"I just came here to kick some ass and drink some beer. Looks like we're all outta beer."

In the cult classic, Dazed and Confused, there's a crucial scene where Adam Goldberg's nerdy character, Mike, offends a party-goer named Clint by commenting about the "reefer" smell at the Moon Tower party. Clint, likely too buzzed and likely a rendition of a typical ego-driven bad boy, takes Mike's off-handed comment and responds by confronting him and attempting to initiate a fight. Before things get out of hand, Clint makes the remark that I've used for the title of today's blog.

If you're like me, Dazed and Confused is a film you had to see back in high school and you can remember hundreds of funny lines and several awkward scenes like this one. For Mike, this scene leaves him a state of unprepared shock. A goody-goody and scholastic achiever, Mike (so it seems) has never been confronted by someone threatening verbal or physical abuse and his initial response is to apologize, cower away, and let the tension pass. However, for those who remember the film, Mike doesn't handle the embarrassment of being confronted for long and later plots to start his own fight with Clint.

My point? To talk about the awkward, aggressive moment. You know the ones; the moments when you've unintentionally made someone angry and you're ill-prepared to respond to abusive comments or the threat of a physical fight. If you're the Clint type, well then, you may want to gloss over this entry.

Most of us want to avoid confrontation if at all possible. The thought of someone kicking our asses or having to defend ourselves against a verbal assault is enough to make us tell every white lie in history to avoid a "scene," especially in public.

Yesterday, I upset a man who wanted to use the computer service in my office. He knew he wasn't allowed to use the service and had been lying each time he came in in order to do so. Having been caught, he was angry that I had told him "No." At this point, the man towered over me screaming, "I ain't gonna have no woman telling me what to do! I do what I want to do! And I'm gonna come back and do something about this!"
In the moment, I felt my blood turn hot, felt my face flush, and got that tingle under my skin that warns: "You're in a situation. Time to choose your response."
My knee-jerk response would have been: "You know what, a-hole? That's just fine! That's just fine that you don't want a woman telling you what to do and so if that's the case, get your drunk, ugly ass out of my office because right now, the woman is running the place!"
(I would have my fists clenched up too.)
BUT! The response that came out was, "I'm sorry you feel that way, sir. Please come back when you have satisfied your requirements for use of the computer lab."

Talk about anti-climatic. Meanwhile, I'm left with the stress of unused anger, the blood still boiling, the teeth grinding, the face screwed up in a perpetual smirk that reads "I cannot believe that guy F-ed with me."
That guy? He left with the comfort of having spoken his piece - anger left like glass shattered all over my office floor. More crap to step in during the day.

How many times do we choke on our own rage and initial response to defend and protect ourselves? How often do you fall on your own sword to protect those around you or for the sake of being composed, professional, polite? I liken the unspent frustration to having a profound case of gastrointestinal woe.

It sucks. When I was 21, I went to a Muncie Wal-Mart (gasp!) to buy some booze with a friend. Back then, we were high on the fact that we were of age and if we could get Icehouse or Keystone or Dark Eyes at Wal-Mart, that was fine by us. Upon leaving the store, I saw a woman dragging her toddler daughter by the hair and screaming obscenities. The little girl was sobbing and struggling and this cow of a woman was just beating the tar out of her in the parking lot.
(Note - this WAS Wal-Mart after all!)

My gut got the best of me in this situation. I passed our bags to my friend and went charging after this woman, incensed and driven by a mission to protect someone smaller, more innocent than myself. Screaming, "You better let go of her! Pick on someone your own size!" I got within feet of this woman who turned to me, fist raised, and ready to hit the next person who got in her way. "I know the difference between discipline and beating!" I shouted, "And if you want to beat on someone, go on and try beating up on me!"

Poor little girl, she took one look at my stupid college girl outfit and flabbity arms and made a face as if to say "Girl, you're not going to win this thing. You've made it worse."

The woman charged at me and in the moment, the 'flight' response kicked in. I grabbed for my cell phone threatening to dial 911. I knew just then that this woman a) out-sized me by about 50-100 pounds and b) wasn't afraid of doing damage to me. My dialing the phone stopped her. The passersby stopped her. And the crisis was averted.

Again, a missed chance to tangle with someone, but at least we were both alive and relatively unharmed. Again, a waste of rage.

At a concert not long ago, an angry audience member shoved me out of her way, both hands on my shoulders. She was mad because I was taking photos of the band and in the front row. To make matters worse, she was delusioned into thinking I was the new lead singer's girlfriend. (Not true, but I challenge anyone to talk sense into a clinically crazy person.)
As she shoved me, I felt this was the PERFECT opportunity for a brawl. I haven't been in a fight since I was ten. Here was my chance.

And I backed away. My friend stepped in and checked the situation by telling Ms. Crazy Pants just where she could take her crazy self. The loon was hauled off by her buddies shortly after.

What's my point? I'm not a violent person. I have a long history of missed chances to go to the floor with people who are mean to me; people who are abusive; people who are just plain crazy. There are those of us who fight and those of us who don't, I guess.
But my patience with backing down for the sake of composure has worn thin I think. I came into this world and was raised in this world to be kind to everyone. I still believe in that and I still live by that.

But I also came into this party for the beer and it looks like we're running out of beer.
:)

On Midwestern Winters...

If you're currently living in the "Bible Belt," you've just now come to grips with the sneaky F-U Mother Nature pulled this year. Tricked into getting comfy with the 50 degree "heat," most of us have been blindly, maybe smugly, trucking along in light jackets all the way through November. The turkey month was just long enough for many of us to forget the big reason residents evacuate to the coasts: WINTER.

Don't get me wrong, we're not ignorant of the fact that winters here are terrible, terrible meaning icky, icy, blechy, and depression-inducing. They are rarely catastrophic and they are rarely so problematic that survival is difficult. However, Midwestern winters are typically lengthy (think late October/early November through March+) and are peppered with periods of sleet, solid ice, large mountains of snow, the coldest rain this side of Canada, and possibly the most infuriating traffic issues known to man.

The last of these is that the Midwest is always somehow surprised by the first winter blast. Salt trucks are often late out of the gate and are ill-equipped to handle the large number of roads. If you live in the country or a smaller neighborhood, forget it, you're snow bound for awhile. City management simply doesn't have enough coin in the coffer to be proactive and if not for the private snow plowers, many of us would be screwed.

The first few days of winter are also a traffic nightmare because drivers simply weren't ready for the hit. This year, it was worse given that three extra weeks of cool, even-tempered bliss. The first snowflake brings most of the Fort Wayne area drivers to a screeching halt. Pumping the brakes at 20 mph, more accidents in those first few hours are caused by the over-cautious rather than the stupid.

The morning commute is enough to test Ghandi's level of patience. Mind you, only one or two school buses are on the road because most systems shut down at the sight of black ice anymore, banking on a fistful of snow days reserved by the state. Drivers crawl from street to street, leaving safe space between one another while braking a mile ahead of schedule for each turn. Inevitably, some rager will finally lose his/her piece behind the wheel and 'make a break for it,' revving up to the speed limit and passing. This guy/gal usually ends up in a ditch further down the road while the rest of creep by wagging fingers and pretending that if knew how to slow down on the icy road, we'd actually stop and help them out.
You can hear 911 sirens between 7 am and 10 am and 4 pm and 6 pm daily. Guess what? The speed limit guy and the 20 mph under person wrecked. Shocker.
The rest of us just added two additional hours to our work day. *snarl*

If you work for a school or have kids in school or heck, are still in school, you typically spend between 5:30 am and 7:30 am, making frequent stops in front of the TV, hands clasped, praying for a delay or a cancellation. This dance adds more minutes to your day and as it gets closer and closer to "go time," the angrier you get when you realize your school system is on time. Expletives and shouts of "Don't they know how bad it is out there!" reverberate against the walls as you now rush to get your car defrosted in time to at least manage to get to work/school only fifteen minutes late.
As you drive, you're usually hoping for the radio to announce your cancellation, but alas, you're now at school and it's time to start your day. Mind you, your 8 hour day is now advanced to 12 given the lead time you need to drive. Congratulations! You're a 'workaholic.'

If you work at a school or attend school, the entire day will be spent either a) fielding angry phone calls from parents and students who "CANNOT BELIEVE you didn't cancel," or b) commiserating with fellow students about the long, treacherous commute you have that evening.

Meanwhile, your K-12 pals are adding an hour of sleep to their day and contemplating pancakes and eggs over a PopTarts today. Dammit.

What's amazing is how cyclical this is. We ALL do this! We all get outraged when our work/school doesn't delay or cancel and we all white-knuckle it to work and back every day, cursing other drivers and this middle finger they call Iowa through Ohio. We drive like paper assholes and bitch and moan while we try to ramp up the driveway once a plow has heaped snow and ice in front of the driveway. (To ramp it or not to ramp it? The answer is usually NOT if you value your exhaust system AT ALL.)

And winter is ALL anyone around here can talk about too. Every other Facebook status is "Winter, GRRR" or "FU WINTER!" or "Commuting to work was an eternal suck," etc. The office is littered with conversation of "Is it okay if I'm a few minutes late due to the roads?" or "You won't believe how LONG it took me to get here!" You can actually read the thoughts on employees faces - "How many sick days do I have left?"

I won't lie. I do all of this too. Maybe not the sick days part, but I find myself wondering just how early you can leave the house and still be thirty minutes late and it still be okay? This time of year is the only time (mind you it's half the calendar year) that I go from road raging lunatic behind the wheel to a driver akin to an 90 year-old, cataract patient. This morning, I actually talked myself into wearing my snow boots ALL day at the office - no small feat for a girl who prides herself on nice shoes. And yes, I cursed out loud when my back passenger window REFUSED to roll back up once down. (That'll teach me to take the shortcut when getting the snow off the windows. Only a snow brush works without damaging the car.)

And I guess what I lament most about the winter is that it's not nearly as fun anymore. Being an adult has changed what snow is for me. The only time that I feel snow is a blessing and not a burden are the weekends when I may WANT to make a snowman or shovel the drive to burn calories. But ask me to drive in it? No thank you. The weekend is when I can get excited about mittens and hot chocolate and sledding and skiing and all those cool things that winter is supposed to mean to people.

Winter forces us all indoors - to the dry, hot air that ruins our pores and frizzes our hair. Unless you can afford all the designer trends, for comfort you're relegated to giant sweaters and hoodies and hats and we all walk around like proverbial marshmallows.
(Which isn't so bad actually.)
Winter is when you have about thirty blankets on your bed because it's just so damn expensive to pay for heat here. (Don't be fooled: apartment people and homeowners alike spend similarly on heat.)
Winter is when we test our driving chops and designated drivers are at a premium. Winter is when a cold blast can cut you down to the bone and leave you shaking like a crazy person, while you pump gas or go out to see if your pipes indeed, have frozen.

We all think we'll be prepared when it gets here, but it doesn't really happen.
This year, I hope to enjoy winter. As I ramble, I hope that I find the beauty in it and quit seeing it like some giant, icy-fingered monster that always sucks the motivation from my soul.
(Think Chinese takeout, M&Ms, and hours of movies)
This year, I hope to look forward to ice skating and not have stress for hours about driving to work in the morning.
This year, I hope winter is over in February.
EARLY.

And you know, maybe it will. After all, we had Fall through November.
:)

Drive safely, friends.
Happy Winter.