My Not-So-Anonymous Response

I’m not a fan of lists but I decided to compose this one for that small group of people group of small people, rather, who seem to be in need of a bit of reassurance.

P.S. THIS POST “AIN’T” ANONYMOUS. If anything about it offends (or resembles) you, then you are cordially invited to kiss my ass. Too strong? Ok, and I would never invite a coward under my clothes anyway -so, let me change that… you are cordially invited to cowgirl up and contact me for a personal one on one, adult size conversation.

NUMBER 1–I am not a security officer—I’ve paid my dues cupcake, I carry gun(s), not flashlights. 

NUMBER 2–I do not sit with my feet propped up on desks—I’m too professional (and too cute) for that. Were my feet on the desk when I interviewed you during that investigation you were involved in sugar-doodle? 

NUMBER 3–There are very specific, potentially life-saving, rules and laws about what one should do while driving. For example, one should never send and/or receive text messages while operating a motor vehicle. If I am asked to drive so that messages, emails and/or phone calls can be made and/or returned, in a timely manner, I have absolutely no problem doing so. Did I mention that I am a trained defensive driver, and I can navigate through traffic in a crisis situation with ease and reliability, sweetie pie?

NUMBER 4–I am a true “mother hen”, and sometimes that means sitting outside the henhouse, looking in.— Butter cup, there’s a lot to be said about tip lines, surveillance cameras and social media when it comes to detection, prevention and protection. 

NUMBER 5–Officers who rotate between schools are typically from one of three pools, sweet cheeks… (1) not enough officers to have one at each school, (2) so good that he or she is capable of covering and acting as a rover/back up officer for the other officers or (3) the officer has been removed from a campus because of inappropriate or questionable behavior and placed in a “rotator” position.

NUMBER 6–My pockets, in no way, resemble my qualifications which are clearly verified by my years in service, my boots on the ground experience and my resume’, booboo kitty.

NUMBER 7–Unlike several of you who have an issue (with everything), I am a tax paying citizen of this community— I’ve lived here well over 20 years sweet pea. 

NUMBER 8–My unmarked vehicle and my plainclothes status are by design. I can assure you that people are more willing to talk to me when I’m driving a Honda and wearing a business suit than they are when I’m in full police garb and a patrol car. Check the stats muffin!

Bottom line—  I smile and speak when I see you because it’s obvious that it sucks to be you but please don’t let the smooth taste fool you. I promise I can be 10 times nastier than you and your entire little group of conspirators combined! 

 

 

 

Update on the stray pup—

*Update               *Update               *Update               *Update               *Update

Look who received a clean bill of health from her doctor.

Her stitches were removed and she now weighs 38.7 pounds which is a gain of more than 12 pounds since she wondered up.

A Choice? Really?

This is a re-post of a response that I published in July of 2015, after reading a post shared by a FB friend in which he did the old…”I don’t agree, but I love Cousin Johnny anyway”. I decided that it was my turn to speak up, speak out and speak long and loud!

Timing is everything — I believe this is a great time to re-share! Comments are welcomed, but please no hatred, bigotry or discrimination.

Each One Teach One

I love you as a fellow human, as my brother in blue and the fact that you regularly show and share your love of God is a plus, in my opinion, and another reason I love you, my friend! Let me get to my point…I think there are millions of people who are missing/avoiding/ignoring one of the most important issues of all here. Everyone – and I mean EVERYONE- walking God’s green earth deserves to be respected and have their rights to live, laugh and love respected! What gives anyone the right to say where the line is drawn? Is there any difference between two men being in a monogamous, loving, RESPECTFUL relationship and a man and woman who are married?… Let’s sweeten the pot…. that married man does all he can to get a woman, other than his wife, to accompany him to his hotel room and into his bed… Do you really think God is keeping score like that? Man, with man -negative 0; man with woman +10— oops wait— she’s not his wife… better subtract a few points for that…

From what I’ve been taught, we are all sinners and, although we all have burdens to bear, none of us have the burden (or the right) to decide who goes where after death! Yes, each one should teach one BUT yes, each one should sweep around his and her own front door first, last and always!

P.S. You mentioned that you love your friends and family members who are gay and just because being gay is the lifestyle they “chose” you love them no less… People CHOOSE to lie, steal, CHEAT, commit adultery, covet thy neighbor’s wives or husbands…etc. and when caught, there are various consequences.

Answer this: How many of these consequences, in any way, compare to being ridiculed, taunted, hated by millions, treated as an outcast, mocked, treated with contempt, scoffed at, despised, etc. on a daily basis – forever? Now answer this: which of your “friends or family members” (the ones who are gay) are you calling a stupid, dumb ass, mentally challenged, effing idiot-  because surely that’s what they’d have to be to “choose” to endure all of that! I’ve met so many people in my life, heterosexual and homosexual, that I’ve forgotten who some of them are, but I’ve never met anyone who “chose” to be gay.

“Love you my brother”

Abducted: He said he was our uncle (a true story)

When we were old enough to attend school, our parents sent us to what I can only describe as “the little schoolhouse on the hill”. Seriously, it was a big white building that sat on top of a hill. Thinking back, it truly looked like something from “Little House on the Prairie”. Lunch was the same thing every day… English peas, with an orange slice and a piece of cornbread. I can vividly recall the teacher constantly saying “Ro- Shellllll, don’t fork your bread”. As if spending your day in a hauntingly scary looking house wasn’t enough, we had to look at and listen to “Mrs. Congeniality” all day, too. Luckily, my brother and I were in the same classroom since she was the only teacher.

I’ve mentioned before that I followed my brother everywhere. One day, just before dismissal, the sky turned dark and a torrential rainstorm pummeled the area. My brother and I stood inside the building looking out for our parents. A fellow classmate, who just so happened to be Mrs. Congeniality’s kid, approached us, and for lack of a better term, baited us. The little demon dared us to walk home, in the rainstorm, all alone. Here’s where I have proof that my dear, sweet, older brother loved me from the start, he grabbed my hand, and led me out of the building into the storm. He told me that we would be okay and that he knew the way home.

I suspect, had I looked back, I would have seen that evil kid and her mother laughing at the poor little drenched idiots who were trudging along holding onto one another for dear life. The rain was coming down so hard I could hardly see what was going on in front of me. We made it down the hill and to the main street, which was generally a very busy two lane street. On this particular day, traffic was almost non-existent, probably because the entire area was under a tornado warning. Anyway, as we made our way in the direction that my big brother assured me would get us home, we approached a bridge that was completely unfamiliar to us. That’s when an older model blue car drove past us then pulled over on the shoulder of the road. We held on to one another and kept walking when suddenly the driver’s door opened and a very tall, thin man stepped out into the rain, basically blocking our way. When he bent down and spoke to us, we, being brought up to be polite and respectful, stopped and greeted the man. He smiled and told us that he was our “Uncle Jeff” and that we should get into his car so he could take us home. I was so happy that “Uncle Jeff”, whom I’d never met nor had I heard of before, happened to be in the neighborhood that I gladly let him pick me up and put me in his trunk., I guess my big brother was happy too because he allowed “Uncle Jeff” to pick him up and put him in there with me.

To our horror, he wasn’t really our uncle and he didn’t have a clue where we lived. He had lied… and so have I, but only about the trunk. He didn’t really put us in the trunk, and by the time my big brother remembered that we didn’t have an uncle named Jeff, the man was pulling into the driveway of that darn little white schoolhouse. He had taken us back to the scene of our escape. “Uncle Jeff” parked, opened the back door, picked both of us up and carried us to the front door of the school. Mrs. Congeniality stepped out and acted surprised to see us in the arms of that stranger. I heard her thank him for saving us as she closed and locked the door behind him. She immediately called our mom and dad, and I specifically recall sitting in a chair in front of the open oven door eating cookies when they arrived. Was the pilot lit in that stove? Was it set on 500 degrees? Was she trying to kill us with gas fumes or make chocolate chips out of our little drenched bodies?

Mom and dad arrived and mom cried when that crazy old lady told her what happened. They carried us out to the car and took us home.

To this day we don’t have any idea who that man was, where he came from or where he went. Needless to say, that was our last day at the little schoolhouse on the hill.

 

Forget-Me-Not

Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. For the next several weeks our prompts will be Alaska themed. This week’s prompt is the state flower: Forget-me-not.

                                Forget Me Not

                                            

How could I?  Your bold blue color is my favorite of all colors. When I look at you, I see the twinkle in your eye -that only my eye can see and I humbly say to you… forget me not…for you are my reflection of myself.

“Ma, that’s not faaaaiiiir”

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Dear Family, I regret to inform you all that I will be unavailable via cell for the next two days. No, I didn’t lose my phone or drop it in the toilet, and no, my mom did not forget to pay the bill. I am phone-less by my own fault – see my mom entered my room this morning and asked me to get up and head to the shower (it was 7 a.m. and we were going to mass at 8:30)… I responded by saying “ma, that’s not fair” (in my whiny baby voice).
She returned a couple of minutes later and asked again that I get up. I responded the same way as before.
The third time she came in she said two words “Tanner, consequences” –
you all know what I said.
Well on the fourth time she said “Tanner, consequences, consequences Tanner”!
My lazy self told my self with sense to get up but… well… I didn’t, and
believe it or not, she didn’t do anything crazy like flip my mattress or pour cold water on me, she simply walked past my room saying “no phone or games at all today”!
I whined a little louder – “no Ma, that’s not fair” … but I STILL didn’t get up 🙀
On the sixth time that the Lord sent my mama past that door, she said these words “that’s 2 days and the next time I come in here it’s a week”!
Yes, that got my attention. I got up and yes, I’m angry now, and yes, my mama wrote this!
(This is not a political ad and although Tanner Harris did not write and does not support this message, I wrote it and I endorse it and she better abide by it or she’s gonna taste the rainbow– tu-day!)

Please do yourself a favor and read the next post— it’s my family’s response to this message and it’s hilarious—–

 

My Kevlar Vest

I’ve worn a Kevlar Vest for so many years I’ve lost count. I still remember the first time I put one on. The person holding the tape measure was far more comfortable than I. I was as nervous wreck. I’d never felt the need to wear one before, mine had been a straight forward, by the book kind of life. Yes, there were some days that were more trying than others, but I’d always been in total control of any and all situations. I always played close to the edge, but never intentionally and never with any conscious desire to cross it.

On that day, so, so, many years ago I found myself in unfamiliar territory. Was I sure I could handle this? I mean, this was a responsibility that I was sure many dreamed of, but few indulged in. An elite crowd, a closed group… the chosen few… but if they were chosen, who was doing the choosing? From where I stood, it wasn’t a choice, there were no check yes or no boxes. No matter how long or how hard you danced around it, knowingly or unknowingly, and no matter who the dance instructor was, you would eventually trip and stumble, and fate would be standing in the shadows waiting to catch you when you fell.

Little did I realize, measuring me was a mere formality. My vest was ready long before I arrived at this day. The maker, not the measurer, knew me. The maker also knew the challenges I would face once I accepted that unwritten invitation, the one that had been stamped on my heart since the moment I was conceived. They would be more than I could handle alone— and that would never be allowed.

 

Meet and Greet: 7/14/17

Look everyone, Danny’s at it again.
Jump in and introduce yourselves…. that’s what I did!

Dream Big, Dream Often

 dreambigwallpaper-pinkombre

It’s the bimonthly Meet and Greet everyone!!  Strap on your party shoes and join the fun!  

Ok so here are the rules:

  1. Leave a link to your page or post in the comments of this post.
  2. Reblog this post.  It helps you, it helps me, it helps everyone!
  3. Edit your reblog post and add tags.
  4. Feel free to leave your link multiple times!  It is okay to update your link for more exposure every day if you want.  It is up to you!

  5. Share this post on social media.  Many of my non-blogger friends love that I put the Meet n Greet on Facebook and Twitter because they find new blogs to follow.

See ya on Monday!!

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The “er” factor

I had a conversation with a friend in which we were discussing relationships. We talked about the ins and outs, the goods and the bads and everything in between. We even talked about what I refer to as the “er” factor. You know the feeling you get or have when the relationship ends and the smoke clears.

We talked for several hours and when the conversation finally ended we decided to take a poll (for fun) just to see how many different “ers” there actually were.

So go for it— share your “er” with us…

It doesn’t have to be the “er” from a break up… it just needs to a relationship related “er”.

Here I’ll start us off-

I once dated a guy I’d met at a friend’s pool party. He wasn’t really my type but I wasn’t seeing anyone and he seemed nice so I agreed to go out with him. We’d only gone out four times when he popped the question. Talk about a desperate weirdo, I mean how else could I describe a guy who, on the fourth date, asks if he could borrow a cd from my “Jackson 5 Greatest Hits” collection? My “er” word for Mr. “I wish I had a Michael Jackson bobble head like yours”?—

ABSOLUTER– Expressing finality with no implication of possible change

Why? Because I knew he had an absoluter snowballs chance in hell of seeing me again —absolutely no way—

 

I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer!

I am an African American. I am a law enforcement officer. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

Over the last few years, there have been so many innocent African American lives lost at the hands of my “thin blue line” brothers (and sisters) that I have lost count. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

More than 20 years ago, I took an oath to protect and serve -PERIOD! I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

The oath I took didn’t have check off boxes where I could specify or omit any person and or group of people. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

To my dismay, I learned early on (September 8, 1989, the day I graduated from the police academy) that racism was an alive and well animal in the law enforcement arena. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer. Over the next 20 some odd years I would go on to see faded  “white only” signs on doors in the basement of my city’s courthouse; fellow -and I use the term “fellow” loosely-officers kick, punch and spit on African American suspects while handcuffing them and calling them niggers and I even saw officers disrespect older members, 70 and 80 year old men, of our community by calling them “boy”. The most damning situation was the one in which I was placed in handcuffs, while driving my unmarked unit, wearing my police gear and en route to work. I was stopped for speeding by one of the departments most racist officers, one who is known throughout the county for harassing African American citizens. I was later told that he became pissed at me when I referred to him as John David instead of G. David. If he had handcuffed a “fellow” officer for calling him John, go figure what he’d do to a common citizen. To continue to list instances of this sort would serve no purpose here- but believe me there have been hundreds. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

In my opinion, the violators in each of those situations were the men and women who ignored and overlooked the signs on the doors and the officers whose behavior must be considered nothing less than deplorable, all of whom were caucasian. I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.

Fast forward to July, 2016. In the short span of 72 hours there have been the senseless killings of two African American men, Philando Castile of Minnesota and Alton Sterling of Louisiana, both of whom were shot by police officers.

To law enforcement officers around the world who condone, participate in or turn a blind eye to this type of BS, which clearly precipitated the senseless deaths of 5 Texas police officers who were murdered overnight in Dallas, Texas (in some sort of retaliation, sniper shooting spree) I have these words:

That oath you took came with certain rights and responsibilities. When did protect and serve become “cuff and stuff” or “shoot first, ask questions later”?  Who, exactly, died and left you God? What makes you think you can mistreat, mishandle and/or disrespect people based on the color of YOUR skin? If you took the oath, and at some point during your career you have become confused about your rights duties and obligations, I highly suggest  the following:  a refresher police academy stint, refer to the oath for clarification or take off that uniform, locate and grab those two little gems in your trousers that help you perpetuate your craft, go to Mawmaw’s linen closet, pull out her best white King size pillow case and sheets, have her cut some holes in it for your eyes, mouth and nose and slip into your fresh new uniform. Maybe if those little gems I mentioned earlier weren’t so small, you’d have the balls to either display your true colors- KKK white – or truly defend and stand for my true colors — thin blue line- black and blue!

In closing, I ask that God watch over the families of all these victims, Philando Castile and Alton Sterling’s and slain officers, Lorne Ahrens, Michael Smith, Patrick Zamarripa, Michael Krol and Brent Thompson.

I am an outraged African American law enforcement officer.