The advantages of being a 'Big' girl and why you should always listen to your instincts.

I like to think that I am a calm, cool and collected person.

I'm not.

I knew at Tate's that I should have went on home while I was across the street. I was just across the street, and I didn't really need the pizza. I knew it.

If I only would have listened to my instinct. I wouldn't be blogging from the general access computer at the Forsyth County Detention Center...

I had a stupid day. Really stupid. I needed a cocktail around about 10:30 this morning. Day wears on. I write nasty mood poem. Gorge myself at lunch on cheetos. Get mad at cheetos company for all that wasted cheese product that gets stuck on your fingers. Day continues to wear on. Sometime about 3:42 PM I realize the futility of my life. I leave work. Argue with Dad. Argue some more with Dad. Mom joins the mix. Evening now wears on. You get the idea.

11:52 PM - JH and I go the the local brewery to see who we know. Apparently no one. One gin & tonic down the hatch.

12:35 AM - We travel to Tate's. G & T #2 ordered.

1:16 AM - Departure for local pizza joint.

1:22 AM - Drunk redneck chick enlightens us about the lack of ice in the soda machine.

1:23 AM - Drunk redneck chick urges me to feel her soda to prove the temperature of the fountain drinks. "Touch it," she says.

1:24 AM - I politely decline for the 4th time.

1:26 AM - Drunk redneck chick rattles the door handle to the restroom,

1:27 AM - The shit pops off.

To make a long story short, the girl in the bathroom did not appreciate having the door handle rattled along with being told to "Chillax. It's no big deal." She also does not appreciate having her face bashed in with a parmesan cheese shaker. Who knew?

I couldn't help it. She kept yanking on the bathroom door. Before I even had time to process that I was going to beat her ass I was already beating the dog-snot out of her. While California girls may be the ones that you wish they all could be, Southern girls can hand you an ass-whooping.

It's because we're raised on fatback and complex meat proteins, not that soy substitute shit. We can develop muscles. I may look fluffy but I'm actually rock-fucking-solid and if you want to find out then get in my face and delay my pizza posession. I will waste you. It's a matter of physics really. I can build up more momentum behind my punch; I can hurtle the cheese shaker towards you with constant velocity but because I have more mass, the momentum will be greater. Momentum = mass x velocity, ie your face will collapse. Conveniently in the opposite vector/direction at a rate equal (Assuming equal mass, the mass of your face is technically less than the mass of my fist and the cheese shaker + cheese so technically it will recede at a faster rate) to the velocity of with which your face was hit. So take your lame ass Hollister shirt and your fake-ass So-Cal attitude, not to mention those horrid madras shorts to the ER and pray that there is a good plastics guy on call.

And I bet that's the last time you'll fuck with a 'Big' girl.