Last night, sitting in the freezing cold and light rain, I adopted a Zen-like attitude. Watching my hopes and dreams crushed in front of my eyes, there was no anger. There was no yelling (of course, outside of screaming my lungs to nothing when we were on defense). Walking out of the stadium, there was no urge to throw things. Well, that’s a lie, but I didn’t throw anything. I just sat, Indian-style on the gravel, completely silent, and drank. And kept drinking.
Returning home yesterday from the mall, karma reared its ugly head. I, for some unknown reason, decided to STOP at a stop sign. The car behind me decided to keep going and then BOOM, let’s call the driver “Tiffany.”
Because I’m such a calm and easy going guy, I got out of the car and politely asked, “What the FUCK are you doing?” She was still yapping it up on her cell phone until she saw steam come out of my ears. This is when she did what any girl would do and started to CRY.
As a guy we are supposed to comfort crying girls but she hit my car and I was not calming down. She was loud, had big hair, HUGE hoop earrings, and was driving her daddy’s beamer. Actually she was wearing sweats, had her hair in a pony tail, and was driving a Taurus.
Then she backed up her car and I saw her front license plate, NEW JERSEY. This made me laugh, look up into the rain, and say, “Damn Karma’s a bitch.” Luckily, there was only a slight dent and yours truly is uninjured.
Some would stop making fun of people from Jersey after this incident, but I’m going to carry you for you loyal readers.