Do I Freak You Out?

Well? Do I?

Sure, I can be a little forthright some times, and I can see how that might be a little startling. You’ve told me about the times you’ve gone to read my blog at work, and have had to close your web browser in a complete state of panic because you weren’t expecting to see a silicone mold of the vagina of a bleeding virgin. I can see where that might make you feel a little uneasy when I send you an email or post a link on your Facebook page. I’ve always warned you that I’m NSFW^*. You should listen when I talk.

There’s a guy at my office that I’m pretty sure is scared of me. He sits near the break room and each time I come out with a soda in hand he jumps or flinches noticeably. Maybe he does this to everyone, but somehow I think it’s just me. I always wander back to my desk and tell my manager “I scared Alex again.” “Please stop doing that, I don’t want to have to file an HR report on you.” She always replies with a knowing smirk. I’m not sure what he thinks I’m going to do to him. I can’t tell what would make him more nervous – the idea that I might hit him, or that I might hit on him. Poor bastard, he’d be screwed either way. Dave can totally vouch for that.

I’ve been told for most of my life that I’m physically intimidating. Which is weird ’cause I’m kinda on the short side at 5′ 5″ (5′ 6″ if I stand up totally perfectly straight and rise up on my toes a little.) I once had a gang banger stop me on the streets of Washington, DC tell me he wished his sister had my same strut when she was walking down the street. I took that as a compliment, and good reason to hightail it out of the neighbourhood I was in.

When I was in 10th grade my boyfriend, Jim, dumped me for another girl, who is eternally noted in the anthology of my life as “Bubble Butt Slut.” This carefree man stealing teenager used to dodge me in the hallways at school whenever she saw me coming. Eventually, after he dumped her for another younger and cheaper model, she confessed that she thought I was totally going to kick her ass. I was thinking about it most of the time, but I thought that I did a far better job at hiding it. Jim, heartbreaking high school romeo that he was, gave me the nickname of “Mac” because I was built like a Mac Truck. And you wonder why I waited 6 months to donate my virginity to a sweet talker like him. Ah the folly of youth. So it’s possible that he was fuelling her paranoia with the odd quip or comment. Nevertheless we never came to blows, and neither of us wound up with him in the end. Win-win as they say.

That’s not to say I haven’t been in a fight or two in my day. I’m certainly not one to back away from a good sparring match. You get “up in my grill” as they say, and I’m good to go toe to toe and chew your ass out. So long as you’re not armed, you don’t scare me. I’m no pugilist, but I’ve got a hell of a good bitch slap. A few years back, while attending a Gipsy Kings concert, a drunk fool behind me insulted my mother’s friend. As he started to loom in her face I picked him up by his shirt and chucked his ass back a row into some poor guy’s lap, before turning around to enjoy the concert. But, I’m not a bully, I don’t go looking for fights.

So, I’m broad shouldered, outspoken, not afraid to push back if you get in my face, but do I freak you out?

I do, don’t I?

That’s what I thought…

^*Not Safe For Work