Head Shot

I have no idea what's going on with me lately. I'd like to think I'm painted with some type of infrared paint but regardless I seem to be on fire.
Earlier today I was jogging down the street in a neighboring development. I was breathing to Billy Joel - Uptown Girl, one of my favorite repeat songs. To inform those of you non-mouth-breathers, when I jog my duplicitious multi-track mind essentially forces me to breath to the sounds of music. Otherwise I will drive myself insane. So I was inhaling to half of Billy Joel's lyrics while exhaling to the others. I had been jogging for roughly a mile and a half when I rounded the next corner.
The last "words" I breathed were 'I bet her momma never told her why?' - when it happened.
Whoosh... Knock.
Headshot.
This experience might have been worth it if the Unreal announcer had said so.
I stumble, utterly dissoriented out into the street while trying not to fall down.
"Wh-se-ch-wh-th-gid-shit?" were the approximate lack of words that exited my mouth.
"Hey, sorry can I get that back?" Asked the probable cause of my headshot.
"Uh." I replied, still completely dissoriented. Then my hearing kicks in and I hear the ball bouncing near the gutter and instantly spot it. Slick.
"Here ya go." I replied after I picked up the ball and returned it to him. So much for playing where it lies.
As I regained my composure I began to realize how fucking rude this douche was. He hit me in the head, didn't ask how I was and simply asked for his ball back. If it wasn't for Billy Joel, I'd have flipped out.
So I continue to run and round the corner with the club playhouse-park in the development I am running in.
Fortunately the song playing gives me my second wind: Britney Spears - U Drive me Crazy.
I dominated the remainder of the hill, crazily. As I arrived at the top I was met with yet another surprise.
Whoosh!
Yet another golfer hit a ball out on the road, near me. I run daily and I have no idea how this happens but what am I to do? The golf-ball lands on a lawn on my side of the street as a golfer emerges.
"Yo bro, can I grab that back? He asked.
Not mentally handicapped this time around, I decided to question him.
"Depends... what stroke are you?"
"So are you going to give me my ball or what?" He asks.
"It was a simple question, no reason to get insecure about a game." I retorted.
"Then just throw it over dude." He replied.
"Sure man, as soon as you tell me your score - I'm curious." I responded.
"I'm six over can I please get it back now?" He queried.
"Don't you mean seven over?" I quipped.
Now he looked a little confused. "I don't get it," he replied.
This is the part where I'm an asshole. I threw the golf-ball in the complete opposite direction from the golf-course, faced him and retorted "wrong, you're seven over." Then I sprinted off while singing the chorus to "Oops I did it again," over the sound of my breath so that hopefully I wouldn't be the day's only victim of another...
Reality Check

Dementia

Believe it or not... I like to consider myself a rational individual. This may or may not be the truth. Earlier today my faith in this concept was tested to an extent I'd never like to endure again. I was driving through a neighborhood I have never particularly favored, an enclave for old people. Perhaps I am an age-ist but I generally find old people offensive and we generally seem to disagree at a high degree. Anyhow, I'm merely attempting to pass through a "retirement community," when something unexpected happened. Most people have been asked "why does a chicken cross the road" before. My question is simultanously different albeit similar.
An old male was crossing the road in-front of me, so I was "forced" to stop in front of him, while letting him cross the street (jay-walking pos). For some reason, my guess was dementia, he stopped crossing the street once he gained sight of me. Normally, I would proceed to use this situation to speed off, embarassing said individual, while maximizing my travel time. The whole age-ist thing 'helped' hold me up, though. He approached the window of my car, while I did my best, attempting to containt my excitement.
"You're the Irish guy that keeps speeding through the neighborhood, aren't you?" He asked me.
"Well I am an Irish guy," I responded "and I do speed through your neighborhood and will continue to do so. I suppose the question is what do you plan to try and do about it?"
I don't think he saw this - or frankly any response coming. I'm also going to guess he didn't like Irish people nor do I understand how he discerned I was Irish but these are powers beyond my comprehension. Perhaps he and the neighborhood comittee were simply informed of my face & last name - that seems to make the most sense as I have frequently flouted their rules that I deemed to be unimportant, with joy.
Yet my utter confidence was met with uncertainty. I definately did not see his response coming. I suppose that is the strength of a demented individual, unpredictabilty.
He raised his cane threatening to hit my Tercel - from hell. He had called my bluff and I proceeded to laugh in his face. This didn't please him.
"I'm going to stop you here in traffic (there was none around us) and call the authorities." He said.
I'm trying not to laugh partly because I was going to have him arrested for jay-walking and also because I felt sorry for him. Yet, there was another variable still in the mix. His maid, and hopefully hospice worker runs out of a house - assumingly his.
"What in the devil? I'm sorry sir, what's happened?" Asked the nurse dressed in full pink.
"This guy accosted me, threatened me and then made a racial slur in my direction," I said to the black woman I was speaking to.
"Racial?" she questioned as she looked me up and down.
"Correct." I stated with supreme confidence.
"So you a white-boy attempting to pull some racist bullshit on me and an oldy? I don't think so hunny."
"Oldy" I questioned "who the fuck says that?"
"I ain't got no time for you" was the response I was met with.
I was humilated. Despite the fact that I was in the right, in my view, I was cut off by a hospice worker and given an extremely curt but probably deserved...
Reality Check.

Snake

Today something happened to me for the first time. I hit an animal. It was pretty devestating to both the animal's general well-being and my own psychological state. Afterward I thought a little more about the issue in depth. I think people drive these literal killing machines we call cars with a certain purpose. Pre-destination. We start a car wanting to go somewhere before we get there - which makes sense? What also makes sense is the predestinational focus we have on the road - which I suppose is both a compliment and an insult. My reasoning being if we focus on the road we can't focus off-road to the same extent. Anyhow... the animal I hit was a snake. I'm not very proud of it. Although the silver lining is it did get me thinking, is there a worse animal to avoid? It's a slow moving animal (which was longer than my car is wide) that moves relatively slowly, albeit for deliberate reasons, that enjoys laying out on a hot surface to enhance it's metabolic properties. Essentially everything except biblical fairy tales makes snakes the worst thing to avoid on the road, sorry children. If I possessed godlike vision I may have been able to avoid it by wrecking my car, but clearly my car is a lot more important than a living, breathing being - not from hell, although it was a snake, strangely enough.
Hell hath no fury...
As a male I find the statement hell "hath no fury like a woman scorned" hilariouis. After an hour of deliberation I couldn't fathom who might've came up with it - the only thing of my perceived value I discerned was that the bible was probably written by a woman - but who cares as everyone can write stories? Anyhow, getting back to the issue at hand, a woman scorned, I scorned a woman the other day - rather easily. After I scorned her and she assaulted me, legally, she proceeded to call the authorities on me only to be escorted off my residence. The gall was more than I could bear. Here you have a person of lesser, essentially everything, and that's not in general just in this case - (not including weight though) hitting me in the face because of something I said while simultaneously counting on the fact I wouldn't retaliate for legal reasons. I'll elaborate: I went upstairs and found my fat-slut of a sister there who supposedly wants nothing to do with me, there.
The next verbal exchange was pretty straight forward. She makes an unassuming snide comment in my direction. I respond with a verbal blitzkrieg. I have the evolutionary upper hand (in a dispute, sorry ladies) ... why wouldn't I? She responded typically. What happens to prey backed into a corner? Desperation. Which is ironic given that she started the process. I was wearing my glasses and she slaps them off my face - pretty bold and a good strategic move if it was intentional. The problem being assaulting an individual who is your superior in every aspect is pretty-much the worst strategy, ever. So she slaps the glasses off my face and as they echo on the ground comes in with her left for another blow. Right here, ironically enough, my fight-or-flight kick's in - it's time to start trying - I instantly riposted her attempt and grabbed her hand. Predictably she came in with her other arm trying to assault me further, it didn't work. While I grabbed her other arm, I laughed - in her face. Icing on the cake-eater. Some people might not brag about beating a girl in a fight, luckily this wasn't a fight and more importantly I'm not one of them. As a wrestler I found out rather harshly and unfortunately, if you're in the weight class, you go, period. And I discovered this rule having to wrestle a girl who was several weightclasses above me, yet inferior in every aspect of the sport. Imagine you're being told to pin a retarded little kid... that's almost what it's like - except more akward.
Anyhow back to the 'fight' she tries to knee me in my groin and I come to the inner realization "this bitch is out of control" and use both of her arms against her. I twisted both of her arms and threw her to the ground while staring at her, semi-laughing and saying "dumb cunt, get the fuck out of here." Clearly this didn't please her. After assaulting me she still had the confidence to call the police on me. Vaginal entitlement off the charts.
It didn't work. The officer, who clearly wasn't taking this seriously, said he was legally bound to ask me certain questions. Yes... the holy grail. For once the law was on MY SIDE. The right side. While I didn't understand it, I went with it. Upon seeing that I had finally been cast in the role of of a situational victim I immediately divested the opportunity. Nearly all the questions I always wanted to ask a cop were now green-lit. It'd take several paragraphs to cover all of them but the most pertinent one is to follow: "What do you think the percentage of domestic disturbances and/or assaults are in terms of gender? Like does one happen far more than the other - what's the breakdown?" For some reason, instead of arresting, fining or shooting me, he answered me. "It's pretty much 50%-50%," he said - although he didn't say percent.
I inquired a little bit further. "So if it's 50-50, then what do you think the true ratio is, as more crimes go unreported than are commited?"
"Probably about 60-40."
"In terms of whom?"
"Females because most males don't report crimes." The exact answer I had anticipated.
By now the police had both statements and were ready to take action. For whatever reason, probably the history of the property, there were four of them "dealing" with us. ALL of them approached me. Then proceeded to ask me what to do. I'm busting. My exuberance was off the chart. I tried my hardest not to jump around chanting in my sisters face and while it was extremely difficult, I managed. I chose not to press charges but said that I wanter her escorted off the property immediately. They proceded to do so as I sat on my steps, drinking a beer savouring yet another...
Reality Check.