On The Precipice of Mediocrity, Teetering
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| I Am John's Stomach Pains. On The Precipice of Mediocrity, Teetering |
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Monday, May 16, 2005 Pacifism Is It's Own Rewa- OW, Fuck! I've been debating the title of this post. If I put something like "Victim" or "Helpless", I'll come off as a pussy. If I put something like "Holz Gets His Ass Kicked", it'd be an exaggeration, and would give too much credence to my "friend". So I decided to go with what was going through my head during the second attack... but, we'll get to that. Like I said earlier, my friend's were putting together a camping trip this past weekend at Kirby Cove by the Golden Gate Bridge, with a BBQ on Saturday afternoon. Since I have an addiction to TV and need constant news updates, if I'm away from civilization for more than 24 hours, I get a bit antsy, so I decided to just go to the BBQ and stay overnight... two days in the wilderness is a bit much. So me and my pal Hawk show up a bit after three, and get to drinking and just hanging. It takes me about 5 minutes to realize my friend Markass is drunk as hell, which seeing as he's a cliche drunk, isn't too much of a surprise. I say cliche drunk, because when he drinks (which is often of late), he goes through the same stages every single time: he gets loud, then he gets abrasive, then he starts yelling, then he gets destructive, then he gets horny, then he gets sick, then he gets crying. It's all very sophomoric (be it college or high school, take your pick), and of course he thinks it's very entertaining to us. Yeah, that's a negatory. Anyway, after a few hours of "I fucked your mama" comments to everyone in the crowd, a few bottles tossed into the woods, a few women hugged and draped over, the crowd has thinned out (I can't imagine why), and we've got about 15 people hanging out around the fire as the sun goes down, listening to someone play guitar, and basically just chilling. I've had a few beers, but am surprisingly sober, so much so I'm wondering if the keg was non-alcoholic, and someone was pulling a joke. No matter, if I had been drunk, the next minute may have gone a bit differently. I'm looking in the fire, and I slide on my sunglasses. This is the exact exchange that happens next: Markass: Ooh, look at Holz with his cool sunglasses on. Holz: Ooh, hey, look, you have a bottle of diet Coke in your hands. See, I can be observant, too. Next thing I know, he comes around the fire and begins spouting out inane fight babble. Y'know the type, "come on motherfucker, stand up" and "that's it, let's go". Like I said before, very cliche. Of course, this is my friend, he's drunk as hell, and I roll my eyes, because seriously? In my mind this is the least offensive exchange he's had with anyone all night. So, I exhale a light scoff, and tell him to sit down, and I begin to take another sip of my beer. That's when shit went downhill (or maybe off a cliff, it had been going downhill since I got there). He slaps the beer out of my hand into my face, and then pushes my chair over, toppling me out of it. I curse him out and begin wiping the beer off my face, when he jumps on top of me and continues cursing and trying to get me to fight. He hasn't thrown anything at me yet, but his arms are now around my head and neck, wrenching. Now, my mindset here is a little foggy. I wasn't angry, per se, more confused, which could explain why I started laughing a bit. Obviously, he didn't find that funny, and just continued squeezing and roll around even more. You have to take into account that we're also right next to a raging fire, so the seriousness is finally dawning on me. Thankfully, someone pulled him off, and everyone's yelling at him to calm the fuck down, but he's in that state where he's not gonna chill until someone makes him chill. As I get up from the ground, he throws yet another tantrum and grabs my chair, launching it into the woods. Someone behind him begins calling him a fucking child, and for a second, he spins away from me, locking in on them. Of course, instead of locking in on the fighters of the group, The Captain and Hurt, he decides to lock in on one of our chick friends, let's call her Robin. Now, aside from me, Robin was the only other one at the party getting most of the brunt from him. I imagine there's some history of rejection there, who knows... probably he just likes targeting people he thinks he can take in a fight. Anyway, like the total dick he is, Markass actually takes a step towards her, and then begins calling her out. Now, somehow in the recesses of my mind, a sliver of chivalry emerges, and I wrap my arm around him and try and hold him back. Of course, he's about my size, so I'm kinda failing. I look down at our legs, and see two huge logs jutting from the fire. So, using his own momentum against him, I let go and give a slight shove as he topples over them and face plants into the ground. Yay, the aggression is now pointed at me once again. No hesitation from him now, he gets up and comes at me again. This time, I'm not laughing. Again, a tad fuzzy as it went by so fast, but we go down to the ground again, I catch what I can only imagine to be an elbow in the eye (hence the blog title), and I hear a tear as one of my favorite Hawaiian shirts literally gets every button ripped off. I also catch my expensive sunglasses on the ground next the fire, bent to hell. Still, the only thing going through my mind is that this guy is my friend, and I'm not going to beat him down as he's incoherent . But, holy hell, was I close. Thankfully, The Captain once again steps in, pulls him off me, and throws him into a tree, then jumps on top of him to settle him down. He's got him face planted into the dirt, his arm on the back off his neck, as I'm getting up, massaging mine. The Captain, while one of the nicest guys I know, can also be damn scary when he needs to be, and he was in rare form here. He was able to talk a smidgen of sense into him, and carted Markass away from camp for the next hour as we all tried to reconcile everything that had happened. Now, I'm not one to anger. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been pissed enough to throw down, and I still have enough fingers left to snap. This is probably the worst it's ever been. But, I was determined let it go. And the only way I know how to deal with uncomfortable situations is to make jokes, and to try and break the ice. So while everyone is all quiet, I walk over, pick up my sunglasses (damn expensive ones, too) shake my head and curse. Then I look down at the tattered remnants of my shirt (my pants also have a rip going down the leg, but that's another, funnier addendum). I look back up, and complain, "Goddamnit, this is my favorite shirt. I paid 12 whole dollars for this thing!" Ice officially broken, and a nervous chuckle passes through the crowd. A shot of whiskey and cigarette later (yes, I needed some nicotine to settle my shaking hands), I'm cool. Or so I thought. It wasn't until an hour later when Markass comes back and puts his hands on my shoulders, getting his head close and begins blubbering an apology. My level of anger at this is exponentially worse, and as my voice drops about 300 octaves, I can tell he senses it too and tries to pull back, but I'm not letting that happen. I grab his arms and dig in, and growl through tensed teeth, "Tomorrow. Not now. Tomorrow. And if you give me any fucking shit about you not remembering, we are fucking through. You hear me: through. I don't care if you need someone to tell you this, do it. You have a problem that you need to deal with-" At this he tries to gets angry and defensive, and pull away, but like I said: not happening. "Oh no, you don't get to say shit right now, motherfucker. You singled me out. You singled [Robin] out. Don't say you didn't know what you were doing, because you did. Now get the fuck outta here before I throw you in the fire. Sleep it off. And don't be pulling the 'don't remember' card like you always do, because we all know it's bullshit." So, that was it. The night had a few other points of note (most notably when the park ranger came by, but again, 'nother story), but we were able to head to bed without incident. The foghorns were hell, but honestly, I was so tired, I didn't really care. The next morning, by the time I got up, half the peeps were already gone. I saw Markass up the hill packing up, but didn't approach him. 'Bout 15 minutes later, he came down to the campsite, and in the most non-chalant voice I could imagine, actually said this to me: "Sorry man, guys told me I got a little wild on ya' last night, don't remember much of anything, just wanted to say sorry." Just shook my head, said "Yeah, you said that last night, whatever." He just kept walking. Through. posted by Holz | 11:45 AM | Rant & Rave, Bitches! (4) 4 Comments:It's alright Holz, I got your back. Next time Is ee him, I'll bust up his glasses....and his face. Who am I kiding, I'll just make some smart remark and move on. And that's only if I can musted the balls to do that. I'm right with you on the Pacifism thing. I've only ever been punched once and it hurt too much to do it again. I've never thrown a punch in a fight in my life. I wouldn't know how to handle it. I feel for you man. Hope your eye feels better soon.
By Man, I defintely would not have been able to handle it as well! Props to you! My temper rarely comes out but it would have there. I have yet to be in any real fighting situation like that and I hope that it doesnt happen any time soon.
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Thanks for the thoughts everyone, it's been a few days now, and nothing much has changed. He hasn't said anything to Robin or I, and it doesn't look like he will... we were supposed ot go see Star Wars together tonight at midnight, should be interesting what happens. Thankfully, we bought separate tickets.
By Um, I don't know you or your 'friend' Markass, but he sounds like a monumental dick. You don't need 'friends' like that.
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"Let a man get away with fuckin' you once, you stay bent over so's he can fuck you again whenever he damn well pleases. An' if one man can do it? Another will too. An' another, an' another still. So's being fucked, that's yer life. 'Til who you were, you ain't. 'Cause all you are is an asshole." 100 Bullets #42 | |||||
