Crazy thangs are happ'nin'...

Okay, I'm pissed. I started writing a boat-load of stuff only to have the search bar somehow pop into action and destroy everything I started. I guess that was a sign to start all over again.

My girlfriend, C**, comes home from work with a worried expression on her face.

"What's going on?" I ask her.

"My regional manager. His wife died." The worried look intensified.

"Oh, that's sad. How is he holding up?" I ask.

"I think he killed her."

Now you know this threw me off. It BLEW ME. When I asked her why she thought her regional manager killed his wife she gave me these reasons:

Wife #1: Goes for a joy ride with about four of her friends. Their laughing and enjoying life until somehow the car gets flipped into the air and rolls over six times. Everyone in the car survives except her. His wife.

Wife #2: The funny thing about her is, nobody knows how she died. Her name and picture is slapped in the obituary section of the news paper and she has an open casket funeral. Hmmm...

Wife #3: Is having a little stroll in the park, when all of a sudden, she falls flat on her face. BOOM! She lays still. In my mind I think, "She's fallen and she can't get up!"

But seriously, I think that is a scary chain of events. C** has worked there for 5 years and in that time span, 3 of this guys wives die. It's crazy. I told her to be careful around him. I wouldn't want her to come up missing.

Some strange things are always happening around our apartment complex as well.

It's 11:40 something at night. A misty fog covers the buildings that surround us. C** and I are sitting in the car, headlights and engine turned off. The radio softly plays a John Coltrane tune on Smooth Jazz V98.7. We are talking about our relationship problems. Talking about how she wants to leave me by June. Wants to start over or some bullsh*t along those lines. We start arguing, right? Going back and forth like most couples tend to do, when we see

This little white guy. Has to be around the age of 16...maybe 17 years old sneaking around with a can of paint in his hand. Now, of course, we know what he plans to do with it. I can't help but think to myself, damn, why tonight? Luckily we are sitting here so if he pours the paint on my car I can chase him.

The kid walks up to a black car that is right across the street from where our car is parked and lifts the bucket up to his chest. He throws the paint at the car with all of his might, leaving a thick, white line of paint of the black car.

At this sight, me and C** burst into laughter. The actions of this juvenile kid helped lighten our situation. Plus we were happy that the paint didn't land on our car.

The kid scampered away. Not more than a minute after the paint was thrown on the car did a group of young Latino men come running from the building. One was holding  a GUN! Two hopped in a nearby car and the other three ran on foot after the guy. An Italian looking kid came out slowly from the apartment building and stared at what seemed to be his car. The white paint drying more and more each second.

That's what I call some crazy Spit.

Anyway, I believe I am finished for now.

OOOOOHHHHHH

Yesterday my computer said I had 21,000 words written for my manuscript. Today when I finished typing I had 26,200. I'd wrote 5,200 words today! I was so happy. I need to celebrate. This is what hard work feels like. My eyes are all blurry and dizzy from looking at the computer screen for so long. But I am happy. I hope tonight I can get my word count up to 30,000.

So, until the next time I get on with some crazy idea I have or some gossip, pointless bullsh*t or something to rejoice about, stay calm and cool.

Love, peace and empathy.