Scenes from my weekend

Cake a la Angela Stefenoni, baker extrodinare and auto mechanic. Women with amazing and diverse talents have a little piece of my heart. I admire them even when it comes in the form of diet-sabotaging bakery items. The sweet things that come out of her kitchen might as well have the tag line from Field of Dreams...If she bakes it, they will come.




I carried my camera in my purse with me all weekend (PS, it's a heavy camera!); to work on Saturday and to the Superbowl party on Sunday. It was a semi-good weekend.

Saturday: The dark cloud that looms over my head whenever I go to work is starting to lift. While I'm gaining my attitude back, I've come to realize that I've let some of my skills slip and slide through the cracks and I'm not OK with that. I heard one of the Lieutenants say something in briefing the other day and it stuck in my head.

"Do your best work and be proud of it."

Simple and to the point. I used to actually tell my trainees that but I've forgotten to abide by it myself. Through various circumstances, situations, and co-workers, I've lost my faith in what I do. Luckily, faith can be renewed. I used to say that I was a good dispatcher because I cared to be the one they knew could be counted on and I knew that I could be the best at what I do. Working on the wrong side of the week, I got lost in the sea of mediocrity and not giving a damn and slowly I abandoned my Be-The-Best-You-Can-Be Ship. It's time I threw myself my own lifesaver and quit sniveling. There's no crying in dispatch.


The latest addition to my locker wall of good tidings courtesy of Tiny Beckster. It applies to many things in my life.

In the hallway that leads to the break room, we have a virtual gallery of pictures, snapshots, quotes, and comics. I'd have to say that it's probably my favorite part of the police department. Everyonce in a while, I get a present on my locker from one of my co-workers who is still on "the ship" with me (see above). One of the best compliments I've received, was in that form, unsuspectingly taped to my locker one day.


Sunday: The other part of my weekend was just ok. I've been to a work Superbowl party for years now...I haven't missed one since we started throwing them - it's tradition. Why break tradition I say? It's usually a variant of the same crowd with the few strongholds - one of which I am - same place, same time, but this year it was altogether a different vibe. I know it was a combination of a) I wasn't shit faced drunk and b) I've developed a low bitch tolerance in recent years.

Sidenote: since this is just about the first year I haven't been shit faced drunk at one of these parties, I actually watched the game of football. Usually I'm involved in the bottom of a pint glass, drunken barrage of picture taking shenaniganery, or trying to figure out why so-and-so feels the need to be doing whatever we're calling "it" now with other so-and-so in front of all their co-workers. Back to the game - not that I don't have an appreciation for sports, but this game was really great. It made me think of what it must have been like to watch the gladiators in the Roman Times. There are some friggin' brutes barreling into each other. Like President Obama said...there's nothing more American than a game of football! The best reaction by far was the screaming, shouting, running, jumping, whooping, hollering, hi-fiving, beer bottle clinnking, table dancing, and general kindergarten pandemoniom eminating from full grown adult men as the Ravens scored their last touchdown for the game.

Sometimes I feel like I have a lot of friendships come and go, but then I realize that the ones that go are the ones that probably were never meant to be in the first place. I can't stand liars, fakes, and women who will do anything and sacrifice good friends for a little bit of attention = low-bitch tolerance a.k.a. low-asshole tolerance. It doens't have to be gender specific.

Me and my BF Jen. She is the first mate on my Don't-Abaondon-Your-Career Ship. S.O.S.














My final thought for this blog is just a random thought and philosophy. Just before the 4th quarter, I ran across four lanes of traffic with the Ho Exterminator to get some sweets with some wanna-be Pimp money. There was one bag of Chocolate Chip cookies left and a little bit of diversity in the cupcake arena. We chose these for one main reason - since we knew that the drunk monkeys were going to be devouring them, we figured we might as well get the ones with the sprinkles so that at least it will look pretty when it comes back up later. That is truly a lesson learned from Superbowl parties past. Oh the memories...