On Friday nights, I get a little tipsy and watch old Ray Stevens videos.
Apparently, on Tuesday nights, I get a little tipsy and read blogs from our esteemed policemen, firemen, and EMTs. (women too!) I come from a long line of warped military and police people (and while the Navy is still trying to recruit me to be a chaplin even though I can’t pass the medical and I’m NOT ORDAINED) and I just love to read the shit people put them through.
The best part is that my husband is not so familiarly inclined and tends to be a belligerent twit when he’s pulled over and/or talking about being pulled over. Now that he’s a suburban professional dude who is over the age of 24 and has been married for almost 10 years, he’s good with our public servants. Back before we were married, he was one of those punk-ass little shits I stare down at the trailer park playground. This means that I can send him blogs and totally laugh at him while he laughs at the blog… about people who have gotten caught doing the same things he did as a younger version of his awesome self.
Like this one time out here in the boonies, there was this scare about a fake policeman in a fake police car pulling over female drivers late at night and raping them. The advice was (for female drivers who drove alone at night) to pull over in a well lit and trafficked area, like a gas station or restaurant. So, a cop pulls over Shaun for speeding on the interstate, and Shaun slows down to a crawl, and very slowly drives off the interstate, off the exit ramp, takes a right, and pulls into the BP.
If you’ve seen the pictures of my husband, you’ll understand me 100% when you’d agree that you’d give the fucker a ticket too. Now, me, I could have gotten away with that “I was afraid you weren’t a real police officer, sir” excuse being I kinda fit the target profile, but I would have taken the ticket like a trooper and thanked the cop for being a real cop (as opposed to an imaginary cop) while he was at it. If I didn’t and survived, my dad and my uncle would both line up to take jabs at my mental acuity.* But my husband is a guy who is 6 ft tall, 300 lbs, and was (at the time) a funny looking goth kid and is from DAYTON, OHIO. If I were his size, I’d take on that lowly rapist with the stolen lightbar and tell all my buddies at the biker bar how bad-ass I was while picking my teeth with his bones and wiping my ass with the tires off his Crown Vic.
Being that I’ve made shameless fun of my husband while drinking the mojito he so wonderfully made for me, I hereby give him the right to rag on me in his blog. I’ll also promise that tomorrow I’ll write about how my only time EVER getting pulled over *knock on wood* was for stealing a (his) Black Honda Accord from the hospital parking lot with an 8 month pregnant lady in premature labor in the passenger seat and Taco Bell take out in the center console. I got pulled over TWICE that night too! My story is way more eventful, although his stories of getting pulled over are more plentiful.
* More than likely, my mom would have kicked my ass and made me get another stripe on my black belt, followed by my dad buying me another gun and making me get certified as a marksman in shooting it, and my uncle would say “Cyndi, that wasn’t very smart” and give me a stern look. Here’s the listing of service: Mom was Navy, Dad was Air Force, and my Uncle Chris is a police officer. I’m most scared of my mom. You’d probably be most scared of my dad, but really, Mom is the one who’ll get you.