And Then The Police Called For Backup...Seriously.

     On Saturday, we got a wild hair and took the kids to the park.  Instead of the little park that's just a few minutes from our house, we decided to go to the big fancy park on the other side of town.  Anyway, we went, we ran, we played, we fried in the ridiculous Southern sun; a good time was had by all.  Until it was time to leave.  I know what everyone's thinking: meltdown over leaving the park.  Surprisingly, there were no complaints at all about that.  Even more surprising, we made it to our car with no tears.  Even more surprisinglier, the person who made our day turn to suck in a matter of seconds was a complete stranger.  And by the time our encounter was over, I was literally seeing red.  I think blood vessels may have exploded behind my eyes.


Before.

After.

     As we got into our van to leave, Skeletor opened the front passenger door.  When he did, he accidentally dinged the door of the car next to us.  I am not trying to make myself look better in this by assuring you that the spot on the other car wasn't even a scrape or a scratch or a dent.  It was a fleck of white paint off of our car.  When we turned to pull the door back so we could assess the damage, our earholes were assaulted by a shrill screech of "Oh, hell, no!"  And then this woman, the apparent owner of the other car (unless she was even crazier than we thought,) came running over.  We apologized profusely, but instead of even acknowledging our words, she got very aggressive and yelled, "So what are you gonna do about it?!"  I'm sure I didn't help matters when the reply, "Nothing I can do about it" popped out of my mouth.  (In my defense, I was referring to my inability to turn back time and fix her car's boo-boo with magic.)
     We offered her our information, but she refused, saying that she had already called the police, and that if we left we were fleeing the scene of an accident.  She became louder and was cussing up a blue streak.  The kids were freaking out.  I apologized once again, and said something about Skeletor being just a child.  Her response?  "Well then you shouldn't be letting him open doors!"  Um, pretty sure that if we never allowed kids to open doors, then we would have a generation of grown-ups that were stuck in one room their whole lives.
     After once again offering her our information, which she again refused, we explained that we were leaving.  She began screaming, "Everyone look at the runaways!"  So I drove up the street a bit, and called the police myself.  And, for realsies, I felt like the biggest tool ever calling 911 over this.  An unmarked car pulled up, and the officer was very kind.  He was talking to the kids, and assuring Skeletor that he wasn't in trouble.  When two squad cars pulled up, I made a joke about his back-up arriving.  He said that I had been described as hostile, and that's why they came there first.  Then we had a bit of a chuckle, and he sent the two squad cars down the road to deal with Crazy McCrazypants. 
     I was just livid once everything was over.  I know some people have a strong affinity for their cars, but do the tears and obvious distress of a 5 year old child have no effect on them.  I don't understand why people can be so hateful.  Yes there was an accident, which we tried to make right, but I don't think that excuses this supposed adult woman's behavior.  I truly hope she has some redeeming qualities, because otherwise, she's sucking up oxygen that something useful like a toad could be using.  As it stands, I kind of hope she contracts Super Ebola.

How I Very Nearly Saved My Not-At-All Dying Neighbor's Life...Again

     As an EMT and a medic in the Guard, I possess just enough medical knowledge to know the worst case scenario of pretty much any injury or illness.  A belly-flop onto an upside down stool equals internal bleeding or perforated intestines.  A malicious Campbell's soup can means tetanus; an unexplained fever for two weeks could be meningitis; a tick might as well be Typhoid Mary.  I don't like the term paranoid.  I prefer hyper-vigilant.  Anyway, suffice it to say that I'm always on the look-out for potential emergencies.

     Last week I was sitting out on my front stoop looking all gangster and nefarious (I like to imagine,) when I heard a series of groans and shouts coming from my neighbor's open window.  Now I remembered my husband mentioning something about the man who lives across the street from us being unwell.  But for the life of me I couldn't remember what exactly the ailment was.  He didn't sound sick or in pain, and I was pretty sure that Captain Gingerbeard mentioned something about the man being a little off.  So I went back inside.  (I'm not a hero, damn it.)
     This continued over the next three days.  By the third day, the man began loudly cursing repeatedly.  I swear I was thiclose to calling 911.  But just as I was about to make the call, the man walked out of his front door and over to his car.  He appeared perfectly fine...other than the fact that he seemed to be suffering from Tourette's.  I don't know if that's his actual diagnosis, but that's what it looked like.  This brush with embarrassment reminded me of a similar event from my childhood.
     My brother, my cousins, and I were riding our bikes around our neighborhood (also looking gangster and nefarious.)  As we passed one of our neighbor's homes, we noticed his front door was open and that the man was lying lifeless in front of his glass storm door.  We high-tailed it straight back to my mom, and proclaimed our neighbor dead.  My mom piled us in our mini-van, and drove the few houses over.  She ran up to the man's door, and jerked it wide open.  And then the dead man sat up.  Or rather the man who was not dead but merely sunning himself like a cat sat up.  My mother was super embarrassed, and this story has been told many times throughout the years.
     So you see, people, it seems that my "storm on the horizon" mentality has been with me since birth.  Well, when it relates to medical problems, that is.  Oddly enough, I have a pathologically optimistic view on pretty much everything else in life.  But, if it's related to the inner workings of the human body, I'm pretty much always under the assumption that the poop is going to hit the fan...sometimes literally.