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anada371
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.* O . . .. ..O .. 371 09 Jun 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "Scary When I'm Angry" *
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* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Gloomchen *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
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'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
I spent my freshman and sophomore years of high school in any similar
way that many kids spend them: I hung around with friends, I thought I was
really cool even if other people didn't, I got into the occasional tiff or
misunderstanding and nearly avoided getting into a fight on more than one
occasion. Actually, that last part comprised four very big parts of my 9th
and 10th grades. I thank every day for my flowering family lineage that
allowed me to quite easily talk my way out of these situations.
It started with Marsha, a rather, ummm, BITCHY girl who had a lot of
friends. She was mulatto, but I didn't know that per se, because I didn't
really care. Somehow she "found out" that I called her a nigger. I might
have been guilty of calling her a bitch, but I'd never been able to utter
the n-word at that point in my life even as a joke, or even in repeating
something that someone else had said. And not to mention that the whole
time I'd known her (which totals to about two months), I'd been nice as pie
to her. So when she got all up in my face, I pretty much laughed it off.
I mean, hell, I had the girl's phone number which she GAVE to me, we sat
next to each other in choir, and the most I'd ever talked about her in my
life was to my friends about what a cliquey bitch she was. She wasn't my
friend, but she certainly wasn't the direct enemy, so I had no reason to say
it. Thankfully, Marsha was smart enough to figure that out before it got
any further. The powers of logic prevailed!
Not much later, a much more difficult situation arose--a war at my
lunch table. It started with a fist fight between Donna and Valerie (or
rather more of a hair-pulling fight). The fight was completely stupid, to
the point where I don't remember specifics, but it was one of those "I heard
you said this about me" things that was entirely bogus. Donna was the
accuser, the fight-picker, the misunderstander. And for that reason, I took
Val's side, even though I didn't know her all that well. However, my best
friend from 8th grade, Terri, took Donna's side, ending what had been one of
my most healthy friendships ever and losing someone I loved like a sister.
During the course of this fight, Donna was trying to get her gang of
friends to beat up Val. I defended her simply because nobody else would.
Of course, this gang of friends included one of my OTHER old friends from
high school, Sarah, and her completely badass friend Kelly, which meant I
was in line to get my ass kicked as well. Never mind that I had never liked
Kelly since the day I was at Sarah's house and everyone started smoking pot
(yes, in 8th grade), and I managed to sneak the insult "druggie" into an
argument, which lead to all of us being hauled into the school counselor's
office for a resolution. Everyone was talking about the bullshit fight, but
when they got to me, Kelly was horribly insulted that I would "lie" and
spread "rumors" that she did drugs. I just flat out said, "I was there,
Kelly," as she denied it some more. This of course made me THE ONE WHO WAS
GOING TO GET KILLED. I don't remember much more of the whole fight
situation after that point. A couple of weeks later, Donna and Valerie were
friends again and all the fighting was called off. I tried repairing my
friendship with Terri, but it was too late. Sarah and I didn't talk much
anyway, so we drifted apart. And Kelly... well, we'll get to Kelly years
later.
My sophomore year was pretty non-memorable, excepting the big feud
I had with Toni, a girl I had gotten along with great all of frosh year.
All of the sudden one day, she sat with this girl Cindy at lunch who I had
grown up nearby and HATED ME, and they spent all lunch trashing me. It's
not like they were trying to hide it. And it's not like I felt terrible or
anything, because I believe people are entitled to their opinion. And of
course, that meant to me that Toni and I were no longer friends. Simple as
that. Not rocket science. But when the next day she tried sitting with me
again, I just looked at her and was like, "What the hell are you doing
sitting by me after yesterday?" She told me I was overreacting. After
lunch, I wrote a very long, heartfelt letter saying precisely what I thought
about her attitude and how I wasn't going to sit around while she treated
me like shit and just let it go. I also proceeded to add my own insults to
compliment the ones she had said about me, and figured she would get the
point that I didn't want to talk to her anymore.
Well wouldn't you know it, the next day at lunch, Toni freaked out
about everything I had said in my letter. She was gonna kick my ass. I
told her please, bring it on, it would be fun to make this physical.
However, I was perfectly satisfied with just letting it go, and if she
REALLY felt the need to "kick my ass," she should quit talking and do it.
She talked about all the friends she had that were going to come and get me,
she kept telling me to hit her, hit her, c'mon pussy, hit her. I sat at
that lunchtable while she yelled at me, and told her if she really wanted to
fight so much, she needed to start it, because I have no interest in a
physical fight. I was happy the way things were. So she went on again
about how dead I was going to be, blah blah blah, hit me, hit me, you
fucking bitch, hit me, blah blah blah. Finally, one of the other girls at
the table just turned to her and said, "Jeez Toni, why do you need a whole
bunch of people to kick her ass? Can't you just do it yourself?" And as
Toni stared at this table of 4 or 5 girls laughing at her now, she suddenly
got this sickening look on her face, put her tail between her legs, and
shrunk away.
As much fun as those years were, nothing prepared me for my junior
and senior years of high school. 11th grade was muddy, as I simply HATED
EVERYONE starting that year, and just didn't feel up to getting into any
more fights. Not that I didn't let my mouth run -- it's just, well, things
had changed somehow.
Kelly was in my Driver's Ed class. I sat near her. There was lots
of group work to be done. I was in horror, as just two years earlier, this
spindly badass girl and wanted to do nothing short of tear me limb from
limb. But she shocked the hell out of me by coming up to me... and saying
hi. And starting a conversation. AND GIVING ME HER PHONE NUMBER. She
wanted to hang out. What the FUCK? This made no sense. I didn't call her
by any means, let alone hang around with her, because she wanted to KILL ME
once, and who was to know that one day she wasn't going to roll over and
say, "Hey, I know that Summer girl, she narked me out to the school
counselor that I was smoking pot." But that day never came, and for years
after high school when she'd see me while I was working at Wendy's (she
worked in the same plaza and would often come in for lunch), she and I
always shared a bit of conversation. It was really creepy.
But on into senior year, this phenomenon continued. I remember at
one point saying something to some group of popular badass chicks that I
probably should have never said if I wanted to keep my real teeth. For some
reason, this group of girls APOLOGIZED and nearly ran the other way. What
the fuck? I was a senior who ran around school in bellbottoms, tie dye and
a fluorescent backpack with Dot from Animaniacs on it -- a walking target.
I was not a badass. But somewhere along the line, I got a badass'
reputation.
Even the boys that I had spent my junior high with in homeroom -- you
know the kind, the ones that will fight ANYONE at ANYTIME for BREATHING
SIDEWAYS -- were afraid of me. As a senior, one of them made some joke at
top volume about how I used to like New Kids on the Block. I just looked at
him like he was a walking retard and said, "Jesus Christ, that was only
FOUR YEARS ago, haven't you come up with something better since then?" And
he said NOTHING. This was supposed to be the part when he got one of his
Badass Chicks that he hangs out with to come and kill me for humiliating
him in public, or, given that he was an uncouth brute, would hit me himself.
But no. He just stood there with a look of defeat on his face.
Hell, my BOYFRIEND my senior year got picked on and was in a fight,
but people stayed out of MY way. That's about how asinine it was. Nobody
fucked with me at all. If I said something quite ignorant (albeit true, as
I was not the type to attack the innocent or cheapshot anyone), people would
APOLOGIZE to me. That is wrong. That is not typical high school behavior.
By all rights and means, I should have been a stain on the floor of the high
school years before.
There have been several explanations for this phenomenon. One being
that during my BIG DARK 11TH GRADE, where I was full of hatred, I was
frequently overheard talking to my friends saying something like, "I really
hope I never do get into a real fight. I think if given the chance to
physically unleash my anger, I wouldn't be able to stop until I had caved in
their skull." Other theories are because of my obscenely shameless
individuality, where if I had the balls to walk around in bellbottoms in
1994, I obviously could handle myself. Some would say because I was a big
girl (and I don't mean tall), I would have an advantage anyway. And yet
another theory is that of my mother's, which is much subtler: my voice and
my facial expressions. If you manage to really piss me off and get to hear
my Anger Voice, it really is frightening. It runs in the family. Not to
mention the cold, hard stare that I also inherited. Have you ever watched
two alleycats sizing each other up? You don't fuck with that, and nobody
fucked with me.
But even with those attributes, it still stands as hilarious that I
would even be fodder for a fight, let alone SCARY. I am one of the most
mellow people that my friends know. Okay, well, you have to take exception
to all of the little irritating things, but there's definitely a difference
between an irritation and anger. It takes an awful lot to elevate my anger
without the aid of alcohol. It might be a result of being in a Buddhist
home or having a hippie for a mother, but I believe in choosing my fights
wisely. On the flipside, if you look at many of my semi-local friends, they
tend to HATE EACH OTHER every other week over something stupid. All those
little things, to me, are something to discuss, but not to fight over. If
someone's being a complete asshole, I'll be the one to say, "Hey, dude, you
know, chill, you're being an asshole. Sit down, take some deep breaths,
don't get so worked up." I'm always honest and downright blunt, but I don't
provoke. I believe life is a whole lot better if everyone would just chill.
However, sometimes, there is no amount of chilling that will help the
situation, and when that happens, it's pretty disasterous. I have two
modes: CHILL and KILL. I'm all in favor of working things out as reasonably
as possible, but occasionally, the line is crossed. Such was the case in
my old apartment, when I had sat back and watched as my best friend spread
lies about me, plotted to leave me without a place to live, fucked around on
her husband, ruined her life and everyone's around her, and finally, yes,
attempted to strangle one of our roommates. I had put my two cents in the
whole time, but never did much about it except grow to hate her. Finally,
one day, she decided to dye her hair. It was the exact same color that I
had been dyeing my hair. That one little thing for some reason was that
last drop that caused the volcano of HATE to finally erupt.
It was one of the first times in my life that I had really let my
anger cut loose 100%. It's easy to be mad at someone you don't know who is
being an ass, but this was my BEST FRIEND. Suddenly, with that final piece
of information, it just all sunk in how much I hated her and I damned sure
didn't want to LOOK like her. Lo and behold, she walked in the door five
minutes after I had declared that I had a few things to say to her, and,
being a woman of my word, I most certainly did. Her husband and one of my
best friends, Steve, attempted to block me from getting to her. So I
punched him in the chest and shoved him out of my way. And so I turned to
that walking chunk of vile and screamed in her face for a good two minutes
straight. The desire to stay out of jail managed to keep me from hitting
her, as she was the kind of cunt who would press charges, so I channeled it
all into words. Let me tell ya, I have never said anything more hurtful,
spiteful, horrible, demeaning, or vile in my entire life. I've never been
so angry, before or since.
Looking back on all that time in my life, I think it was a really
good thing that I developed a badass reputation. I really surprised myself
that day when I cut loose, and I can't even imagine what would've happened
if she would've hit me in response. I'm not sure what might have happened
if any of those girls would've taken a swing at me. I don't know how things
might have been different in my life if my mouth had gotten me into trouble
instead of evoking apologies and running away. I'm definitely not a fighter
by nature, but I have a constant need say things anyway, and that most
certainly could've been my undoing.
You know, I live a relatively low-stress life (with the exception of
paying bills). I only have the desire to make myself happy, but I don't
step on others, even if I don't give half a shit about them. I can be
brutally honest, blunt, and seemingly mean, but I don't say things unless
they deserve to be said. And apparently, I'm really scary when I'm angry,
and I think that's the only reason nobody has successfully attempted to kill
me yet.
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( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada371 by Gloomchen o
> ^ < o
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