Probing PA Troopers

I spent part of the day on Monday weeding out old stuff that I had in my filing cabinet. Try to do it once a year, but I'm bad about stopping in the middle of this project, and never getting all the way to the end. Today I did the entire two-drawer cabinet. Feeling mighty proud. I like things to be clean and neat.
If I were a flea, I'd live as far as possible from the dog's butt. That's the kind of person I am. Like that. Now I have a clean, as in pretty-darn-near-empty, filing cabinet. I like that in a filing cabinet.

In the old articles I had saved I found one that made me laugh again, as it had the first time. You have to laugh, 'else you'll cry. Or maybe you'll do both.

I saved this article to send to the male half of the couple who used to live across the street. I think I did send it, or that is to say, a copy of it. Apparently I couldn't bring myself to part with the original.

It's dated Saturday, September 8, 2001. You know, maybe September 11 made me forget about sending it. Huh! I wonder. Anyway. The article was in the Harrisburg Patriot-News, and written by Mike Crissey, of the Associated Press. What follows in quotes is copied straight from the newspaper. I swear to you that I can't make up anything this good.

Title: Cop sex rules to be revised Subtitle: Undercover troopers' case prompts stricter guidelines.

Pittsburgh-
"The Pennsylvania State Police are revising their policies to spell out when undercover officers go too far to get evidence after a pair of troopers accepted oral sex during a sting at a massage parlor.

"The two troopers, whose identities weren't released, paid a woman $60 each for oral sex on July 19 while undercover at a massage parlor in Duncannsville, about 75 miles east of Pittsburgh, according to court records.

"State police vice detectives statewide have been told that officials are writing a new policy, which would likely require undercover troopers to get permission from their superiors before having sex during an investigation,...."
Can you hear it now? Hey, Sergeant, can I get a blow job today? Using state funds? Huh, huh, can I? Please?

"...the new rules could go so far as to prohibit troopers from having sex during investigations except in life-and-death situations."
That's harsh. Geez, how 'bout....if I don't get laid today, I'll just die.? Reason enough? Life-or-death? Who are they kidding?

"To some extent you have to rely on your people to make the right decisions on the fly," (Maj. Ralph Parlandi speaking) "Their heart was in the right place." (sic)
Oh, those were their HEARTS coming out of their flies. That's okay then.

"Although troopers are trained that money changing hands is enough for a prostitution charge there is nothing that spells out what to do in this particular situation."
Well, if you don't tell the boys what to do, I guess they'll just make it up as they go along...Oh, I'm sure they made it UP all right.

The article goes on to say that "the troopers weren't criminally charged and weren't disciplined...." And "In terms of the extra steps that they took, we recommended against it" (but) "the troopers' actions were no worse than undercover officers buying drugs to acquire evidence."
OH! Right! I see no difference at all. Do you?

BTW, the article ends with a sentence about the woman "who touched them sexually," saying, "(name) pleaded guilty to two counts of prostitution, paid a $458 fine and reportedly left town." Can't say that I blame her. Who wants to hang around and pay taxes in a state like this? After all, she KNOWS where your tax dollar goes.
 

My so-called life

Friday husband Niks and I went to a movie, You and Me and Everyone We Know. It's an offbeat, indie movie. We have this sweet little theater across the river that shows movies that don't ordinarily come to a small area such as the one where we live. Heck, many big cities just get the big movies. Most of the films shown at this alternative movie house are no completion to the big theaters around here, because the general public has no interest in them. In fact, the seats in this theater were donated to them from the bigger movie houses here. I still have to smile when I think of that.

Just the same, this little place has shown some movies that ended up being big successes. Things like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Abd The Man Who Wasn't There, and In the Bedroom. Those movies were all nominated for Academy Awards, but weren't box office draws before they were nominated.

Well, this movie, You and Me, etc. isn't anything to write home about. Why, I wonder, am I boring you about it? Maybe I'm not boring you, 'cause you aren't even over here reading this blog. That's okay. The movie was nothin' so why should you be over here readin' about it? You shouldn't be.

Niks liked it. Some guys. I'm surprised he thought it was good, because after all it wasn't in a foreign language or subtitled or anything. He usually just likes strange, foreign movies. He volunteers at our local library one day a week, shelving the audio-visual stuff, you know, DVDs, like that. He brings home about four movies a week. Offbeat stuff generally. That's okay since I don't care that much about watching TV anyway, but then he gets hurt because I don't want to sit with him and watch these things. If he's trying to keep me off the PC, he oughta bring home better stuff.

Saturday I was a "Silent Witness" at the Gay Pride Festival In Harrisburg. Straight members of our church volunteered to be sort of a barrier between the fanatical "Christians" and the members of the gay community who were just trying to come to a festival and enjoy themselves in peace. Not askin' people to approve, just leave 'em alone.

I had fun. It was pretty hot, but not as bad as some years. I don't know why the festival always has to be in July, but it is. Anyway, the event is held in the park along the river. Beautiful site. The entryway where I was stationed was near the music, and the music was great. So I lucked out.

As luck would also have it, I was stationed near a young anti-gay man who paced with his Bible, yelling at the gay folks coming into the festival. He told them that they were going to hell, etc. That God hated them. Like that. Very Christian.

Then he decided to start in on me. Now, I was a SILENT witness. I was not supposed to engage these lunatics in conversation. And I didn't. I'm used to being yelled at, from my days as a volunteer escort at the clinic that provides abortions for women who need them.

I can keep my mouth shut. Teeth clinched. Smile frozen in place. I look cute that way.

This guy told me that of course I'm going to hell. Like I didn’t know that? He asked me if I thought that God loved whores. I think that Jesus loved Mary Magdalene. He asked me if God loved people who had sex with animals. He felt the need to go through the list of various animals. "Does God love people who have sex with a horse?" Huh? What the $%#^ is he talking about? He actually named about every perversion a person could think of. I'm worried about his sexual fantasies. Seems a tad unhealthy. Think maybe I should tell his mother. Maybe the one holding the sign about fags is his mother.

When I got a 30-minute break, I strolled through the festival itself. That's always fun. Most gays just look like anybody else, because they are just like anybody else. So no one paid attention to me. At first. Then I got a big, I mean really big, blue shaved ice. I say blue because I don't know what "blue" is supposed to taste like – maybe blueberry? But it just tastes blue. Anyway. People start smiling at me. What the heck? I'm cute. They should smile. Mmmmm... turns out my lips are blue, which someone finally mentions to me. I'm cute alright.

Then later after I've done another shift at the gate, and my lips are no longer blue, I'm at last leaving, walking down lovely Front Street, past the hecklers, and who should appear but the sex manic carrying his Bible? Whoooo... I'm no longer a silent witness. I could speak, if I care to. But instead I stick my tongue out and down, making it as long as I can, a la the singing group KISS, and show him my very, very, blue tongue. He actually jumped. Thought I was possessed I guess. I had checked out my tongue before I started walking to my car, just in case I was given this wonderful opportunity to amuse myself.

Before he could recover and say something evil to me, a police PADDY WAGON drove up. Seems the hecklers didn't have a permit for the bullhorn they had been using, and they were violating the area restrictions that they had been given in writing. They had been warned several times. Now a very scary-looking police sergeant was reading them the riot act, LOUDLY, and another policeman was filming the entire thing.

I whistled all the way to the car.

Follow up on the slug out in the lunchroom

Some of you are wondering about whether Nivek got in trouble at school for punching the lunch lady. (Yesterday's post.) Nope. *Sigh*. Somehow he usually got rewarded for this type of behavior.

Older boys and men often loved Nivek. He was a fierce little boy, but he could take a lickin' and keep on tickin'. Stoic. Joe Cool. Like that. Had a case of hipatitis, that's terminal coolness. Made him popular with guys.

After the lunch-lady-slugging thing, I waited nervously for the call from the school. Days go by. No call. Ummm. What's that about? At last it's time for the regular teacher/parent conference. I expect the worst.

I go into the classroom, sit in one of those little second-grader chairs, and wait for the teacher, Mrs. S., to tell me all about Nivek. She tells me how smart he is. I know that. How sweet he is. Huh! How nice it is to have him in her class. Everything is just hunky dory. Finally, it seems that the conference is over. She still hasn't said one word about the brouhaha in the lunchroom. (I wait for months to get to use that word. SO satisfying.)

So, I decide to bring it up myself. "Do you know that Nivek hit Mrs.-Darling-Billy's-Mother in the lunchroom?"

Mrs. S. smiles sweetly. "Yes, Mr. Guy, the janitor, told me. He seemed very pleased about it."

She went on to say that Mrs.-Darling-Billy's-Mother couldn't tell on Nivek because she had first shoved him, and she had been warned in the past about getting physical with the kids when they crossed her son. She added that the janitor and Mrs.-Darling-Billy's-Mother didn't get along. No joke.

"So," she said, "Offically, I don't know anything about it." Mrs. S. had a soft spot for Nivek, and seemed amused by the whole thing. Amazing. Just amazing. But a relief to me. I figured the kid was in for jail time for sure.

Fast forward to Valentine's Day the next year. The kids all decorated Valentine's boxes for other kids to deposit cards into. There's a contest to see which decorated box is best. Nivek's box is nice, but not the best. Oh! Wait What the &*!# ? Nivek's box is judged the very best. Wins the prize. Now who do you suppose gets to pick the final winner?

Mr. Guy of course. See what I mean? Rewarded.

Here's a picture of Kevin and dddragon's kiddie B

It's 1973. Maybe May. The weather is warm. About time for the kids to come home from school. Our son Kevin is in the second grade. He walks in the front door and immediately says, "Where's Acton Bell?"

"She's at Girl Scouts," I tell him.

"When she gets home, she's probably gonna tell you some big ol' lie about me!"

"Oh? And what big ol' lie might she tell?" I ask him.

"She's probably going to say that I punched the lunch lady in the face."

"Kevin!" I yelled. "How could you?"

"I climbed up on a chair in the lunchroom."

Oh, man! We just moved here in January. We're already those crazy liberals from California. Now everyone will know that our kids are on the road to hell to boot, or at least the road to jail.

He started explaining how the lunch lady had shoved him because he had gotten into a fight with her darling boy, Billy. Guess darling Billy hadn't learned to take up for himself, 'cause our boy Kevin was the smallest in the class. Physically the smallest that is. Walked tall. The boys had not exactly had an all out fight, but there were some ugly words flying around, and of course, Kevin was a great debater. I have no doubt that he threw a lot of verbal punches. The boy had a mouth on him.

Mrs.-Billy's-Mother had no right to shove our son, but of course HE had no right to hit her. Kevin said she got right in his face, yadda, yadda, yadda. I told him he had to call her and apologize. Not tryin' to raise a Dennis the Menace here.

I called Mrs.-Billy's-Mother and had Kevin tell her that he was sorry. Naturally he wasn't sorry, but that's beside the point. Anyway.

Acton Bell came home. "Got anything to tell me?" I asked.

"No," she said, all innocence.

"How about Kevin slugging the lunch lady?"

"Oh! That! Yeah. A cheer went up in the lunchroom when he did that."

Those kids.

Just another day

Well this day was a total waste of make-up.

During the night I finished the fifth Harry Potter Book. Now I have to get my hands on number six.

Meanwhile, the modem that I ordered to install DSL on my PC arrived. So I start installing it only to discover that I don't have a NIC card port. I thought I did. Nope. Some days.

So I take the hubby out for lunch, take him to the doctor for a blood test, and then drop by Circuit City to buy an Ethernet adaptor.

The guy who waited on me was a damn ray of sunshine. Sarcasm seems to be just one more service they offer. So, my PC is four years old. According to him, it's out of date. BUT, he'll do me a favor and sell me the Network PCI Card if I really, really, want to try to install it myself. Some guys. If assholes could fly, that place would be an airport. That isn't a computer place. It's hell with fluorescent lighting.

So, I get home with the Ethernet PCI card, and discover that I have left the directions for the DSL installation there at Circuit City. Urge to kill....myself. I call them, and they have it and will hold it for me. I don't think I need it, but I guess I'll go back and get it, just in case.

What kills me is that this young guy figures that anyone with white hair can't possibly know how to open up the PC, locate the PCI expansion slots inside, insert the PCI card into an available slot, and then plug the network cable into the newly installed PCI Card.

There are undoubtedly many people my age who can do this. Now, I may or may not be one of them, but he doesn't know that. Am I ambivalent about trying this? Well, yes and no.

But I'm not tense about it, just terribly, terribly alert.

Stand back..... I'm reading

If you don't read the Harry Potter books, you won't understand. But in that case, at least you are sane.

I'm busy reading now. Can't blog. I'm lurking on your blog, and occasionally commenting, but I have to catch up with the insanity and finish Potter. No time to post.

 

Happy weekend everybody

Acton Bell and her husband Ekim give a family picnic every year. The picnic is tomorrow, so it will be a fun weekend. Our former son-in-law, Namron is arriving from California later this evening for the occasion, and will be staying with my husband and me.

Namron is Aral's former husband. They remain the very best of friends. Unfortunately Aral can't make it this year. She's working. Giving a presentation somewhere. Bummer.

I'm watching my weight, so this will be a test to see if I can resist overeating.

This is a big beer weekend for the younger crowd. Some folks get a little tipsy. Not namin' any names, but watching Acton Bell and her husband giggle and using the hoola hoop while buzzed is a sight to behold. I'll try to get a picture of it.

Advertisement:

I'm looking for a good woman for Namron. Here are his particulars:

He is handsome.
He is honest, kind, and true.
He is 36 years old.
He has a PhD in Math.
He is recommended by his former wife.
He is recommended by his former mother-in-law.
His is recommended by his two former sisters-in-law.
He lives in the S.F. Bay area and teaches.
He likes cats.
He is a weight lifter. (The picture above is him.)

There. What more could a woman ask for? Know anybody? Oh! I forgot: he has a full head of hair. I've met his father and both of his grandfathers and since they still have all their hair, I'm guessing, but not guaranteeing, that he will not be losing the hair.



 

Pennsylvania Proud

This fellow makes me so proud to be living in Pennsylvania.

Quote of the day

"Now we are forced to do something that societies often do when people can't control their desires.

We have to pass laws to stop their desires."

-- Senator Rick Santorum


Good luck with desire controlin' Ricky.

Dirty soap

FIRST: Today is my twin granddaughters' birthday. They aren't here to give me cake and ice cream. Boo. They are so sweet. Also pretty. I miss them.

OKAY:

I'm out of sorts, so I think that I will pick on Little Bar of Soap. She's due for a pickin' on. Besides, being unstable and bitchy is all part of my mystique.

Little Bar of Soap is ugly and her mother dresses her funny.
How do we know she's really clean?
I heard that her feet stink. (That's better than smelling that her feet stink.)
If Jesus is watching, shouldn't we give him a good show? Soapy is trying to make us look boring.
There's a rumor that Soap is a cross-dresser. That's good news. They usually dress better than that dress she's wearing on her site.
She has no taste in politicians.
She dyes her hair.
She doesn't shave her legs.
Or her pits.

Okay Soapy. Hit me with you best shot.

 

Not my bloody fault

Something Fred said on his blog, and then something that Girl From Florida commented about garage doors on Fred's blog, made me think of a little bitty incident that happened at my house about four years ago.

It was a beautiful Saturday. Absolutely perfect. I hadn't retired yet, the husband was at a bookstore, and I was all set for a wonderful, lazy day off. Oh! The day was just so wonderful.

I decided to go somewhere...I've forgotten just where. The day was just too nice to waste. Gotta get out and do something. I backed out of the garage, used the automatic door opener and closed the garage door. Everyone calls the remote for a garage an opener, but it's a closer too..,wonder why that is? Oh, well.

We had very recently had a new front door to the house installed. Mahogany. Boy, it was, and is, a thing of beauty. I just love that door, and we get a lot of compliments on it. As I was just glancing at our new front house door to admire it, I saw some kind of paper flyer stuck in the door handle. Geez. I hate that.

So, I put the car in park, walk in front of it, and go to the front door to retrieve the paper stuck there. I look at the flyer; it's political. Urge to kill, and decision not to vote for the perpetrator. I look back at the idling car in the driveway. It is slowly, slowly, driving itself towards the garage door!

What the $#@%? It was in park! Yes, it was! I had walked in front of it! IT WAS IN PARK! Holy S**T! It's going uphill!

I run for the car. Of course I'm on the wrong side of it, have to run around to the driver's side to stop it. Visions of killing myself or breaking a leg quickly run through my head, but other visions of the damn car driving itself into the closed garage door and all the way through the back of the garage keep me running to stop the @!#$^&% thing.

I don't get to it in time to keep it from running into the garage door, but I do save the garage itself. Since the garage is all brick, and attached to the house, this is no small victory.

Well, I go into the house and call the place that installed the garage door, which isn't all that old. "So what happened to the door?" the guy asked.

"It got driven into by a car," I tell him.

"Your husband or you?" he asks.

"Me."

"Yeah, it's usually the wife," he said. Some men.

The door service can't come out until Monday. Sigh.

I'm going to have to confess to the husband. Another sigh.


Soooo, I drive to the bookstore, find the husband, and walk up to him. He looks surprised. He can tell from looking at me that something is wrong. I kiss him on the lips, just a peck, and say, "How much do you love me?"

"What did you hit, and how bad is it?"

"The car drove itself into the garage door."

"Well, I guess I love you enough to buy a new garage door," he said.

It really did drive itself into the door. I wasn't even in the damn car. It just took off on its own. Willy nilly. Like that. Not my fault. I don't know how it happened. There are some things even the great and wonderful Wizard of Oz doesn't know. How can I know?

I always wanted a garage door with "lites." Shoulda got one in the first place. That's what they call windows in a garage door. Lites. At least that's what this company called them. This new one has decorative windows all the way across. Looks very nice. Especially with that beautiful mahogany front door on the house. It all looked so good I had to buy new shutters to keep up.