Sunny Smiles

I love summer...

The day was gorgeous... It was 90 degrees, sunny, with big fluffy white clouds in the sky, and a light breeze. The company was colorful... my oldest friend, Suzie, with her new, short-cropped hair; Amy, with her shorts and t-shirt -- too Tom Boy for a bathing suit; Ty, with his boyish good looks, and outrageous personality; Henry, with his enormous, though endearing ego, and ridiculous stories; and Tim, a.k.a. Egghead, with his quiet amusement, and apparent lack of coordination. There was kneeboarding, and water skiing, and sunbathing. And, as always, there was laughter and entertaining conversation.




And, and displayed by the photo above, the views weren't too bad either :) That's me in the middle there, with Ty on the left, and Henry on the right.

I really, love summer...

Working It Out

::Sigh:: Much better.

I had been feeling guilty. That funk that I talked about a few posts ago was harder to shake than I thought it would be. Add to it that I worked 28 hours in two days over the weekend, and you have the reasons I didn't hit the gym or run for four whole days straight.

But, tonight after work I laced up my running shoes, and did 2 solid miles. It took a good half mile to work out the kinks and stiffness in my muscles from disuse, but then I eased into my familiar rhythm. Then I put some time in the gym afterward, and I'm feeling much better. I was feeling guilty about not having worked out, and I was irritable and withdrawn. That's the way I get when I'm away from exercise too long. It feels good to be setting the pattern to rights :)

Hitting the shower, because I'm sweaty and gross, then crawling in bed. I have the next two days off, and tomorrow will be a busy one, because Suzie arrives tomorrow, and our summer adventures will begin...

I'm very much looking forward to it ;)

Who Needs TV?

My body is tired. I put in a 16-hour day at the prison today -- and it was one that I can't really complain about. I had two good posts: Relief for 7-3 and Central Booking from 3-11, but 16 hours is still 16 hours, no matter how you cut it. And last night, trying to sleep to rest up for my long day at work, was impossible.

The Bellefonte Cruise is in town this weekend. For those of you that don't know what that is, it's a car show that takes place in downtown Bellefonte, closes all the streets, and attracts people from all over the county. There are food vendors, souvenir sellers, and cars -- ranging from Model T's to Muscle Cars to suped-up imports. And there's drinking. Lots of it. Obviously, working all the time, I have been unable to enjoy any of the festivities, but have certainly had to contend with the headache of them.




I was tired. My bed felt great as I slid beneath the sheets. It was just so damn nice to be horizontal. I rolled over, turned out the light, and was sound asleep in minutes.

I awoke to voices. Why is there a party in my bedroom? My groggy, sleep deprived brain thought. I looked at the clock and had to blink several times to bring it into focus. It was 1:27am. I had been asleep for a little over an hour. I groaned, and rolled over, pulling the sheets over my head, realizing that the voices were not coming from inside my bedroom, but from the street and sidewalk outside my open bedroom windows. People were heading home from the Cruise and the downtown festivities.

For the next hour and a half I drifted in and out of sleep, as the voices and ruckus continued to drift by the windows. At a little after 3am, I heard my upstairs neighbors clomp drunkenly into the entry. There was laughter and stumbling, which was followed by choice words. Then I heard the sound of splintering wood and snapping plastic and the lights in my apartment tweaked out. Most went dark, including my alarm clock, appliances and electronics, but for a little variety, my overhead living room light turned on. And it stayed on, no matter how many times I flipped the damn switch.

Swearing, I pulled on my bathrobe, snatched the steel MagLite off the top of the fridge, and stepped into flip flops to go investigate. In the lobby, which was now vacant, I found a light switch panel and junction box completely ripped off the wall, live wires severed and sparking in the partial darkness. I stepped closer, and saw that two of the wires were touching each other, and were causing the electricity to arc. I was worried about it starting a fire, so I picked up a plastic piece of the destroyed lighting panel, and used it to separate the wires, The lights in the lobby flickered back on, my overhead living room light went out, and I shuffled my tired, irritated ass back to bed.

Fists pounded on my door. "Brandon? Brandon!"

Ugh, what now?? I looked at my cell phone. It was now 4:30am. "Go away," I said loudly enough to carry into the lobby.

"I will not go away. I want to talk to Brandon!" I rolled my eyes, and swearing, donned the same robe and flip flops as before, and snagged the same MagLite from where I had left it sitting on my dresser and stormed to the door. I undid the deadbolt, and slammed the door open against the security chain.

"Look, lady, I don't know you, and believe me, I don't want to. It is 4:30 in the fucking morning, and there is no goddamn Brandon that lives here." I pulled the door back shut, and was turning the deadbolt to lock it when she started pounding on my door again. So, again, I slammed the door open against the security chain. "Are you fucking hearing impaired??" My patience was wearing thin.

"I'm not leaving until I talk to Brandon. I know he lives here." The petite, drunk woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at me in defiance. The thread to which I was holding on to my temper and control snapped.

"Ok, princess, let me spell this out for you. BRANDON DOES NOT LIVE HERE. There is a Brandon that lives in the apartment upstairs. That is all I'm going to tell you. I swear to God, if you knock on this door one more time, I'm going to take this flashlight," which I held up for emphasis, "and bash your pretty, delusional head in. Then I'm going to call the cops, and have you arrested for Public Drunk, Disorderly Conduct, Causing a Disturbance, Harrassment, and for being a waste of perfectly good sperm. Get the hell off my doorstep. I won't tell you again." As first shock, then fear slid over her face, I slammed the door in it.

A few minutes later I heard her stomp up the stairs, and repeat the scene at Apartment #2's door. I heard Brandon yell at her to go away. She pounded some more. He yelled some more. I got out of bed, and headed for the coffee pot. My alarm was going to go off in an hour anyway, and clearly, I wasn't going to spend that hour sleeping.

So, coffee in hand, I sat down at my computer to get lost on the interwebs for a bit. That's when I heard, "Look you crazy bitch, I don't want to sleep with you anymore! My fiancee is going to be home any minute, and your ass had better be gone when she gets here."

Ah, that explains a lot, I thought, as the woman burst into tears, and called Brandon every name in the book. She then stormed down the stairs, and as fate would have it, ran into Brandon's fiancee at the door. A cat fight ensued, complete with hair-pulling, bitch slapping and biting, and was broken up when another neighbor yelled that he was calling the police.

And over my coffee cup, I couldn't help but chuckle. Who needs TV when the Jerry Springer Show lives upstairs??




When I got home from work tonight, the wiring was fixed. And it's amazingly quiet. So on that note, I'm going to go thank my lucky stars, and go get horizontal to catch up on all the rest I lost.

I'm so glad the Cruise is only once a year....

An Untarnished Badge, Off Duty At Last

I wrote the following last night at work, and planned to post it when I got home, however I had a blond moment and forgot to email it to myself. So, here it is... better late than never!


So, I couldn’t help it. I teared up. I guess I really am becoming a sap in my old age.

Tonight marks the end of a lengthy and successful career in law enforcement for a man that has become one of my favorite people. After 20+ years as a police officer for the State College Borough, and another 20+ years as first a Corrections Officer and later a Lieutenant for the Centre County Correctional Facility, Lt. James Smith is throwing in the towel and retiring.

Tonight in Muster, he thanked us for our service, and for doing our jobs. He told us we knew our purpose, and performed our tasks in a manner that was a credit to our facility, and smiled when he added that we did that, despite the Administration’s assertions to the contrary. That’s so like him, I thought. So like him to take this as just another day, and make it a credit to us and not to himself. And as he thanked us, I teared up. It couldn’t be helped.

I haven’t always agreed with Smitty. Nor, I’m sure, has he always thought I handled things the way they necessarily should have been. But his door was always open, and he could always be counted on for punny humor sure to lighten the mood in even the most irritating of circumstances, and a listening ear when humor wasn’t the appropriate response.

Last year, when a fellow officer I was dating was arrested in a major drug investigation, it was Smitty that pulled me aside before anyone else to ask if I was ok. I was working the day after his arrest, and it was Smitty who asked if I needed to take a day – regardless of the fact that the shift was already underway, and someone would have to be called in. “If you need it, we’ll make it happen,” he said. The respect I saw in his eyes when I said I’d stay and face whatever rumors and accusations were coming, steadied and reassured me more than any hug or comfort ever could have. And it was in his company that I would escape the whispers and the questions and the gossip in the weeks afterward, as we shared the sludge our kitchen passes off as coffee in the quiet of the Shift Commander’s office. I’m not sure I could have gotten through those weeks if not for that.

And it was Smitty who dubbed me with the nickname Jinxie – due to my more unfortunate than average luck with anything involving injuries, health problems, vehicles, appliances, and electronics. “Batten down the hatches, and man your battle stations,” he’d say, “Jinxie’s in the building!” Mischief dancing in his eyes, and a grin splayed across his weathered face.

Having to admit the Old Man was slowing down this past year was hard for me. And sadly, I kept waiting for the day that we’d get the call from his daughter that he’d passed away. After-all, the man’s 78, too stubborn to pay attention to anything his doctor tells him to do, and has the eating habits of a 7-year old child when left to his own devices. But each day he’d pull into the lot, with his shiny Cadillac, and a smile on his face. “Oh, golly, here comes trouble,” He’d say, when he’d see me, or “Well, look at this group of characters,” as he walked into Muster before shift. But his good nature was wearing thin with the bullshit the last few months. The in-house investigations and often undue scrutiny of the administration sucked the patience out of him. His memory was starting to go – he was having to write himself notes more often, and remembered the details less – and his willingness to tackle the big issues was waning. It was time for him to go.

But I’ll miss him. Tonight he and I sat in the Shift Commander’s together for the last time – him behind the desk manning the helm, and me with my feet on it, sitting in the chair on the other side. His lack of enthusiasm regarding his pending retirement worries me – and confirms my suspicions that this choice, while perhaps made unbeknownst to others, wasn’t entirely his.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go, LT – I’m happy for you for being retired, but sad for us.” He smiled, and only a select few would have noticed that it was a little watery.
“I’m not exactly doing cartwheels over it, but it is what it is.”
“What’ll you do to keep yourself busy, without this place driving you to insanity?” I tried to hide my concern.
“Well, Jinxie, I haven’t got a heck of a lot.” The look of utter defeat on his face broke my heart.
“Well, that will just leave you more time to find some trouble to get into. You know what they say about idle hands…” I grinned, and was pleased to see that he smiled back.
“Oh, what’ll my daughter do with me??” Mischief gleamed in his eyes for a moment before they sobered. He looked down then, and wiped a tear away that I respectively pretended not to notice.
“You need a warm-up on that coffee, LT?” He looked up. “I’m on break. Come on down with me and I’ll buy you a fresh cup.”
Smitty smiled wide. “Hell, with this crap you ought to be paying me to drink it.”

Goodbyes are hard. Harder yet when you know they don’t necessarily represent a new beginning. I hope that Smitty finds his niche in retirement – I know few people who have earned it more.

Funky Days

I'm in a funk. I shouldn't beat myself up over it, but I can't help it. I have so much work to do, and yet, the last couple days I've been completely apathetic about it. It irritates me.

I am my own worst enemy. I tend to set ridiculously high goals for myself, and then become my own worst critic when I don't achieve them -- or don't achieve them quickly enough. This PT test that I'm training for is hard... really hard. And I want Navy SpecOps more than I've wanted anything in a really long time. I've worked harder toward this damn PT test than I have toward anything else I've ever done in my life to date -- And that's just to get in the damn program. Yeah... I'm a little bit of an over-achiever.

The problem is that a couple weeks ago, I kind of hit a wall as far as training is concerned. No matter how hard I push, it seems that I've stopped making progress. And because I can't see the progress, I'm getting bored, and losing some of my motivation.

My trainer says that it's because my body needs a rest -- that I pushed it too hard, too soon. So I'm taking a couple days off. I don't want to, because I need to be training my ass off, but the human body has its limits.

So, I went boating yesterday, and out with some coworkers to Home D last night. I slept in this morning, and am kind of lounging around the house today, doing a little general tidying up, but otherwise just taking some time to myself. After work I'll go for a run, just to stay loose, but I'm not pushing it.

Suzie gets here for the summer on Tuesday... thank God, because I'm hitting the point where I really need a cheerleader.

Making another cup of coffee, and enjoying this pretty day...

The Cold Sun

So, this was the view from my spot in the 1st Mate's Chair, on Amy's boat today at Sayer's Dam. What you can't see, and what this picture does not do justice to, is how cold it was.

WeatherBug said that it was going to be 81 degrees and sunny today, so Amy, Mel, Scott and I all gathered our boating accouterments, loaded up the boat and headed for a day of sun bathing and water sports. Well, WeatherBug lied. It was only about 70 degrees, had a windchill of probably 60 degrees, and the sun played peek-a-boo behind the clouds for our entire stay. It was still a pleasant day, between the shivers and the goosebumps... though there were no water sports, and the sunbathing was splotchy at best.

Thankfully, the summer is young...

Gym Folk

The gym -- especially in the daylight hours it seems -- draws a very interesting crowd. I've been going to my local YMCA and working out there daily for a little over a month now. I'm there at roughly the same time most days, and have noticed that a lot of the people that are at the gym when I'm there are also regulars.

The gym thankfully isn't that crowded when I'm there, which is one of the reasons I enjoy going mid-morning. I don't like to be gawked at while working out. I spend 8 hours a day in a proverbial fish bowl, where everything I do is seen and taken note of. The gym, therefore, is my time, and I don't like sharing it. Thankfully, the mid-morning regulars seem to share my sentiment, and there isn't a whole lot of socializing. We come in, we do our thing, and we leave.

However, that said, there is some degree of observation that occurs at the gym. It's human nature. And I, being an avid people-watcher, can't help but notice and observe some of the gym regulars. I've even given them some nicknames in my head.

Shoulders: Handsome guy, mid-late twenties, wears his wedding band, and only seems to ever work out his upper body. He's one of those guys that has the broad shoulders, the big arms, and the very lean, tiny waist and stick legs. Literally, I look at him and giggle to myself, because he looks ridiculous, and most days I wonder how he's able to hold himself upright. And he accentuates this oddity by being determined to always wear dark-colored athletic pants, and a ridiculously bright colored shirt. As if the massive shoulders didn't draw your attention enough, here, let me blind you with my lime green t-shirt. And he works on his shoulders like its his religion, rarely cracking a smile, or looking anything other than serious and focused. Very soon, his spine and tiny waist are going to snap from the disproportionate weight, and he's gonna go down like a felled tree. It will happen.

Gnat -- because he seems to have the attention span of one. This man is probably in his forties, very thin, and flamboyantly gay. He has bright red, green and yellow Nike sneakers, and he seems to enjoy pairing them with bike shorts of one of the matching hues, under whatever color little track shorts he had leftover in his closet from high school thirty years ago. He jumps from machine to machine, always smiling, and never seems to do a full set of anything. He's pleasant enough, and stops to make conversation with whomever seems to be willing to chat. However, I've noticed he avoids Shoulders like the plague. I'm going to guess that they had words at one point or another, lol.

There are other characters at the gym... and I will write about most of them. But for now, I will move on to other observances at the gym.

Treadmills are evil spawns of Satan, that were put on this earth solely to horrify and torture the masses. First of all, whatever little computer thingy in them measures distance and MPH lies. There is no way that in 30 minutes I only ran 2.3 miles. I run an 8-minute mile for Christ's sake. Add to that, that they screw up my stride, make my lower back and knees ache, and make you sound like a stampeding cow when you use them, I am going to continue to do my damndest not to use them.

There are my observations for the day. Shower now, because I stink, and then work. It's my Monday...

There's Something About Rain

There is something about rain... it makes me moody. Not moody in like a bitchy, rip your face off kind of way, but moody in more of a reflective sense.

I woke up at 7am this morning, to a torrent of rain falling outside my open windows. I laid there for several minutes, just listening to it, and to the morning commuter traffic sloshing up and down my street. When I first moved in, the street noise here used to irritate the snot out of me. It insulted my quiet country sensibilities, and solitary living I had become accustomed to. But as I laid there listening to it this morning, I smiled... life out there is going on just as it should despite the inclement weather -- or perhaps directly in spite of it.

Caffeinating myself, as coffee is the lifeblood of humanity, then hitting the gym for a couple hours before work this afternoon. It's my Monday...

Common Courtesy's Not So Common

It seems my neighbors are training circus elephants upstairs this evening. The ruckus started around 8pm... and it hasn't let up. Ugh.

I shouldn't bitch too much, as I'm sure I've been the annoying neighbor a time or two... especially with my bedroom adjacent to the front entryway for the building. I'm sure they've heard things better gone unmentioned here and there, but I can honestly say that I've never let myself or my guests make a repeated nuisance of themselves. Granted, that may be because I rarely let my "guests" make repeated visits, but that's another matter entirely, lol. The point is, it's 12:45pm, and there is no need to be moving furniture, clomping around in high heels, or teaching your herd of elephants to roll over and play dead... or whatever the hell it is they're doing up there. That is what DAYTIME is for.

Ugh, what happened to common courtesy?

And so it begins...

As the blog description explains, I grew up with storytelling. Not tales woven of knights and fair ladies, or heroes and villains, but humorous or otherwise entertaining truths told of people I knew, and moments that had stood out to the teller. My father is an amazing storyteller, and his stories are the ones I remember most distinctly growing up.

Now living outside of New England, I notice the differences in culture between my past and my present -- which often leads to more stories being told, which it turns out, my friends seem to enjoy. I am my father's daughter, it seems.

I had a blog on LiveJournal for years. But it became more of a private space than a public one for me, and a couple of years ago, I outgrew it. Then I maintained a blog on MySpace, as my friends and family from home wanted to keep up with the goings on in my life, and I really suck at answering the phone and/or returning messages. But it seems I have acquired a few stalkers on MySpace, and have decided that entire site is home to perverts and degenerates. I'm tired of being solicited, harassed, and otherwise irritated by that entire community of people, so once I export my photos and memorable blog posts and such from it, I'll be shutting that site down. But I've come to enjoy my writing -- sharing the stories of my life, and my observations and opinions on it all. So I shall start a blog here... I hope you'll find it to your liking... and if you don't, to hell with you and don't read it, lol.

And so it begins...