This girl. or. that girl. depending on how you look at it.

So there was this girl.

When any piece of writing starts like that I feel like the following sentences convey some type of importance or meaning revolving around "this girl".

However, not this girl. This girl had invaded my room with her festering army of pleasant aroma eating bacteria. It was a nice Saturday night, and we were having a hall crawl, which is exactly what it sounds like. In other words, we were promoting a binge drinking fun house boot camp training ground – I unfortunately cannot put any of this fault on my own, because the college’s design broods this very activity. The point is, the majority of humans walking, dancing, floating, what-have-you, around were what I like to call, “16 year old drunk.”

Of course the previous, is somewhat of an exaggeration, what I meant to say was,

“this girl, was 16 year old drunk.” Typically I’m, OKAY, with people roaming around a party with the status, 16 year old drunk – however, this particular girl was in MY room, and in MY party. Combine with the fact that I was most likely the oldest guy in the room, the most capable of holding his alcohol, and the one putting on sick ass supple beats – I may have been on a different level than this chick. Take that back. I most definitely was on a different level, I was on a different playing field, and I was the fucking quarterback.

Another prevalent point is that Public Safety is down the hall, most likely observing me, which is okay because they know I play within the rules and respect them – they return the same feeling. So, to the actual point. This girl, was saying some really messed up shit, spitting some racist slurs out of her mouth, and definitely throwing in some other derogatory statements against specific populations of people. I decided right then and there, that I am NOT okay with that sort of thing going on in my room - or anywhere for that matter.  Oh yeah, and I’m pretty sure she accidentally insulted herself somewhere in there. SO. I said this,

“Excuse ME?”

That’s right, just like that.

And what I really meant to say was…. do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

After she said 2 more statements that rubbed my piloerection (goosebumps) the absolute wrong way, I said what I meant. So I said,

“If you can't clean up your mouth, I am going to clean you straight out of here.”

That’s right, just like that.

If there is anyone from SOAR reading this, I was bringing down a serious logical consequence straight on her ass.

So. Some amount of time went by, I left the room after she left for awhile, and the following moment was the moment when Public Safety was watching this interaction go down. I came back down the hallway, approaching my doorway to walk in and put on the next song, None of your business, by salt-n-peppa. Instead of walking clean into my door, like expected, this girl was blocking my way. So I said excuse me, in a more polite tone than I had in the past. She did not move. Like this little girl thinks she’s the line backer in my playing field or something. Well, since I was the quarter back, I did the following.

She placed 4 fingers firmly on my forehead, and shoved my skull into the hallway. I did not like this, so I made a corresponding look for the emotion I was feeling, and I tried to walk into my room again. The SAME thing happened again. I heard John from PubSafe chuckling in the distance. So. I walked straight for her, as her hand extended to shove my head out, I ducked under her arm, side stepped through the doorway and into my room, got in, and shoved her body into the hallway and out of my doorway – then assertively closed the door. I could hear the laughter from P-safe, this is what gave me gratification.

Anyways, the thought that spurred this ridiculous rant is now appropriate to say, because you have the back story – which is almost everything in a story if you didn’t know. Back stories are crucial.

This girl came up to me later in the night, still maybe 17 year old drunk by now (less drunk), and I was most likely "graduating college drunk".

She walked up to me and say:

“Hey, sorry for being such an asshole earlier.”

So I replied,

“Yeah? Why were you being such an asshole?”

She said,

“Well I was jerking you around.”

So I replied,

“Why were you jerking me around?

She said,

“uhm, i dunno i was just being a dick”

So I replied,

“and why did you feel the need to be such a dick?”

Reluctantly this went on for a couple more back and forths, but finally she said,

“Because I thought I was being funny.”

 and I then finally replied,

"Well then... Was what you were doing funny?"

That is what sparked this story. I realized that I wanted to be a cynical ODL major because I wanted HER to discover for herself that she was in fact an asshole (instead of her just apologizing to appease her conscious). I also realized, when Riley told me, “wow. You’re an asshole.” That I was being an asshole. In my mind, it was completely justified. If someone in your life is ever being an asshole to you, I think you must take the higher road, but if, and only if, you must take a lower road, take the road of making the asshole discover for them selves that he/she is an asshole.