smack that ass!

from 1998 to 2001, doc and i lived in a small rental house near lemmon and lovers’, by love field. we were in a neighborhood full of little one-car-garage, 800-square-foot, vinyl-siding houses with giant backyards. just across midway from us was the ultrawealthy neighborhood of bluffview. bluffview folks had numerous luxuries, including a very hilly neighborhood full of giant old trees; huge custom-built houses set way back on huge lots spaced widely apart from each other; long gravel driveways that wound through an acre or so of trees at the front of each lot; a narrow main road that was paved but had no sidewalks and no curbs — the asphalt just blended in to the dirt and trees by the side of the road, which always lends a rustic out-in-the-woods feel; hardly any traffic; and sometimes not even being able to see your neighbors’ houses due to hills and trees in the way. it had nothing of the ostentatious mcmansion gated-community we-have-a-pond-and-fountain-so-keep-the-fuck-out feeling that seems to be so popular today, but instead was just unassuming, out of the way, and if you didn’t see the little road off midway that led into the community you’d never even know it was there.

anyway, *i* knew it was there and i loved to jog through that area. i usually went from my house out to midway, across into bluffview, around and through the neighborhood, back out to midway on a different road, then another 3/4 mile or so through a sort of bluffview-adjunct neighborhood that was also quite large, beautiful and wealthy, but with a lot fewer hills and trees, then i turned around and came the same way back home.

although i was always vigilant of my surroundings, of course, i felt relatively safe on my jogging path while alone.

one day i was on my return trip, jogging by myself. it was summer, and early evening, so still full daylight outside. for safety, since there were no sidewalks, i was jogging on the left-hand side of the road facing traffic, of which there was none but the occasional BMW of a resident on their way in or out. i had just crossed midway and re-entered bluffview when i heard the crunch of tires on gravel somewhere behind me. as i was moving ever so slightly to the right just to be sure the car had room to pass me, i was nearly knocked to my feet when something hit me, HARD, on the butt. i struggled not to fall down, and as i was regaining my footing, a ratty 1980s model honda civic passed me, slowly, with two men in the front seat. the windows were down and the driver had his hand extended out the window, palm flat and facing forward. both of them were looking in the rearview mirror and grinning.

that motherfucker had crossed over to the wrong side of the road and driven up beside me so he could SMACK MY ASS while i was jogging.

i was completely speechless and just stopped, staring at them, as they slowly drove off. i waited until they were out of sight, then turned around and took a shortcut home.

then this morning i read this on reuters news:

BOGOTA, Colombia, Feb 24 – A Colombian man has been sentenced to four years’ house arrest for slapping a woman’s bottom as he rode by her on his bicycle, sparking debate on whether the punishment fit the crime.

Showing re-enactments of the incident, television news shows were filled on Friday with legal experts offering opinions about the judgment handed down earlier in the week by Bogota’s district court.

Some said that to confine bicycle messenger Victor Garcia to his home for four years for smacking Diana Marcela Diaz’s buttocks was excessive. Others said it would deter other men.

One program showed three models having their denim clad bottoms smacked so hard by a phantom hand it could be clearly heard by television viewers.

The women said that while the punishment seemed extreme, they hoped the case would mean they would be safer while on foot.

“It happened to me once,” one of the models said. “I was walking very relaxed and a guy rode by on his bicycle and, ‘ta!’ He smacked me. I took off my shoe to hit him with it but he was already too far away.”

part of me thinks that a four year sentence is rather excessive. and the other part of me is silently cheering.