Monday, November 07, 2005

My Street Cred = Zero

This weekend was another one in which I celebrated my escape from the Saundersons by actually going out like a real human being. On Friday we went to a fairly awesome ceilidh (which I am never sure I have spelled right), and because I quite like dancing foolishly and I had bought a new skirt for the occasion I was a little over exuberant, and now I have a series of golf-ball sized bruises all down my arm. I think this is kind of like when my legs were itchy earlier this year, so I decided what a rational person would do would be to scratch them until they bled. It seems I am not only very fond of dogs, but sometimes I actually descend to that level. I need a plastic cone around my head or something, except that wouldn't help, and it would keep me from blow-drying my hair, which is at times is the only thing that seperates me from my Mom's cocker spaniel.

Saturday accidentally turned out to be less civilised-- a couple ass-hats showed up at Katie's lovely party and starting acting up, and for some reason I decided I am that useless chick from the A Team who wears pastel colours and sometimes drives the van, and I was going to assist in helping them to leave. I am not sure what the logic in this was, since I am small, weak, and am not a ninja or an expert at negotiating with drugged-up scum (though I wouldlike to be. A ninja, that is. I have absolutely no interest in ever dealing with anyone on drugs again). In my favour, I was at least reasonably sober at that point (though later I poured like a whole glass of red wine down my pretty light green top. Updates on the stain situation will come in later entries), but still. Dev, you are NOT a superhero. Stop trying. Anyway, I joined the actual Batman and Robin duo of Jeff and Keith to try to sort one of these dudes out, but ended up as helpful as Alicia Silverstone (though sans fat belly and upperlip hair-- or so I tell myself); I have since learned that logic and reason and nice compliments intended to distract them from chemically induced rage mean nothing to angry dudes on drugs. Apparently, if you are nice and you have boobs (me), they decide to proposition you; if you are nice and you don't have boobs (Keith) they try to kick your ass for absolutely no reason. Lucky for us they lose both battles.

The really unfortunate thing is this: Keith and Jeff were both very brave and skillful, and ended up with some sore hands, and some badass scratches (especially as the dude tried to bite Keith, which-- come ON. So not in the rules). I ended up on the receiving end of a not very skillful and extremely light-weight smack that was intended for Keith, but I fear I was a total drama queen about it afterwards and bragging about how well I comported myself in my first brawl or something (so tough, I am), and so while Jeff and Keith actually are a bit wounded, I got a series of phonecalls on Sunday to make sure I was okay. Honestly, I think my cat has hit me harder than that guy did, but apparently my PR skills are awesome. Really embarrassing.

And that is, I hope, the last of my selection of entries that come on the tail of some research that has found that Scotland has the highest rate of violent crime in the western world, as well as more than our fair share of peeps who piss in the street. Honestly, I never noticed it before, and I don't plan on noticing it again. Oh well. If you want to read more about brawling you can go see Keith, at Otherwise, kids, stay off the drugs, please.


Blogger TooBlue said...

You are so totally getting the brass knuckle-handled handbag for Christmas, it's not even funny.

5:40 PM  
Blogger OrkneyDullard said...

You know I'd forgotten about the biting? Maybe I should get a tetanus jab. Maybe I should actually have booted fuck out of the guy instead of playing heavy-handed peacemaker.

Ah well.

In other news: hurrah for comment word verification! Good work there.

6:06 PM  
Blogger dev said...

Yeah, the word verification is good. I don't mind the Viagra ads, really, but it is disappointing to think there might be real comments and then find out it is just some weird blog about boats or something.
And if it makes you feel better about the biting, good ole Papa Lazarou from last weekend was at the party and proceeded to bite me in the ass. I didn't really know how to react. He reacted by smiling and saying 'You're my wife now.' I think it was funny, but that's possibly only because I am up-to-date on all my innoculations...
LuLu, I am looking forward to that handbag so much. It will look great with my wife beater and can of Pabst Blue Ribbon outside the trailer. Oh, and my superman cape.

6:25 PM  
Blogger TooBlue said...

Click through for the handbags. They used to make them with REAL knuckles. Foo...

5:25 PM  

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