My New Years Eve was kind of weird. And also, not kind of weird. Which is interesting, considering the fact that, at one point, I had to call 911, and I think I'm a regular, because I totally knew the dispatcher's voice. Does that make me a good samaritan, or one of those weird people who listens to the police scanner and thinks they're a detective? Because I do listen to the police scanner, and I'm always amazed by my deductive skillz. It's a good thing theGuy is a bigger geek than I am, because otherwise I could've become a strange spinster, drinking wine alone, with closed circuit cameras on my front porch and back and the delusions that I can smell Crystal Meth emanating from the apartment beside mine. Oh, wait, that's my neighbour that I'm talking about. Hi, J.
So, New Years Eve started out okay. I looked fine in a cute little black dress (of course, I have no photos, which means that the fact that I looked exactly like Christina Hendricks except way hotter and more modestly boobular can't be proven, but you can take my word for it). My hair was all did, and my hip wasn't being a total asshole. And you should've seen my shoes.
|I totally looked like this.|
Upon our arrival home, theGuy bolted from the car, out to our front yard (we park at the back). It sounded to him, like someone was trying to break into our house. I followed to see what all the excitement was about, and saw that there was a person very aggressively trying to get into one of my neighbours' houses. He was really relentless, banging on the door like it was on fire. Which is wasn't. TheGuy did his manly thing and told me to go inside the house, which I ignored, because, I'm obviously invincible on New Years Eve, but then I heard a HUGE crash, the shattering of glass, and my neighbour's girlfriend screaming hysterically, so I hurried inside, quick like a bunny, and called 911.
"I have to apologize, as I'm not sure that this is an emergency, and I've been drinking, but there's a disturbance happening a couple doors down, and, can you please hold on, because I have to put sheets on the guestroom bed."
(Boochie was sleeping over)
I had quite a nice chat with the dispatcher, who assured me that I'd done the right thing by calling, and that it was okay that I'd had a couple drinks, and yes, I was making sense. So, see, I'm a good samaritan.
Three cruisers showed up, a Forensic van, and an ambulance. Oh, woah.
I called my neighbour and asked if everything was okay, and he told me what'd happened.
Some crazy pants dude showed up with a mutual friend, wanting to party at neighbour's house, and neighbour was all like "no, I'm sleeping, dude," and shut the door. Crazy pants dude started beating on the door, so neighbour's girlfriend decided to lock it. That's when crazy pants dude put his arms THROUGH the glass window in the door, cutting neighbour's girlfriend's face (it bled worse than it was - you know, head wounds - those suckers are bleeders), slicing the crap out of his arm, and smashing glass everywhere. And then he ran away. Big tough guys are funny runners.
And this is when I called 911.
TheGuy left and headed back to the party he had left, and in doing so, saw the crazy pants man (read: bad guy) standing a couple blocks away with a belt around his arm, bleeding out like a crazy pants man. Someone was there helping him, but he ended up passing out in the snow - he had major blood loss - he was drenched. So, in essence, I totally saved his life because I called 911 and they found him a few moments later. So, totally a good samariten! The end result is that crazy pants dude is being charged, and he also had to get around 30 stitches and has to have surgery for the nerve damage he did to himself. Image how dumb you would feel for the rest of time when, every time a doctor asks what happened, you'd have to say "I'm totally stupid?" And even if you lied, it would be a reminder of how stupid you are, and really, meat heads need to play more sports so they can get that aggression out already!
So, anyway, after caching up with my fave 911 dispatcher, my new bestie, I was pretty riled up. Boochie was sleeping like the beauty she is, and no matter how eagerly and emphatically I promoted an all-night party, she wasn't having it.
So I called my brother, and made spaghetti while we chatted. And let me tell you, if a 4am spaghetti making conversation on the phone could be a party, it would be the party of the year. Also, that was fantastic frigging spaghetti.
Then I posted this on facebook:
"How did I bring in the new year? Fancy times with my husband and friends, then great time with the crew, then I called 911, and then I made spaghetti for myself with my bro keeping me company on the phone at 4am. Sounds like 2013 is going to be exciting, and tasty."
I could maybe have left out the 911 part because my phone started dinging at 8am as all the wonderful people in my life texted me, freaked out that something bad had happened. People, if something bad had happened, do you think I would've make spaghetti?
Okay, maybe I would've, but that's beside the point. 8am on New Years Day? ILLEGAL. I'm totally calling 911.
Happy New Year!