Friday, April 15, 2011

5:00 PM

There's About to Be a Girlfight

Ahoy friends!

It was eighty-two degrees last weekend here in the southeast! SUMMER IS COMING! I'm so excited, I could cry. Heat means tank tops and cold beers and sparklers and short skirts and--the holiday that inspired this blog--Pride weekend!!!!!!!!!!

Let's just take a minute to bask in the excitement of what I am sure will be the epic summer of 2011.

martianwho
Whew.

Now on to this week's story...


There's About to Be a Girlfight

You may not believe this, but when I was growing up, I got into a lot of fights. A LOT. I know I seem like a pretty amazing and chillaxed little lady now, but it took me a while to get here.

The last fight I ever got into took place in college between me and a girl who went by the nickname of Caca. Yeah, I can't make this shit up.

Pun intended.

Would you like me to tell you about it?

Of course you would! Why else would you be on my blog?!

startswithabang
Check this out:

My senior year of college, my four best friends and I lived on the fourth floor of a historic dormitory with no elevator. This being the case, each floor of the building was cut in half by the building's large echoing stairwell. I can't tell you how many nights I found my way to my dormitory after a party and crawled up the stairs on all fours while I cried about the unfairness of buildings without elevators. But those are stories for another time...

Thanks to the stairwell from hell, my friends and I were able to secure the west half of the fourth floor for only ourselves and our guests. We ran around at all hours of night and day in various stages of undress and rarely closed our bedroom doors. All of this transparency was somewhat jarring to our friends visiting from other dorms: everyone on our hall knew in seconds if a guest was in our space and we treated our guests' privacy the way we treated our own--we gave them none.

mkmcd
One of my friends, Toga, regularly tutored her teammates on the basketball team in an effort to keep their GPAs high enough to allow the girls to play. Being a division three school, we had to require our athletes keep their GPAs at or above a minimum--it's not like any of them were going to go pro and make a living off of their insane athletic skills. On the night this fateful event took place, Caca was working her way through a project with Toga.

Now, I should probably tell you that I've never liked Caca. I had met her when she first arrived on campus earlier in the year. Caca was from my hometown and, because of her involvement on the basketball team, I knew she would be one of the few other girls of color to interact heavily in my social circle. I needed her to be classy.
After Ellen
What I got was a girl wearing skintight American-flag red sweat pants (three sizes too small) who told me that she was assembling her entourage to come to all of her games as she was the best basketball player in the region (a vast exaggeration). It took me about 5 minutes to glean this information from the text messaging language she'd found some way to convert into a spoken language brimming with "witchu," "grlchunow," and curse words.

Needless to say, I was not excited about Toga tutoring Caca on our hall. But, due to my love for Toga and the rest of the basketball team, I decided to avoid Caca during her tutoring session. I stayed in my room and did my yoga. Then I wrapped myself in a towel and headed for the communal showers, figuring that by the time I finished bathing, Caca would be gone.

My timing was nearly perfect. Caca was just exiting Toga's room as I left the showers. When Caca saw me in my towel, she paused before smiling and said, "I'm gonna fight witchu."

I laughed. "Okay, whatever."

"Naw gurl," she said more forcefully. "I'm bout to fight witchu." I looked her over and saw the weight in her stance. She wasn't joking.

"Alright," I acquiesced. "Let me put on some clothes."

"No."

"Underwear."

"No," she shouted and pushed me backwards into a fire extinguisher bolted to the wall. Let me tell you something: THAT FUCKING HURT.

I wrapped one hand around my chest to hold my towel in place and aimed a right hook at Caca's face: no one touches me without paying for it. The hit connected and Caca shouted, "Oh fuck you!"
domo

She aimed for my face and I ducked. She went for my throat and pushed me against the fire extinguisher again, choking me. I clawed around--losing my towel in the process. I finally grabbed Caca's braids and yanked her head backwards. By then she was screaming and cursing.  I was so angry that I slammed her head into the wall twice.

The whole thing lasted about 30 seconds.

I stepped back from Caca, picked up my towel and wrapped it around myself. Lost in all of the adrenaline and emotions pumping through my body, I started to laugh. The hall was filled with my friends, who had apparently witnessed the whole fight. They all looked at Caca and I nervously. Caca saw their faces and began laughing with me. My hall mates continued to look uncomfortable, but laughed lightly, trying to figure out what was so funny.

The look on their faces made me feel sick to my stomach. "I'm going to go put on clothes." I said to no one in particular. I went into my room, slammed my door and began to cry. I called my friend Mae, who lived in another dorm and explained the whole thing between sobs and sniffles.

"Fuck." She said, "Sweetheart, that's terrifying."

"I know," I wailed, "Who does she think she is? A first-year challenging a senior to a physical fight!? While I was in my toweeeeeeel!?"

"Well yes, but I think you're missing the point: you two could have killed each other. She could have broken your back and you could have split her head open. You're pretty fucking lucky that nobody got hurt."
lesuicideblonde
Mae made a valid point and one I hadn't been bright enough to consider on my own.

It kind of scared me.

After that, I resolved not to fight crazy bitches anymore. And so far, so good.

fin

Today's Point: The hippies up the street with the peace signs in their front yard may have a legitimate point.
indybay

Monday, April 4, 2011

8:48 PM

Go Shawty, It's Your Birthday

Ahoy!

You guys, every time I watch the Runaways I feel all crazy inside because K. Stew looks *so hot* as Joan Jett. Seriously, she spends ninety minutes running around in leather and doing all sorts of bad-ass things--starting a rock band, getting high on an airplane, peeing on some douche's guitar, smashing her recording studio, lying around in underwear and playing with her guitar...it's swaggerific.

The only part of the film that pulls me out of K.Stew Land is the scene where she gets it on with Dakota Fanning. I know that D. Fan is totally grown up now, but she still seems little to me and I get all sorts of wigged out watching her in a sex scene.

FACT
The first time I watched the Runaways, I jumped up at that scene and said, "Wait! Is D. Fan old enough to have crazy roller-skate sex with K. Stew?"

Maybe I was just jealous.
OH SHE GLOWS

Either way, this brings up a good topic of discussion: when are kids "old enough" to be involved in sexual situations? 15? 16? 18?

Obviously, kids will do what they want when they want, but at what age do those of us over 20 look at teenagers and not think, "Gosh, you're too young to do all of that?"

I sure as hell don't know. I figure the best way for us to learn is to investigate a scene from my high school days.


Go Shawty, It's Your Birthday

My senior year of high school, one of the girls in my class turned 18. Since she was the first one of us to reach that milestone, my friends and I decided to do it big. 

We wanted to hire a stripper.

We discussed the idea with enthusiasm, trying to figure out how our friend would react, how much the stripper would cost and what he would say during the party. However, it quickly became apparent that our plan had some major obstacles:
  1. The birthday party would be at our friend's parents' house. We assumed her parents wouldn't look too kindly upon a stripper showing up at the front door.
  2. None of us were 18 yet, so we couldn't technically hire a stripper.
  3. We didn't have enough money to pay for a decent stripper. We'd heard tales of female strippers with Cesarean scars and though we didn't know what the equivalent of that would be for a male stripper, we didn't want to find out.
WE HEART IT (APPARENTLY VIA FACEBOOK)
Fortunately for this story and all of you reading it, my friends and I were a creative bunch and we came up with a backup plan. One of the girls in the group had a younger brother... and there was a dollar store that sold Halloween costumes right down the street from our school. Rather than hire a stripper, we were going to make our own.

The night of the party, we were pumped. While the sister of our stripper-to-be went home to pick up her brother, I corralled a group of five party guests to join me on the trip to the dollar store. We got there and realized that we had to make a serious decision: would our stripper be a fire fighter or policeman? Which would be the better stripper?

The amount of time we spent debating this decision is longer than I care to admit. Everyone had serious opinions on the matter, but eventually the fireman enthusiasts won out.

The costume department met up with the stripper-to-be outside of the birthday girl's house just as the party was beginning. The kid. was. awesome! We showed him the fireman's hat, the yellow fireman's jacket and the giant badge we'd purchased for the occasion and before we had finished talking, he was coming up with ideas to make the outfit even better.

DELLBBY
Half an hour later, the fireman's jacket had become a vest with ripped sleeves, a neon orange scarf functioned as a fire hose and our stripper had been sprayed with enough axe body spray to drown a frat house. We were ready!

First, the six or so party goers went into the house. We scoped out the party and layout, said hi to the birthday girl and found a cd with decent music for the main event. Two of us then went outside "for a cigarette" and primed our stripper. The party was in the attic. All we had to do was get the kid through the door, cut across the living room and then he'd be up the stairs and on the birthday girl. All we needed was to wait for a sign that the adults in the house were momentarily distracted.

CUTE OBSESSION
We only had to wait a few minutes before the lights in the living room began to blink on and off. Taking it as our sign, we ran into the house and shoved our stripper through the living room and kitchen. Someone upstairs cut the music and I heard the birthday girl yell, "Hey what's going on?" Within seconds a loud, raunchy pop song began to fill the attic. I pushed our stripper up the stairs, "it's time!"

It. Was. Amazing. The kid sauntered up the stairs and into the attic, rolling and rocking his hips to the music. The birthday girl was sitting on the floor and he stood over her, straddling her legs. He dropped down to the ground so that he was very nearly face-to-face with her and then popped his back and hopped back up. I'm not sure someone we paid could have done any better.

At this point, the birthday girl's face was flushed and she was giggling nervously and looking around like, "What the fuck?" The kid kept dancing around: he pulled off his fireman's vest/jacket, he wrapped the "hose" around the birthday girl's neck and pulled her close, he sat in the air just above her lap and ground his pelvis. It was raunchy.
TTTTRUCK
When it ended, everyone high-fived our stripper and sent him downstairs to wash up and put his shirt back on.

The six of us who orchestrated the striptease surrounded the birthday girl; "So, what did you think?"

She shook her head, "Isn't that Kim's little brother?"

"Yeah!" We shouted, "Wasn't he wonderful?"

The birthday girl cocked her head to the side, "Isn't he thirteen? You guys, I'm pretty sure that was totally illegal. Also, I think you are all kind of sick."

fin

In the spirit of full disclosure: The stripper and I became close friends. He's actually a drag queen now and we joke about that striptease every time we see each other. The birthday girl and I are not friends anymore because, apparently, I have no morals.

So. What did you guys think of the story? It was a doozy, wasn't it? Is there anything to be learned from this experience? Were we in the wrong or just kids having fun? Share your thoughts below!