I would like to preface this post by informing all of you that I do not consider myself to be a violent person. I’ve never been in a fight, and I like pretty much everyone ever. All that aside, every so often I experience violent feelings towards certain groups of people or individuals. In those moments, all I want to do is battle. Here’s a list of battles:
BATTLE #1 – Tiffany VERSUS Models (aka – Waify bitches)
Weapon of choice – My Sam Edelman spiky heels
Venue – Cobblestone streets of the meatpacking district
New York is chock-full of waify bitches. Most of the time, the sight of one or two waify bitches riding the subway or staring hungrily at the bottle of water in my hand doesn’t stir violent urges within me. My general disposition towards skinny New York women ranges from, “Wow. I really need to workout more,” to, “That bitch anorexic!” These are totally harmless emotions, but when I walk around the meatpacking district and I see perfectly dressed, delicately styled models in droves, my immediate instinct is to kick off my shoes and chase after them, stiletto first. I feel the need to protect my ego from their impossibly tiny waists and inner thighs that are so far from touching.
BATTLE #2 – Tiffany VERSUS People who are too big for their airplane seat
Weapon of choice: Brass elbows or, if necessary, my deformed tailbone.
Venue: The airplane
I get that some people are bigger, and that’s totally fine. I, however, don’t appreciate big people using their bigness to overpower my tinyness and get some of MY airplane seat. Sure, you have really broad shoulders. I don’t believe that they render you incapable of crossing your arms at any point during the flight! That is not a recognized medical condition! Do you really need to completely spill over into my seat so that I need to lean INTO the aisle to accommodate your elephantine frame? This does not seem fair, given that I take up approximately 3/4 of my seat space, and very willingly concede the armrest to my fellow seatmate.
Yes, I am familiar with the adage, give them an inch and they’ll take up the entire airplane, but every time it happens I am nonetheless incensed. What the behemoth seated next to me doesn’t know is that in 8th grade, someone pulled a chair out from under me and I fell on a concrete floor. I didn’t break my tailbone, but instead I distorted in in such a way that sitting in the same position for any extended period of time is agonizing. Every moment that the mammoth extremities of my seatmate cause me further discomfort, every cell within my compact form is filling up with venemous rage.
Yes, in theory, the projected winner of this battle is the bigger person, who could easily squash me. IN THEORY. In reality, once squashed, I will roll over and my deformed tailbone will unleash a world of spiny and confusing hurt. Also, I’m considering getting brass elbows for international fights. I don’t THINK I’d get in trouble at security and as a Ludacris fan nothing would be more exciting than actually throwing some bows.
BATTLE #3 – Tiffany VERSUS People who look at that chair I’m saving like they’re going to take it
Weapon of choice: The chair, duh
If for no other reason than to justify my usage of the chair. It’s rare that anyone gives me the stink eye for holding a chair, because I think the awkwardness of being in a busy place and holding a chair is a universally recognized feeling. But every so often, someone starts circling, opening their mouth as if they might ask… Or, even worse, inching towards the chair like they could peaceably take it over.
I want to be like, dude, I am sitting here holding a chair waiting for someone. That is my only activity. There’s no other activity that could possibly take my attention off the chair.
That may also be what makes me want to battle in these moments. At least battling wouldn’t be boring.
This post got too long. To be continued…
Peace, Love and come back soon for some more battles,
PS – Update: You can read Part II here.