Christmas is all about GETTING. And another Nancy Story.

I touched on this subject on my other blog, but I'll just repeat myself here. People who are all about "the holidays are for giving" piss me off. If you give, someone is getting. So without getting, there'd be no giving. So get off your high horses and admit ~getting~ is freaking fantabulous.

Hrm. What is next in line of Nancy Stories?

"Talking" shit.

I was a regular at a bar called Murphy's Pub back in my college days. I knew the staff. I knew the other regulars. I was as comfortable in the pub as I was in my own living room. Which also means, I was comfortable with talking shit to anyone who happened to walk in the doors.

It all started with me having to pee. I walk in the bathroom and do my business. When I came out of the stall to wash my hands, there was a girl and a guy in there, him bent over unzipping her pants. I give the "what the fuck" look to her and she says, with a very thick east coast accent, "I can't do it myself!" holding up her very long fake nails.

Without skipping a beat, I respond with "Maybe not being able to go to the bathroom by yourself is a hint you should stay home" and I walked out without waiting for a response.

The door FLEW open behind me and in all her eastern (new york, maybe?) rage, she screams "Are you twalking shit to me?!!!"

I say, "No. I'm TALKING shit to you. I t-a-l-k shit, not t-w-a-l-k shit."

She came unglued and went after me. It unnerved me actually, as I wasn't (and still am not) a fighter, but her big hair and long fingernails dove into me. She grabbed a hold of my hair (nice) and I was against the wall. I couldn't do anything. My head hurt SO much (seriously, there is something about the hair pulling thing. That fucking hurts.) I was rendered motionless. I tried to kick her off of me, but any movement made my head hurt worse. That's when my friend Tim (yes, a guy) punched her in the back of the head which made her pull out a square inch of scalp off my head. Ah. At least I was released from her grasp.

She was immediately grabbed by a staff member and thrown out of the bar. I stood behind the staff guy who was telling her to leave and not return nodding my head in agreement. Like I was the shit or something - when in actuality, I was hiding behind the guy, afraid to get more hair pulled. I'll admit that I was the loser in whatever kind of fight it was.

As the melee calmed down, everyone was asking me if I was okay and I was nodding yes. Except my head hurt bad. Damn, being scalped fucking hurt bad. It was at this time some guy walked up to me, holding out his hand to me saying "here's your hair back" and I notice there was a gigantic hunk of hair and scalp in his hand. Ewww. "Um, thanks dude".

Nancy's way of going out BIG.

I was a good student. I can't help it - school is easy for me. Hence me being half way through my nursing program and if I just took a year of physics, I'd have another bachelor's degree in computer science. But I digress ...

When I was going through my first bachelor of science degree at Arizona State University, there was a HUGE party to celebrate the end of school one night. The problem was, it was the night before my very last final, which was scheduled at 7:15am. But I was flying in that class - all I had to do is show up and even GUESS on every answer and I'd still get an A. I figured out I had to get something like 4 right to keep my A.

So I partied. And partied. And partied. The last thing I remember was holding up a shot of jack daniels and saying "I have my last final exam in 3 hours!" and down the shot goes into my belly. Shortly thereafter, I pass out.

I wake up in a start, look at a clock and see it's 9 something. HOLY SHIT. I missed my final. I race out the door, probably a little still drunk, get to school which was conveniently down the street from the apartment I was partying at and RUN to class.

I come face to face with my teacher whom I start begging him to let me take my final. I slurred out some excuse about working late and sleeping through the alarm, but come on, I reeked of booze. I should of told him the truth. Anywho - he refused to let me take the exam but he did let me turn in my paper for HALF CREDIT. Grrrr. I ended up getting a freaking ~C~ in that class. I guess it could of been worse though, he could of failed me!

The dead body in the dumpster and behind my car.

When I graduated college, I moved to where my brand spanking new job was - Central Phoenix. My apartment was awesome. I loved it. But the neighborhood? Let's just say I have a few stories. I'll tell the one very short one about the body in the dumpster and the one about the dead body behind my car.

The dead body in the dumpster

Well, um, there was a dead body in the dumpster. That pretty much wraps up the whole story. I got up to go to work and I pass by the dumpster which is 1 car space and a driveway width away from my car and well, there apparently was a dead body in there. At least the killer was nice enough to clean up after himself.

The dead body behind my car

I am ~always~ late. Not by much - maybe 5-15 minutes, but always late. It sucks. So I was running out to my car to get going to work, maybe in the <5 minutes late zone and since I was getting shit at work lately, I needed to leave.

Except when I got up to my car, there were all kinds of police standing around and a body shaped tarp laying on the pavement, behind my car. I walk up to the police. What's going on? "We've got a body, waiting for homicide" I'm told. I walk up closer as no one is telling me to stay away, and I realize its just the guy's bottom legs that are behind my back tire by seeing the outline of the guy's shoes.

Me: "Can you move the guy so I can back my car out? I gotta get to work."
Cop: "No we can't move him. Gotta wait for homicide."
Me: "How about you just lift up his legs while I back up?"
All 4 Cops: {dead pan stare}...
Me: "Okay, but some one's going to have to call my boss."

I had someone come pick me up from work who verified YES, a dead body was blocking my way to work. I wasn't considered late. :)

For my 1,000th post, I give you, Scary Guy Pills.

I wanted to retell one of the funniest stories in my repertoire. You've heard it before if you've been a long time reader, but I promise, it'll still make you laugh. in fact, since I've been at a little lull in my blogging lately, I'm going to make an effort to tell a lot of my "nancy stories" here. Many people say I should write a book. Maybe I'll just write here ...

Scary Guy Pills

I lived in central phoenix after college. Not quite the suburbs if you know what I mean.

One day at lunch, I ran out to the bank to put in a deposit. I had to turn left into the bank and there was a lot of traffic. I pulled in the middle lane to wait for my turn. When I pulled into the lane, I was face to face with another car who was waiting for his turn to go. I assumed (wrongly) that he was waiting to turn left also.

I don't know how it is in all states, but in Arizona, it's illegal to use the turning lane as a merging lane. You use the lane to turn left. Period. Not to to merge into it first, wait for a space, and then continue to go forward. See, I used to get a lot of tickets in my teenage years and I've been to traffic school ~a lot~.

When oncoming traffic cleared, I went to turn left. At the same time, the guy who was facing me in the turning lane, went to merge into traffic, so he almost hit me. Yeah, he was in the lane first, but since he was making an illegal maneuver, I had the right of way, so I flipped him off (as anyone in Phoenix would do) and continued on my turn into the bank.

There I was, waiting my turn in the drive through. I was up at the little tube thingy, putting in my deposit, and I notice the same car drive through a closed bank lane and park perpendicular to the exit of my lane, blocking me in. This huge black guy comes out (doesn't make any difference to the story that the guy was black. But I was a little tiny white girl, so he was that much more intimidating to me) and starts screaming at me.

The whole bank is watching.

I want to look at "cool" as possible, so I start smart mouthing the guy, even though I should of just apologized so he would cool down. While he's barraging me with curse words, I'm smiling as big as possible, nodding my head saying "uh-huh. You don't say? Really? Wow." This is infuriating him even more. But I persist.

As he basically runs out of curse words and is silent for more than a second, I look to him and say "Are you done? Cause if you are, maybe you should go home and take some more Scary Guy Pills."

No fucking clue where that came from. But I was quite happy with how it sounded. Rarely do you get a good "come back" in the moment.

At that, he stopped, cocked his head in confusion, put his left hand on the opening of my open car window and with his right hand, punched me directly in the face.

Things go black.I woke up to 1) blinding pain in my face 2) about every male customer on top of this guy, keeping him away from me and 3) the entire bank in the drive through window watching the melee. Awesome.

The guy stood up and the men stayed between me and him. He did some more cursing and got into his car and left. Police were called who gave me a lecture for getting into a confrontation with the man to begin with - scolding me over the idea "what if he had a gun?". Well, he didn't have a gun and he punched me. Can we focus on that? I'm the victim here!

The car ended up being stolen and they never found the guy. I had a wicked black eye and bruised cheekbone. And my mom was right - some day my mouth WAS going to get me into trouble.

Moral of this story? Confusing a very mean man can get you punched in the face. But it's a good story, no?