I decided that once a week I’ll tell stories from my life. Not that I have too many crazy memories or great stories to tell, but at least this will be a nice place to house them all.
Okay, true story, I’ve hit two people in my life. (Well, three, but we don’t mention the third…ahem)
The first time I hit someone was my senior year of high school. I was taking a class named “Senior Survival” to fill up my credits and to get an easy A. It was a filler class, in it you learned how to balance a check book, set a table, buy a car, and …how to sew.
By this time in my life, I had already had my fair share of time behind a sewing machine, but on this particular day we were learning how to put in pockets. I was really excited and paying close attention.
Now, there was one girl in my class who had been a complete trouble making, disruptive, brat the entire year. She’d curse, interrupt… On this day, as the teacher was instructing us, she was at her worse.
After a few minutes of not being able to hear, I had enough. I turned to her and said, “Shut up, Come on!” (I told you I really wanted to know how to sew pockets.)
She got up, walked across the class room, and pushed my desk into me.
I stood up and just hit her -in the face.
Immediately, the class/teacher had us off each other.
In the end, she got expelled, and all the students/teachers had said she hit me first(?) so I got to learn how to make pockets.
The second time I ever hit someone, was at a St. Patrick’s day party my friend Luis was hosting. I think this was 2007.
It was a huge house party with a bonfire. Music was loud, and everyone I knew at the time was there. I had been drinking my fair share, and I remember having a wand with bells on it.
I started to run around the backyard with the wand, and then proceed to kick the folding chairs. (When I’ve had too much to drink, I have this “idgaf” attitude…flaw) Someone had brought over about 10 pellet guns, and I threw one into the fire, then a chair…
I kept running around, and people started to chase me. I was seriously being crazy. Finally, Luis caught me, and I started yelling, “I hate your house!” over and over. Luis then looked me in the eye and told me I was being a crazy bitch. (Hindsight, clearly I was.)
I smacked him in the face. Really hard, it stung my hand.
Luis then screamed at my boyfriend at the time to, “Take her the fuck home!” -which he did. In silence. all the way home.
He dropped me off, then went back to the party.
The next morning, when I woke up, I was covered in pen ink, and had a pad of paper scribbled with how sorry I was and how I would never drink like that again. -And I haven’t since then.
The ironic part of this story, is that I would eventually live in that house, which I had “hated” so much!