Friday, October 23, 2009

When I think back on my life ...

I don't know why I remembered this particular incident in college - but it hit me a little bit ago and it's gotten me to thinking. And I'd like your take.

First, you should know that I'm all of 5'6" and my idea of a fair fight is my swinging garbage cans and jabbing letter openers into people (and that trusty razor blade I hide neatly underneath my Puerto Rican tongue) ... but the reality is that I've never really had to actually BE in a fight. Because I'm crazy. Seriously - I'm not all there ... and I accept that. I really do. But at least I'm the functional type of crazy that doesn't need to be holed up in some psyche ward and studied until the right cocktail of drugs seems to be turning me into some predictable homo sapien that can be released to some apartment-based facility.

(look, the ex-wife worked at the psyche ward - THAT'S how I know these things! damn..)

I'm the type of crazy that even the strong and virile want around just in case shit gets too out of hand for them ... then steps in me. Looking all crazy and totally hiding the fact that I'm an inch from wetting myself.

So, anyway - there I was ... in college. Friends with member of both the boy's and the girl's rugby team. Look - I'm not stupid. I prefer to surround myself with people that aren't afraid to take a hit (in the face, not from a bong - but that too!) because I do consider myself way too pretty to be hit.

(unless I'm wearing my crazy face - see above)

So, I go to another dorm to hang out with two rugby players, one from the girl's team and one from the boy's team. In this trio - I'm totally the sane one, by the way. (Whatever they told you about Rugby players, if it was that they are "all there," you were lied to) So, we get to drinking and hanging out and listening to music and laughing and doing all the ridiculous things you do in college ... expect somehow they were wrestling me.

Now, let me tell you about me and wrestling.


So, I don't know - it got all weird really fast and suddenly dude with the rugby named "BUDDHA" (because, seriously - he was half filipino and TOTALLY looked like a statue of Buddha - all he needed was a bunch of fruit at his feet - and not me!) has me pinned down.

Except - it's weirder than just being pinned. We're laying on the floor, my back to him and he's got me pinned against ... himself - arms above my head in a full nelson and one big ole buddha-like leg thrown over me. Homegirl, by the way, is busy feeling me up and buddha starts grinding on my ass. And I'm totally mad because

  1. She is totally not my type
  2. He is totally not my type
  3. I didn't ask for none of this
  4. They seemed to have planned this whole thing, and

Ok, so my resolve is to ask them to stop. She said, "yeah right - stop - you know you like it."

I raise my voice, "NO! I DON'T - YOU NEED TO FUCKING STOP"

I raised my voice loud enough that it changed the situation and she threw her hands straight up into the air saying, "ok - ok." Buddha wasn't as reluctant to let go - he stopped grinding but didn't let go of his grip on me for about 30 seconds, which seemed like an eternity. But he did let go and the air in the room completely changed back to what it was before they pretty much accosted me.

So, why is it that even looking back at it now - I don't consider myself having been violated? Why did their apology right then make it ok to stay - you heard me ... I didn't leave right then. But the day is significant enough to me that I remember what I was wearing that night (green plaid flannel - blue jeans) .. and yet I can talk about it without any sort of disgust or disdain or malice or anything.

I think it's weird.


The Jaded NYer said...