You and me-- let's go.

I am not a violent person. I might scream expletives at drivers who cut me off (everybody does), and I might occasionally get the urge to throw stupid people under a not-so-figurative bus (survival of the fittest!), but I am not a violent person. Consequently, I feel as if I've missed out on a key experience in life. A rite of passage, if you will.

That would be the fact that I've never been in a fight. Never ever never. Not even kind of. Well... maybe that one ti-- Nope. Never.

Not to say that everybody has, but I must say I feel deprived and as if I am in the minority. Looking back over the years, I've certainly had opportunities to initiate fights, including those many times when middle school skankities made fun of my heinous outfit or when that one boy at the freakin' McDonald's playground of all places pulled my hair. Rather than combining fist with face, I sat and cried instead.

Let it be said that I am overly-sensitive and have chicken arms.

Pictured (center) here, I don't particularly look badass, though I'm clearly trying. The stance, the polka dots, the... mismatched socks? No, I don't think I was ever a real threat to anybody. I did get in a few verbal fights with my cousin (left) growing up, and the dissatisfied girl on the right once pushed my head against the school bus window because I managed to get the window seat (reserved seating), but we're Facebook friends now and quite pleasant with one another.

In reality, there have been very few times in my life when I truly felt inspired to even ponder the actual possibility of throwing a punch at some deserving being. But I think I made the right call when I DIDN'T punch the 50-year-old, 250 pound Italian poop monger who once yelled at me for NOT SITTING DOWN at a Bon Jovi concert. He and his wife called me an asshole (I was 16 years old, by the way) when I politely said I didn't want to sit down (when really I wanted to say, "This is not a Tom Jones concert, so no, I won't sit down") and then proceeded to kick my chair for awhile. Mind you, these were perfectly able-bodied individuals, despite their unfortunate looks. Instead of getting physical, I unloaded a few expletives (much to the shock of me), and they got the point and left early before my dad could give the guy the pounding he deserved.

I think that's the closest to a fist fight I ever got.

It's things like that which anger me the most-- extreme unfairness, complete absurdity, and really mean people. Put me face-to-face with one of these scenarios and take note of my blood pressure, because something special and rare comes over me that brings out whatever violent tendencies I do have. This is still a somewhat recent development thanks to years of my being way too introverted and nonconfrontational. I've got a ways to go, but at least I've developed a backbone.

Really, though, I've got a reputation to maintain and a face to preserve. I don't need to get in a fight to fulfill my life's goals. Maybe when I'm old I'll cross off what's left on my yet-to-be-written bucket list, start a fight and blame it on senility. Being old must have some perks.

Until then, I'll practice my angry eyes in the mirror.