What's the point of having a journal if I'm not going to write in the damn thing. Well, here I go again. I'm slowly getting the hang of this. I just read my last post (which unfortunately was written a long time ago), and only just realized how many friggin typos I make, most of which are spelling errors and capitalizing the first two letters of a word. HEre I go again. I guess I try to type so fast that the finger that holds down the shift button just stays there a slight moment too long. I apologize for the typos. I hate reading text with typos. I think my feeble mind just spews forth so many random, incoherent ideas, that when I actually think of something that makes sense, I have to capture it on the keyboard as fast as I can before it goes away.
What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in the past few weeks?
Some dude tried to jack Joanne's car. Joanne's my wifey. I work graveyard shift on the weekends, so I'm used to staying up late at night. One weeknight, I'm downstairs, mindlessly watching TV as I try to get sleepy enough to up to bed, and all of a sudden I hear a car outside arming a disarming; you know,the little beeps. I figure it's some drunk neighbor at 2 in the morning just getting home and fumbling in his pocket for his house keys. It arms/disarms again, but this time I notice that it's pretty loud; oh yeah, and it sounds just like my wife's car's alarm. I thought up of every rational explanation for it, and could not think of anymore, so I peeled myself off the couch, opened the front door, and lo and behold, some dickhead is sliding out the window of the car. Guess what I say to this jerk? "What's up boy?" It's funny how you play certain scenarios in head after they actually happen, and wish you could have said something different, something a little bit cooler. "Yo homeboy, come over here so I can give you an ass-beating." "Did you lose something, asshole?" "Your mother wears combat boots" That last one made no sense, but that dig always made me laugh. Why would someone's mother wear combat boots, and why is it insulting to do so? Anyways, all I could say was "What's up boy?" and this motherfucker walked away as if he was strolling in the park on a Sunday afternoon. I thought better of my situation, went back in the house, locked the door, called 911, described the perp to the dispatcher, and went outside to see where he went. He was long gone. After I hung up the phone, I stood there for a second and thought about how smugly he walked away. Then I got pissed, grabbed my aluminum bat and started walking the neighborhood. I thought to myself, "What if the guy had a knife, or worse yet, a gun?" I really didn't care at that point because I was so pissed off. I just wanted to play teeball with his head or better yet, his nuts. Then I realized that in the brief conversation that I had with the 911 dispatcher, I gave him a description of the perpetrator: late teens to early twenties, short brown curly hair, white male wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. Then my dumbass self realized that I was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, that I could pass of as a white dude in my teens/early twenties, and worse yet, was roaming the streets with a steel bat of fury. I felt like the Punisher, but I didn’t want to be accidentally be identified as the perp and get capped by a dumbass cop with an itchy trigger finger. Hell, some bacon capped a Vietnamese woman in San Jose just a week ago after HE busted into her home; and all she had in her hand was a fucking potato peeler (granted, the peeler looked like a fuckin’ machete from afar, but even I wouldn’t cap a woman who came at me with real machete. At the very least, I would try to wrestle the thing away from her). I knew the sheriff’s deputy would be in the neighborhood anytime now, so I came to my senses and waited for them at home.
After giving the sheriff’s deputy a pretty good description of the guy, I felt a little better. I also felt good after inspecting the car, because nothing was taken, and the alarm actually deterred a would-be criminal!! We also had a flipface Kenwood in there that he couldn’t touch, so I guess our little investments work out after all. If you were the guy who tried to jack our car, and you’re reading this, I’ve got one thing to say:
You're number one, asshole! (insert middle finger here)
What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in the past few weeks?
Some dude tried to jack Joanne's car. Joanne's my wifey. I work graveyard shift on the weekends, so I'm used to staying up late at night. One weeknight, I'm downstairs, mindlessly watching TV as I try to get sleepy enough to up to bed, and all of a sudden I hear a car outside arming a disarming; you know,the little beeps. I figure it's some drunk neighbor at 2 in the morning just getting home and fumbling in his pocket for his house keys. It arms/disarms again, but this time I notice that it's pretty loud; oh yeah, and it sounds just like my wife's car's alarm. I thought up of every rational explanation for it, and could not think of anymore, so I peeled myself off the couch, opened the front door, and lo and behold, some dickhead is sliding out the window of the car. Guess what I say to this jerk? "What's up boy?" It's funny how you play certain scenarios in head after they actually happen, and wish you could have said something different, something a little bit cooler. "Yo homeboy, come over here so I can give you an ass-beating." "Did you lose something, asshole?" "Your mother wears combat boots" That last one made no sense, but that dig always made me laugh. Why would someone's mother wear combat boots, and why is it insulting to do so? Anyways, all I could say was "What's up boy?" and this motherfucker walked away as if he was strolling in the park on a Sunday afternoon. I thought better of my situation, went back in the house, locked the door, called 911, described the perp to the dispatcher, and went outside to see where he went. He was long gone. After I hung up the phone, I stood there for a second and thought about how smugly he walked away. Then I got pissed, grabbed my aluminum bat and started walking the neighborhood. I thought to myself, "What if the guy had a knife, or worse yet, a gun?" I really didn't care at that point because I was so pissed off. I just wanted to play teeball with his head or better yet, his nuts. Then I realized that in the brief conversation that I had with the 911 dispatcher, I gave him a description of the perpetrator: late teens to early twenties, short brown curly hair, white male wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. Then my dumbass self realized that I was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, that I could pass of as a white dude in my teens/early twenties, and worse yet, was roaming the streets with a steel bat of fury. I felt like the Punisher, but I didn’t want to be accidentally be identified as the perp and get capped by a dumbass cop with an itchy trigger finger. Hell, some bacon capped a Vietnamese woman in San Jose just a week ago after HE busted into her home; and all she had in her hand was a fucking potato peeler (granted, the peeler looked like a fuckin’ machete from afar, but even I wouldn’t cap a woman who came at me with real machete. At the very least, I would try to wrestle the thing away from her). I knew the sheriff’s deputy would be in the neighborhood anytime now, so I came to my senses and waited for them at home.
After giving the sheriff’s deputy a pretty good description of the guy, I felt a little better. I also felt good after inspecting the car, because nothing was taken, and the alarm actually deterred a would-be criminal!! We also had a flipface Kenwood in there that he couldn’t touch, so I guess our little investments work out after all. If you were the guy who tried to jack our car, and you’re reading this, I’ve got one thing to say:
You're number one, asshole! (insert middle finger here)
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