In Brooklyn, I witness a criminal act of violence. I am at a red light in my Altima. A young man and a young woman attack each other 15 feet from my window. The man pins the woman to the ground. I look further past them and notice a dark alley. Is he going to rape her? Is he going to drag her down the street and rape her? I call the police. I immediately tell the 911 receptionist the street corner and that a man is attacking a woman. She asks if I’m safe and I tell her I’m in my car. I lock my doors but keep my eyes peeled on the sight. The woman flails her arms and hits the man. She stands up! She runs two paces before he grabs her from behind and throws her back on the ground. He pins her down again. Her stomach and face are pressed against the dirty cement and he holds her arms tight behind her.

Three cars slowly pass me. They drive in the opposite direction as me. They each pause when they near the violence. I watch a taxi driver slow his car and turn his head toward the man and woman. I watch him drive away without doing anything at all. I watch the other two cars do the same. The light turns green.

She kicks and fights her way out of his control. She sprints away from him. He chases her. She runs fast. I pull a U-turn. I follow behind him so I can watch the both of them. “Does he have a weapon?” “Not that I can see.” She runs and runs… He gets so close to her but then stops. He hunches over. His hands rest on his waist and he takes deep breathes. She doesn’t stop. I speed up. “Hold on…” I tell the receptionist. I roll down my window. “Do you need help?!!!” The young woman turns her head towards me and yells, “No, thanks… I’m good!” I see the young man approaching her through my rear-view mirror. I follow her as she runs and runs. She’s fast. He doesn’t catch up. I see sirens and can finally hang up the phone though my hands shake so bad.

Maybe they were a couple? Maybe she wronged him… maybe it was drug related? Whatever the hell it was, I am so glad I was there… because it’s so much better to be safe and call the police. Who the hell knows what would have happened to that woman?

This story reminds me of Kitty Genovese. She was a 28-year-old woman who was stabbed, raped, and murdered outside her Queens’ place in the 60s. There were a dozen witnesses who heard her screaming from their apartment windows, and nobody did anything at all. They all assumed somebody else would call the police  (wikipedia).

***********************************************************************************************

My lesson to you, folks, is this… If you see something sketchy, call the cops. You can even make it anonymous. Don’t feel embarrassed and don’t think you’re overreacting. Don’t assume somebody else is doing it.

Is it abnormal that when I meet a man, I wonder if I’m only attracted/repulsed/neutral because of my species’ evolutionary need to spread the seed?

If I feel sexually attracted to a man, or emotionally attracted for that matter, I wonder if my biology will work with his… Maybe his pheromones lured me to him.. maybe he’s more likely than other men to get me knocked up, so to say.

I assume others have an off switch to this train of thought but I can never get this concept out of my head! It makes things very strange! When I get hit on, for example, I should wonder “normal” things like, “how much money does he make,” “what kind of car does he drive,” “how big is his man piece?” Instead, I wonder if he’s only hitting on my because I’m fertile… Would he hit on me at a different time of the month?

Do you dislike people who dislike you? I do. I guess it’s my ego’s defense mechanism. If I hear someone hates me, I naturally hate that person right back. It’s easier to deflect my pained ego by focusing on the person’s flaws than to accept that I may not be as cool, nice, and interesting as I want to believe I am!

Would you be more pissed if your partner cheated emotionally? Or sexually? Which one would put you over the edge enough to break-up? A study I found (Forgiveness or breakup: Sex differences in responses to a partner’s infidelity, by Todd K. Shackel, David M. Buss, and Kevin Bennett) says men and women respond differently to their partners’ infidelity. Men think it’s more disturbing when their women cheat sexually than emotionally. Women think it’s more disturbing when their male partners cheat on them emotionally. Men are more likely to break it off with their female partners when they cheat sexually and vice versa for women and their male partners. The authors suggest maybe this difference is based on evolution. When humans began, men wanted to find women who would carry their babies and spread their genes. Women wanted to find men who had the resources to take care of them and their offspring. (Things haven’t changed much, huh?) Now, let’s say a cavewoman cheats on her caveman sexually. If she gets knocked up by this new guy, her caveman now has to wait 9 months to spread his seed. That sucks for him. If she cheats emotionally, that doesn’t really change much for the caveman. On the other hand, let’s say a caveman cheats on his cavewoman sexually. If he gets these other women knocked up, that doesn’t really matter for his wifey. But if he cheats on her emotionally, he may invest more of his time hunting for his new gal, which leaves Mrs. Cavewoman and her babies depleted of resources. What do ya think?

We all have psychological disorders on some level. Lots of little kids have weird OCD tendencies but they disappear for most kids as soon as they get older and get made fun of. For others, unfortunately, the disorder is innate (genetically?) and they can’t consciously “quit” their ticks. Some count their steps or tap something with their right hand if they tap that something first with their left hand, to “even it out.” OCD is an anxiety disorder. You can say, “Joe, just stop turning the door knob 15 times! How about once?” or “Allison, just STOP washing your hands! It’s not that hard! Just don’t do it!” It’s not that easy. On the same level, you can’t just tell an anorexic to just “eat something, for god’s sake” or tell somebody who is morbidly obese to just lay off the calories. For some, it’s impossible.

 

Is cracking your knuckles a form of OCD? Biting your nails? OCD is an anxiety disorder. If Joe turns the doorknob 14 times, he feels incredibly anxious. He just has to turn it the 15^th time. What if he doesn’t? He will! Because it’s the only relief for this horribly crippling anxiety! Is smoking an anxiety disorder? Drug addiction? Alcoholism? I think so. Try telling a smoker to just “stop smoking then! If you hate it, then just don’t have another one!” Good luck with that. (Although you may have better luck now since the price of cigarettes in Suffolk County, Long Island just got raised to $6.50 and $8.50 in NYC.) 

 

One of the most strange and fascinating disorders is hoarding. For those of you who don’t know about it, hoarding is a form of OCD where somebody has intense anxiety about their possessions and they collect a ton of shit and never throw any of it out. What many people don’t know about is animal hoarding. When my 7th grade science teacher got busted for having tons of animals (dead, alive, and some barely alive) in his house and living in feces, I thought he was just being cruel to animals. I cannot believe there’s more than one person out there who has that disease! I guess I should have figured there was a relationship between Mr. Balsamo and the crazy cat ladies you see on the news who won’t let the authorities take away their precious cats. 

 

There’s a fine line between abnormal and normal. Check the DSM-IV-TR. It’s a clinical guide to psychological disorders. You’re in there.