When Kate and Patty (Almost) Got in a Bar Fight

When Kate and Patty were seniors in college (yes, we both have degrees – with HONORS, y’all), we wrote theses on various portions of English literature.  Kate’s thesis was really, really amazing.  Patty received credit for hers.

To celebrate finishing their behemoth essays, aka mini-books, aka hundreds of lost hours, the girls through a party.  They invited everyone in their cohort – all 11 people!  Kate drank some reasonable amount of alcohol, Patty had seven flasks of cheap whiskeys before they left the house, and she held it like a boss.  Everyone got pretty shitty and it was great.

This is what Kate and Patty wore.  They did not plan it, but they both wore skinny jeans, tanks, and black blazers.  Why?  Because they were so tired and skinny jeans with blazers always look good.  ALWAYS.  Plus, blazers force a person to stand upright more than they might otherwise; this is very helpful when tired and/or drinking.

kate and patty

 

At one point, one of the amazing ladies of the cohort left and brought everyone burritos.  She smuggled them in her purse and the group ate them gratefully, greedily, and a little sloppily.  She even knew to make certain ones vegetarian.

At some point after Patty forced Kate to take shot called a “Blowjob” (she was very mature at 21), the girls realized that one of their friends was missing from the table.  The signs were all there…  A sleep-deprived English major without Irish blood had been drinking all night.  They knew she would be barfing somewhere.  But, where?

(suspense builds)

Turns out, she was in the first place they looked – the bathroom.

Kate and Patty bravely walked into the bathroom and promptly saw two cute little strappy heels sticking out from a stall.  There she was.  “Are you okay?” we asked with genuine concern.  She apologized and told us to leave, but we stayed and kept trying to convince her to let us help.  “Open the stall.  We’ll bring you some water.  Come one, let us in.”  She kept telling us to go.  She was embarrassed and largely coherent, but we pressed on offering help in our adorable blazers of questionable dressiness.

Here’s the scene: Kate is standing outside the stall, trying to reason with an intoxicated friend.  Patty, the far drunker of the two, was sitting on the ground, rubbing the calf of their friend, and also trying to gain access to her.  They just wanted to get her some water.  This was not a clean bathroom.  Oh, and it was a MONDAY.

Then, the weirdest thing happened.

Two young-ish women burst from a stall from the other side of the “Ladies” room.  One was clearly the alpha-friend, while the other had been marginalized to the “hype woman” of the pair.  The louder, more boldly dressed of the two began yelling quite aggressively at Kate and Patty.

She screamed, “Why don’t you care about your friend?  You shoulda been down here, taking care of her.  You don’t care!  You’re bad friends!”

Kate and Patty were like… “Uhh… We are here taking care of our friend…”

Screaming woman: “You’re bad friends.  She’s alone.  She just barfed!”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Yeah!”

Kate and Patty: “When she left to go to the restroom she didn’t announce, ‘I might barf!’, she just went downstairs.  She hasn’t been here that long.”

Screaming woman: “Ahhh [I feel like yelling at strangers, and you’re the only people here.  I heard a girl barf and now it’s your fault.] Ahhh!”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Yeah!”

Kate: “Back off!  You’re not involved in this.”

Drunk Patty: “Why is anyone yelling?  You don’t need to be angry.  We’re all just concerned about our friend.  It’s all good.  It’s alllll good.”

Screaming woman (likely to Kate): “Why do you think you’re so gangster?  Why do you think you’re Eminem’s sister?”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Mmm Hmm!”

 

Kate: “What the … ?”

Screaming woman (likely to Kate): “Why do you think you’re so gangster?  Why do you think you’re Eminem’s sister?”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Mmm Hmm!”

Drunk Patty: “We’re wearing blazers!”

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Kate: “No one thinks we’re gangster.”

Screaming woman (likely to Kate): “Why do you think you’re so gangster?  Why do you think you’re Eminem’s sister?”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Yeah!”

Kate and Patty: (sensing danger) “We don’t want to fight you.”

Screaming woman (likely to Kate): “Why do you think you’re so gangster?  Why do you think you’re Eminem’s sister?”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Yeah!”

The quietest person alive/Kate and Patty’s drunk friend: “SHUT THE FUCK UP.  THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.”

Kate and Patty and everyone: “Holy crap.”

Screaming woman:  “You wanna go?”

Screaming woman’s hype woman: “Yeah, fuck you.”

Kate: “Fuck this.”

And then Kate climbed under the stall and pulled Drunk Patty in to safety.  Everyone was okay and we got a great story out of it.

Also, those burritos were good.

Manly Men

Apparently, being a man is everything.  It is fricking everything.  BUT, being brave is not being a man; it’s just being brave.  Sure, I like to say, “Man up!” or “Grow a pair!” as much as the next person, but I think we need to consider the implications of these little phrases.  These phrases imply that to be brave, we must tap into our inner-dude.  They imply that only men are brave.  For me, this just isn’t going to work.  If it takes balls to have balls, then I must have balls… right?

The thing is, I don’t have or want actual balls, but I’ll be damned if someone gets something I don’t because they do.  I certainly have figurative balls, or cajones, or “a pair” (of balls).  I’m brave.  I’m assertive.  I’m sick of people marrying these traits to masculinity.  Whatever happened to the whole “I am woman, hear me roar!” thing?  Women can be assertive, aggressive, brave and ballsy without being mannish or unwomanly.  Being brave doesn’t make me a bitch; being a bitch makes me a bitch.  I am still feminine when I am assertive.  I am still a woman when I’m knocking a man down a few notches.  Also, just because I’m destroying some dude in a debate, argument, drinking contest, arm wrestling match, wood chopping contest, four wheeler race or whatever I’m doing that day, it doesn’t mean I’m emasculating him.  I’m just beating him.  I’m winning.  He’s losing.  He’s still a boy and I’m still a girl.

 

Being tough shouldn’t challenge my femininity or anyone else’s masculinity.  I get to be a tough womanly woman.

When people say, “Man up!” they are telling someone to do the right thing, to step up to a challenge, to face their fears.  I can do all those things without manning up, I just do them.  Am I womanning up?  Am I chicking up?  What’s happening then?

I can do what a man does.  I can fight a man if I need to, and I have.  My friends can vouch for that.  I use a lot of f-bombs and call people dude.  It’s part of how I fight.

Chicks rule.  We don’t need to be dudes.  Listen to Jessie J.

Or, for a lesson in true masculinity, look at Neville.