After feeling sick the past couple of days, I figured I should go get some protein in my system on Tuesday night and went to half priced burgers at Pawley’s. Before that could happen, I obviously needed to have an encounter with the neighborhood hobo, who would obviously need to pull a gun out of his pocket in a fit of rage. This is my life.
I met Dave and Dustin on their street around 5:30. They were playing catch with a Nerf football in the yard (remember those?) and they tried to throw it to me. Healthy Danielle isn’t good at catching (uh, or throwing) and Sick Danielle certainly isn’t, so mostly they would just throw in my vicinity and then I would pick the ball up off the ground. During this time, Jimbo, their neighborhood hobo, came over and started ranting about his “stolen” jacket. Jimbo has a variety of vices and no one really believed that his jacket had been stolen – they figured he probably just lost it – but he was adamant that someone named Jake had stolen it. So incensed was Jimbo over the perceived theft of his jacket that he pulled a 9mm (or other) handgun out of his pocket and started waving it around, letting us all know that he was going to “kill that m*****f****r” and “punch him in the temple” if he sees him again. Wanting to understand what might happen if one were to get punched in the temple, I consulted WikiAnswers, where facts go to die. Here’s what I came up with:
“If you punch someone in the temple, what happens?”
“I suppose that depends on whether you mean the temple as in a part of your body, or temple as in a holy place used for religious observance. If you punch someone in the head in the temple area, depending on how hard you punched the person, you could cause a broken bone, possibly even brain damage. You could also spend several to many years of your life in jail for assault and battery. If you punch someone in the temple, meaning holy place, depending on how hard and where you punched them, you might cause bleeding, pain, injury, etc. You would probably be even more likely to spend time in jail and possibly also pay damages for any broken furniture, cleaning the blood off the carpet or flooring, etc. ”
Ok, got it.
So Dustin eventually got Jimbo to put the gun away, and Jimbo apologized for scaring me. I wanted to tell him that if by scaring me, he meant scaring society/America, then ok, but I didn’t want him to pull out his gun again, so I let that go. I did offer to buy him a new coat, but I don’t think he heard me, so we left swiftly. I’m too young to die.
After ingesting protein, the boys wanted to build an outside fire.
Dustin wore a Russian hat because Russians are presumably good at making fires. It’s cold as shit in Russia.
I was super helpful in the fire building process. After the fire was built, I helped by adding wood onto it. Usually, the boys moved the wood because I put it in the wrong place. Apparently, outside fire-making is an art.
In addition to learning how to make a fire, I also learned a new word: “Licat.” A delightful conglomeration of the words “like” and “that,” licat can be used to quickly get your point across without dealing with the messy and time consuming business of annunciation. Try and use it in a sentence today. Example: “Man, when Jimbo pulled his gun out licat, I was real scared.” You’re welcome.
After learning so much last night, I needed brain food this morning on the way to Charleston. I gloatingly sent Dave a picture of my Chick-fil-a chicken minis this morning.
Being a vegetarian was the worst idea I’ve ever had.
I also got to go see my hot chiropractor today. As an added bonus, his other office is in downtown Summerville, where I have never been before. It’s pretty cute. It’s a shame the traffic is terrible.
Both my back and libido felt better when I left (I kid…or do I?), so I went running tonight when I got back to my hotel. I stay at the Crowne Plaza for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is its proximity to a giant outlet mall. It’s literally across the street.
To prove how adept I am at running and/or life, I decided to take a picture of myself while running through the streets of North Charleston this evening.
Is it just me or do I look tan? Don’t be afraid to admit it.
I returned to my home away from home, ready for a quick shower before I headed out to meet my coworker/friend/hero Michael for dinner.
Before taking off my running clothes, I thought that I should close my blinds in the interest of modesty. Big mistake.
APPARENTLY you can’t just pull on the blinds like a roll of paper (even though that’s what they look like) and expect the whole thing to move down. You have to use the “chain on the side” and do it “incrementally” or otherwise the whole thing falls onto your face and hits you in the mouth/chin.
Because that’s my life, people. If I’m not having a gun pulled on me by a hobo, I’m losing fights with window curtains. At least I have my tan.
P.S. Congratulations to my smarty pants boss on successfully defending his Ph.D. dissertation today! No, I will not be calling you “Doctor,” but I’m proud of you nonetheless.