It's Elementary, Suckers.

        If you happen to love whiskey as much as I do, you will understand that there are two sides to this drink.  There's the awesome side, which is basically super cool and smooth; and then there's the shitty side, which often involves nearly killing one's friends with an incredibly poorly aimed dart, plus or minus *ahem* puking in said friends' toilet.

It always seems like a good idea at first...

        Living in the SoDo/ Pioneer Square area in Seattle is much like whiskey.  It's pretty freakin' rad to walk to sporting events during which people pay upwards of $25-50 to park.  However, it's a pretty big suckfest when crazy homeless people start running at you and/or smiling at you like, "I want to scalp you so I can make a wig for my dog."   (Truly, the other day I  looked over my shoulder for a boom mic to be sure I hadn't unwittingly been cast in a creepy horror movie or an equally creepy episode of CSI Seattle.)  

All that's missing here is a chalk outline, and a dude in sunglasses to say, "Looks like she was at the end of the line."
*cue them song- "Waaaaaaooooooooooh!" 

        I even saved my mom's life a couple weeks ago.

        First, you guys need to understand, I'm like Sherlock Holmes.  I notice details that no one else sees, and  I am five moves ahead of the bad guys.  Totally.

Jenny, this is for you.

        Although, I have to admit, I don't think a person would necessarily need to be five moves ahead of the bad guys to spot a cracked out homeless person running down First Avenue, Phoebe style.

Yeah this guy looked a lot crazier than Lisa Kudrow... eeeeyeah.

        And spot him, I did.  This man windmilled his arms around while running toward my mom and I. We were just trying to load a lifetime supply of crap my parents had brought for the weekend into their Honda Odyssey.  "F@#$," I thought, "We're sitting ducks."  Mind you, it was 11am, so it wasn't like we were fools wandering the hood in the dark, looking for trouble.  It's just that we were the only fools on the street in that moment.  My mom was totally oblivious to this psycho running at us, but I got ready.  I got low.  I was prepared to deny having any change. Then, this man did something I did not expect.

        He grabbed my dad's backpack.

        It. Was. On.  I lowered my center of gravity, dug my Uggs into the cement, and grabbed that shit back, "Get out of here!" I shouted.  I shooed him like a rabid dog.  (He scared me, okay?!)  He had headphones in (and why wouldn't he?) so he didn't hear me.  Of course.   Luckily, he started speaking Spanish, and I was able to  gather that he was hoping to put the bags in the van for us to make some money. (As opposed to murdering us, then putting us in the van to make some money.)  I was less scared after I realized this, and opted to utilize my fantastic Espanol skills.

        "NO NECESSITO!"  My battle cry was heard all over the neighborhood.  I waved our attacker/ bellhop away again, and herded my mom back into the building.

This is kind of the stance I took as I prepared to fight to the death.  Scooby wasn't there.  Also, that's my brother.

        I recounted the daring tale to Eric and my dad.  Neither one gave the desired response.

        Eric: So, you screamed at him, "I no need!"?

        Dad:  He touched my backpack?!

        Just like Sherlock Holmes,  my genius and heroics are misunderstood.