Rejoice, for I have written again!

January 8, 2009  22:32

While it seems like I have not written in two months, let it be known that I actually did write an entry in December. But somehow, it was not posted, even after I hit the post button several times. I don’t remember the exact date, but, as well as I can remember, it was entitled “The Day it Snowed in Houston”. So, if you remember what that date was (in 2008), then you know when my last entry was written.

One of the key points in my last entry, in addition to the snow in Houston, was that that was the day one of my youth interns called me out for being overly sarcastic. She demanded that I remain sarcasm-free for the rest of the day. Thankfully, it was already late in the afternoon. A few days after this, I decided to actually cut down on my sarcasm in general. My friend Greg constantly tells me now that I should end my sarcasm fast so he can “spar” with me.

Well, today was a day where I used sarcasm a lot in one particular scene of my day, as I am about to explain.

Let me say, in all honesty, that the rest of this particular entry has been rated “R” by me for intense profanity. Reader disgression is advised.

I have seventh period off of school every day. So does my friend Andy. Coincidentally, we live a block away from each other, and have our sixth periods just down the hall from each other. So, we usually talk to each other on the way to the parking lot, and go the same route home.

Earlier in the week, I talked to Andy about how he constantly speeds, and that next time I ended up driving home just ahead of him, I would drive right at the speed limit the entire way just to try to annoy him (I confess, I occasionally go two or three over to reduce tailgating distance from him).

That day was today.

So, I was, indeed, driving an even 35 down Voss road… And every other road on the way home, until I pulled into the neigborhood next to mine. There is no posted speed limit on this street, but I remember from Driver’s Ed that you are to go no faster than 30 in a neighborhood, unless otherwise posted. So, I travelled 30.

I got to a 90 degree turn where the road turns left, rounded the curve, and quickly accelerated, just to throw off Andy. I had just gotten to 30 and let off the gas when I see someone throw something toward my car from a house off to the right. I slam on the breaks just before this flying can of Sprite hits my windsheild. As I stop and pull over to the right, I see Andy do the same ahead of me, and then drive on home. Jerk.

Anyway, I turn around my car, to talk to this guy. I, of course, have never met him, and don’t know his name, so as I type the dialogue of our conversation, let’s let his name be “Dumbass.” By the way, I, of course, did not memorize the conversation, so it is not quoted word-for-word. Regardless, it is undoutebly accurate.

 

I roll down the driver’s side window and come to a stop as he approaches me, mad.

Dumbass: You need to slow the fuck down on this road! This is a neighborhood!

Me: Um, I was going 30.

Dumbass: No. You were speeding. And this is a neighborhood. You were going forty. (Three of his friends who were standing in the driveway confirmed that I was, in fact, going 40.)

Me: Oh, really? I just looked down at my speedometer when your thing hit my car. Why do you think I didn’t brake until the last minute?

Dumbass: You were going too fast!

Me: Oh yeah, where’s your proof?

Dumbass: (Pausing, ultimately giving away victory). Well, I don’t have any. But that doesn’t matter. You were going too fast. What if my son had been playing in the driveway?

Me: (I wanted to answer “If he’s in the driveway, how can I hit him? And by the way, are you gunna throw stuff at him if he runs around the house?”). Instead, I say “Ok, then. Tell me what the speed limit is.”

Dumbass: Fifteen.

Me: Bullshit! Show me where it says I have to go fifteen!

Dumbass: (Pointing to his mouth) Right here! I say you have to go fifteen, so you will!

Me: Hell, no. You do not have the authority to control my speed on a public road.

Dumbass: Whatever. Just don’t speed again or I’ll call the cops. (Pulls out cell phone). And you better be glad it was just a coke this time. Next time it’ll be a brick. (Looks at my windsheild. Now speaking excitedly.) Oh wow! That was a nice shot! Right on the windsheid!)

(I had a very breif sence of jealousy, because I went duck hunting a week before, and I didn’t get squat.)

(Now he walks away.)

Me: Hey, wait, jackass. Why are you walking away? You know that if you throw a brick at my car, I’ll call the cops against you for vandelism, right?

Dumbass: Hey, if you want to keep talking, get out and settle this.

Me: (Looking at the time, and then remembering that I have to be at my job, which is AT MY CHURCH soon, I say,) I actually can’t. I’m really running late. (I honestly would have gotten out otherwise. Then I could’ve easily gotten him on assault charges.)

Dumbass: Then we’re done talking. Fucking go home and don’t ever drive here again.

Me: You son of a bitch! How the fuck can you say I’m speeding without proof, throw a can at my car, and then call me out for disrupting you?

 

I don’t remember exactly how the conversation ended, but I believe we each exchanged one more line, and then I turned around in his neighbor’s driveway, and intentionally went as fast as I could down the rest of the stretch of road.

 

I went to my job at the church after stopping by my house to drop off my backpack. I told a friend at church about this, and that I feel bad for cussing Dumbass out. She explained to me that anybody would have done that in the heat of the moment.

But when I reminded myself while arguing with this guy that I am, in fact, a Christian, I definately did not feel the need to tear him apart verbally anymore– at least not for a second. Shortly after that, of course, is when I really let myself go.

But I’m trying to figure out why, even when attacked, I would do such a thing.

And as I mentioned before, I wouldn’t have been afraid to get out of the car to “settle the matter”, even though the four of them would have definately beaten me, simply because I know that I could’ve  gotten them thrown into jail for that. But I wasn’t thinking of God at all.

It seems that whenever I’m caught in an intense moment, rather it be proving my innocence against a dumbass, or any other case, I never think about God. I never pray for His help, just for His thanks after the matter is done.

Granted, it is good to thank God, but I just wish I would include Him in my fun moments. I’m sure He could’ve helped out some, if only I had asked.