Saturday, January 22, 2005

I Don't Need a Body Guard, I've Got a Hot Chik

Chapter 1: Three Harassing Street Demons

A couple years ago Monkey-Man, D and I took a little mini-vacation to the Twin Cities. The last day we were there, we wandered upon a HUGE Street Festival in St. Paul on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The place was packed. It was like the NYC Gay Pride Parade without the colorful floats brimming with gorgeous Drag Queens throwing fists full of condoms everywhere, or the bodacious and tantalizing Dykes on Bikes cruising by in leather, cut-offs & halter-tops. In other words, it was a big fucking crowd of bored, sweaty pedestrians along a 25-block stretch of funnel cake and fresh-squeezed lemonade stands. Every so often there was a musician or a juggling clown on stilts. Nevertheless, when in Rome, sweat and fight your way through the funnel cake line, as the Roman’s do.

As fate would have it, our delicate Monkey-Man hurt his ankle. Rather than ruin our good time, he agreed to plant his cute little ass under a vacant tree for a bit and wait while D and I wandered around in hope of finding something amusing.

After an hour of miserable crowd-fighting, D and I returned to the tree. Mysteriously, Monkey-Man and his lame Monkey-Ass had disappeared. As we were without cell-phones, we had to make a Search and Rescue Plan. D stayed at the tree and I braved my way toward the car to see if he’d wandered that direction.

As I headed toward the car, supported by my practical earth-trodding Birkenstocks, I was glad that I was also wearing my big ‘ol comfy linen tent-style frumpy dress. It was hot outside, and the car was at least a mile away, but I tried to keep a positive attitude, remembering the sinfully delicious donuts I’d eaten at the Days Inn Continental Breakfast earlier that morning. My ass needed the exercise!

I was
moving as fast as I could, while still keeping my eyes peeled for Monkey-Man. Then, quite unexpectedly, I felt someone take my right hand as if to hold it. I assumed it was D. It felt like D’s hand. If it was, it could mean only one thing, D had found Monkey-Man and they had caught up to me. I squeezed the hand and turned with a happy smile, only to discover it was a stranger. I instinctively pulled away. But to my surprise, there was another man on my left side. They were both smiling, but not in a nice way. Again, I pulled away to maneuver behind me. However, a third accomplice guarded my final retreat. I was surrounded.

They seemed amused by my surprise and panic. My first thought was of the women who’d been mob
bed and stripped in broad daylight in Central Park a few years ago. FUCK THAT! I took off running forward. They tried to grab at me, but didn’t take hold.

Once I felt I was a safe enough distance ahead, I slowed down and decided they were just jack-ass college kids getting their jollies with an old lady. I returned to my search for Monkey-Man and felt somewhat at ease. About 10 minutes passed, when I found myself surrounded by the same three Demon-Boys again. They were grinning and grabbing at me as if I was an animal to torture for their amusement. This time I ran much further, and when I stopped, I stood in a crowd to watch for any signs that they could find me again.

About an hour later Monkey-Man, D and I finally reunited. To my relief, I didn’t see the three harassing Street-Demons again. We left the Street-Festival immediately. As far as I’m concerned, they were just looking for a woman who was alone, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Chapter 2: My Hero

A couple days later, I went out for a beer at the local watering hole with my friends from work. As usual, my girl Ruth was there, because all good times are better when Ruthie is along. Ruth is the kind of gal without a single bit of mystery. What you see is what you get. She tells it like it is, even when it pisses people off. She loves her family, her friends, football and beer. In that order … or perhaps I’ve mixed up the beer and the football.

We work-a-day stiffs were at our usual big round table up near the door. The big round table is required so we can all crowd together to bitch and moan about work, sex and … well, I guess that’s all we talk about. But, it’s always very important bitchin’.

I volunteered to make the short trek to the bar for a second round of drinks. The rest of the group carried on with the essential bitchin’ about work and sex without me. At the bar, I waved a greeting to the manager, ordered from the bartender and let my mind wander while I waited. A few minutes later, someone sat right next to me at the bar even though there were plenty of empty stools on either side. I automatically assumed it was one of my friends coming to keep me company. I smiled and turned to say hi. But, it wasn’t one of my friends. To my shock and horror, it was one of the Street Demons from St. Paul.

The only thing that kept me from tumbling to the floor as I tried to escape, were his two buddies blocking me from behind. I don’t remember saying anything, but I must have shouted or screamed, because I got the immediate attention of my friends. Within seconds, I saw a scene that will remain imprinted in my memory for eternity.

Ruth leapt from the table. She puffed up her already ample and succulent chest and strode confidently across the bar room floor. As she neared the gang of Street Demons, she absently pushed up her shirt-sleeves and said, "Is there a problem here?"

As the two lesser of the Street-Demons looked toward their fumbling leader, I was able to use the awkward moment to slip a safe distance away. I watched in wonder as Ruth continued to stick up for me ... and maybe every other woman who's been out-numbered, intimidated and harassed by assholes.

The Street-Demon Leader offered a pathetic justification, "Uhhh, We were just having some fun." He said in a dumb-ass voice.

Ruth’s right hand moved swiftly to slap his dumb-ass head before the last of his words fell off his dumb-ass tongue, "What are ya, eight? Grow the fuck up!"

A few chuckles could be heard as the crowd gathered around the sublime drama. While Ruth’s power and confidence had taken the Leader by surprise, he was clearly aware of the crowd of on-lookers. She was humiliating him at his own game of humiliation. He couldn’t allow it to continue. With a quick gesture to each of his buddies, he took a swing at Ruth. Everyone gasped, but she easily avoided his clumsy strike.

With all her might, Ruth hit the moronic Demon hard in the face. Her fist met his cheekbone just below his eye along the right side of his nose. He screamed that it hurt, and slumped against a barstool.

"You’ve got quite a punch, but you’re not really gonna take on the three of us are you?" he sneered as he wiped nose-blood on his arm.

A couple of the guys we work with stepped forward, to show they had Ruthie’s back, but she motioned them away. Ruth got right up in the Demon-Leader’s face, and with her finger pointing every syllable within inches of his good eye, she said, "You muther-fuckin’ piss-ants better get home to your mommies before you really get hurt." She stepped back with a look that convinced me she could fuck all three of them up without breaking a sweat.

"Fuck this shit." The Leader hissed. "I’m not stickin’ around here with a bunch of ugly dykes." He motioned for his Lesser-Demons to follow and they kicked a few chairs and slammed the door on their way out.

The crowd clapped for Ruth. She acted like it was no big deal and ordered another drink. We sat together at the bar for a few minutes before returning to the table.

I said, "Ruth, that was fucking amazing. You even scared me a little bit. Hey, why are you drinking ginger ale?"

"I’m pregnant you dumb bitch. I can’t be drinking alcohol."

I looked down at her belly, and sure enough, she looked quite pregnant. "When are you due?"

"In about three weeks." She chugged the rest of her ginger ale and added, "You’ve got fucking terrible taste in men."

* Chapter 1 is completely true.
* Chapter 2 is a dream I had two days later that I wish were true. It really could happen though, because Ruth is one tough Hot Chik! Those Street Demons would be cryin' like it was their first day of kindergarten if Ruth got ahold of them!


At 7:36 AM, Blogger Chick said...

I couldn't wait to get to the end of the story to make sure you were alright. Isn't it pointless to try & get into these asshole's try & figure out what they might possibly be thinking, while doing such fucked up shit?

Everyone needs a friend like Ruth. You have no doubt she'd come through for you...if you really needed her.

At 10:09 AM, Blogger theresa said...

There are men who look at women as "sport" and men who are clearly "criminal perpetrators". These guys were falling into the latter category. I don't know if they had a larger plan, but it frightens me to imagine the possibilities.

Ruth is one in a million. (The girl really has been in bar fights.) Fortunately her husband tolerates my incurable crush on her, and our overt work-place flirting has surely sparked a few fantasies for the happy guys around the office. I hope I'd be brave enough to take a punch for her if called upon, but I doubt I'd have the skill to throw one. If fighting dirty helps - I'm right on it, sister!

I hate the idea of being a "Damsel in Distress". I don't want to be a helpless victim in need of a conquering hero. When a guy comes to my aid to rescue me from another guy, it just reminds me that I, like other women, are at the mercy of brutality. It's not that I'm not grateful for the individual act, I'm just pissed that I (or any woman) need rescuing in the first place. I'm much more comfortable when women have my back. It's a Chik thing.

At 10:16 AM, Blogger theresa said...

P.S. I was re-reading my comment and I realized that it looks as if I clumped all men into two categories, "sport" and "perpetrators". I meant that only in reference to the type of behavior exhibited by the Street Demons. I forgot to include the men I love the most, those who love and respect Hot Chiks.


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