Today is Thursday. Thursday is Therapy Day. No, not physical therapy for some bum knee I injured during a combat tour or a marathon. Therapy as in, "Holy shit, you got problems, girlfriend. Here, come see me every week, at $20 a pop, and we will 'work through your issues'" kind of therapy.
Actually this post isn't even about therapy. I was just setting the stage. Dr. M is in this beautiful Victorian in downtown Sacramento, conveniently located near the Gluten Free Specialty Shop (seriously, they should kick down some free Zing bars, as much as I mention them...) and my Acupuncturist's office. I park on the street, and get one of those stickers to put on my window, showing I paid to park.
Today when exiting, I saw a dude, looking a little home-deficient, swaying to the internal soundtrack. He had a "casing the joint" look about him. Except he wasn't in a 40's movie, so let's just say, he was lookin' funny. And not "red nose-big shoes" funny. More, "smash window grab cash from front seat" funny. Which meant he would be aiming for my ride-the Swagger Wagon-and it is this particular moment when I remember I got cash back this morning, and I chucked it on the passenger seat. You know, because I'm an idiot. The least I should do when I do stuff like this is leave the damn window down, right?
Anyways, I'm looking at the dude as I come down the steps, but I got my cool-ass stunner shades on, so he's none the wiser. He's groovin', checking things out. He shuffles over to the wrought-iron gate of the house at my parking spot, and grabs the railing, swinging himself partially onto the cement that is the bottom portion of the fence. He sees me, and kind of freezes, like he's totally supposed to be there.
Being cool, I avoid looking at his direction, casual, all "I see people messing around with their wrought-iron fences every damn day, I have no interest in you". I get in to the car, and can't dial 9-1-1 fast enough. But still cool, right? Because maybe this drunk homeless person that is too ploughed to be worried about me, in broad daylight, watching him trying to jump the fence is some sort of actual threat. Riiiiight.
At this point, I get totally paranoid, because you hear that calling 9-1-1 from a cell is bad news, so I start to second-guess myself. I call anyways, and get patched through to local dispatch. I describe what I have seen, including "....and currently he is now kind of hanging from the fence, because as he was trying to jump it, he got hung up on the wrought iron posts on top, and now he is trapped. He's pretty drunk, from what I can tell." I hold tight, while they try to send someone my way. At this point, a cruiser goes by, and another busybody flags him down. So Johnny Law comes over, I hang up, and proceed to watch the whole thing., as it happens right in front of my car.
And what do I have to prove it? Nothing.
Do I not completely suck?
I called Sky King to tell him all about my adventures. He's all, "you taped it, right?" I'm all, "NO! I was on the phone with the cops. Stupid Droid, can't video while in a call, maybe this will be the one thing that makes me cave and go to the iphone---I could have taped it. If he had been tased, I totally would have had it!". Sky King's all, "Yeah! Well, then what happened?" I'm all, "Then I hung up, and the cop was getting burly with the dude, and the dude was reaching at his jacket, to show the cop he didn't have anything, and the cop was all, 'put your hands where I can see them' and 'I don't want to have to tase you' and th...." "Wait. WAIT. THEN you started taping, right?".
:::silence:::
"No."
"Arrrgggghhhh! You TOTALLY SUCK!!!! You had this totally awesome potential blog post, and you didn't even tape it!!! Awwww, you are such a loser!"
I tried to argue that nothing had happened. But the fact that had the guy been tased, his retch and/or vomit would have been close enough to splatter my car was too much for Sky King to handle.
I told him I was still blogging it all. And, I was going to spin it my way, and it was all about how much I hated my Droid phone, and how this will finally sway me to the Apple underworld, and SK was all, "man, you suck. You are such a liar." and I countered with, "It's my blog, get your own blog. I can do what I want. You're not the boss of me." Things went downhill from there.
Later, I sat to write. I mused. I contemplated. Then I fast-forwarded to me, sitting with Oprah (in an alternate reality where she still has a show, still has a book club, and is now featuring me) and I got all James-Frey-guilty-conscience-y.
So here it is. Not nearly as fabulous as it could have been. Especially had the guy been tased. Sorry. All I have learned is that I need to not suck when cool shit happens. And spelling "wrought" is not my finest skill. Hell, I don't even know if "tased" is spelled right. Spellcheck on blogger isn't hip to cop lingo, I guess. So. Much. Fail.
Sky King: 1
Incredibly Sexy Smart Funny Bloggy Chick (Me, dummbass!): 0
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