(no subject)

I probably should have taken the purple line with Melanie this morning, because although I might have gotten here 5 minutes late, I probably wouldn't not have been threatened with "getting the shit kicked out of me" by some punk. Apparantly, it was my fault that the red line was packed to capacity and I was holding on incorrectly, because my "stinky armpit was in his face". I just sort of rolled my eyes and said "asshole", and then he proceeded to tell me that I "didn't know who I was dealing with, dog" (btw, he was white) and that he would kick my ass. I didn't respond, though this was occuring 6 inches from my face. He then managed to get even closer and made sure my ears were ok (i.e. "did you hear me?") and capped off the experience with a nicely enunciated: "bitch." If he only knew.

It made me think a lot about this whole male thing. I guess even though my chances of attacks by men have decreased significantly, the amount of verbally violent bullshit will increase. And it was just so cliche -- I was ready for him to call me a "pussy" or "faggot" or some combination therein. But it also scared me because I had my right arm completely ready, and if he had actually touched me, I would have gone into a commuter rage and hit him repeatedly. Would I win such an encounter as a fistfight? Probably not. Would I even want to? As much as I'd like to say no, I think the answer is yes. I do wish I had given him a black eye and bruised ribs in exchange for fcking with me. Alternately, I wish I had a weapon to stick in his face and tell him to back the fck up and leave me alone. These are not thoughts I'm particularly proud of by any means. But it's true. Even now, 30 minutes later after I've cooled down and I no longer feel mad, embarassed, scared, frustrated, etc. I still don't mind envisioning hitting his face and body. I don't really know what this means.

Here's the thing about the incident this morning.....had it been some asshole yuppieish commuter guy talking trash, I probably would have suffered from the same temptation to respond the way I suggested. In fact, it wouldn't even be a temptation -- it would be a plan of action. I would have talked plenty of trash. I would perhaps even threaten back. However, this person was not someone I necessarily believed was bullshitting. In other words, I truly believed he woudn't hesitate to push or punch me with little or no provocation. Even in front of dozens of witnesses and possible defenders. He had that desperate hungry look of young straight white male with no conscience or care for human life, much less feelings. I don't even mean in a Fight Club way. I mean in a Columbine way. Which is partly why the situation fcked me up so bad. I felt completely helpless. I couldn't diffuse the situation with humor, escape, or barking back. I could only stand there and let him use me at the expense of his ego to avoid blood or pain for myself. And I hated that I let myself feel that way. I hated that he felt he had the right to do it. I hate that I fell into the trap of feeling like a 'pussy' or 'faggot' (i.e. weak or wimpy) for not punching him or telling him to get out of my face. I hate that I felt the need to prove that I was strong or worth not messing with.

I don't know.

It hasn't necessarily ruined my day or anything, but I know I'll be obsessing about the incident and how it made me feel for the next 12 hours.

(no subject)

Re-reading my last post makes me feel self-conscience, like I want to include all these disclaimers about how "I'm a nice guy" and I'm not violent nor do I feel masculinity is a cause or effect of violence, etc. etc. etc. But I'm going to keep it caveat free. I just need to remind myself that it's ok to only expose one aspect and not judge myself because I know I'm more than even the sum of my parts.

So with that feel-good affirmation aside....

I feel more tired today than I did on Friday, because I was physically active almost all weekend. I helped S___ move into Melanie's apartment, and I helped Melanie take apart and put together the loft bed she inherited. It was a string of ordeals spiced up with a couple of fiascos. And even injuries. But all fairly minor. The plus side is that she now has a double bed in her room, so we don't have share the twin anymore. I was actually doing well with it overall, but I think it was slowly starting to be a problem sleepwise -- like I was sleeping crooked or waking up more. The downside is that when I come over, there will always be 4 people in the 2 bedroom apartment, which can be sort of claustrophobia inducing at times -- and I really like the people who are there, so it's not a personality issue or anything. But it's only temporary.

So we're working on making 2 big things official. 1) The road trip from Chicago to California in early September.
2) Me moving into the apartment.

I'm excited for both. Our apartment is going to kickass, with lots of cool furniture, rooms, etc. We'll have lots of spare sleeping facilities, plus a room with a desk for studying, and a sound area for my turntables and mixer (and general stereo equipment). Plus we'll have video game consoles and tons and tons of books. We're also planning all these little nitpicky decorating things, like candles and painting the bedroom. It's like a dream apartment for me -- I'm quite excited. Now I'll never leave home. I'm pretty much a shut-in as it is. I guess I'll just have to invite people over all the time.

I have some other things I'm thinking about, like family and such, but I don't really want to write about it now. Maybe later. No need to ruin my good mood.