I woke up feeling mean this morning. Mean, like "You better not even look at me sideways, or I'll be kicking some ASS!"
The funny thing about this is that I have never made a fist and struck another person with it. I have also never been hit with a fist, in the face or anywhere else. I have never been in a fight, not even a schoolyard brawl. I like to act as though I'm a volatile and dangerous person who better be respected, but the truth is I've never done more than say mean things, laugh at someone, or cry. My version of chewing someone out usually goes like this: "You know, I'm really......... ANGRY with you right now!"
Don't get me wrong, when it comes to finding the soft white under-belly and saying things that are far over the line and intended to eviscerate I can hold my own with the best of them. I've always done all my fighting in Word World. I have had enough people actually say they are "afraid" of me to know that my verbal attacks can be formidable and legendary. I've never hit anyone though.
When I was in ninth grade the school choir I was in was performing at the county fair. I was in the bathroom in my floor length, powder blue, polyester uniform having one last cigarette when I noticed that there were a large group of Latina Chicas in there with me, and I was the only white girl, and dressed like an idiot on top of it. Hard looks flew. Awkward silence followed as I tried to figure out how I was going to gracefully exit. "What are you looking at?" says the alpha female, and even I know that this means I'm about to get a nice little recreational beat-down.
Ever-quick with my words I stammer "I was trying to memorize just how you did your makeup. You look so pretty and no matter how hard I try I can never get mine to turn out like that." I forgot to mention, ass-kissing is also a fighting technique that has worked well for me in the past. "Oh, girlfriend, we'll show you, it's easy!" the mood changed immediately.
Now I'm one white girl in the midst of a group of girls who are all digging madly through their over-sized 70s purses to gather just the right combo of makeup. "First you start with the blue, even though your eyes are blue and it won't be so pretty on you." A thick application of ultramarine creme eyeshadow is applied to my lower lids. What followed was a makeover that left me looking even more ridiculous than I did when it was just me in a polyester floor-length gown. The effect was completed with bright white eyeshadow right under my brows and a pair of really long false-eyelashes. "You can keep the lashes, they look good on you!" "Wow, thanks, this is the look I've always wished for!" I assure you, only a big-haired Latina Goddess from the 70s can really pull off this look with any kind of dignity. We left that bathroom as sisters, and me with no black eye.
Then there was that time in first grade where Lisa Borgen and I pushed each other a couple of times (We officially hated each other, I can't remember if there was ever a reason, you just had to have someone to hate at that age.) We got sent to the office for "fighting" and our punishment was that we had to sit next to each other for the rest of the school year and learn to get along. This united us in a mutual hatred for the system, and we became inseparable best friends until I was forbidden to see her by fifth grade, because she was a bad influence. That was so wrong, every bad thing I ever did with her was my idea that I just blamed on her.
So those are my only two near-fight experiences, and I'm almost 100 now, so I don't think I'll start a brawling career any time soon. I do, however, have the ability to shoot lazers from my eyes, and say very sarcastic things in a low and threatening voice. This is how I fight.
And... I woke up feeling mean today. So watch out. You may get burned by my lazers, or have to give me a makeover. The desk next to me is forever saved for Lisa Borgen.