Thursday, February 23, 2006

Don't make me hurt you...

Well. Today started out horribly. Beginning, oh, about midnight. First off, I was still awake. Not only was I still awake, but I was not at home. I was out with Mr. R. and Company. I was enjoying myself, and therein lies the problem. The fleeting yet recurring thought of "Oh my, I have to work early tomorrow, and it's going to be a long day because of that after-hours upgrade. I should go home" started happening less frequently with each friendly hug I received and each brown bottle beverage I consumed. It did not help matters that I apparantly appeared to be very thirsty and Mr. R kept trying to quench that thirst with new brown bottles.

I did get to see a couple of friends that I hadn't seen in, oh, FO-EVAH, and that was great. They are still the nice, polite chaps they were many moons ago, and now the pangs of regret from drifting away from that circle of friends have resurfaced.

I also had the (dis)pleasure of seeing a girl I went to school with. Said girl (I'd say woman, but she is not worthy of such a title - details to follow) is someone I was most certainly NOT friends with and did NOT associate with. She is divorced, cheating (I think) on her current lover (though they may have separated by now), and dating my friend S's friend, who happens to be going through a VERY bitter divorce. S made a not-so-nice comment about her several weeks ago, last time we saw her,
and that comment reassured me that my disapproval of her was justified. (I can be catty sometimes and often wonder if I dislike women for the wrong reasons or no reason at all.)

I was, however, friendly to this girl, as I always am. Not friendly in the oh-my-gosh-so-good-to-see-you-we-really-should-hang-out kind of way, but more in the
you-are-dating-a-friend-of-a-friend-so-I-will-be-polite-i-always-thought-you-were-a-bitch kind of way.

After exchanging pleasantries, I went about my business of laughing and dancing and flirting, as this is what I do best. A short while later, our friend's daughter showed up. I suppose I could say she is my friend, as she is only 8 years my junior and we do have fun together, and her mother is more than 10 years my senior. Always caught in the middle, I am. Anywho, daughter was trashed with a capital T. She appeared to have some sensible friends with her to act as drivers and support system, however, she chose to chill with the *ahem* older folk.

We can't help it that we're that cool.

Both of us continued to laugh and dance and flirt. For some reason, I'm not quite sure why, Bitchy-girl-from-high-school was starting to become clingy with me. She wanted me to dance and talk to her. I would humor her for a bit, then return to
socializing with those that I actually consider my friends. Daughter, now trashed with a capital T AND italicized, approached me and said something (can't quite remember what it was). Whatever it was, it pissed off bitchy girl, and she threw a punch at daughter. It took my brain a few moments to get over the initial shock and process what was happening. By the time bitchy girl had daughter on the ground, my brain had finished processing and told me "Hey. She's kicking her ass. Not cool. Do something."

Those that know me know that I am not very strong and that I am most certainly not a fighter. They do know, however, that I am a loyal friend and I'm not going to just stand there and let someone I like get their ass beat. The boys (Mr. R and Company) will. Girl fight! Wow! Let's stand here and watch! Maybe someone's shirt will get ripped off and we'll see a boob!

So I grabbed bitchy girl (who was on top) by the back of the shirt. I yelled "Hey! Bitchy girl! Stop it! She didn't do anything! She's only 21! Get off!" and yanked really hard on her shirt. Bitch didn't budge. I'm guessing she outweighs me by at least 20 pounds. That doesn't sound like a lot, but I must again emphasize that I am not a fighter, and quite frankly, I am a wimp. And she has a barbwire tattoo on her massive (yet jiggly) bicep. I just can't move a girl with barbwire on her skin. So there I was yanking and yelling and wondering why, with all the guys around me, wasn't anyone helping? Oh yeah, they may miss a boob shot. Finally, bitchy girl's boyfriend assisted and picked her up and put her in a full nelson. Daughter, who somehow lost her shoe during this fiasco, bounced up like the young spry thing she is, screaming and yelling "Why did she do that? Who is she? I'm going to kick her ass!"

Um. No. You're not. You were on the ground, remember? On the bottom. Not exactly an ass-kicking position, honey. But I did get to rip her shirt, so score one point for the good guys.

R restrained daughter, which was quite an easy feat, and one I'm sure He enjoyed. (Cute little girl in distress, you know?) Bitchy girl, still in the full nelson and now unable to see past R to scream at daughter, turned her attention toward me. She began thrashing about, kicking at me and yelling, "What the fuck, you were my friend, jAG! You were my friend!"

"Bitchy girl! Shut up. Quit kicking at me. We were never friends."

That was not the right thing to say.

I'm not really sure why she said that, though I'm going to lean towards the "she was really drunk" excuse. But when I said we were never friends, she got pissed. For a moment I thought her boyfriend was going to let her go and I actually took off my glasses so I wouldn't get broken lenses in my eyes. He did not let her go, thankfully, and dragged her out the door.

Someone who works at the establishment came up to me and asked me who started the fight. I answered, and he replied, "Thanks. That's all I needed to know." He didn't seem shocked at all.

I wonder if she does this often.

We left shortly thereafter. I guess all the excitement of the evening was too much for me, and the emotions just overflowed. I was tired and intoxicated and angry and wanting a cigarette and for some reason decided the world hated me and just turned into a complete psycho.

R, who still doesn't quite know how to handle me when I get that way, let me go. He said at one point, "I wish I could tape record you so you can hear tomorrow what an idiot you are. Go to sleep."

That's not quite the way to handle a emotional drunk.

Eventually I did go to sleep, too late. I woke up feeling just like I thought I would. Like a complete loser. With a headache and dry eyes. And don't worry, I remember all the things I screamed and yelled and cried. Not need to record it. It's on a replay loop in my head. It probably will be all day. At least I don't feel like I smoked all night long. Because I didn't!

Sometimes, you just need a hug, and someone to say, "Hey, calm down. Everything is OK."

That's all.

That's how some people want to be handled.

That would have been nice.

It is going to be a long effin day.


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