you should put the right address on your letter!” We do. It’s not our fault you’re too stupid to read it correctly. “The GPS says we’ll be there in 25 minutes. Have my stuff ready.” I’m sorry, we close to the public in 10 minutes. Try again Monday. “But it’s YOUR fault we’re in the wrong place!” Um, no it isn’t. “Well, you can bite my ass!” No thanks. I already had lunch. “What?” *click*

A Killing In Iowa- Rachel Corbett

Amazon.com Review



Vinton, Iowa, is not just a place where people live; it's a place where people "stay, sometimes for so long that farmers throw parties when a family reaches its centennial on a plot of land." So when Scott Johnson kills, it rocks the whole community. We all hear about homicides, serial killings, and murder-suicides, but who among us knows a killer, plays with him, watches our mother's heart-rending break-ups with him, or goes to sleep one night while he crashes on the couch in the next room, just hours before committing the deed? Rachel Corbett for one, and 18 years after Johnson's gruesome act, she embarks on a search for details she had never been told, for the child survivor of the victim, and for the deeper meaning of a murder that could easily have occurred under her own roof.
 
Ok, I'm not a big true crime reader, but this caught my attention becasue of where it's set. Vinton, Iowa is a small town where one of my cousins lives. I thought it might be interesting, but it wasn't. The author seems more interested in making the story about her and what COULD have happened to her family than what actually DID happen. To me, it had the tone of "OMG, I lived with someone who went on to be a killer!" Now I remember why I generally don't read this kind of thing.