So once, I punched a guy.

I'm not exactly sure what made me think of it but, once, at a club I punched this guy in the chest. He deserved it like no ones business and I was slightly (very) inebriated but I still see it as a personal triumph on my end. As early as eight years old, I was a bully - it lasted until I was fourteen(ish) and I can still scare the ever living guts out of people if I feel the need. It's a very handy skill.

At the time, I was still talking to my ex-girlfriend. We'll call her Birdie for the sake of semi-privacy. Birdie was very into the club scene and I was very into Birdie. We'd had a bad breakup due to severe miscommunication and once we started talking again, the idea was never brought to a light again. She didn't like commitment, I think, and we lived a fair distance away. For her, that was a big deal. I'd had long distance relationships apart and didn't consider an hour too far but I digress.

She asked me to go clubbing with her one night. Saturday night so we were able to get some super cheap drinks. We pre-gamed it in the parking lot. I am a light weight. So two chugged hard lemonades, a few rum and cokes later, I actually agreed to dance. Anyone who knows me knows quite well that I will only dance when severely intoxicated or when alone in my house, dressed in a wife-beater and bandanna with the grungy pants. This dancing fell under stinking ass drunk.

As such, and being with a girl who showed many signs of being interested, the dancing was suggestive. We ended up kissing in the corner by the bar which, in itself, was fabulous. A guy had followed us from the dance floor, I think, as I'd seen his shirt briefly when we'd left it. He walked up to us, interrupting a very nice time, and started spouting stupidity.

"Are you two lesbians?" said the drunk frat-looking boy. Birdie and I looked at each other and started laughing. Birdie reply was something to the affirmative (I was watching her mouth and thus not listening very hard). He made some crude innuendos. I took offense because those words I do tend to hear.

I am a very protective person when sober, going as far to threaten someone if they are going too far and crossing lines. Someone gets in a friends face, I get right back into them. My mentality is that of a pack and when I see something as a threat to aforementioned pack, I'm very aggressive.

"Look, dude, she's here with me. Go away." My speech, admittedly, was littered with a few naughty words in there as well. I pulled Birdie closer. The guy was a creep. His friend urged him to just leave us alone and even tried to pull him away. Go friend!

The guy said something else and all of a sudden I felt a hand grab my chest. As Birdies arms were around my waist and she knows my boundaries. I knew full well that even when drunk, she wouldn't do something as violating as to touch me. A man arm was attached to the hand on me.

I spun around. All I remember was my right hand swinging out and clocking the guy square in the chest. He stumbled back, I pushed Birdie away enough to walk those few steps to him and glare. He was a lot taller than my 5'5" frame, hence the punch to the chest rather than the face.

"Don't you EVER touch me EVER again!" My voice, admittedly, was very loud. He stared down at me with the best expression in the world: utter disbelief. All of a sudden, I see a half circle of huge men with the word 'BOUNCER' written on their shirt. Their eyes weren't on me but the guy I continued to yell at. "If you so much as lay a hand on me OR her EVER again, I will kick your ASS."

The bouncers moved closer. Birdie grabbed my hand and tugged, hard. She said we should leave, her hand wrapped around my wrist tightly. I didn't want to end up getting arrested for assault as, let's be honest, I would have won any fight between him and myself, so we left. The last I saw of the guy was the crescent of bouncers narrowing in on him. The photographer asked for our picture before we left.

I hold that memory as a very fond one. Sometimes I miss being a violent little creature but all it takes to bring me down from that particular road of nostalgia is to remember that I had no friends, no real motivation to be a better person. The club let me know that standing up for myself and the people I am with at the moment is not a bad thing and can be done without being physically cruel. I can silence people with a Look as easily as I can a punch to the face and my weapons now are scathing words, a harsh glare, and the ability to out-think my opponent.

Moral of the story, kiddies? Violence isn't always the right path but don't let that knowledge keep you from protecting you and yours.

Also, clubs would rather punish a possible sexual harassment lawsuit than the two lesbians making out in the corner.

Another Dy, Another Dollar

Padre just came over to pick up some things from the garage he had stored here. It was a sad moment, seeing the back of his van packed up with things he was putting into storage just down the block. Bittersweet, as a companion of mine put it. Bittersweet.

I realized yesterday that I have at least two blog posts written down but never typed. They'll probably never see the light of day! The weird thing is that those are the happy, optimistic blog posts - you poor folks are subjected to my utter emo and grump. Sorry about that. The three page rant about how tea is delicious may be typed up either way, very hopefully posted; I rather liked it. A lovely use of words if I'm allowed to be arrogant and proud for a wee moment. It doesn't happen often.

Hopefully a haircut will be done this lovely day. I've been the victim of jaw length hair for about a month now. Luckily for me and my poor hairdresser, I took photos from the back, side and front of the previous haircut so I have full color references of what I want down and how I want it done. Be proud, Beth! I thought ahead.

My former-future roommate talked to me, sort of. She stood up for me when an ex got on my case for wanting short hair; the ex called short hair feminine and insinuated that it meant I would not be lovely and femme without my longer hair. Once the former-future roommate stood up for me, the ex insulted how she looked! Sparks flew. It was epic, amazing and I fell utterly in love all over again with former-future roomie.

I typo'd 'love' into 'loe'. Blogger didn't give me the red line (but did this second time) - a mystery of spell check and Blogger! A conspiracy? I think so.

There was an article in a science magazine I have somewhere in my hell hole of a room in January about blogs and how social communication websites are actually ruining social interactions. According to this article, it made people think they had an actual voice and fresh thoughts, giving them the confidence to write these things online but failing to actually follow through.

Have I written about this before? Possibly. Either way, I think of that article every time I write in any of my blogs. For me blogs aren't so much about having a 'voice' on the internet but they are for getting out what I'm thinking in a coherant, somewhat organized manner. In person or over the internet in regular conversation, I have the tendency to blather about rather random subjects and in great jumbled masses of words. Long words. Exceedingly odd words with supposedly odder pronunciation. (Did you know that 'caramel' is pronounced 'car-mul' instead of 'car-a-mel'? I didn't. I like my version better.)

Voices are overrated. Writing about my travels this year is about me and keeping my family informed about my on goings without having to repeat myself seven times at a time. It means I will be able to look back this Christmas and remember what, exactly, was going down at that time last year. It's an exciting prospect, people! This process is akin to looking back in your high school journals: exceedingly embaressing but completely required for human growth.

Speaking of blathering, the tea has kicked in. Going to go get those silly pictures done, now.

Until next time (and a possible tea rant), peace!

-Erin