I'm feeling much better today. MUCH better. My pissy whiny horrible miserable depressed mood is over. Talked to various people, including Mike, and got a lot of things straightened out in my general outlook and attitude. Mike and I both share an impotent rage at the situation, but we discussed a few things, and came to some compromises which will hopefully allow him to keep his marriage relatively stress-free, and also allow us to work out at least some of the time together. At the very least he will still be keeping tabs on my progress, and the hope is that we will at least be able to train legs together. We'll see--I have a feeling that much of this will blow over given some time and some silence. There are some theories about who the perpetrator was, but with no proof there's not much that can be done. (We have about three suspects right now.) And apparently he has no intention of letting this ruin our friendship, which is also a relief.

And yes, I do have friends. Forgive me for that part of my whiny rant yesterday, because I have some wonderful friends. Thanks to all of you who wrote, and even all of you who didn't. (I'm awful about email too, so if you just thought nice thoughts, I appreciate it!)

And, I'm still doing the contest. If those women hate me now, I'll give them a reason to hate me! Mike even said, "Get yourself looking 10-8 and show 'em!" (10-8 being cop-speak-slang for "seriously gorgeous.")

In other news, I had the interesting experience today of stopping traffic on a busy interstate. There was an accident with a fatality further up the interstate, so a unit who was already on the scene of the accident called me and asked me to shut down the interstate at the exit before the accident, and to funnel all of the traffic off onto the exit.

Now understand, this is I-10, heading into New Orleans. It's a busy interstate. Only three lanes wide where I had to shut it down, but fairly heavy flow of traffic. There is really no feeling in the world like stopping your car in the middle of the interstate, getting out, and holding up your hands and hoping that people are paying attention (especially the drivers of the 18-wheelers bearing down on your puny ass!) I was doing some rather frantic gesticulation for a few minutes there trying to get the message across that I wanted everyone to take the exit. Somehow I didn't get run over. Somehow no one plowed into my vehicle. Somehow I even managed to get my unit repositioned at an angle once the traffic had a clue so I was actually blocking most of the road. Once the first few "ranks" of traffic got the message about getting off the interstate it was fairly easy, since everyone slowed down and followed the cars in front of them. One of my supervisors got out there a few minutes later and suggested we put out flares to help give people the clue that they were supposed to exit. Well, I've never used a flare before, so my two x-chromosones told me to read the directions on the side of the flare. My corporal (one x-chromosone, one y-chromosone, I might point out--which makes reading directions anathema)looked at me reading the directions and yelled, "What are you doing?? You look like a dumbass reading the directions!!" He shook his head in disgust, lit his flares, and so I lit mine off of his. So there. Unfortunately, when it came time to mash them out, I managed to splatter the bottom of my pants with flare-stuff, which burned a bunch of teensy holes in the lovely polyester. This was good news and bad news. Bad news because I've lost so much weight that I've been really having trouble finding uniform pants that fit (and I refuse to keep buying new pants at the outrageous prices we get charged), and I was down to only two pairs that (kindof) fit. Good news because these two pairs were starting to get on the large size, and since the other pair of pants were damaged in the line of duty, I'll get them replaced for free, and I can get a pair that really fits.

But, while I was standing in the middle of the interstate, making sure that everyone obediently exited, I had a steady stream of people roll down their windows as the traffic crept past me to yell out requests for directions, or more often wanting to know "What happened?" After the 37th time I yelled back, "An accident!" I got irritated and starting yelling back, "I was bored and decided to shut down the interstate just for kicks!"

I warned my sergeant later that there would probably be a complaint against me for being snide. ;-)

The other interesting news that happened earlier this week is something that I referred to in passing previously--namely the detective position that had opened up. Over the weekend I was asked if I was interested in the position by one of the senior detectives

I told him no. I wasn't ready.

The next day his supervisor cornered me and I was "unofficially" offered the position to go in the back as an investigator.

I told him no. I wasn't ready.

I think I stunned him, because I don't think it had ever occurred to him that I wouldn't jump at the chance. But, I've only been on the road a year and a half. I love the road, I'm nowhere near burned out, and I have way too much to learn still before I feel I can be an effective investigator.

But the real clincher on my decision was the fact that I knew (and the detective supervisor even admitted) that they really wanted to fill the position with a female. He even admitted that he'd been told by his supervisors that he should fill the position with a female. Well, I'm sorry, but I know that I am not the most qualified person for this position, and the main reason I am being considered is because of those two good ole x-chromosones. I was offered the position because I'm female, and by-the-way I happen to be pretty competent and can write one helluva report. Nope. I want to be considered because I'm competent, and by-the-way I happen to be female.

And yeah, I've had people shaking their heads in wonder that I was "foolish" enough to pass on this chance. "This kind of opportunity may not come again!" Sorry, maybe I'm being incredibly cocky, but I think that whenever I want to go to the back, there will be an opening for me. (And my lieutenant agrees with me!)