Raptors and Bomb-priests

My subconscious is oddly fucked up.
(note: I just typed Fuced and in my head I pronounced it Fewss-ed and it made me laugh. I feel like fuced should be a word of some kind. It sounds so wonderful. ANYWAY)
I'm not talking about like Jeffrey Dahmer fucked up. I don't kill and eat people (I broke that habit awhile back) or anything like that.
Its just that for whatever reason, whenever I dream, my brain decides to pull out all the stops and just let 'er rip, which often creates the most ridiculous dreams I've ever heard of.

One time, when I was in grade school, I dreamt that my friends Sarah, Kate and I got sent on a space mission, and we got into a giant spaceship which had a blue, fuzzy interior room which we shared with a big, purple, fuzzy dog. All of the blue, fuzzy furniture was nailed to the floor (so it wouldn't fly around when we took off or while we were in space) except for the one couch, which happened to fly into us and crush us as we were taking off. The couch somehow turned us into ants, a problem that was only remedied as we reentered earth's atmosphere. We went home, told our parents about our trip, and went to bed.

You may think this is the end of the dream, but you are wrong.

In my dream, we all woke up the next day and went on ANOTHER space mission, only this time we brought our parents, and everything on the inside of the ship was purple and fuzzy, with a blue fuzzy dog. The couch squished us all into ants again, but the dog fixed it so we turned back into people. Then the dog told us that we had been selected to start some sort of spaceship/space station, where we would travel around to different planets but still stay on our ship. We were given materials to expand the ship so we could all have our own rooms and a kitchen and everything, which we all built together.

At one point, we had to stop at a planet and drop the dog off. The aliens living on the planet insisted that we take some horses with us as we left, and we were all too flattered to notice the two fatal flaws in the gift.
One, we had no room for said horses to ride.
and Two, there was no gravity.
Problems, indeed.
So of course, because it was my dream and I wanted to be the hero, I offered to fix the problem by not only creating a gravity-device, but also I was going to attach some sort of place for us to ride our horses.
The gravity-device was no problem. Apparently I was a genius in my dream. Though not enough of a genius to solve the other problem so efficiently.
My brilliant dream-idea for where to ride the horses was to take an entire airplane runway and sew it to the side of the ship.

Yes, my friends, you read that correctly.
I dreamt that I sewed an asphalt runway to the outside of a metal spaceship using nothing but a plain old needle and thread.
Apparently I enjoy completely disregarding the rules of physics, as well as common sense.

Now, granted, we all have weird dreams. I'm sure you've all had a dream roughly that weird, maybe more, maybe less.
The weirdness of one dream isn't what makes my subconscious ridiculous.
What makes my subconscious ridiculous is the fact that I have dreams like that every. single. night. Usually, anyway. At least on the nights when I remember my dreams.
I'm not exaggerating. Every dream I have is completely and totally ridiculous.

Don't believe me?
Here's another example.

Last year I dreamt that my friend Marie and I were running away from these two priests who were chasing us because we had stolen some of their bombs that they had been hiding under the church. They chased us down this one street in my neighborhood, casting spells to try and stop us, except it wasn't working, because I think either Marie knew how to block them or we were just faster than them.

That's all I remember about that dream because I don't know where I have it written down. There are very few dreams I remember in full detail, I normally just remember scenes from the dreams, so while I dreamt about the bomb-priests a lot more and there was a more in-depth story to that dream, I simply can't remember it.
Take my word for it, it was ridiculous.

And finally...the grand finale...the single most epic dream I have ever had in my entire life...
I don't think you guys are prepared for this.
But I'm typing it anyway, just because I'm strangely proud of this dream. Its like a trophy. Like, if weird dreaming was an olympic sport, this would take the gold medal, and also probably a Nobel prize. The Nobel committee would be watching the dream olympics and be like HOLY CRAP, THAT GIRL NEEDS A PRIZE FOR BEING CRAZY IN AN AMUSING WAY!

Okay, so in my dream I was on a cruise ship with two of my friends, Hannah and Elise.
This is a rough version of what the ship was.
More like a chart than anything.

My friends and I were on the bottom level, with all the normal folk.
Level 2 was seriously just a GIANT ROOM with a GIANT POOL in the middle. This will become very important later.
And Level 3 was full of rich people, and there was only one door to get there from the lower decks, and you couldn't go into the rich people level unless you were one of them. It was very exclusive.

All of a sudden, these 3 giant Velociraptors come out of nowhere and just start killing and stabbing and maiming everyone, throwing people overboard, eating other people, and generally making a mess. Everyone ran into their rooms and barricaded the doors, so the raptors quickly grew bored and decided to see if anyone was on the second level, in the pool.

Elise, Hannah and I decide to follow them.

Before we go to the pool deck, we head up to the rich people party club deck and knock on the door. Kanye west enters, acting like he's all tough shit, and tells us to get the hell out because he's about to have a concert and we're not allowed in there, because the concert is for cool people only, and we're not cool.
"But Kanye, there are raptors on the ship!" I say, trying to reason with him.
"You're just trying to get in here to see my show! It's not working, get out!"
He then slams the door in our faces.

We then make our way down to the pool deck, where we see the raptors creeping around, looking for people to nom.
They were about to head up to the rich people deck when I stopped them, shouting some cliche line like "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?!"
Apparently whoever writes my dreams isn't very good at dialogue.

Thus ensues a fight to the death.

Before I move on, I should tell you that in real life, I am scrawny.
I am about 2 inches over 5 feet, and I am skinny as hell.
I have no muscles to speak of, except in my legs, and those muscles are really only good for doing ballet. Even though I dance, I am nowhere near coordinated enough to use the little muscle I have in a fight to the death.
Not to mention the fact that the raptors each had a good 600 pounds on me.
Is this a problem for my dream self?

Heck no!

I immediately destroy one of the raptors and toss its dead body into the pool.
Not only did I fight a raptor, I killed it with my bare hands and THEN lifted its massive body (also bare handed) and threw it in the pool.
Apparently my dream self likes to channel the Hulk.

The other two raptors are all "Woah, crazy lady, calm down, we don't want to hurt you guys. We're just really hungry."
It is then that I come up with a brilliant idea.
"Hey, why don't you guys go upstairs and wreck havok up there. Eat all the people you want. I tried to warn them and they wouldn't listen, so they deserve it. Just don't come down to the lower decks. Deal?"

The remaining raptors agree, and go upstairs, where they do indeed wreck havok and cause chaos and (hopefully) eat Kanye West.

And then I woke up.

So you see, sometimes I wish I had normal dreams.
But sleeping wouldn't be NEARLY as fun without raptors, bomb-priests, or the suspension of basic laws of physics.

Why I Should Never Read When I'm Tired (also known as Return of the Nazis)

I don't know if any of you have picked up on this, but my brain works rather retardedly.
It tends to overthink EVERYTHING whenever it possibly can, which causes me to have a highly overactive imagination. And while this imagination makes for some AWESOME dreams, and some really cool ideas for stories I could write, it also causes many problems for me.

The most common problem occurs when I read immediately before bed, or at any time when I'm really tired. And its only a really bad problem when I read scary books, such as almost anything by Stephen King.
What happens is I'll read and read and read, getting so caught up in the story that I stop hearing things and feeling things and paying attention to the clock, so then suddenly I'll snap out of my trance 2 hours later having to pee like a motherfucker, in some strange, horribly uncomfortable position that I wasn't in before. Because I get so intensely involved in the story, I sometimes forget that the story isn't real.
That only really happens when I'm super tired and on the edge of delirium, so please don't call in the authorities to haul me off in a white coat because I think fictional stories are real. I know they're not real. But when I'm tired, the logical side of my brain falls asleep first, so even though I KNOW certain things aren't real and can't happen, I can't seem to fully convince myself of this.
Once those lines of reality get blurred, I usually have a hard time falling asleep, because I'll convince myself that the terrifying thing in the book is actually real and is somehow in my room, waiting for me to fall asleep so it can cart me off into one of the various alternate dimensions that exist in Stephen King's books.

Note: this phenomenon isn't confined to books. If I see a movie that has any sort of scary thing in it, even if it isn't really a scary movie, I tend to fixate on that thing and am able to vivedly picture it in my room.

My brain takes shadows and the dark shapes of things in my room and transforms them into terrible, horrible monsters.
And because the rational side of my brain already pooped out, I'm left alone with these vague hallucinations, unable to convince myself that it's all in my head and thus unable to fall asleep, despite how devastatingly tired I am.

What does this have to do with Nazis?
Wait and see.
I just wanted to explain exactly how my brain works whenever I'm really tired and reading a book/thinking about a movie I saw earlier, so you will understand exactly how the following events could take place, even though I'm technically sane.

During my Freshman year of high school, we were asked to read the book Night by Elie Wiesel, which is based on Wiesel's experiences being a Jewish boy living in Germany during World War 2.
I have a really large problem with being forced to read books for school, because I enjoy reading at my own pace, and usually that's faster than everyone else, because I skim through books instead of focusing on every word (at least when its a book I'm enjoying I skim through it...if I don't like it, it takes me FOREVER to read a book). I always pick up on the main points that I'm supposed to pay attention to, or at least most of the time I do, I just read a lot faster than most of the other people in the class. So instead of reading everything when it's first assigned, I tend to put it off, convincing myself that since I read so fast, whatever amount of pages I read will take no time at all to read.
This is not always the case.
In fact, with required reading, it is more often NOT the case. But I also procrastinate like you would not believe, so I put stuff off even when I know it will take me longer to read than I think it will.

It was a weeknight. I had school the next day, and I had a quiz in English second period, meaning I had no time to read during the day, such as during lunch or anything.
The quiz wasn't on a huge amount of pages, but it was enough where I would be up late doing it.
Not only did I have a quiz, I had an assignment due 1st period for my Global Connections class, which also happened to be reading. I had to read the better part of a chapter and fill out a worksheet on it.
This chapter also happened to be about World War 2, with an emphasis on the treatment of Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, etc.
I was enrolled in an interdisceplinary class, which combined English and Global Connections, so as I was reading certain books from certain time periods, I would also be learning about that time period in Global Connections.

At this time I also had a habit of being a rebel and wanting to do my homework at retarded hours of the night, hours when I should be sleeping.
I had to technically be in bed by 11 at the latest, or else my parents would be disapproving and not be happy with me and lecture me on how I should have had my homework done hours ago.
So I would "go to bed" around 10:30, get in bed, turn my lights off, and pretend to sleep until my Mom came in to kiss me goodnight before going to bed herself. I'm pretty sure she always went to bed after my Dad did, cause I knew that her coming and kissing me was my clue that they were going to bed. Meaning it was safe for me to get out of bed, turn my lights on, and finish my homework.

Now, I had had other homework to do that night too, and I left my English/Global Connections homework until last, because it was the easiest and I figured I could get it done the fastest.
It was about 1 AM at this point, and I was pretty damn tired. But I knew I had to get my homework done, so I got to work.
First I read the pages I had to read of Night. I skimmed quickly through it, not paying too much attention, because as long as I had a pretty good idea of what had happened in the reading I could make pretty good guesses on the quizzes, and I generally did pretty damn well.

It was at this point that I should have stopped. I really should have.
But I didn't, because I really liked my global connections teacher, and I really didn't want her to be disappointed with me because I hadn't finished my homework. So despite my body's numerous protests, I kept on trucking.

Somewhere in the middle of reading about the concentration camps, I passed the fuck out. But because I was in a terribly uncomfortable position, and because I knew I still had shit to do, I woke up a few minutes later horribly disoriented.
When I say disoriented, I don't mean that I was just mildly confused as to what I was doing on the floor with a book open in front of me.
I mean that I had no idea where the hell I was, what time it was, or who I was.

My brain instantly picked the worst situation it could possible come up with, and because my rationality had long been on vacation, I believed it almost instantly.

Clearly I was jewish and hiding from the nazis, and I had woken up because they were about to search the place where I was hiding. That was the only logical explanation for everything.

I quickly got up, turned off all my lights and began peering out through my blinds, watching for Nazis.
I saw an airplane pass over my house, and instead of realizing that since I live somewhat near O'Hare airport, airplanes should be common, I immediately assumed that it was a German airplane, and that the pilots could somehow see into my window and would thus tell their counterparts on the ground that I was in the house and then the Nazis would come and take me away.
I bolted away from the window and looked wildly around my room, trying to decide if I should hide under the bed or in my closet.
I think it was at this point that I grabbed my cell phone to turn the ringer off, and subsequently realized that I am fucking retarded.

I had believed that Nazis were coming to take me for a good 15 to 20 minutes.

Moral of the story: Don't read about World War 2 when you're extremely tired. You will wake up Jewish and on the run.

Tadpole Genocide: A Tale of my Brutal Past

This post is dedicated to Bree, who has commented twice on my posts and is therefore a big fucking deal, and since she wanted to hear about tadpole genocide, you ALL get to hear about tadpole genocide!
Hurray!

Also, I realized I skipped out on Mythology Monday because I posted my ridiculous cops story instead, so I'll either write a mythology post on Friday, or maybe just wait until Monday.
Whoops.

ALRIGHT. SO.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, my best friend at the time, Maddie, got me this tadpole habitat for my birthday. It was this little plastic contraption about a foot long and half a foot wide, with plastic hills and plastic shrubberies and a little plastic pond that you were supposed to fill with water and mud and things.
All in all, it was awesome.
What you had to do was call this number or send these people a letter, and they would send you a few tadpoles in the mail, along with detailed instructions on how to raise them, how to feed them and everything, and then eventually these tadpoles would grow into frogs, which you then had to take care of and buy live crickets for them to eat and everything.
Admittedly, I was a little pissed that I had to go out of my way to get tadpoles. I wanted them right there and then, because waiting was not something I was good at (it still isn't, actually).
Because I was too lazy to call this number or send the company who made the thing a letter, I never got tadpoles from them. The cool plastic habitat was shoved in the back of a closet and forgotten about in favor of stupid things like furbies and other such monstrosities.

About a year later, Maddie and I were down at the park, playing in the nasty, mucky swamp water creek-thing that runs through the park behind my house.
Hurray for Diagrams.

Anyway, we're playing in the creek, and we see all these little black goops wriggling around.
I say goops because they were too big to be called dots and too little to be called fish, and they kind of looked like the fish shadows in animal crossing.
Also I just really wanted to say goops several times in a post. Seriously, say it out loud right now. Best. Word. EVER.

Those little black goops were, of course, tadpoles. Not frog tadpoles, at least I don't think they were. I assume they're toad tadpoles, because we have toads coming out of our asses around here. They're actually pretty cute, to be honest. We have one that lives on our front porch who is called either Fred or Jeff, depending on who you ask.

Me and Maddie got all excited, in that way that only 8 or 9 year olds really can. We found a waterbottle that someone had thrown into the creek, as well as some plastic cup or jar or something of that sort, and got to work catching as many of those tadpoles as we could.
After about 20 minutes, we each had at least 50 tadpoles in our containers, and we were feeling really damn proud of ourselves for being such expert fisherman.
It was then that we realized the fatal flaw in our plan.

"So...where do we put them?" Maddie asked.

We certainly couldn't put them back, because then they wouldn't be our tadpoles anymore, they'd be the park's tadpoles, and that was clearly unacceptable.
I briefly toyed with the idea of putting all of them in my pool, but quickly decided there wasn't enough food in there for them, and they would get scared because it was so big.
We were almost about to put them back in before I realized that I still had that crappy plastic habitat still sitting unopened in the back of a closet.

We raced back up the hill to my house, being careful not to spill the tadpoles. We left them outside and got out the habitat (Maddie didn't really care that I hadn't used it yet, which is good, because looking back on it I probably shouldn't have told her that it had been sitting in my closet, unopened, for the past year) and dumped them in.
Then, because there wasn't enough water, I went over to my pool and got a cupful of water and dumped it in with the tadpoles.

I secured the lid, making sure the plastic habitat was shut up good and tight so the tadpoles couldn't get out in case they spontaneously turned into toads overnight.
I then left the habitat in the direct sunlight so the tadpoles would be nice and warm and feel at home.

Maddie and I then went inside, washed our hands, had lunch, and went about our day, playing in my pool and playing My Little Ponies and whatnot.
The tadpoles were soon forgotten.

The next afternoon, my Dad was going to mow the lawn. He saw something sitting in the middle of the yard and went to go pick it up.
Oh, by the way, my parents didn't know anything about the tadpoles. Something told my that my mother wouldn't be too thrilled about my toad farm, especially because there would have been at least a hundred toads popping out of that thing before too long.

Suddenly my parents call for me, furious.

"What is this?!" they ask, pointing at the plastic box.
"Oh, me and Maddie caught tadpoles yesterday down at the park! They're gonna grow up to be toads!"
"Honey...you filled the box with highly chlorinated pool water, and then left it in the sun without poking any airholes in the lid. All of the tadpoles are dead."

I had essentially fried them alive while they suffocated and died in the chlorine water.

Not only had I massacred all of them...dead tadpoles smell like absolute shit. And that smell was wafting EVERYWHERE. You could smell it from inside the house once we took the lid off.

So then my Dad and I carried the box down to the creek and gave the tadpoles a funeral by dumping them into the creek.
I think the chlorine had dissapated enough so it wouldn't hurt any more tadpoles...or at least I hope so. I really hope I didn't kill even more of them. I don't know that much about how chlorine works.
Then I had to go home and hose out that habitat before recycling it, because there was no way to really salvage it. It smelled like death and horror in there.

For the record, I haven't killed any animals since then.
Though my hamster did almost suffocate to death once because I let her play with this desk toy I had and she got stuck in it and her tongue turned blue.
She was fine though.

Long story short, if toads had history books, I would be in them as a terrible baby-killer. I am to tadpoles what Godzilla is to Asian people.

No offense, Asia.

For The Record, I Have Nothing Against Police Officers...(also for the record, I don't like doing ranting posts, but this one is rather necessary)

I just want to make a disclaimer before anyone reads this post.
I think Police Officers are generally wonderful, brave people who have a lot of crap to deal with on their job, and many of them deal with said crap with unbelievable grace and dignity.
I respect them and think they're doing the best they can.

And then there are those cops that you wish you could yell at because they are abusing their power so much, but you can't because they're cops, and they'll always win.
This is not all cops. Not even most cops. This is an elite few.
Please don't think of me as a cop-hater. Because I'm not.

Alright.
Now, about Saturday morning.

So, Me, Ben, and our friend Joe all went to Warped Tour in Illinois on Saturday.
We left at around 8 in the morning because we wanted to be there early so we could get in early.
The only real flaw in our plan was the fact that the venue, for some godforsaken reason decided that it was necessary to keep the gates to the parking lot closed until 10 AM, thus causing a horrendous traffic fiasco.
Not traffic jam. Traffic fiasco.
A traffic jam implies that it's slow, maybe even stopped traffic on some road somewhere, and it seems like it takes forever because its rush hour and everyone wants to get home and drink beer...or whatever else angry workers drink when they get home.
A traffic fiasco is when nothing makes any sense, people are driving on the wrong side of the road, no one knows where exactly the entrance to the parking lot is because there's like 3 of them and one of them is for staff only, except they don't tell you what one is for staff only, so you just kind of guess, and then you guess wrong and have to turn around and pull out into the cluster-fuck that has become the road, thus causing MORE issues for the massive line of 500+ cars that has lined up and has no where to go.

Traffic fiascos are no fun.

ANYWAY, we get to the venue, the gates are closed, so we pull off to the side of the road where everyone else is waiting.
Half an hour later, some guy walks up and says "Hey, you guys need to move, cause this line of cars is blocking this road, and the village is going to get upset, so we just really need you guys to move, alright?"
Totally polite, explained the situation clearly and calmly, and then he moved on to the next car.

So we left.

At this point, we either had to:
A) Drive around and waste gas for an hour, which we didn't have the money to do.
B) Find somewhere else to park.

So, We drove down street Number One (where we had been parked originally) and turned onto Street Number Two, where we parked somewhere in the circled region.

The road was not busy. There were no No parking signs visible to us. We were a very respectable distance from the stop sign.
We also had our hazards on, just in case.

This is where the trouble began.

Two cops pull into the intersection of streets one and two and stop, presumably to get ready to direct traffic into the entrance that was right at that intersection.
Cop number 1 gets out, and starts waving us forward, telling us to move.

So we immediately put the car in drive and pull up. We stop by the cops and Ben leans out his window and says, very politely, "Excuse me, Sir, why are we not allowed to park there?"
"There's no parking there." Cop #1 says, in a way that already shows he's expecting a fight.
"Sir, we didn't see any no parking signs over there."
"Oh, well, you were obstructing traffic, just...just move. You gotta move. You can't park there."

So, even though that is bullshit, we drive off.
You see, my friends, there was no real traffic to obstruct, only the occasional car or two.
Also, Cop #1 said that all in a very rude manner, like in his head he was thinking "fucking teenagers and their fucking concerts. assholes." even though we weren't assholes to him.

So we drive around looking for another place to park and wait. Nothing.
We drive back by where the cops are and ask (again, very politely) "Excuse me, Sir, do you know of a place we can park?"
"No, I don't care, Drive around, Do whatever, just get out of here."
Again, very rude, for no reason what-so-ever.

So, as we were driving off we kind of...sort of...flipped them the bird.
Admittedly, that was probably a bad decision.
But it in no way warranted the ridiculousness that was about to occur.

Finally, the gates open, and we get in line to enter.
We get to the entrance after waiting FOREVER.
Cop #1 walks up, laughs and says "Oh ho ho, I've been waiting for YOU. Pull over."

So we did. Even though he had really no reason to try and pull us over. Giving someone the finger isn't against the law, last time I checked.
Also, this cop should have been busy directing traffic, NOT harassing teenagers, but who am I to say what his job was?

So Cop #1 walks up to the window and says "So you like flipping off cops, do you?" and then asks for Ben's license, takes it, and says "Alright, I'm gonna go see what violations I can find to give you a ticket for."
He was literally just looking for things to give us a ticket for. Even though there was nothing.
It was at this point I started to get pissed off.

SIDE NOTE:
I am terrified of authority.
I've never done anything wrong in my life. I've never gotten a detention, and the last warning I got was in 5th grade for blowing straw wrappers at my friends. The one and only time I was called down to the Dean's Office in my high school was to claim my lost flash drive that I had left in the library.
I'm a good kid. I do whatever possible to stay out of trouble, because at the first sign of anyone in authority, I freak the fuck out.
Also, I was PMSing that day. And while that is probably too much information, it is important to the story because when I am PMSing, I am overly emotional over anything ever.

So Cop #1 leaves with Ben's license.
His partner, Cop #2, also decides that it is really, really important to neglect his traffic duties to go harass teenagers, and comes over to the passenger side of the car, my side.
"Do you two have your ID's on you? I need to see them." Cop #2 says to Joe and I.
I, being furious already, say "Why?"
"Because I'm a cop and I can ask you who you are." He says, raising his voice to me.

So we give him the licenses. He then asks Ben, "So, what happened?"
"Well, We were..."
"What happened??"
"....I'm trying to tell you."
The cop blatantly interrupted Ben in the middle of Ben trying to answer his question.

Now, while this happened, I began smirking, because when I am on the verge of tears I do whatever I can to not cry, because crying in public is bad, because I look like 4 train wrecks and a house fire when I cry, and I didn't want to look like that at warped tour.
So when I'm about to cry, I get really, really sarcastic. Which was bad.
I started "smirking", according to Cop #2, which he promptly yelled at me for.

"What is so funny!" He said, once again raising his voice to me, because clearly I am the one who is going to give him the most problems because I'm the most threatening, being about 5'2" and weighing less than 100 lbs. I'm often mistaken for a 12 year old.
In a car of 2 guys and 1 girl, WHY WOULD YOU START HARASSING THE GIRL. ESPECIALLY SINCE SHE'S TINY AND HAS NEVER HAD ANY RUN INS WITH THE POLICE BEFORE, WHICH HE SHOULD HAVE SEEN ON MY RECORD WHEN HE SEARCHED IT.

Because I grew up believing that when someone is being rude and unimaginably unfair to you you are supposed to protest and say something about it, because that is your right as a human being, instead of looking down and saying "nothing, sir," I instead replied like this:
"Well, sir, I honestly find this a little ridiculous."
"Oh yeah?? Why!"
"Because just because we're teenagers doesn't mean you need to treat us like crap!"

Well...I said something like that.
Or at least that's what I meant.
When I'm angry/about to cry I don't make very much sense.

So then he goes off on this big tangent about how he "has to deal with us goddamned teenagers all goddamned day" and so on and so forth.
then, my favorite part:
"You just don't flip of a cop, okay?"
"Why? It's just a finger." said Ben.
"Well, its disrespectful and...yeah, its disrespectful...i mean...How would you feel if I flipped off your mother?"
"Honestly, sir, she'd probably flip you off right back." (Best line ever. Said by Ben. Because he has balls)
"Well, no, how would you feel? See, it's just disrespectful and rude, and...I DON'T GET WHAT'S SO FUNNY."

That last part was directed at me again.
And then, as tears started finally leaking out of my face, I yell back "I'M NOT LAUGHING, I'M TRYING NOT TO CRY."

AND THEN.
HE CONTINUES TO HARASS ME.
ME!! NOW, NOT ONLY DO I LOOK LIKE I'M 12, BUT I'M A CRYING GIRL WHO LOOKS LIKE SHE'S 12. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU CONTINUE YELLING AT SOMEONE AT THAT POINT?!

He is all "Why are you still laughing!"
and Ben finally said "She's not, sir, She's fine."
You'd think he'd leave me alone at that point, but no.
As Cop #2 is walking away, he's all "I don't know what's still so freaking funny, you're gonna get him in more trouble!" Pointing at Ben. Making me feel like I did something wrong, when I didn't do one single thing wrong, other than try and stand up to a bully.
But apparently standing up to a bully only works in 5th grade...it also only works if the bully doesn't have a badge.

So then Cop #1 finally comes back over, gives our IDs back, and is all "There are some interesting notes on your record..." To Ben.
Ben asks "...What does that even mean?"
"There are just some interesting notes on file. Don't flip of cops."

and then they let us go.
No ticket, no warning, no NOTHING.
They gave us all that shit for no reason.

because we flipped. them. off.

Now I want to reiterate, I have nothing against Police Officers. I think they are doing the best they can even though they get a lot of shit from a lot of people.

What I have a problem with is assholes who go on power trips and like to be jerks for no real reason other than because they get their rocks off by asserting their dominance over people just to prove they can.

Cop #2, I hope you felt really good about yourself for making me cry. Because you know, you could have stopped yelling at me at any point, but you didn't, because we were disrespectful.

I think its disrespectful to make tiny girls cry, but I guess that's just me.

Also, Cops # 1 and 2, PLEASE go flip off Ben's mom.
I promise, she will kick both of your asses at once. with one hand. blindfolded.

And that, my friends, is the story of how some people are jerks for no reason.

I promise, Wednesday I will post something a lot less pissy and more childish and humorous.
I can't decide if I want to talk about my first trip to disney world (which would involve me posting a hilarious picture of me on Test Trek), or about the time I massacred a hundred tadpoles and burned them alive.

You'll find out on Wednesday!

oooo the suspense. haha.