August 10, 2009

"Everything that guy just said is bullshit ... Thank you."

Hey y'all hey. I hope you each had a glorious weekend with plenty of goings-on and even more memories. Does that make sense? Whatever. I took an impromptu staycation last week, and let me tell you, 'twas truly glorious. I use the world "impromptu" because my boss didn't let me know he was leaving until the last minute and 'staycation' because, obvi, I follow his schedule per se, so even though our inboxes replied with an "Out of the Office" message; I was only out . . . figuratively . . . if you get my drift. So ridic that whilst he was sitting on his ocean front porch bitching to us back here about his boat being broken and a day of rain; I was expected to be in the office, or at least have my phone forwarded so I could answer his call immediately. No manners. Of course, I kind of just 'checked out' for random appointments that lasted from 10:00 AM until 4:30 PM, long businesses lunches, and on and on.

To be honest, I expected my staycation to be one full of total mental rejuvenation, only because people that take staycations also home school their children; and since my child had Doggie Day Camp last week, I had all the time in the world! Right? Wrong.

Let me just share the following tale with you. It was Tuesday afternoon, I had worked for an hour on Monday and felt so terribly ill (sike) on Tuesday that I could only come in late and, much to the dismay of my co-workers, leave ridiculously early. On my way home, I decided to stop at a local post office, so I could mail some P.O.S. (literally, almost) that I sold on E-Bay (God bless America, that's for sure! . . . and you know what? Don't judge me - We're in a recession.)

I pulled into my usual spot right by the entrance (yes, handicap, but I had on 3" heels, too, that's got to count for something, right?) and was disgusted immediately. Someone was yelling over my Lil' Wayne self-made mix. You know how many years its been since I've heard "Tha Block iz Hot" . . . ? Yeah, too fucking many. I turned to see who was so rudely screaming over my (believe it or not) factory-installed system and see what appears to be Joe Pesci! Oh man. Growing up in an Italian (half at least) family, Joe Pesci is like MLK for us. Except for he's still around. The gift that keeps on giving. As I pulled out a copy of "GoodFellas" (double disc with "My Cousin Vinny" on it, too!) that I keep in my car for good luck and the Sharpie I had stolen from work for an occasion just like this; I noticed that lil' Joe's legs were flailing about. He was hanging half-out of a Durango. Typical! Joe Pesci just being Joe Pesci; and I was there for all of it! God is good, that's for sure.

As I turned in my seat, I immediately called my Father, so he could revel in my good fortune. Vinny Gambini all up in RTP! No! But, yes! I surmised that they were filming a movie - most likely an action film, and this was the big fight scene. Joe would win, of course, as he always does, and mutter some (or a dozen) expletives before the director yelled cut. And of course, there would be no need for a re-do. We're talking about Joe-fucking-Pesci here.

I heard Joe ranting, louder than before, about "slicing some bitch up" and then started retrieving piles of things from his minivan and throwing them inside the Durango (with a hop up, of course). And then it hit me . . . minivan? I mean, it was a Chrysler Town & Country, but still, Joe Pesci in a minivan? That sounds silly, and we aren't talking about Gene Wilder here! I highly doubt the J.P. would star in a non-Oscar worthy flick and I'm pretty sure movies like that don't include a minivan in the script (can we confirm?).

I then repositioned my car to watch this melee play out right before my eyes. If it was Joe, he was wearing a lot of make-up and was using a cane as a prop and was doing a great job of acting super mad. Like really mad.

Let me tell you, I've been yelled at before. I've been in fights. I'm sure I've had people want to fucking kill me (whatever) but I have never been yelled at like this. And people were just walking right by! Apparently, "Joe's" wife had walked out on him and he tricked her to get her to the post office (idiot move - its way too public of a place for threats of bodily harm, or so I thought.) Anyway, by this point, I had been observing (I, after all, am a concerned tax-paying citizen) this bullshit for half an hour. I watch enough crime television to know (and have solved enough cold cases) that this could start to get nasty . . . and fast. I had only heard the threats and seen him reaching in for homegirl, all the while telling (screaming) her that he loved her so fucking much. Whoa! Talk about a thin line between love and hate. Then, Vinny clocks this ho. I mean, clocks her right in the face. Dayyyum. I knew I had to do something.

Rather than make it back to work on time (or put myself in harm's way), I decided to call the police dispatch line. The dispatcher thanked me so much for my call, and let me know that a Sheriff would be there post haste (no she didn't say that exact phrase, I am talking about Durham, here). Now, for those of you that know me, Sheriffs are no friends of mine. Especially in the beginning of the month of August. We just don't get along. Coupled with the fact an active warrant for my arrest exists in the Lone Star State (its just some fees - don't worry) I declined to offer them my name or real life phone number (I made this decision only after I asked whether there was a reward for getting criminals off the streets).

And then the Sheriff rode in. PTL y'all, PTL. Instead of sticking around for him to realize my car is unregistered and my plates have expired, I promptly left the scene of the crime) . . after I waited around until the Pesci impostor was cuffed. What! Why are you calling me a hypocrite? F you! I'm keeping your streets safe - I don't even pay taxes in Durham Co. So, you're welcome.

As I drove past the victim and looked past her scars and beaten face, I couldn't help but smile. I mean, you're right, Mona Lisa Vito (and/or Marisa Tomei) she was not, but justice is blind . . and fingers crossed she grows out that hideous shag before trial.

No word yet on whether or not I'll be getting a parade prior to my receiving the keys to the city, but, don't worry, I'll keep you posted, obvi.

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