Saturday, January 1st, 2005. There I was, innocently driving home from a wedding reception so I could get ready to work the night shift at a seedy gas station and be a responsible member of society. My plans were quickly thwarted, however, by the cop who was just LOOKING to pull someone over. Now, for real, my great friend’s husband is a police officer, so I actually legitimately love officers for all they do for society while getting hated on… But all I did was assume the red light was turning green and start pulling over the white line only to discover that the left turners that were NOT there were going to get an arrow. So I went 5 feet over the line, tops. And this guy pulled me over.

He gets up to my car and sticks his face in my face. He was probably in his 50s, with a cleft pallet and a molester ‘stache. He’s trying to figure out if I’m drunk, and I’m trying to figure out if I know where the heck my vehicle registration is. He asks me for my info. As I’m digging through my glove box, I find a speeding ticket from 6 months earlier. It was 78 bucks. Aaaaaand I knew I was in trouble.

Molester ‘stache takes me back to his car and runs my license. I can see his screen as I sit there counting the minutes that I’m late to work. At the bottom, there’s an asterisk and the phrase “suspended license.”

Um. Ummmmmmm…did I know that???

*Panic* *Devastation*

He looks at me. He looks at the screen. I start babbling that I didn’t know my license was suspended nobody called me or mailed me anything and can you please let me off the hook here I have to work…… Pretty sure “blablablapleasedontkillmeblablabla” is all he heard as he called one of his other officer buddies to find out if he really HAD to arrest me for possessing my license (apparently it is much more egregious to possess your suspended license than to be driving on a suspended license).

He gets off the phone and shoots me a long, sad look. I knew it. I was done-for.

He gets me out of the car and has me place my hands on the vehicle. I am dressed in a black skirt and a grey top from the wedding. I am standing there in the worst part of town with my hands up against the car and my legs spread, like some crazy, marijuana-laced woman straight out of Cops. If that isn’t enough, as he’s molesting me (or patting me down, whatever), two more police cars show up, EACH containing two adorable officers. So now (if you’ve done the math), there are five officers watching the poor chubby girl bawl her eyes out and get patted down by molester ‘stache.

After I was carefully felt up and it was clear I was not stashing any illegal weaponry on an inner-thigh holster, I was cuffed. Yes. Handcuffed. Behind the back. This was no easy feat either because I was about 95 pounds overweight at this point in my life and if any of you are packing on some extra poundage, you know that getting your appendages to do things out-of-the-ordinary can be difficult. He had to use two sets of handcuffs, end-to-end, to make me as comfortable as a person in handcuffs can be.

He shoves me in the back of the car. Now, apparently the back seats of these particular police cars are designed for the ass of a skinny crackhead. They are hard plastic and molded. Also, there is barely enough leg room for my knees to fit. All of this, combined with the handcuffs, about forced my face into the fence thing that separates suspects from the cop in the front seat.

So I am still bawling, I have my face pressed against the hole-y glass, and this poor cop is trying to comfort me, saying “It’s okay…this doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Thanks man. That is super helpful.

We pull up to the police station. I note the brilliance of pulling into a double-sided garage and closing the doors before letting the criminal out of the car. Wouldn’t want the overweight girl in heels to take off running. I suppose it’s good for crackheads who seems to have extra energy and wiggliness and half a mind to take off running.

We go in, and they take EVERYthing away from me that is not covering a naughty part. Shoes, bracelets, ponytail holder…everything. As they start booking me, a kindly looking gal brings me a bin of rubber sandals to wear (I can’t wear my own shoes because I might spear someone with my chunky heel). She says, “Don’t worry – they’re totally sanitized.”

Oh good.

I trudge into the holding area. They guide me to the finger-printing and mug-shot-taking area. I can see why everyone, no matter who they are, has a terrible mug shot. I look like a punching bag at this point. The picture-taking gal counts down and I manage a meager smile. She glares at me and says “NO SMILING!” She starts counting down again. Somewhere between 3 and 1, the craziness of this situation hits me, and I start laughing. Hysterically. She glares at me even harder…but when my hysterical picture pops up on the screen, I’m only laughing harder.

I’m not sure which picture she chose, but I would like to think that next time I get pulled over, the picture that pops up is me laughing so hard I can’t breathe, looking like a really sad, crazy, punching bag.

I am then ushered to the phone area. There is exactly one phone. I am waiting behind a very drunk fat lady who is in jail for drunkenly abusing her children. This does not make me feel better.

Finally, I get to make my call. Fist, I call my manager to let him know that in fact, I will not be at work by 11pm. Next, I need to find a way out of here. Now my entire family is still at this wedding reception, so I call my roomie and bestie, Sonja. My bail is 75 bucks. Surely she can get me out of this! She sadly informs me that she has no cash and doesn’t have the pin number for her new debit card yet. Bah! Sonja fail. Who else can I call this time on a Saturday night? Ugh, nobody really.

So I do it. I call my dad. He doesn’t answer. I call my sister. She answers. I can hear the music rocking, and I shout at her that I’m in jail and I need someone to come bail me out. She says WHAT!!!!??? I can’t hear you! So I raise my voice. This time she hears me…as does everyone else in jail.

Then, my mom is on the phone. I yell to her that I’m in jail and I need someone to bring me 75 bucks. Then I hear her tell my dad, who says something like “YOU’RE KIDDING ME.” Dad is even more deaf then the other two, so once he’s on the phone, I’m basically screaming at him in the nicest way possible.

As I trudge over to the seating area – which is lovely…it is a bunch of chairs facing a ceiling-mounted television, and lined on three sides by jail cells. I am telling you, without exaggeration, out of the 15 or so total people in this part of the jail, every one of them is drunk. They’re passed out, mumbling at themselves, looking around in fascination, or whatever. A one legged Native American in a jail cell keeps yelling at me to come on into his cell ’cause he’ll show me a good time. They tell me that he is in almost every night, otherwise he sets all of the downtown garbage cans on fire.

At this point, I decide I need to use the restroom. I shuffle back towards the entrance, where the bathroom is. Who should I see but one of my fellow parishioners at church. He’s a police officer. He stares at me, like he didn’t believe I was there…and says, “What on earth are you doing in here??” I tell him I forgot to pay my speeding ticket and practically run to the bathroom.

Awesome. And tomorrow morning is church.

Finally, I hear the word that someone has paid my bail. It takes almost as long to get booked OUT of jail as it does to get booked into jail, so after about an hour and a half of sitting in there, I am released to almost my ENTIRE family, who had to all pile into the Suburban and come get me (2 parents, 3 sibs). I immediately collapse into my dad’s arms and start bawling. He piles me into the car and my mom starts railing on about how could they arrest someone for something so stupid and so on. I appreciate her indignance on my behalf, but I STILL have to get to work.

Finally at about 1:00 AM, 2 hours late for my shift, I get to work. I look ridiculous, but who really cares on a Saturday night. Basically anyone who comes in at this hour is wasted anyway.

I was super angry, and I took my anger out on all of the drunks who stumbled in at bar close looking for beer. Guess what? It’s illegal to sell beer to someone who is already drunk. So although I almost had a riot on my hands at 2am, the only way those people, who were all driving drunk and should’ve been the ones sitting in jail, were going to get alcohol at my gas station would be to pry it out of my cold dead hands….

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Part of the purpose of this blog is to update folks on the status of cancer that happened to be inside me some years ago. Here goes:

Annie's original tumor

My story can be read in my original blog, which is listed in the blog roll. But I thought a visual would be helpful. I came across this picture of Bannie the other day (Bannie is my original tumor). This is a cross-section from my original CT Scan from when we learned I had cancer. This pic is like you’re looking down through my head, and I’m laying on my back. The white round part is my rib cage, the sternum is on top, the spinal columb on the bottom.  And Bannie in the upper middle there.  Don’t panic. Some of that big mass looking thing is my heart, arteries, and so on (stuff in bright white). But most of it is Bannie. She was 15×11 cm, sort of sitting on top of and inbetween my lungs, and wrapped around just about everything in my chest. You can see that she’s likely messing with my lungs – hence the cough I had for forever.

Of course, the epic cancer battle ensued after that.  There was certain death.  And then there wasn’t.

Now, I have been in remission for over 3 years (praise the Lord!), making regular visits to my doctor to check up on everything in there.  I do have many battle scars, including Bob, the 2×2 cm fibrous mass that is hanging out in the right atrium of my heart.  I have Bannie and the seven dwarves, which are the remnants of my orignal tumor, plus benign scar tissue that is dotted all around the landscape of my chest cavity.  And I just found out that I have Bellatrix (newly named).  She is a lymphnode that is showing abnormal activity on my last 4 PET Scans.  Not a tumor.  Just a node that is showing “uptake,” or an area where there are fast dividing cells, and nobody knows why.

My doc says that Bellatrix will have to make a decision eventually as to whether she will grow (requiring an all out assault from us), or die.  But she’s been hanging in there since October of 08.  Annoying.  She is a stark reminder that I will always carry my cancer experience with me, emotionally and physically, and that I have to be a better steward of my body! And that I have to have PET Scans every 6 months. Gross.

Easier said than done! But I’m on it…

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So this morning, I’m staring blankly at my laptop as I try and motivate myself to go to bed after having worked an overnight. I decide to do the most logical thing possible, and I start reading the spam comments on my last blog post. Quite the variety of spam bots if I do say so myself!

This one was fun:
I just desired to thoughts your site in addition to point out i always seriously experienced studying your own blog post here. That it was very informative and that i in addition reddit the way you write! Continue and I will be time for study more later on…

Like, what??? I do not get the point of this. Is the expectation that I will click on his or her name/email and actually look at their site or contact them? I just don’t get it.

Another one, this bot with the name of a smart-sounding woman started railing on my spelling. For shizzle, this made me so paranoid that I was misspelling words, that I went back and looked over my last few posts! Really spam bots? Hit me right where it hurts for crying out loud.

Or how about the ones that list out all of your porn options. One of them involved Pokemon. Um.

Not cool.

Finally, my fave was from a bot that said something like, “Yay! You’re back!”

Er, wait. That was a Carrie bot…hehehehehe…

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So I shall dance for you….

(elevator music)

There. I danced. I did the robot and I threw some karate moves in there (I am a blue belt, ya know) I hope that is enough of an apology for not blogging in like forever. Just think, the last time I blogged, the Packers’ 2009 season ended in unforgettable heartbreak when A-Rodg fumbled in overtime against the Cards and the ball was taken back for a touchdown. Oye vey.

But fear not! The 2010 season ended MUCH differently. Oh yes…the Packers took care of business, and in spite of many players being out with injuries, they won the Superbowl!!!!!!!!!


I will not bore you with details as many of my faithful followers (all 6 of you) do not really care that much.

Posts about what is up with me are coming. Long posts are super boring. So I shall split them up.


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It has been a lovely weekend here at the Doyle household. I came over from Sioux Falls on Saturday morning, and have LOVED spending time with my little Kilian, as well as my dear friends, Kari and Sean.

More on the details of my trip later.

For now, I must lament the end of the Packers’ 2009 season, because if I don’t, I won’t be able to sleep (I’ve been trying unsuccessfully for an hour). So here I go…

Photo by

Photo from

In one of the most thrilling playoff games in NFL history (records set include the most combined points ever scored in a playoff game at 96, among others), the Packers fell short by committing 3 turnovers and allowing the Cardinals’ offense to walk all over them. And this is the defense that was number one in the league for almost all of the last half of the season!

Cardinals QB Kurt Warner threw more touchdowns (5) than he did incompletions (4) to earn an almost perfect QB rating.

There were a couple of penalties against the Packers that should have been called and were not – and they were hypercritical! This is not my bitter opinion. This is a shared opinion by many NFL analysts.

The nutshell of it is, we fought our butts off to come back this season after losing to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. We fought our butts off to come back after being down by 21 points in this Wild Card game. We had to fight our butts off in order to accomplish what we did this season. The ache of early disappointment, followed by the steep spike of hope involved in a roaring comeback, followed by a soul-crushing loss, almost makes you wish they didn’t come back at all.

But I’m glad they did. It made for a fun season. I love the Packers, and I look forward to next season! But before that comes, there is more playoffs to be had and some great football to watch, with nothing left for me to lose…so here we go!

The question becomes…do I set aside my hate for the Vikes to become a shameless Favre fan, just because I crave someone to cheer for and cling to? I don’t think so. I think I will remain neutral. At this point, I think Drew Brees deserves the Super Bowl more than Brett and the Vikes, so I think I’ll hang my hat on the Saints – particularly since they are playing the Cards next weekend, and I officially HATE the Cards! :-P

Thanks for listening. I sleep now.

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In case you were wondering what kind of quality television is on when I work the overnights, let me just give you a taste. Usually I can find a news show to watch, so that’s not so bad. However, the commercials are amazingly ridiculous. Here is a cross-section of the good times…

1. Apparently, mail-delivery medical supply companies have scrapped the diabetes supply craze for the most recent inconvenience for folks…catheter supplies. Yep. Some poor, tortured souls have to reuse catheters because they only get 4 replacements a month. Here is one such woman….  However, This one is actually funnier thanks to the old lady…

2. Because it isn’t enough to just have a cross necklace…it is also necessary to exploit the Lord\’s Prayer!

3. Apparently it’s necessary to regularly cleanse your colon. Otherwise, Klee Irwin will come and judge your bowel movements like he did his 4-year old’s…don’t worry, there’s no poop in the video. It is a little terrifying though. What makes it even more amazing is that it is a small part of a 30 minute infomercial where all they talk about is poop. Amazing.

4. There is a natural way to take away your pet’s pain…just ask Dr. Frank…who is in fact a medical doctor. But before healing your pet’s pain…he was taking away people pain!

5. Apparently, boobs can sell anything, even hokey website companies. Wow.

I’m only scratching the surface people! There is so much more. Oh well…at least they’re good for a laugh :-)

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