Level of Crazy

Aright so i feel like i have to talk about thus issue because lately it has been coming up a lot.  So i believe( and this is only me but it is ok if others agree too) that all girls are crazy, just different levels of crazy.  Let me explain because the levels need to be explained.  First off the main point is that every girl is crazy and the level of crazy depends on how well the female can hide her own crazy.  Say you meet a girl at a party or bar or whatever, she is drinkin like a champ and being loud and yelling across the room (see crazy white girl syndrome post) sadly she is probably the least crazy girl at the party. Ya she is loud and a little annoying but at least she wont stab you in your sleep, yes it can happen to you.  Now as i said earlier she more the chick hides her crazy the more she has. Now you would think the more crazy a girl has the more it would be bursting out of her eye balls and bra.  Now this is not to say that every single girl that is "normal" is a phyco killer crazy because i am sure there will be some women activist out there just looking for something to complain about and prove me wrong, to you i say go right ahead one less crazy person to encounter.  So guys beware make sure you are able to find out your own woman's crazy before you try to make things legit

Ghost Rider

Alright so this isn't a drunk story or have any relation with partying but i feel it is funny enough to share with whoever reads this.

At the time it seemed like a fun idea. Since us both pulled it off a few weeks before we didn’t think twice about anything going wrong.  It was a weekend where Thomas’ parents were out of town so we felt the freedom of “living on our own”, even though it wasn’t really on our own since my parents and I lived two houses down.  With this feeling of freedom we were invincible and could do anything we wanted, and that point in time we wanted to “ghost ride”.  How one goes about ghost riding is very simple, the task is performed by stepping out of a slowly moving car (emphasis on slowly) and while the car is still in motion all passengers of the car get out of the car and dance around the moving vehicle as if a ghost was driving the car since there were no passengers inside of it.     

            As mentioned before Thomas and I had performed a ghost ride a week or two before and it was very entertaining.  I slowed the car down to a slow roll and looked over to my friend who had a grin on his face knowing that we were about to embark on a very idiotic and irresponsible performance.  The car only rolled about ten or twenty feet before I jumped back in the car fearful on one of our neighbors catching and telling our parents.  Doors quickly shut and locked right after, as I glanced back at my partner in crime with a look of success I knew that a ghost ride was too much fun to only do once.  I pulled into my parents’ driveway and never talked about the event again scared that my parents would over hear us celebrating our victory.

            The second ghost ride attempt didn’t go as expected.  In this occasion Thomas and I were driving our separate cars down the street from his parentless house down to mine to check in with my parent before leaving for the night.  As stated before the feeling of freedom and confidence was very present.  My blue Honda civic was in front of his silver Honda accord as we both drove down our neighborhood street, and as I looked in my rearview mirror I was able to make out the same grin on his face that I once saw before our ghost ride a few weeks earlier and knew that it was time for attempt two.  His door swung open and I took the cue to open mine as well.  Now not similar to the first attempt the same precautions were not taken.  A turn of the head did not check for spectators of any sort nor the speed of the car reduced, which turns out to be a very important part of ghost riding.  As I go to take my first step out of the car I realized my mistake in not check the speedometer to see if I was moving at the appropriate speed.  Thomas had made the same mistake but he was able to touch one foot the road a realize that he was moving too fast the ghost ride so he pulled his foot back in the car and closed his door, I wasn’t as fortunate.  He looked up to find me face first in the asphalt while my car is rolling away down a street that turns left and a house and the point where the street turns.  What I had done was step out of the car with both feet and suddenly is thrown down to the road, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.  In mid fall my right hand was able to grab the inside door handle in a last second effort to save myself from falling completely out of the car.  Well it turns out a car is much more powerful than a 16 year old boy.  So there I am being dragged down the street by my own car that I had just jumped out of.  All while this is occurring one of my neighbors witness this entire incident while watering his flowers with his green garden hose, I am officially declared a trouble maker idiot in his mind. 

            I let go of the door realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to pull myself up with one arm while being dragged.  As I let go the door shuts and the car continues to roll down the street toward the house at the corner, which has a downhill driveway that if my cars hits will surely be the end of their garage door and peaceful Saturday afternoon.  Instinctively I stand up and begin to run towards the runaway car.  The process of running my shoes fall of like leaves blow of a speeding car in the commercials.  Now barefoot I begin to catch up to my car at which point I throw open the door with one hand and take a leap of faith with one foot forward towards the brake pedal.  The car comes to a sudden halt and the next thing I know I am in the front seat again with the car a few feet away from the downhill driveway and certain disaster.  With adrenaline still pumping through my veins I put in car in park and pull the emergency brake so that that car can’t possibly move again.  While trying to comprehend what all just had happen Thomas pulls up next to me with a look of extreme surprise painted on his face.  I reassure him that I am alright as he hands me my shoes.  He convinces me to check my body just in case I missed something and just to please him.  I find nothing on my arms, legs, or face, but as I pull up my shirt we both notice a small crater size gash in my hip.  The bone was very visible with an outline of blood and blackens skin from the asphalt. I look up to him laughing wondering how this wound was not causing me pain at that time.  And out of the corner of my eye I spot my father at the end of his driveway taking out the trash.  My heart stops yet again, he look up an over at us with our cars in the middle of the street, smiles and waves and walks back into the house.  Turley a bullet dodged more than once in the a few minutes. 

            I have yet to attempt another ghost ride and I don’t think I will ever again.