Anger Control & Jimmy O'Neal

The man in the picture has nothing to do with this (poor soul!), but he looks like the friend of Jimmy O'Neal.

I was sitting on the stairs at Björns Trädgård yesterday at lunchtime eating a hotdog and this junkie came up to me (after urinating in a corner of the garden) saying something that sounded like he wanted one of my cigarettes. "I don't have any, I don't smoke" I said but he insisted and now he wanted to buy one of my cigarettes. "I don't have any, I don't smoke" - again and I took my bike and climbed up the stairs to leave, lunch was over. The drunk man now says that he likes my ass and I pretend I don't hear him. He tells me again that I have a nice ass and I take a deep breath because I don' really like his taste anyway so I get offended if he comments anything that has to do with me (while spitting, drewling and almost falling). " Oooh this is NOT a sexual harassment!.." he says and before I leave the only spontaneous thing that came out of my mouth was "Then what is it you fuckin idiot? (I hope you die here alone freezing to death in the park at night maybe also soffocated by your own vomit)"

And I guess he whispered after me that after all he didn't like my ass at all. That's usually what happens if you don't appreciate this kind of comments. In Italy that was extreme, especially if I gave answers those guys didn't expect from a girl. "Do you think I wanted you?!?! But look in the mirror: who wants a disgusting person like you? With that body, that face and those SHOES?! Of course I was hitting on your FRIEND she seems REALLY nice..."

They could't take it.

In Trastevere/ Rome I had a junkie/alcoholic/homelessperson-"friend" some years ago. I don't remember his name but everytime I saw him walk around there with his dogs (and I didn't have anything better to do) I went up to him and asked "Aren't you the friend of Jimmy O'Neal?" and he started to smile, tried to connect who was I and how could I know he was the friend of old Jimmy and how did I know Jimmy anyway...Then we talked about the good old days, Woodstock, hitchhiking, picking up maltreated dogs, the gulf-war and such things. Before leaving I usually leeft him some money to get food for his dogs, he had a lot of them.

(The first time we met he told me about his old musician-buddy Jimmy and their adventures in the sixties, for him Jimmy was the most VIP person in the world, I had no clue who it was...)

The one night, the friend of Jimmy O'Neal wasn't so friendly anymore. After going through acid-selling-in-a-tent-at-Greatful Dead-concert and stories about the-BAD-french-junkie-that hit-his-dogs-on-the-beaches-of-Nice (so the friend of Jimmy O'Neal had to steal them and bring them back to Rome) he said that he wanted to fuck my mouth.

What?

I want to fuck your mouth.

And what the fuck does THAT mean?

"Fuckin idiot! (I hope you die here alone freezing to death in the piazza at night maybe also soffocated by your own vomit)"

It's nice until a certain point. Then I can't control it anymore.

Another thing that hasn't so much to do with this (maybe a little bit with the incident yesterday) but with anger-control in general: I think all men (fathers, collegues, boyfriends, husbands, friends etc) should try AT LEAST one day in their lives to have their systems full of monthly-hormons that makes you explode if someone says something wrong, that makes you cry if you see starving children on the news, that makes you scream if you hit your knee on the border of a table.

And then some compassion, please.