I was already halfway through the Buffy seasons and was hoping to finish most of them by midafternoon the following day. Faith and Buffy had just switched bodies and Faith was about to have sex with Riley. Shit was getting serious. Tonight was going to be a heavenly marathon. At least that was what I thought. Then the phone rang.
Me: Hello?
Mark: You need to get over here. Like, now.
Me: Are you fucking kidding? Look, Willow and Tara are about to do a spell and solve this god damn body switching thing. I’m going nowhere.
Mark: Tom lost his mind and is trying to fight everyone. You need to come calm him down.
Me: Just call the cops. He’ll settle down if you do that.
Mark: Seriously?
Me: No. Yes. Cops always settle him down. But wait until I get there. You gave him cheap whiskey didn’t you?
Mark: I didn’t give him anything. He brought it himself.
Me: I hate all of you. All. Of. You.
I was too comfortable to change out of my penguin pajamas and so I threw on a coat and headed to Mark's. As I made my way toward his front stairs I noticed a small group of people gathered next to his building. One of them was waving at me. I squinted and noticed it was Blaine, Tom's best friend. He was the only one I recognized.
Me: Where is Tom?
Blaine: I don’t know. He just took off.
Me: Okay. Explain to me what the hell happened.
The three other guys in the group started telling their versions all at once and I had no idea what anyone was saying. The more I told them to shut up, the louder they got. Just as I was starting to piece together the beginnings of a story (some girl’s boyfriend had pushed Tom down the stairs?) Tom came running around the corner, shirtless and reaching for the tall guy next to me. Yep, he was definitely going to kill this guy.
Me: (stepping in front of Tom) What the shit are you doing? And where is your shirt?
Tom: Where did you just come from??
Me: Home. You remember my plan, right? Me, Joss Whedon, a bottle of wine, no boyfriend bullshit? Remember?
Besides Blaine, the rest of the guys began to walk away quickly and Tom lunged toward them. I grabbed his shoulders and got as close to his face as possible.
Me: You want to go to fucking jail? Because unless you tell me what the hell is going on, I’m not bailing you out! And seriously, put on a god damn shirt. You can fight like white trash all you want but at least try not to look too much the part.
Blaine: You don’t even know what happened!
Me: So someone tell me.
Blaine: Well, there was a girl here and Tom was joking with her. Told her she looked like a cheap hooker.
Me: He used the word hooker?
Blaine: Yes.
Me: What is this? 1953?
Blaine: (Ignoring me) Anyways, she pulled out a knife and told him she was going to stab him so he wrestled it away from her and threatened to knock her teeth out. Her boyfriend heard what Tom said and then everyone started swinging and yelling.
Me: Real classy, guys. Sorry I missed your inbred hoedown.
Blaine: It wasn’t like that!
Me: (Turning to Tom) Did you really tell a girl you were going to knock her teeth out?
Tom: She was going to stab me.
Me: Have you lost your god damn mind? You don’t threaten a woman! Jesus. Get upstairs before Mark’s neighbors have him thrown out.
I pointed at Mark’s apartment.
Blaine: But it wasn’t his fault.
Me: Both of you!
The apartment smelled like stale cigarettes and moldy beer. Mark sat on the couch looking… defeated.
Me: You couldn’t handle this on your own, Mark? Really?
Mark: He wouldn’t listen. Not to me or Blaine or anyone.
Me: And do your friends always carry knives?
Mark: I have no idea.
Me: Can’t you guys just play poker, drink some beers, get a few strippers? Act like normal men?
Mark: I’m sorry. I think we all had too much to drink.
Blaine: And I think you aren’t understanding. She was going to stab him!
Me: No, you dumb ass, she wasn’t. People who stab other people don’t stand around threatening to do it. They just do it. And she was a GIRL! You’re telling me all you dudes couldn’t handle one emotionally unstable woman?
Blaine: You know, you could have stayed home.
Me: And miss all this? Nah! I love cleaning up your fucking messes.
Tom: (from the bathroom) I’m getting sick. Someone bring me water!
Me: He’s your problem. I’m going home. Keep him here for the night. Tomorrow, tell him he owes me flowers for keeping him out of jail. Or something with caramel. Like Rolos. I’ll take Rolos.
By the time I got home I had calmed down. People could interrupt me during a million different things and I probably wouldn’t mind. Watching Buffy was not one of them. Or watching anything Whedon for that matter (you should have seen me during Firefly). Especially if penguin pj’s and white wine are involved. Then everyone needs to politely piss off. I don’t care who is stabbing whom.
Blaine: I don’t know. He just took off.
Me: Okay. Explain to me what the hell happened.
The three other guys in the group started telling their versions all at once and I had no idea what anyone was saying. The more I told them to shut up, the louder they got. Just as I was starting to piece together the beginnings of a story (some girl’s boyfriend had pushed Tom down the stairs?) Tom came running around the corner, shirtless and reaching for the tall guy next to me. Yep, he was definitely going to kill this guy.
Me: (stepping in front of Tom) What the shit are you doing? And where is your shirt?
Tom: Where did you just come from??
Me: Home. You remember my plan, right? Me, Joss Whedon, a bottle of wine, no boyfriend bullshit? Remember?
Besides Blaine, the rest of the guys began to walk away quickly and Tom lunged toward them. I grabbed his shoulders and got as close to his face as possible.
Me: You want to go to fucking jail? Because unless you tell me what the hell is going on, I’m not bailing you out! And seriously, put on a god damn shirt. You can fight like white trash all you want but at least try not to look too much the part.
Blaine: You don’t even know what happened!
Me: So someone tell me.
Blaine: Well, there was a girl here and Tom was joking with her. Told her she looked like a cheap hooker.
Me: He used the word hooker?
Blaine: Yes.
Me: What is this? 1953?
Blaine: (Ignoring me) Anyways, she pulled out a knife and told him she was going to stab him so he wrestled it away from her and threatened to knock her teeth out. Her boyfriend heard what Tom said and then everyone started swinging and yelling.
Me: Real classy, guys. Sorry I missed your inbred hoedown.
Blaine: It wasn’t like that!
Me: (Turning to Tom) Did you really tell a girl you were going to knock her teeth out?
Tom: She was going to stab me.
Me: Have you lost your god damn mind? You don’t threaten a woman! Jesus. Get upstairs before Mark’s neighbors have him thrown out.
I pointed at Mark’s apartment.
Blaine: But it wasn’t his fault.
Me: Both of you!
The apartment smelled like stale cigarettes and moldy beer. Mark sat on the couch looking… defeated.
Me: You couldn’t handle this on your own, Mark? Really?
Mark: He wouldn’t listen. Not to me or Blaine or anyone.
Me: And do your friends always carry knives?
Mark: I have no idea.
Me: Can’t you guys just play poker, drink some beers, get a few strippers? Act like normal men?
Mark: I’m sorry. I think we all had too much to drink.
Blaine: And I think you aren’t understanding. She was going to stab him!
Me: No, you dumb ass, she wasn’t. People who stab other people don’t stand around threatening to do it. They just do it. And she was a GIRL! You’re telling me all you dudes couldn’t handle one emotionally unstable woman?
Blaine: You know, you could have stayed home.
Me: And miss all this? Nah! I love cleaning up your fucking messes.
Tom: (from the bathroom) I’m getting sick. Someone bring me water!
Me: He’s your problem. I’m going home. Keep him here for the night. Tomorrow, tell him he owes me flowers for keeping him out of jail. Or something with caramel. Like Rolos. I’ll take Rolos.
By the time I got home I had calmed down. People could interrupt me during a million different things and I probably wouldn’t mind. Watching Buffy was not one of them. Or watching anything Whedon for that matter (you should have seen me during Firefly). Especially if penguin pj’s and white wine are involved. Then everyone needs to politely piss off. I don’t care who is stabbing whom.
No comments:
Post a Comment