Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Toughest Chick Ever!

This story is about my friend, Jill.  Some guy is still stalking her and he's getting more ballsy with each passing day.

Before writing this, I did a search.  I typed "tough chick pictures" and it's funny what three picures showed up.  The first picture is of Sarah Connor.  No one can deny that she's one tough chick; she showed up for a reason.  I have to admit, I'd rather face Schwarzenegger himself, than fight this broad.  She looks vicious, and actually is. If not for the cigarette in her hand, the gun makes her look pretty feisty too!  Almost makes me want to change my name to S. C.--short for Sarah Connor!  Too bad I don't smoke and don't own a gun like that anyway.

The second picture makes me giggle.  This is of Trinity (from the Matrix) facing Angelina Jolie.  Now, it's not some character Angelia played, it's depicting the actress herself.  Does anyone--in their right mind--actually think Angie could take Trinity?

Let's take one more look at this.

Do you think this woman . . .

Could face Trinity, a gal who can jump buildings and slow bullets?  A woman who's heart starts beating by the mere pump of a hand?

Angelina's an awesome actress, but she could never master the whims of the Matrix!  Sorry Angie, that's a battle I never want to see unless it's on the runway.

But of the three pictures that showed up, this makes me laugh the most:

Does this girl even look worthy?  Unless she's a witch, or concealing some type of voodoo mind power, I'm not feeling very scared.  What I'm feeling is regret.  Of all the cool people that could have appeared as third, why this girl?  Maybe tattoos buy you a ticket on the tough train where you ride to Sarah-Connorville.  I'm not sure.  Maybe I shouldn't judge this girl by her appearance, but the sad fact remains that I could probably take her.  I'm not the toughest thing ever, but give me a violin bow and this tat-queen is going down--like when the Devil went down to Georgia--redneck style!

So, with all that out of the way, I have to tell you about Jill

We went to the store, but some of the kids fell asleep--shocker!  Jill offered to stay with the ones who slept and I went in with the ones who enjoy wreaking havoc.  We had a great time except that the little ones kept pulling things into the cart.  I didn't even notice half of the items, until I got to the check-out stand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I blushed.  Why do children have to grab toys AND embarrassing things?  I'd gone to a male cashier--that was the first wrong move.  "I didn't mean to get this hemorrhoid cream . . . or this car . . . or this thong . . . thing."  I forced out a giggle, but he wasn't buying it.  "Fine!" I snatched the hemorroid cream.  "I'll buy this.  I've heard actresses use it under their eyes."  I thought he'd be proud that I bought something the kids had grabbed, but instead he just looked through me.  His baggy lids drooped and a gnarled sigh left his throat.

"Will that be all?" he moaned.

"Yes!"  So I paid and after walking past the sliding doors, I noticed something strange.  A black two-door Honda rested next to my van.  A man sat in it.  He stared at Jill, never pulling his eyes from her.  The guy looked like a nerd, the creepiest nerd I've ever seen.  He didn't appear like the cute movie nerds you want heroines to date, no he was a I-want-to-suck-your-innards type of nerd!  His lanky body seemed too tall for the car.  His eyes flickered over Jill, who's posture crinkled with worried.  I glared at that guy.  He probably still lives with his mother AND has smurf action figurines--the ultimate oddity!

I lurked closer, trying to be quiet, but the army of children around me vibrated with happy squeals.  That guy saw me and the instant he did, he glanced at Jill again and sped off.

I sprinted to the car.  "Did you see that?" I asked.  "It was the black car--the one your neighbors keep seeing!"

Jill shook as I loaded the kids into the van.  "He parked just a few minutes after you went into the store," she said.  "Like he knew I was alone with the kids.  Like he'd followed me and was watching us.  But I didn't have the keys, or my phone.  I was too scared to get out."  She drew in a shaky breath.  "He never got out of his car.  He just sat there, staring at me for a long time."

"It's okay.  I swear everything will be okay.  I got his plate number."

She turned, her eyes widening with surprise.  "You did?"

"Yeah.  Did you get a good look at him?"

"Not really.  I glanced over," she huffed, "but he kept staring, like he didn't care that I'd seen him.  I don't think he ever looked away."  She fumbled with a hole in the knee of her pants.  "Anyway, I didn't get a great look, but he reminds me of a guy I saw staring through my window late one night.  I was reading a book and when I looked at the glass by my door, a guy stood staring at me!  I called the cops.  They found big footprints in the snow, but no guy.  That was five years ago. . ."  She choked on a sob.  "There's no way it's the same guy."

"It very well could be," I said.  "I know you don't want to hear it, but you need to be prepared.  The guy in that car was tall.  He'd have big footprints too."

"But every time this happens, it gets worse and worse.  Someone's tried breaking into my house four times, Elisa.  Four times and now this!"

"So, you don't know the guy?"

"No, but . . . that makes me feel better.  I think I'd be more scared if I knew him . . . if he was an ex-boyfriend or someone I made mad . . .  I'd never forgive myself.  I feel like I'm putting my entire family in danger.  Even my friends."

"Well, he should be the one who's worried.  We know what kind of car he drives.  We know his plate number.  We even know what he looks like!"

Jill blinked and swallowed.  "Can I borrow your phone?"  I nodded as she grabbed my phone and dialed a number.  "Hey . . .  Can you do me a favor?" she asked.

I heard the woman talking on the other end.

"Do you remember that black car you saw last week?" Jill asked, then waited for a reply.  "It was a two door Honda?"  Jill gasped.  "Can you ask around and see if that's what the other neighbors saw to?"  She tapped her fingers on her holey pant leg.  "Thanks . . . no . . . no.  I don't need anything . . .  Yeah, he's supposed to be coming home soon . . . Thanks . . . bye."  She hung up the phone.  "She saw a car just like the one that parked by us."

Throughout the day, we found out that all the neighbors had different descriptions of the car.  Some said it was a two-door, some said it was a four-door.   Some said Honda, while others claimed completely different brands.  The only thing in common was that the neighbors had seen a black car near Jill's house.  As we drove home, we counted over sixty black cars.  At that point, we decided, "black" is not a very helpful color.

So, I guess the next step is for Jill to bring this plate number to the police station.  We're going to take some shooting classes.  There's a gun place near our town, and once a week they offer free shooting classes for women.  We've talked about it before, but after the other day, we want to start right away.  It makes me wonder though, why is this guy following her?  Was she nice to someone in a store?  Is a skeleton lounging in a closet she never knew she had?

I don't know why people do the things they do, but I can't wait for Jill to take these shooting classes.  If that guy breaks into her house, he'll have another thing coming.  Maybe Jill should get a knew name; she's always looked like a Sarah to me anyway.

On a side note, who do you think is the toughest chick ever?