Monday, February 11, 2008

I am now fortified and tasty.

I have a migraine of stabby proportions so this will probably go all over the place.

Despite the migraine Uniballer and I went to our favorite Chinese buffet yesterday and oh my lord. I ate a lot of shrimp prepared in various tasty ways, I made an older Samoan lady giggle at my ability to crack crab shells with a combination of my nails and a fork. I also fed a bit of corn to a very cute and perky toddler boy who stood next to me making doe eyes and doing that puppy-ish lip lick thing. Once his Mama gave the nod I gave the bite and he was satisfied enough to favor me with an enormous smile.

I love kids.

I also went to Walgreens for sunscreen for my face, some lip balm, and to check out some make up items that I didn't feel like buying. The rest of my weekend was spent watching the first season of Oz. I really love that show. Especially because I like seeing some boys nekkid and because I really love what they did with a lot of the characters.

My favorite by far is the character of Tobias Beecher. I fully admit I have a soft spot and deep love for characters who get fucked with a little too bad and totally lose it in a they WILL fuck up your christmas kind of way.

I have long held the opinion that some people can only be fucked with for so long. Some people this period is short and it doesn't take much, others it takes years and then BAM someone is getting punched in the neck.

I know turn the other cheek and all that. However that is not in my personal system. I don't condone needless violence, I do believe that sometimes violence is a necessary thing. That it can serve a good purpose and admittedly is just fun on occasion.

That's something that took me a very long time to accept about myself. For a very long time I was ashamed of my attitude towards violence, I was very deeply ashamed of the anger that sometimes birthed that violence. It was a serious rite of age for me to understand and embrace my own violence.

Now why is this such an important thing to me?

There are a lot of reasons. Probably one of the biggest is coming from a family chock full o' Southern Ladies. Old Southern Ladies, the kind who don't belch, fart, sweat or EVER throw a punch. That never sat well with me. I don't like that kind of smiling emotional repression. Not all the lessons I learned from these ladies are bad at all. I did learn the fine art of cold politeness, the fine art of telling someone ever so politely and while smiling to fuck right off without actually saying fuck. What I had/have a problem with is this being compulsory for every situation.

Another reason is the fact that violence=bad is so constantly shoved down our throats it clouds us. I don't think it behooves human kind to be made to feel guilty or like a lesser being because you might want to punch someone. Granted, I absolutely do not think abuse is all right at all.

I don't really know how to illustrate that part well. I did not come from a violent home. As is usual, when I was exposed to violence (generally by happenstance) I was terrified. I (like a lot of people I know) never learned the difference between say a boxing match and a beating on the street. I learned what a lot of children like me learned, I was small and therefore occasionally (thankfully only occasionally) someone might try to hurt me just because they could.

I remember I had the feeling that was bullshit. I had the feeling that being told to just run, or tell was bullshit. I was taught like every other little boy and girl, you never ever hit anyone and if you do you get in trouble. I did not agree but did not at that time understand how to say that or why I might feel that way.

So what did I do? I learned other forms of violence. I learned how to slice somebody with words. The following is an absolutely true story:

Picture your hostess at a wee 8-9 years old. There was a boy in my class doing what I think all boys do at one point or another (and some keep it up but that's a whole other entry) he bugged me. Constantly. Even then (it amazes me how many things about my personality have not changed since I was a wee tot) I would ask you politely once, not so politely again and then I would get pissed.

So instead of doing what I really felt like doing and punching him in the mouth I scared the pants off of him. I would whisper stories to him, I have two moles on the back/side of my neck that when I was that young were quite close together and resembled yes, you guessed it vampire bite marks. I told this boy horrific stories about being bitten at night and how I was going to become a vampire at some point. I also hinted that if he didn't leave me alone I'd bite him too.

After about two weeks of that he stopped speaking to me all together and moved seats. He never spoke to, sat by, bothered, or even looked at me directly until we were in like the seventh grade. I remember telling the school psychologist about it and my reasoning was very simple, he couldn't be polite or at least just not bother me, I couldn't hit him or knock him down so I did what I could and was free to go on about my business.

Yes, a note did go home to my parents about that.

That is a pretty fair illustration of how I am twenty years(give or take a couple) later.

Fast forward to the first time I ever reacted in a violent way without reservation and what woke me up to the fact that a large part of my unhappiness at that time was my seeming inability to express my anger violent or not without some nagging bit of shame.

I was 21 and working the graveyard shift in the billing office of a phone sex company. As was my habit around 4 AM I went out for a walk. I was perfectly comfortable, almost all of the neighborhood crackheads knew better than to bother me or ask me for jack shit. Occaisionally my little buddy Big Chuck (who was a crack head and probably weighed 105 soaking wet with boots on) would walk with me and try his damndest to get me to believe he was going to go into rehab and then buy me a brand new Cadillac.

That particular evening during my stroll some guy took it upon himself to follow me for about three blocks, yammering away. I asked him politely enough to leave me alone, then less politely. And I was fine until he called me a fucking bitch and grabbed my arm.

My reaction was probably not at all what he was looking for. I didn't panic, I didn't scream, I hardly even flinched. I remember it very clearly, I looked him dead in the eye and said very calmly, "let me go and back the fuck up before I burn you." I had a lit cigarette in my other hand. He laughed and as you might guess didn't let go.

So I very calmly pressed my cigarette into the back of his hand and said, "You are fucking with the wrong bitch." He let go, stared for a minute then turned and ran off.

Generally speaking no matter how big and bad you are, there is a big chance that if you are prone to fucking with people you will find that one wrong person. You will fuck with the wrong person and get hurt or die. That is the plain truth.

I won't say that I am some big ass kicking type. No the simple truth is when I've had enough, I've had enough. I do not know formal self defense, I am not muscled up, I am 5'3 and yes still a chubby fat girl. I wear strange clothes, I look a lot younger than I am quite often, I do a lot of the things the "experts" tell women not to do alone, I walk in dark not well patrolled etc places, I wear big headphones and listen to loud music, etc. So what's my secret?

I put off a very strong Do. Not. Fuck with me vibe. And I will tell you, no matter who you are or how bad you think you are, that yes, I will in fact fuck you up.

It's something I've had to learn to express. I didn't have to learn to feel it because it's always been there. Now I will let it out.

There have been times where this was probably unwise. The only time I have ever been almost absolutely certain I was about to be sexually assaulted right after the fear came what some might call Righteous Rage. This guy I had gone on some dates with was behaving very inappropriately, demanding sexual favors etc and got grabby after I told him expressly that I did not want any part of that.

He made an "offhand" comment about just making me do what he wanted, he tried to make it sound jokey but I felt the truth in it. I told him flat out that if he wanted to try and take it from me he better enjoy it because I would, class? Yes, fuck him up.

Later I heard rumours about him and am very glad he understood exactly what I was saying. I have learned that predators of whatever stripe will not generally pick the least favorable victim.

I will say that when it comes down to my life, I will not fight fair. I will not be ladylike. I will bite, gouge, claw, stab do whatever. If it's me or you, fuck you.

Some friends I've had just think I'm nuts. And I believe that belief comes from the idea that women are not "supposed" to be like this. Women are not "supposed" to be violent or inclined to violence. Women are not "supposed" to be fully accepting of and unafraid to use violence when needed.

Women aren't "supposed" to think about these things and be comfortable with their thoughts. Women aren't "supposed" to embrace the impolite and unlady like parts of their natures with a smile.

And if you know me at all you know, my reaction to that is a big ole middle finger.

Granted, I probably think about these things more than other people. Hell after 9/11 that big list of items you couldn't fly with in carryone due to the possiblity of them being used as a weapon came out I expanded it with things I could try to kill someone with by like three pages. Not because I really wanted to kill someone but to make the point to some people I knew that someone who's determined enough will use their will as a weapon and that wasn't going to suddenly make everything all safe and sunshine and flowers.

Also, I will admit to a probably morbid fascination with violence and the why's, how's and after math of it all.

So yes, in case you're wondering I will fuck someone up if they step out of bounds. I have used violence to hammer that point home. Am I ashamed? No. Am I proud? No.

What am I then?

Just me.

Okay that's it.

My head is pounding like there's a fucking old school mosh pit going on in there and I really should make some coffee and take some more pills before I ram my head into the wall.

Homo Out.
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1 comment:

vesta44 said...

I have to tell you that I am really glad to know I'm not the only woman not afraid to fuck people up if they won't leave me alone.
In high school, there was a girl who wanted to fight with me over something I supposedly said. Now, I'm not into fighting just to prove I didn't say something and I told her that. I said if I beat the shit out of her it didn't prove I didn't say, and if she beat the shit out of me, it didn't prove I did say it. She hounded me for 6 months, always with a ton of her friends around when I was alone. Finally, one night in the park, she was riding around with her boyfriend and saw me walking our dog. She thought her b/f was going to back her up (no way did he want in the middle of a cat fight). I told her to bring it on, I was fed up, she was alone, I was alone, let's go. I also told her it wouldn't be a fair fight. I will use feet, fists, teeth, elbows, knees, a fucking rock if one comes to hand. I fight to win, not to prove a point. She ended up with black eyes, hair missing, a chunk bitten out of her hand, another one gone from her arm, and bruises all over her body. I got a black eye. Needless to say, she never messed with me again, not even 20 years later when we happened to run into each other again (she made some nasty comment, and I told her I had whipped her ass once, did she want to go there again? Shut her right up). I've done the same with men that thought they could whip me into submission (had a b/f who threatened to beat me one time, told him he better make sure I was dead, and if he didn't, he better not go to sleep in my house). He believed me, lucky him. People don't believe me when I tell them I'll only be pushed just so far, until they talk to people who have been on the receiving end of me having had enough.
That part of me is one of the few parts that I don't have any trouble accepting (I've been told it makes me socially unacceptable, but too bad, I'm protecting myself, and the ones I care about).

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