Wednesday, August 23, 2006
8/23/06
12:23 a.m.
I can't sleep.
I can't write.
I have a deadline looming and am stuck, stuck, stuck.
Why is it that when my life was hard and I was alone it was easier for me to write? Or do I just need to let things settle down before I can focus again?
I'm very frustrated.
I guess the best thing to do is just (as a good friend of mine recently told me) WRITE. Although his suggestion was to drink a bottle of wine first...
I can't sleep.
I can't write.
I have a deadline looming and am stuck, stuck, stuck.
Why is it that when my life was hard and I was alone it was easier for me to write? Or do I just need to let things settle down before I can focus again?
I'm very frustrated.
I guess the best thing to do is just (as a good friend of mine recently told me) WRITE. Although his suggestion was to drink a bottle of wine first...
Sunday, August 13, 2006
8/13/06 WARNING: GRAPHIC/DISTURBING
I am standing in a room at the ICU of a local hospital. A nurse in blue scrubs walks in with a pink satin-covered hat box.
"Here you go," she says and places the box on a counter top before leaving the room and shutting the curtain.
I turn from the body on the bed and walk over to the box. My initial thought of "What the hell were they thinking?" is quickly replaced by appreciation for the compassion of those who would prepare this makeshift coffin. I slip the cover off and look at the tiny baby inside. The OR staff washed her and laid her on a bed of white cloth. Her little arms are crossed over her chest and a towel covers the lower half of her body. A six-month-old fetus. She's red because there is no fat under her skin, but other than that she looks perfect.
I sigh and place the lid back on the box. Then I return to her mother. A 25-year-old woman with long, stringy dark hair. Huge bandages cover her abdomen where an emergency c-section was performed the night before. There are scrapes on her knees and dirt under her fingernails. I also notice dirt on the bottoms of her feet where she must have been walking around barefoot. I take photographs.
Nurse Katie walks in and begins telling me the story. Beth, the mother, came into the ER last night in excruciating pain. She was having contractions and her cervix was dilated 3cm. The doc couldn't detect any fetal heart beat. Beth told the ER staff that she'd done cocaine two days before. Before she lost consciousness, she kept saying, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I'm scared." Jake is her 18-month-old son.
Beth was rushed into surgery but it was too late. The baby had died when the placenta separated from the wall of the uterus. This was a direct result of the cocaine use. The OR staff couldn't stop the bleeding and Beth died on the operating table.
After several hours of interviewing family...friends...doctors...I somehow get through this case and go home. I sit out on the porch in my backyard, overcome by sadness. I think about the little boy, Jake, who lost his mother. I think about how Beth's friend said she was curled up with him napping on the couch the day before. I try to reconcile the loving mother with the woman that, according to witnesses, purposely tried to abort her fetus by overdosing on cocaine.
I am hurting inside and I call LHM to talk. He listens quietly and after a minute says, "Well, Polly, if you think we should try to adopt Jake I'll support you. We could make a good home for him."
I am touched that he would even contemplate such a thing. I smile and say gently, "It's not like taking in a stray puppy, you know."
After worrying over the whole thing for another few hours, I call Peter, the friend who is watching Jake. We talk for a long, long time. He tells me more about Beth. She was kicked out of her apartment a few weeks ago for not paying the rent. She and Jake were living in a homeless shelter when Peter took them in. Peter got her a job, a new car, and an apartment. You see, he and Beth had been best friends since high school. "She was there for me at a really bad time in my life and I told her I would always be there for her." He was trying to help her get her life back on track. "If you'd only known her five years ago," he says. "She was such an amazing person."
I ask about Jake and what would become of him. Peter's voice cracks and he tells me that he will adopt Jake and raise him as his own. "I'm a single guy and I've never had kids before, but I have a good job and I'll make sure this little guy has a wonderful life. Besides," he says, "when he smiles he looks just like Beth. How could I not love him?"
"Here you go," she says and places the box on a counter top before leaving the room and shutting the curtain.
I turn from the body on the bed and walk over to the box. My initial thought of "What the hell were they thinking?" is quickly replaced by appreciation for the compassion of those who would prepare this makeshift coffin. I slip the cover off and look at the tiny baby inside. The OR staff washed her and laid her on a bed of white cloth. Her little arms are crossed over her chest and a towel covers the lower half of her body. A six-month-old fetus. She's red because there is no fat under her skin, but other than that she looks perfect.
I sigh and place the lid back on the box. Then I return to her mother. A 25-year-old woman with long, stringy dark hair. Huge bandages cover her abdomen where an emergency c-section was performed the night before. There are scrapes on her knees and dirt under her fingernails. I also notice dirt on the bottoms of her feet where she must have been walking around barefoot. I take photographs.
Nurse Katie walks in and begins telling me the story. Beth, the mother, came into the ER last night in excruciating pain. She was having contractions and her cervix was dilated 3cm. The doc couldn't detect any fetal heart beat. Beth told the ER staff that she'd done cocaine two days before. Before she lost consciousness, she kept saying, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I'm scared." Jake is her 18-month-old son.
Beth was rushed into surgery but it was too late. The baby had died when the placenta separated from the wall of the uterus. This was a direct result of the cocaine use. The OR staff couldn't stop the bleeding and Beth died on the operating table.
After several hours of interviewing family...friends...doctors...I somehow get through this case and go home. I sit out on the porch in my backyard, overcome by sadness. I think about the little boy, Jake, who lost his mother. I think about how Beth's friend said she was curled up with him napping on the couch the day before. I try to reconcile the loving mother with the woman that, according to witnesses, purposely tried to abort her fetus by overdosing on cocaine.
I am hurting inside and I call LHM to talk. He listens quietly and after a minute says, "Well, Polly, if you think we should try to adopt Jake I'll support you. We could make a good home for him."
I am touched that he would even contemplate such a thing. I smile and say gently, "It's not like taking in a stray puppy, you know."
After worrying over the whole thing for another few hours, I call Peter, the friend who is watching Jake. We talk for a long, long time. He tells me more about Beth. She was kicked out of her apartment a few weeks ago for not paying the rent. She and Jake were living in a homeless shelter when Peter took them in. Peter got her a job, a new car, and an apartment. You see, he and Beth had been best friends since high school. "She was there for me at a really bad time in my life and I told her I would always be there for her." He was trying to help her get her life back on track. "If you'd only known her five years ago," he says. "She was such an amazing person."
I ask about Jake and what would become of him. Peter's voice cracks and he tells me that he will adopt Jake and raise him as his own. "I'm a single guy and I've never had kids before, but I have a good job and I'll make sure this little guy has a wonderful life. Besides," he says, "when he smiles he looks just like Beth. How could I not love him?"
Monday, July 17, 2006
7/17/06
7:17 a.m.
I have been drinking my tea chilled lately. (Summer and all.) I take a pitcher out of the fridge and fill a 64oz mug. It's hot in SoCal. And I'm sunburned. My knees are red and scabbed. My face is on fire and my eyes are puffy. Yesterday I went to the beach and was riding waves on the body board for hours. I came within inches of creaming a toddler on two occasions as I rode up on shore. The same kid. Instead of just stearing the board by leaning left or right, however, I panicked (both times) and slid off the back of the board, using my knees to skid to a stop in front of the little girl with the blond curls. She was so tiny I thought I might break her, so I sacrificed my knees. The second time this happened, she looked down at me, stuck out her tongue, and ran off to her mother who was snearing at me from under an umbrella further up the beach. If it weren't for the thrill of salt water mixing into my wounds and sending rivulets of blood down to my ankles, I might have cared. I sighed. Time to hang up the board for the day. It's bad enough to be riding in the water on top of a device that is shaped approximately like a harbor seal, but to mix blood in with that might be less than wise.
Anyway, I am now paying for my day of fun and sun on the beach. LHM walks into the kitchen and stops at the entrance. He's about to leave for work.
I smile at him, peck him on the cheek and say, "Too late now. You already married me." I pat him on the shoulder and hobble back toward the bedroom before saying under my breath, "Sucker."
I hear him yell from the other room some smart aleck comment about false advertising before he slams the back door.
I lay there in silence. Nothing to do. I am on my "honeymoon" and won't be back home for a month. I consider the events of the past month or two. I no longer work for the PI firm. They decided to bring all of the regional positions in-house...to Boston. Since I wouldn't be able to relocate, I decided that Hell, Inc. sucked anyway and I was better off sticking with one job, my death investigator gig. One job? I mean...what am I going to do with myself with all of this extra time?
So, then LHM proposed to me. (Over the phone, although I think I've forgiven him for that at this point.) He is selling his business, and will leave everything he's worked for over the past seven years to move to Chicago and start a new life with me there. We will start out own PI firm. A family business. You know...like "Hart to Hart".
I have been drinking my tea chilled lately. (Summer and all.) I take a pitcher out of the fridge and fill a 64oz mug. It's hot in SoCal. And I'm sunburned. My knees are red and scabbed. My face is on fire and my eyes are puffy. Yesterday I went to the beach and was riding waves on the body board for hours. I came within inches of creaming a toddler on two occasions as I rode up on shore. The same kid. Instead of just stearing the board by leaning left or right, however, I panicked (both times) and slid off the back of the board, using my knees to skid to a stop in front of the little girl with the blond curls. She was so tiny I thought I might break her, so I sacrificed my knees. The second time this happened, she looked down at me, stuck out her tongue, and ran off to her mother who was snearing at me from under an umbrella further up the beach. If it weren't for the thrill of salt water mixing into my wounds and sending rivulets of blood down to my ankles, I might have cared. I sighed. Time to hang up the board for the day. It's bad enough to be riding in the water on top of a device that is shaped approximately like a harbor seal, but to mix blood in with that might be less than wise.
Anyway, I am now paying for my day of fun and sun on the beach. LHM walks into the kitchen and stops at the entrance. He's about to leave for work.
I smile at him, peck him on the cheek and say, "Too late now. You already married me." I pat him on the shoulder and hobble back toward the bedroom before saying under my breath, "Sucker."
I hear him yell from the other room some smart aleck comment about false advertising before he slams the back door.
I lay there in silence. Nothing to do. I am on my "honeymoon" and won't be back home for a month. I consider the events of the past month or two. I no longer work for the PI firm. They decided to bring all of the regional positions in-house...to Boston. Since I wouldn't be able to relocate, I decided that Hell, Inc. sucked anyway and I was better off sticking with one job, my death investigator gig. One job? I mean...what am I going to do with myself with all of this extra time?
So, then LHM proposed to me. (Over the phone, although I think I've forgiven him for that at this point.) He is selling his business, and will leave everything he's worked for over the past seven years to move to Chicago and start a new life with me there. We will start out own PI firm. A family business. You know...like "Hart to Hart".
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Saturday, May 20, 2006
5-20-06a
8:45 p.m.
I'm looking for the webcam... I thought it would be fun to broadcast from the field. Can I even do that?
I'm looking for the webcam... I thought it would be fun to broadcast from the field. Can I even do that?
5-20-06
12:15 p.m.
I'm sitting in my bedroom surrounded by half-packed boxes. I'm in the process of moving into a house nearby and the question that I keep asking myself is: How did I accumulate so much clothing in the course of three years? My walk-in closet is like an archaeological dig. Layer upon layer of clothes. Sometimes I find an artifact from bygone days...A picture with Olga when we went out clubbing in Chicago. A high-heeled silver shoe that I wore to a formal dance with an exboyfriend... Curiously, I found a lot of female sanitary devices (unused, thank goodness) and enough loose change to buy a weeks-worth of groceries.
The task is daunting and as I look around I come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is put it off until the last minute. We'll see how that works for me.
I'm getting ready to go on a surveillance up in Green Bay (go Packers) tomorrow. It's one day and should be pretty straightforward. The subject lives on a farm and I'm bracing myself for a long day of rolling by the house so as to avoid suspicion.
Last week I went to Boston for our bi-annual supervisor meeting. There, I met my new supervisor for Florida. This man, it turns out, is perhaps the biggest jackass known to man. His incompetence amazes me. I told Corp two days after he was hired that he wouldn't work out. Now he's in his death throws and I guess it's got him crabby. I called him yesterday afternoon to get some information the office was asking for.
"Bozo," I say, "I need to get a status on the eight late cases from your area that didn't come in yesterday."
Bozo huffs like a beligerant teenager. "Okay."
"We'll start with the Brandy case."
"Huh?"
I clench my fist. Patience, Polly. "You know..the three day surveillance that was run nearly a week ago by your Miami investigator? The one that I haven't recieved one update on yet? The one I've been asking you for since Monday?"
Bozo starts to raise his voice. "I sent an email to the investigator. It might have come in already." He huffs again. "Listen, I'm driving right now. Let me pull over and I'll call you back."
"That's fine. Get your files together and turn on your computer so I can get this status report up to Corp within the hour."
He hangs up. I loosen my death-grip on the phone and play a quick game of Spider Solitaire as a healthy alternative to swearing like a sailor and throwing something.
Ten minutes later, Bozo calls me back. With narry a hello, he starts in... "Okay, I got the report from the 10th but I sent it back for revision because the investigator didn't describe the residence."
"All right. When did you get the update?"
"The 11th."
"Okay. So, that was over a week ago. Have you followed up with the investigator? And what about the updates for the 11th and 12th?"
Bozo's voice raises another dicibel. "I don't know. I've been up since 3:30 this morning and it's going to take me 2 hours to get back home. I'm tired and..."
I interrupt. I've had it. I have listened to him whine for the past three weeks with excuse after excuse for his half-assery.
"All right. You need to stop with the crying to me about waking up early and commuting and how much work it is, Bozo. I was a supervisor and I had to do the same thing... It's part of the job. If it's too much, quit. Otherwise, suck it up."
[Yelling and swearing from Bozo] I hold the phone away from my ear.
"Bozo, please don't raise your voice to me." I say calmly. "I have never done that to you and I expect you to treat me with the same respect."
[Yet more yelling and swearing from Bozo]
Aaaand...he hangs up.
I sit back in my chair and sigh. Well, that went well.
I call Corp and speak to Satan's number 2 man.
"Bozo had another temper tantrum. When are you going to fire him? What did I do to make you hate me so much?"
"His area is a mess. He's almost out. Just let him dig his own grave."
I hang up. Right. Let him dig his own grave. I smile. Well, I might as well make this fun...
I call Bozo back. "Hi, Bozo. How's it going? So where were we? Oh, yeah... Brandy.."
I'm sitting in my bedroom surrounded by half-packed boxes. I'm in the process of moving into a house nearby and the question that I keep asking myself is: How did I accumulate so much clothing in the course of three years? My walk-in closet is like an archaeological dig. Layer upon layer of clothes. Sometimes I find an artifact from bygone days...A picture with Olga when we went out clubbing in Chicago. A high-heeled silver shoe that I wore to a formal dance with an exboyfriend... Curiously, I found a lot of female sanitary devices (unused, thank goodness) and enough loose change to buy a weeks-worth of groceries.
The task is daunting and as I look around I come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is put it off until the last minute. We'll see how that works for me.
I'm getting ready to go on a surveillance up in Green Bay (go Packers) tomorrow. It's one day and should be pretty straightforward. The subject lives on a farm and I'm bracing myself for a long day of rolling by the house so as to avoid suspicion.
Last week I went to Boston for our bi-annual supervisor meeting. There, I met my new supervisor for Florida. This man, it turns out, is perhaps the biggest jackass known to man. His incompetence amazes me. I told Corp two days after he was hired that he wouldn't work out. Now he's in his death throws and I guess it's got him crabby. I called him yesterday afternoon to get some information the office was asking for.
"Bozo," I say, "I need to get a status on the eight late cases from your area that didn't come in yesterday."
Bozo huffs like a beligerant teenager. "Okay."
"We'll start with the Brandy case."
"Huh?"
I clench my fist. Patience, Polly. "You know..the three day surveillance that was run nearly a week ago by your Miami investigator? The one that I haven't recieved one update on yet? The one I've been asking you for since Monday?"
Bozo starts to raise his voice. "I sent an email to the investigator. It might have come in already." He huffs again. "Listen, I'm driving right now. Let me pull over and I'll call you back."
"That's fine. Get your files together and turn on your computer so I can get this status report up to Corp within the hour."
He hangs up. I loosen my death-grip on the phone and play a quick game of Spider Solitaire as a healthy alternative to swearing like a sailor and throwing something.
Ten minutes later, Bozo calls me back. With narry a hello, he starts in... "Okay, I got the report from the 10th but I sent it back for revision because the investigator didn't describe the residence."
"All right. When did you get the update?"
"The 11th."
"Okay. So, that was over a week ago. Have you followed up with the investigator? And what about the updates for the 11th and 12th?"
Bozo's voice raises another dicibel. "I don't know. I've been up since 3:30 this morning and it's going to take me 2 hours to get back home. I'm tired and..."
I interrupt. I've had it. I have listened to him whine for the past three weeks with excuse after excuse for his half-assery.
"All right. You need to stop with the crying to me about waking up early and commuting and how much work it is, Bozo. I was a supervisor and I had to do the same thing... It's part of the job. If it's too much, quit. Otherwise, suck it up."
[Yelling and swearing from Bozo] I hold the phone away from my ear.
"Bozo, please don't raise your voice to me." I say calmly. "I have never done that to you and I expect you to treat me with the same respect."
[Yet more yelling and swearing from Bozo]
Aaaand...he hangs up.
I sit back in my chair and sigh. Well, that went well.
I call Corp and speak to Satan's number 2 man.
"Bozo had another temper tantrum. When are you going to fire him? What did I do to make you hate me so much?"
"His area is a mess. He's almost out. Just let him dig his own grave."
I hang up. Right. Let him dig his own grave. I smile. Well, I might as well make this fun...
I call Bozo back. "Hi, Bozo. How's it going? So where were we? Oh, yeah... Brandy.."
Thursday, May 04, 2006
5-4-06
10:28 a.m.
Thanks for all the nice birthday wishes, bloglit! I got called out to a death at 2am this morning and I kept writing my birth year down instead of 2006. I think I'm already getting senile.
It's PollyMom's birthday today, too, by the way. I remember back when I was a kid Mom used to let me stay home from school on our b-day and we'd spend it shopping or doing some other girl thing together. That's where I learned the fine art of playing hookie.
So, not wanting to break tradition, I'm going out to lunch with Pippie from the ME's office this afternoon. And after I've pigged out sufficiently, I'm driving up to MN so that Mom and I can celebrate our birthday together. I'm not sure I'll get there in time for shopping, but at least there'll be cake and ice cream.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!
Thanks for all the nice birthday wishes, bloglit! I got called out to a death at 2am this morning and I kept writing my birth year down instead of 2006. I think I'm already getting senile.
It's PollyMom's birthday today, too, by the way. I remember back when I was a kid Mom used to let me stay home from school on our b-day and we'd spend it shopping or doing some other girl thing together. That's where I learned the fine art of playing hookie.
So, not wanting to break tradition, I'm going out to lunch with Pippie from the ME's office this afternoon. And after I've pigged out sufficiently, I'm driving up to MN so that Mom and I can celebrate our birthday together. I'm not sure I'll get there in time for shopping, but at least there'll be cake and ice cream.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!
Friday, April 21, 2006
4/21/06
11:28 a.m.
Right now I'm sitting in a holding room on the set of a TV show called, Desire. I'm not sure what the show is about, but I just finished "acting" as a civilian on a scene where the stars of the show are being booked at a police station for having public sex. (I was just talking on the phone...fully clothed...sickos.)
More later...
Right now I'm sitting in a holding room on the set of a TV show called, Desire. I'm not sure what the show is about, but I just finished "acting" as a civilian on a scene where the stars of the show are being booked at a police station for having public sex. (I was just talking on the phone...fully clothed...sickos.)
More later...
Sunday, April 16, 2006
I FOUND IT!!!!
And that Jeremy is pretty darn bright. I think I have enough here to send him more than ears...
Saturday, April 15, 2006
4/15/06c Jeremy is on a roll...
10:42 p.m.
I'd offer Jeremy more of my chocolate bunny, but I'm not sure how much is going to be left. Jelly beans okay?
It was a ceiling fan! The following clue was stick to one of the blades: I hide things. A lot of things right behind me. But if you look really really close, I look just like you!
Figured that one out pretty quickly. It was the mirrored medicine cabinet in the bathroom. That clue said: The Danes, the Geats, and the Swedes. I'm the very first of the English reads.
Huh. Wish I'd paid closer attention in English Lit class...
Any ideas?
I'd offer Jeremy more of my chocolate bunny, but I'm not sure how much is going to be left. Jelly beans okay?
It was a ceiling fan! The following clue was stick to one of the blades: I hide things. A lot of things right behind me. But if you look really really close, I look just like you!
Figured that one out pretty quickly. It was the mirrored medicine cabinet in the bathroom. That clue said: The Danes, the Geats, and the Swedes. I'm the very first of the English reads.
Huh. Wish I'd paid closer attention in English Lit class...
Any ideas?
4/15/06b And the winner is...
1:08 p.m.
JEREMY!! It WAS a door mat. I'll send you my Easter bunny's luck rabbit feet.
You guys are great! Though LHM says I'm cheating getting help from my bloglit. The way I figure it...we're talking about chocolate here!
Okay, I'm stuck on another one so perhaps I can ask for a bit more advice.
Under the door mat was a clue that said: 99% of the time I don't even have any gloves. I figured that one out pretty quick. It was in the glove compartment of LHM's car.
The next clue said: I'm hot and wet. Which is probably why I've been a woman's best friend since the 1950's.
That one was pretty simple. It was in the dishwasher. The next clue is sick and twisted and I'm sort of afraid to find out what it means. It says: Suck. Blow. Suck. Blow. *Click* Now I'm light-headed.
JEREMY!! It WAS a door mat. I'll send you my Easter bunny's luck rabbit feet.
You guys are great! Though LHM says I'm cheating getting help from my bloglit. The way I figure it...we're talking about chocolate here!
Okay, I'm stuck on another one so perhaps I can ask for a bit more advice.
Under the door mat was a clue that said: 99% of the time I don't even have any gloves. I figured that one out pretty quick. It was in the glove compartment of LHM's car.
The next clue said: I'm hot and wet. Which is probably why I've been a woman's best friend since the 1950's.
That one was pretty simple. It was in the dishwasher. The next clue is sick and twisted and I'm sort of afraid to find out what it means. It says: Suck. Blow. Suck. Blow. *Click* Now I'm light-headed.
4/15/06 And the winner is....
Cap'n Bob!!!!! You Rock! I'll send you the ears from my chocolate bunny when I finally find it.
BUT I STILL NEED YOUR HELP!
It was a bed. The people who use a bed the most remember it the least...because they're sleeping! Of course, I argued with LHM that beds aren't just for sleeping anymore...
:-)
The clue from under the bed was: We run all day just to get back where we started. Just two good friends who are constantly parted. That one was easy, too. It was behind the clock on LHM's wall. The hands of a clock run all day and are constantly parted.
The clue behind the clock was: Sit up. Lie down. Sit up. Lie down. Where I'm broken, the next clue is found. This one took me a minute or ten, but I figured out it was the futon in LHM's office...which is broken. Good thing he gets to sleep on it and not me.
The next clue has me stuck again. And I have less than 24 hours before Easter.
Here it is: I never thought you were dirty until I met your two friends. Now everytime I see them, they use me and leave me that much dirtier.
I know...I keep telling LHM I don't have friends like that anymore.
BUT I STILL NEED YOUR HELP!
It was a bed. The people who use a bed the most remember it the least...because they're sleeping! Of course, I argued with LHM that beds aren't just for sleeping anymore...
:-)
The clue from under the bed was: We run all day just to get back where we started. Just two good friends who are constantly parted. That one was easy, too. It was behind the clock on LHM's wall. The hands of a clock run all day and are constantly parted.
The clue behind the clock was: Sit up. Lie down. Sit up. Lie down. Where I'm broken, the next clue is found. This one took me a minute or ten, but I figured out it was the futon in LHM's office...which is broken. Good thing he gets to sleep on it and not me.
The next clue has me stuck again. And I have less than 24 hours before Easter.
Here it is: I never thought you were dirty until I met your two friends. Now everytime I see them, they use me and leave me that much dirtier.
I know...I keep telling LHM I don't have friends like that anymore.
Friday, April 14, 2006
4/14/06 HELP
9:51 p.m.
Okay, bloglit. I need your help. And this involves chocolate, so please....do what you can for me.
I just got into California a few hours ago to spend the Easter holiday with LHM. He picked me up from the airport and there was a rolled up envelope in the car door. I didn't pay much attention to it until I read who it was addressed to:
Baby Cakes
69 Bet Your Sweet Ass Lane
San Diego, CA
Huh. If somebody is sending letters to LHM at 69 Sweet Ass Lane I want to know about it...so I can find her and dispatch her with impunity. (Don't worry. I wouldn't really dispatch her with impunity. I just said that because there are so few opportunities to use that phrase in context.)
Anyway, I pulled the envelope out of the door handle and unrolled it. I turned it over and there was a note on the back that said, "Open when you are ready for Easter!!"
Hmm. Delay gratification, or go for the chocolate Easter Bunny goodness now.
I tore open the envelope and found a clue inside. It said, "Well, baby, I knew you couldn't wait. So the first clue is hidden with LHM and three heads of state."
I figured that one out. It was hidden in LHM's wallet with his money. The second clue was, "No matter where you go, I know where you are, which is good..because your next clue is hiding in a place that doesn't exist anymore."
I figured that one out, too. It was hidden on the globe in LHM's living room..stuck on the Soviet Union..which doesn't exist anymore. The third clue said " *JUMP* My life is hanging by a thread. One small shake and I'd be dead. Not up, nor down, nor left, look right! I have a stud to keep me warm at night."
That one was easy. There's a picture of a gargoyle jumping off the edge of a castle in LHM's house. The clue was stuck to the back on the right side.
And this brings me to why I'm writing. I'm going to need some help with the next one(and probably a few more..there are seven left)
The fourth clue says this: "The people who use me the most remember using me the least."
Other than mind altering drugs (and I checked his house to no avail) I can't think of what that might be. Does anybody out there in the blogosphere have any bright ideas?
Okay, bloglit. I need your help. And this involves chocolate, so please....do what you can for me.
I just got into California a few hours ago to spend the Easter holiday with LHM. He picked me up from the airport and there was a rolled up envelope in the car door. I didn't pay much attention to it until I read who it was addressed to:
Baby Cakes
69 Bet Your Sweet Ass Lane
San Diego, CA
Huh. If somebody is sending letters to LHM at 69 Sweet Ass Lane I want to know about it...so I can find her and dispatch her with impunity. (Don't worry. I wouldn't really dispatch her with impunity. I just said that because there are so few opportunities to use that phrase in context.)
Anyway, I pulled the envelope out of the door handle and unrolled it. I turned it over and there was a note on the back that said, "Open when you are ready for Easter!!"
Hmm. Delay gratification, or go for the chocolate Easter Bunny goodness now.
I tore open the envelope and found a clue inside. It said, "Well, baby, I knew you couldn't wait. So the first clue is hidden with LHM and three heads of state."
I figured that one out. It was hidden in LHM's wallet with his money. The second clue was, "No matter where you go, I know where you are, which is good..because your next clue is hiding in a place that doesn't exist anymore."
I figured that one out, too. It was hidden on the globe in LHM's living room..stuck on the Soviet Union..which doesn't exist anymore. The third clue said " *JUMP* My life is hanging by a thread. One small shake and I'd be dead. Not up, nor down, nor left, look right! I have a stud to keep me warm at night."
That one was easy. There's a picture of a gargoyle jumping off the edge of a castle in LHM's house. The clue was stuck to the back on the right side.
And this brings me to why I'm writing. I'm going to need some help with the next one(and probably a few more..there are seven left)
The fourth clue says this: "The people who use me the most remember using me the least."
Other than mind altering drugs (and I checked his house to no avail) I can't think of what that might be. Does anybody out there in the blogosphere have any bright ideas?
Sunday, April 09, 2006
4/9/06
9:26 a.m.
It was stormy with high winds all yesterday afternoon and evening. This morning the sky is blue and beautiful, but the wind is still up. I wish I had a body board. The waves are high and crashing up over the dunes.
When I drove out from the airport Friday afternoon I was surprised to see that it's springtime here. The azalea bushes were flowering and I almost crashed my car when I saw huge vines of blooming wisteria braiding their way up tree trunks along I-64. I love wisteria. It takes 10 years for it to reach maturity and bloom the first time. It reminds me of the rewards of patience...which is something I need to be reminded of from time to time.
My case has been somewhat disappointing. None of my witnesses are willing to talk. I have spent two days taking photographs of the scene, timing the cycling of streetlights, and diagraming the intersection. I've dropped by houses unannounced. I've tried calling and leaving notes at the door. I guess nobody wants to put themselves out there.
When I knocked on the first door, I could here a male voice inside speaking urgently and quietly. I knocked again. No answer. Huh. I leave a card in the door and am just getting into my car when a woman peeks her head out. She looks afraid and won't meet my eyes. I walk over and ask her if my witness is there. She says that she's never heard of him and that she lives alone. I thank her and get back into my car. I wonder who the man was inside. I wonder who she was more afraid of...him or me.
The second house is just down the street. There are two kids playing on bikes in front of the house. They stop and stare at me when I pull into the drive. I smile and a little girl tentatively waves. Three or four dinosaur cars are parked in the yard where grass used to be. I see a teenaged woman open the front door before I even get out of my car. I ask her if my witness is there. She says she's not home right now. The girl uses her leg to block a diapered toddler from scampering out of the open doorway and into the yard. I give her my card and ask if she'd please have the witness call me. The kids on bikes continue to stare as I pull out into the street. I wink at the little girl and she smiles as I drive away.
I drive a couple of miles to get to the third witnesses house. But I never get the chance to knock on her door. As I drive down the street trying to find the house, I notice two men stop what they're doing and stare after me. I look in the rearview mirror as I pass and they are still watching my car. Oh, well. No doubt I do stand out. Let them stare. I find my witness's house a hundred yards or so down the street and just get out of my car after making notes describing the residence when the two men come up and angrily ask what I'm doing here. I am surprised at the anger and back into my car as they come closer. One of them asks me if I have a boyfriend. I am about to tell him about all of my boyfriends and all of the many venereal diseases that I carry when a cop pulls up. The men walk away as if the confrontation never happened. Oh, hell. That was close. I take a deep breath as the cop calls me over to his car.
"Hey! What in hell's name are you doing out here? Don't you know this is a bad neighborhood?"
I look around at the gutted cars, trash, and broken down shacks that line the street. "Yes", I say simply. "I'm working."
He shakes his head impatiently and says, "Get out of here. Now."
I am slightly irritated at his tone, but I decide that it would be better to comply then go to jail for suggesting that instead he kiss my ass. Now.
Besides, he might just have a point.
So, I spent the rest of the day knocking on doors and not getting answers.
I should be disappointed but it's hard to do so as I rub more sunscreen on the bridge of my nose and lie back in the warm sand.
It was stormy with high winds all yesterday afternoon and evening. This morning the sky is blue and beautiful, but the wind is still up. I wish I had a body board. The waves are high and crashing up over the dunes.
When I drove out from the airport Friday afternoon I was surprised to see that it's springtime here. The azalea bushes were flowering and I almost crashed my car when I saw huge vines of blooming wisteria braiding their way up tree trunks along I-64. I love wisteria. It takes 10 years for it to reach maturity and bloom the first time. It reminds me of the rewards of patience...which is something I need to be reminded of from time to time.
My case has been somewhat disappointing. None of my witnesses are willing to talk. I have spent two days taking photographs of the scene, timing the cycling of streetlights, and diagraming the intersection. I've dropped by houses unannounced. I've tried calling and leaving notes at the door. I guess nobody wants to put themselves out there.
When I knocked on the first door, I could here a male voice inside speaking urgently and quietly. I knocked again. No answer. Huh. I leave a card in the door and am just getting into my car when a woman peeks her head out. She looks afraid and won't meet my eyes. I walk over and ask her if my witness is there. She says that she's never heard of him and that she lives alone. I thank her and get back into my car. I wonder who the man was inside. I wonder who she was more afraid of...him or me.
The second house is just down the street. There are two kids playing on bikes in front of the house. They stop and stare at me when I pull into the drive. I smile and a little girl tentatively waves. Three or four dinosaur cars are parked in the yard where grass used to be. I see a teenaged woman open the front door before I even get out of my car. I ask her if my witness is there. She says she's not home right now. The girl uses her leg to block a diapered toddler from scampering out of the open doorway and into the yard. I give her my card and ask if she'd please have the witness call me. The kids on bikes continue to stare as I pull out into the street. I wink at the little girl and she smiles as I drive away.
I drive a couple of miles to get to the third witnesses house. But I never get the chance to knock on her door. As I drive down the street trying to find the house, I notice two men stop what they're doing and stare after me. I look in the rearview mirror as I pass and they are still watching my car. Oh, well. No doubt I do stand out. Let them stare. I find my witness's house a hundred yards or so down the street and just get out of my car after making notes describing the residence when the two men come up and angrily ask what I'm doing here. I am surprised at the anger and back into my car as they come closer. One of them asks me if I have a boyfriend. I am about to tell him about all of my boyfriends and all of the many venereal diseases that I carry when a cop pulls up. The men walk away as if the confrontation never happened. Oh, hell. That was close. I take a deep breath as the cop calls me over to his car.
"Hey! What in hell's name are you doing out here? Don't you know this is a bad neighborhood?"
I look around at the gutted cars, trash, and broken down shacks that line the street. "Yes", I say simply. "I'm working."
He shakes his head impatiently and says, "Get out of here. Now."
I am slightly irritated at his tone, but I decide that it would be better to comply then go to jail for suggesting that instead he kiss my ass. Now.
Besides, he might just have a point.
So, I spent the rest of the day knocking on doors and not getting answers.
I should be disappointed but it's hard to do so as I rub more sunscreen on the bridge of my nose and lie back in the warm sand.
Friday, April 07, 2006
4/7/06
7:23 a.m.
I'm at the airport waiting to board my flight to Virginia. Traffic was stop and go through Chicago and it was a nail-biter the whole way thinking I might miss plane. Which is much better than being a nose-picker. Which is what the guy in the SUV next to me was being the entire length of Interstate 294. Sigh. I wonder why it is that so many people live under the illusion that their vehicle windows are opaque?
The gate attendant just told us that our flight is delayed until 8:15am. All that rushing around and I could have slept in for a half hour. Go figure. Maybe I'll go get a Cinnabon.
This trip to Virginia should be very interesting. I'm conducting a traffic fatality investigation over the weekend. It's supposed to be a full 30 hours of work packed into two days so the corporate office has relieved me of my regional supervisory duties this weekend. Hooray!!! I feel like a little kid at recess. What should I do first?
Well... of course, I will blog.
More later...
I'm at the airport waiting to board my flight to Virginia. Traffic was stop and go through Chicago and it was a nail-biter the whole way thinking I might miss plane. Which is much better than being a nose-picker. Which is what the guy in the SUV next to me was being the entire length of Interstate 294. Sigh. I wonder why it is that so many people live under the illusion that their vehicle windows are opaque?
The gate attendant just told us that our flight is delayed until 8:15am. All that rushing around and I could have slept in for a half hour. Go figure. Maybe I'll go get a Cinnabon.
This trip to Virginia should be very interesting. I'm conducting a traffic fatality investigation over the weekend. It's supposed to be a full 30 hours of work packed into two days so the corporate office has relieved me of my regional supervisory duties this weekend. Hooray!!! I feel like a little kid at recess. What should I do first?
Well... of course, I will blog.
More later...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
4/4/06
jane said...
dude... where'd the booby polly pic go? that's what i looked at daily to cheer me up. er, wait....
12:14 PM
Yeah. The parents just got back from their winter travels and Mom checked my blog.
I love my mom and so I'm going to try to avoid causing future heart attacks by refraining from posting pictures of myself at unfortunate camera angles.
dude... where'd the booby polly pic go? that's what i looked at daily to cheer me up. er, wait....
12:14 PM
Yeah. The parents just got back from their winter travels and Mom checked my blog.
I love my mom and so I'm going to try to avoid causing future heart attacks by refraining from posting pictures of myself at unfortunate camera angles.
Friday, March 24, 2006
3/24/06
5:03 p.m.
I am currently blogging from a grassy knoll on the side of a road in a very, very ritzy part of San Diego. Across the street there are a bunch of trailers lined up, several cop cars, and a particular trailer that reminds me of a chuck wagon-type kitchen because people keep going over there and getting food.
Which reminds me, I’m hungry.
I'm surprised how easy it was to sneak into the staging area for Veronica Mars with LHM. After we parked LHM's car a van came up and loaded three or four of us in. Nobody asked me who I was playing or anything. Probably because I am a private detective who is used to slipping seamlessly into any given situation without notice. Uh, yeah. That must be it.
There are a bunch of fake cops wandering around and a pretty young woman with short dark hair in a pair of pink silk pajamas and slippers just came over to me and asked what internet service provider I use on my laptop because she can’t get service out here. She’s either one of the main characters of the show or a complete nut job. I’ll have to ask LHM later.
LHM just got out of the dressing room. He’s wearing a brown cop uniform. Reow! I’m a sucker for a man in uniform. Unfortunately, he’s pretending not to notice me so that I don’t get kicked out.
Oh, dear. LHM is talking to the stage manager guy and pointing to me. This cannot be good. LHM walks over and I half expect him to tell me I’m going to have to leave, but instead he says that the stage manager is going to let me hang around in the staging area but that I can’t go to the set (the set is a huge mansion a block away). Cool!
So, I walk across the street and join a bunch of extras that are dressed like bomb squad and cops and firemen. They seem like a pretty nice bunch of guys. One is woman who is, I guess, what you would call a professional extra. She does at least one show a week. LHM and all the other cops are bussed over to the props truck and I am left with the bomb squad. There is an Hispanic guy who is between jobs right now but used to work for the county. He asks me if I'm an actor. I laugh and tell him what I really do. He asks me for a job. Another guy is Special Ops with the Marine Corp and does the acting thing for fun. He is a black guy and we had a good laugh when he told me that next week he gets to play an Iraqi insurgent on another show. “I don’t know,” he says, “I’m happy for the job but I’ve never seen a black Iraqi before.”
"It's okay," I say. "Maybe they're planning on making you a woman and you'll be in a burka."
LHM comes back with fake gun, radios, leather holster, etc... Then the stage manager comes over and tells the guys that it’s time for them to get in the truck and head to the mansion. Bummer. This is going to be a boring couple of hours. But, to my surprise, he comes to me and says, “I’ll probably get fired for this, but you can come along to the house.” Hooray!
So now I am in an enormous mansion full of strapping men in uniform. Can life get any better, I ask you? There are fire trucks and cop cars all positioned outside in the driveway. LHM disappeared. He's exploring the mansion. I got depressed and stopped looking around after I peaked in the master bathroom and saw that it's bigger than my house.
After about an hour, I heard someone yell loudly from the other room, "Break for lunch!" Lunch? It's 8:00 p.m.! But then again, who am I to turn down free food? So me and the boys are bussed back down to the staging area and I am walking through a lovely buffet when an assistant director comes up to me and says, "We were wondering if you would do an “eye shot” when we get back to the house. Just come find me and I'll show you were to go."
I look at LHM. He shrugs. “Sure,” I say.
The assistant director walks away I lean in and whisper to LHM, “What the hell’s an eye shot?”
LHM shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Great. A lot of good you are. I ask the professional extra and she tells me that an eye shot is just where I stand there so that they can get camera angles and lighting in place for when the real actor comes in. I sigh in relief. Cool! I can do that! A monkey could do that!
So, they just called us back to the van and we are headed back to the house when the stage manager says, “You know, you’re very lucky to be here. We’ve had other people bring friends and I have had to tell them to go home. But you seem like a very nice girl.” LHM leans in and whispers, "Yeah. And that little tank top and skirt can't hurt, either."
We get back to the house again and everything has moved outdoors in the driveway. Now that it's gotten dark, the cops and firemen get to play. It is very cold and I am seriously regretting the little tank top. The stage manage comes over and hands me his jacket. He's dressed like a bomb squad guy because one of the extras didn't show up. "Here. You can use this. You look cold." Aw. Gee, thanks.
I sit on the steps of the house and watch in fascination. Turns out the girl in the pajamas wasn't a crazy after all. Hey! Is that Steve Guttenberg out there in that bathrobe? I loved him in Three Men and A Baby!
It's now 10:00 p.m. They just wrapped up the outside scenes and everybody is moving inside. We finally get to go back. I have to walk through the house to get back to my stuff. Steve Guttenberg is in the living room and they are getting set up to rehearse a scene. He sees me coming and smiles and says, "Aren't you cold?" I think to myself, Why, yes, Mr. Guttenberg. I'm freezing my ass off! But instead, I just say, "It was a lot warmer when I got dressed this morning."
Then the director yells for everybody who isn't in the scene to clear out. I scurry off to the back room and gather my things before walking outside with the rest of the boys.
Anyway, I’ve got to wrap this up because LHM just told me he's going to have to frisk me.
I am currently blogging from a grassy knoll on the side of a road in a very, very ritzy part of San Diego. Across the street there are a bunch of trailers lined up, several cop cars, and a particular trailer that reminds me of a chuck wagon-type kitchen because people keep going over there and getting food.
Which reminds me, I’m hungry.
I'm surprised how easy it was to sneak into the staging area for Veronica Mars with LHM. After we parked LHM's car a van came up and loaded three or four of us in. Nobody asked me who I was playing or anything. Probably because I am a private detective who is used to slipping seamlessly into any given situation without notice. Uh, yeah. That must be it.
There are a bunch of fake cops wandering around and a pretty young woman with short dark hair in a pair of pink silk pajamas and slippers just came over to me and asked what internet service provider I use on my laptop because she can’t get service out here. She’s either one of the main characters of the show or a complete nut job. I’ll have to ask LHM later.
LHM just got out of the dressing room. He’s wearing a brown cop uniform. Reow! I’m a sucker for a man in uniform. Unfortunately, he’s pretending not to notice me so that I don’t get kicked out.
Oh, dear. LHM is talking to the stage manager guy and pointing to me. This cannot be good. LHM walks over and I half expect him to tell me I’m going to have to leave, but instead he says that the stage manager is going to let me hang around in the staging area but that I can’t go to the set (the set is a huge mansion a block away). Cool!
So, I walk across the street and join a bunch of extras that are dressed like bomb squad and cops and firemen. They seem like a pretty nice bunch of guys. One is woman who is, I guess, what you would call a professional extra. She does at least one show a week. LHM and all the other cops are bussed over to the props truck and I am left with the bomb squad. There is an Hispanic guy who is between jobs right now but used to work for the county. He asks me if I'm an actor. I laugh and tell him what I really do. He asks me for a job. Another guy is Special Ops with the Marine Corp and does the acting thing for fun. He is a black guy and we had a good laugh when he told me that next week he gets to play an Iraqi insurgent on another show. “I don’t know,” he says, “I’m happy for the job but I’ve never seen a black Iraqi before.”
"It's okay," I say. "Maybe they're planning on making you a woman and you'll be in a burka."
LHM comes back with fake gun, radios, leather holster, etc... Then the stage manager comes over and tells the guys that it’s time for them to get in the truck and head to the mansion. Bummer. This is going to be a boring couple of hours. But, to my surprise, he comes to me and says, “I’ll probably get fired for this, but you can come along to the house.” Hooray!
So now I am in an enormous mansion full of strapping men in uniform. Can life get any better, I ask you? There are fire trucks and cop cars all positioned outside in the driveway. LHM disappeared. He's exploring the mansion. I got depressed and stopped looking around after I peaked in the master bathroom and saw that it's bigger than my house.
After about an hour, I heard someone yell loudly from the other room, "Break for lunch!" Lunch? It's 8:00 p.m.! But then again, who am I to turn down free food? So me and the boys are bussed back down to the staging area and I am walking through a lovely buffet when an assistant director comes up to me and says, "We were wondering if you would do an “eye shot” when we get back to the house. Just come find me and I'll show you were to go."
I look at LHM. He shrugs. “Sure,” I say.
The assistant director walks away I lean in and whisper to LHM, “What the hell’s an eye shot?”
LHM shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Great. A lot of good you are. I ask the professional extra and she tells me that an eye shot is just where I stand there so that they can get camera angles and lighting in place for when the real actor comes in. I sigh in relief. Cool! I can do that! A monkey could do that!
So, they just called us back to the van and we are headed back to the house when the stage manager says, “You know, you’re very lucky to be here. We’ve had other people bring friends and I have had to tell them to go home. But you seem like a very nice girl.” LHM leans in and whispers, "Yeah. And that little tank top and skirt can't hurt, either."
We get back to the house again and everything has moved outdoors in the driveway. Now that it's gotten dark, the cops and firemen get to play. It is very cold and I am seriously regretting the little tank top. The stage manage comes over and hands me his jacket. He's dressed like a bomb squad guy because one of the extras didn't show up. "Here. You can use this. You look cold." Aw. Gee, thanks.
I sit on the steps of the house and watch in fascination. Turns out the girl in the pajamas wasn't a crazy after all. Hey! Is that Steve Guttenberg out there in that bathrobe? I loved him in Three Men and A Baby!
It's now 10:00 p.m. They just wrapped up the outside scenes and everybody is moving inside. We finally get to go back. I have to walk through the house to get back to my stuff. Steve Guttenberg is in the living room and they are getting set up to rehearse a scene. He sees me coming and smiles and says, "Aren't you cold?" I think to myself, Why, yes, Mr. Guttenberg. I'm freezing my ass off! But instead, I just say, "It was a lot warmer when I got dressed this morning."
Then the director yells for everybody who isn't in the scene to clear out. I scurry off to the back room and gather my things before walking outside with the rest of the boys.
Anyway, I’ve got to wrap this up because LHM just told me he's going to have to frisk me.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
3/23/06
1:20 p.m.,
Well, I'm sitting in LHM's car waiting for him to get out of the electronics store. See, he bought this computer game and found that his video card wasn't allowing all the graphics so decided to go buy a new card. But the new card wouldn't work. So he took it back because he figured it was defective. But then the replacement wouldn't work either. So now he's going to buy a more expensive card because, hell, if it's more expensive it's got to work, right? If the expensive card doesn't work then he's going to get more power supply... Which will be even more expensive.
And all to play a computer game.
Men are funny.
Anyway, tonight LHM is going to be playing an extra on Veronica Mars. He gets to be a cop. I'm going to be his groupie. I'll be blogging live from the set this evening.
P.S. MAN, it's hot in SoCal right now. :-P
Well, I'm sitting in LHM's car waiting for him to get out of the electronics store. See, he bought this computer game and found that his video card wasn't allowing all the graphics so decided to go buy a new card. But the new card wouldn't work. So he took it back because he figured it was defective. But then the replacement wouldn't work either. So now he's going to buy a more expensive card because, hell, if it's more expensive it's got to work, right? If the expensive card doesn't work then he's going to get more power supply... Which will be even more expensive.
And all to play a computer game.
Men are funny.
Anyway, tonight LHM is going to be playing an extra on Veronica Mars. He gets to be a cop. I'm going to be his groupie. I'll be blogging live from the set this evening.
P.S. MAN, it's hot in SoCal right now. :-P
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