.............................................. .* * \ /\ .* 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" * * O * *. o |\ _,,,---,,_ * * /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ * * |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Gloomchen * * '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o *. .......................................* '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. .................................................................. /\_/\ * ( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada371 by Gloomchen o > ^ < o ********************************************************************