Twitter Fights & Black Eyes

Trust me. You do not want to make me angry.

I’m married to a man that once took karate. And resembles Ralph Macchio.

See where I’m going with this?

By association, I have a black belt in badness.

If you whine at me endlessly, say mom in a decibel loud enough for the next county over yonder to hear—directly into my face—862 times per minute— and steal my chapstick…

So help me, I will hang you up by your scrawny little legs and leave you out to dry. What was that son? I can’t hear you. I’m deaf—from all the whining. And stop having so much fun. Quit acting like a kid. Grow up.

And I swear on all things coffee, if you so much as peep a meow at me at 1 am. And then again at 2:30am. And further more at 2:56am…

after we have already discussed in great length the ramifications of such obnoxious behavior…

I will make your life a dandelion nightmare and then sit your kitty butt in time out.

Don’t look at me like that. It was your choice to break the rules. We all have to live with our choices. You are no exception. Tough love, Sir. George. It’s called tough love. Decorating you with dandelions is so much more humane that my original idea of punishment. Trust me.

The bottom line: you do not want to make me angry.

Just ask my twitter friends.

So the other night on twitter, my triplet momma friend Stephanie and I got into a little misunderstanding.

I don’t remember the specifics only because it had been a very long day filled with lots of whining and cat meowing and well—I was enjoying an adult beverage and I forgot to eat. So the exact details leading up to my rage is a little blurry.

I know for sure that things got heated. She said some things she shouldn’t have. I said some things I had every right to say…

There was quite a bit of mud slinging, smack talk, and inappropriate verbage.

At one point I declared our breakup.

Then the name calling started, feelings were getting hurt and we decided it was best if we just agreed to call me queen. So I reluctantly agreed. I prefer Madam Queen but I am all about meeting people half way. Then, I told her to “drop and give me 10.”

She claimed disability—”I can’t do 10 sit-ups or 10 push-ups” she cries.

So being the compassionate queen that I am, I agreed to the 10 jumping jacks instead.

The next thing I know she is gone—-off twitter—for like eternity.

Then all of a sudden she is like: “ Ouch…my eye—my eye…blah blah blah.”

To make a long story short—Evidently, I am now to blame for her suffering a terrible black eye as a result of the 10umping-jacks  that she willingly submitted to as a token of her outward love and devotion to our friendship.

For the life of me, I could NOT figure out how the ham and cheese sandwich someone could possibly suffer such a calamity while doing just a simple exercise. I mean, my cat can do 10 jumping jacks given enough cat nip at one sitting.

Are jumping jacks really that complicated? Are jumping jacks truly that competitive?

Do they require that much coordination and skill?

This is the pic she sent me, which I am using without her permission. I wonder if this will start another fight.

I’m a terrible friend. You might just want to unfriend me on Facebook right now.

Isn’t she adorable? Even with an atrocious black-eye?

So I threw back another Smirnoff—on my empty stomach and decided to reciprocate my love and devotion to our twittering friendship…and I set out to jump me up some JJ’s.

You too can join the twitter fight club.

Just be darn sure you remember the first two rules of twitter fight club.

Disclaimer: The actresses featured—one of which did not grant permission to be represented in this story (my bad. Please do not go to her blog and tell her that I blabbed all about her) are peaceful, loving adult women that do not condone violence under any circumstances, unless you you make them angry. Please refrain from doing so and we will all live happily ever after. The End.

~The Grasshoppa

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