Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Now that my first kiss story is done, I'm terrified that I will lose my readership. I don't have anymore exciting cliff hangers to keep you coming back. PLUS, it's probably now firmly solidified in your mind that I am mentally unsound, so you probably don't want to encourage my crazy by feeding my perception that you think I'm funny. Did that sentence make any sense?

So you've just exited Happy Romantic Blog mode and you're entering Dark Past Vigilante Blog mode. Welcome, suckers.

I'm keeping your interest by telling you about my fights. This is basically the opposite of my first kiss story.

Picture me as an 11-year-old. I was blond and skinny and had to wear plaid dresses with white knee-socks and saddle shoes.

Inwardly, though, I was a warrior. The was a storm a'brewing.

FIGHT #1: (ding! ding!)

I was a total punk in middle school. This was like 4 years after my dad died and I was medicated for a mental illness I didn't have. I was all kinds of messed up, perfectly prone to engage in some excellent hand combat.

I didn't have very many friends and I thought the world was full of people that hated me. One of these people was Murphy.

Murphy was the boy that everyone loved. He was really nice to all the girls, which was strange for 6th grader. He loved all of them but me. I probably deserved his hatred, though I can't think of any specific reasons at the moment.

One night we were in a Shakespeare play the school put on. Julius Caesar I think. After the play, a bunch of us went out onto the soccer field for no reason. Probably the reason was "It's like 10pm and the soccer field is dark and if we go out there we will feel like Batman or some other intense adult."

So we were out on the soccer field being all edgy and suddenly Murphy attacked me. Ok, I probably said something really mean or retarded and he was just acting out because we were on the soccer field at 10pm and anything is possible. I should get Murphy's side of the story because in his version, I'm probably the villain. But I'm a little scared to ask him about this because it was like 12 years ago and our limited interaction involved a fight...

So anyway, he just kind of came at me. I don't remember much except just trying to push him away. Midst all the flying limbs, I must have hit his nose because he was suddenly still and ran off into the darkness. The next day a few people came up to me in the lunch room and asked me about why I gave Murphy a bloody nose.

I don't even know if he actually had a bloody nose, but we didn't really talk about it again.

A couple of years ago, Murphy contacted me on facebook. He told me that he was really sorry about everything that had happened in middle school. It was really really sweet.

Relationship: mended.

FIGHT #2: (ding! ding!)

Fight number 2 was totally my fault. I started it. I finished it. It was all me.

I think this was the following year. One morning, my family woke up to discover that we had been robbed. It was super traumatizing. It still makes my stomach hurt to think about this. They had come up our driveway, entered our open garage, and taken basically everything out of my mom's minivan. Her purse, wallet and phone were included in the deal, along with like 300 CDs. The only thing left was the Santana CD that was actually in the CD player at the time. Anytime, I hear "Smooth" by Rob Thomas and Santana, I remember this stupid day.

At school the following Monday, I was still a bit moody about it. Someone asked what was wrong. I whispered to them what had happened. Some dork kid name Amir heard what I had whispered and shouted to our class, "Hey everyone! Asia was robbed!"

Then I decided that I needed to kill him. I got out of my desk, marched over to him, grabbed the back of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby desk. Once he was bent over the desk, trying to get his balance to stand up, I didn't really know what to do with him so I just went back to my desk and sat down.

The craziest part about all of this is... I don't remember where our teacher was. I didn't get into any trouble for it. This may have been right before class was supposed to start so people were just getting settled in the class room. I don't know.

A few months later, a boy named Jeremy told me he loved me. I didn't really know what to do with this information. He also said that he waited to tell me about his love because he was afraid that I was going to do to him what I'd done to Amir. I'd become a monster! But he was in love with me anyway.

Oh, middle school. Sigh.

SIDE NOTE: I don't remember if I've ever told my mom about these fights. Don't be disappointed, Mom! I grew up to be a dainty flower of a lady.


  1. haha. you beat up two boys. that's awesome. i wonder what my in-laws would think if i blogged about my fights...

  2. my one and only act of violence was a 9 year old me grabbing my neighbor's ponytail on the walk home from school and slinging her (by the ponytail) into the ditch next to where we were walking. She said she couldn't help that it was slinging back and forth, but I knew she could!


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