Actually, it IS Rocket Science


When I first moved here I fell immediately in love with my new neighborhood.  I live at the pinnacle of a hill that dips down on either side of my apartment which allows for an amazing view no matter which way you turn.  And my morning routine included walking down said mile-long dip from where I lived to the bottom, where I would grab a cup of coffee and make my way back up, which allowed (apart from a wonderful glut exercise) a great opportunity to look around and see my new surroundings without having to keep an eye on the wheel and watch out for aggressive drivers (which are many.  I am still confounded by the fact that there is so much road rage around here.  People will literally do that honk that makes you think they accidently passed out on the steering wheel before you realize they’re just being a total dick with the person in front of them the second a light turns green, even if that person is stuck behind someone else).

These walks were pretty enjoyable, for the most part, as they offered a little break from the monotony of the time I spent indoors and with other people, trying to make nice and act like I hadn’t just moved here by myself from Chicago, where I would ultimately get the look of “Ohhhh!  I no longer have anything to relate to you with.”  I could be alone with my thoughts (which were few, I’m glad to admit) and I got to take in the scenery around my new neighborhood.

One morning I set out like I normally did and noticed the area was particularly devoid of traffic.  Actually, it was devoid of anything; school children, speed walkers, UPS trucks, freaky dogs without any apparent owners.  Hey, you guys, have you ever encountered something like that when you feel like you’ve entered some twilight region of existence or maybe you missed the memo that everyone should stay indoors that morning? Something which made you feel like maybe you should have invested in a little more religious insurance because your previous Catholic upbringing suddenly snuck up behind you and shouted “RAPTURE!” ?  Yeah?  Anybody?

And then you remember it’s Labor Day and you immediately replace any and all worries with thoughts of what kind of sales there are going on over at Anthropologie?

Dude.  Totally.

So I immediately thought: Sweet!  No traffic= No having to wait to cross the streets, which ultimately tacked on another 15-20 minutes of my time, at least, since there are 5… five… FIVE traffic lights on that one-mile drag down to the epicenter of coffee heaven.  And none of them are synced up.  Which equates to somewhere around the most sarcastic “awesome” you can get.

About half-way down, I passed two specific buildings:  A) The public library and ♣) The local fire response station.  I came across another four-way stop light, which was nearly deserted.  Which is where my logic previously mentioned in the aforementioned paragraph came into play.  IN MY DEFENSE, I looked both ways, saw absolutely NO ONE approaching, apart from one vehicle stuck in a red light whose cross-walk countdown sign indicated would be there for another 20 seconds, at least, and thought I’d take advantage of the lack of cars on the streets for once and clear a cross-way without losing momentum.

As soon as I made it to the other side, I was bombarded with not only the most annoying flashing lights, but the idiot had the audacity to turn on the siren… AT 6 A.M.  Right outside a number of apartments.

Do you know how hard it is to turn off the anger and resentment that comes from realizing someone is knowingly abusing their officially-granted priviledges just to prove a very ridiculous point?

Do you know how hard it is to turn off the anger from a girl predisposed to Irish belligerance?

I’ll give you a hint:  the answer to both of those questions is the same.

But  by the grace of something… graceful, I stuffed that full-on rage down faster than a Nathan’s Coney-dog annual and turned on the best doe-eyed “Wha… wha-happened?” look I could muster.  AT 6 A.M.   Which proooobably looked something like this:

It’s extremely difficult for me to turn off my eyebrows.  If I ever decided to get into professional poker I’d have to sacrifice them, otherwise they’d be my tell every time.  I used to get away with it before I started “enhancing” them, the term a lady who once gave me a makeover referred to it as, due to the fact that I have virtually transparent body hair.  That would have been the only let-on to the fact that I wanted to pull this cop’s badge and stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey with it.

The guy did one of those things where he eeeeeeaaaaases out of the car and peers over at me like he’s trying to build up anticipation.  Being that I’m obviously busy trying to restrain my eyebrows from letting on to the fact that I would like nothing more than to send this guy down a slip n slide of the type of embarrassment he’s apparently trying to use against me, I stand like a moron waiting for him to make the first move.

“Don’t you know what kind of ticket you can get from jay-walkin’?”

Hold on.  Jay-Walkin’?  Where are you from, Officer?  Obvs not from around here.  Do I detect a little South Mason-Dix?

“No sir.”

“Don’t you know there’s a FAHR-Station around here?”

YESSSSS.  We have detected and confirmed an Officer and a Gentleman.

“Yes, sir.  I understand…  I apologize.”

“Not to mention, There’s a LIE-Brary.  You know you’re gonna have traffic at a LIE-BRARY.”

Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.

“I don’t know where you come from, MA’AM, but around here we pay attention to the road signs. ”


Now, I’d just like to stop and make mention of the particular article of clothing I was donning that morning.  You know what?  I’d rather show you:

Yes, I realize it’s backwards, but you get the idea.  If that’s not a dead-ringer for the Chicago Cubs, then you can just crawl into a hole and live the rest of your life as a pariah, since you’ve already been doing so this whole time.  I’m THE most unversed sports fan in the nation, and even I know that symbolic bear.  I’m even willing to gratefully point to my boobs to make that point.

I waited for his tongue lashing to be over when he finally sent me on my way, which he did, I am sure, only to make sure that he had enough time to ensure that any and all drivers in our vicinity had the opportunity to gawk and stare at the terrible jay-walker that was placed in the stocks for all to throw tomatoes and various sneers at.

Fujit.  I couldn’t have cared less.  The guy was finally going to let me off for my heinous act.  Until I was walking off and he mentioned,

“And don’t think I won’t recognize you again in the future.  I’ll see that hair, Red.”

Right.  Not like I won’t see you coming either, Officer butt-cut.



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  1. * kimbelly says:

    Hope I’ll see that red hair when the RAPTURE comes… Welcome to my eternally, recurring nightmare, Ash. I too frequently dream that I awake to find that everyone I love has been taken by the Good Lord(!) Hey, at least you’ll have company.

    | Reply Posted 6 years, 7 months ago
    • Dude, the rapture can eat my spaghetti. I’m Dwight Schrute when it comes to preparedness for any haphazard BS mankind or anything of the like can throw my way. (meaning I’ll just curl into a ball and wait for the oncoming blitzkrieg with the utmost integrity). 🙂

      And by the way, Happy Birthday!

      | Reply Posted 6 years, 7 months ago

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