Clashing Punches

I have learned quite a bit about California over the last six years of living in the beautiful state. I’ve learned how to dress, what to order in a restaurant and what’s in season at the farmers market; but I have yet to learn how to fight like a Californian. Three years ago, while living in Santa Barbara I got into a drunken altercation with a feisty girl who was struggling to break into my home. I watched her trying to break open a window, attempt to pick the front door lock and as she began to climb the side of my house to get in through an upstairs window I walked outside to confront her. I asked her if I could help her with something. She chose not to respond but instead tried to shove past me into my home. At this point, one of my roommates returned home as did one of her friends whom I later surmised was her boyfriend. I blocked the entry to my home with my body as the three stood outside.

“Move,” she slurred, “You’re in my fucking way.”

“This is my house,” I answered, “I’ll move if you tell me why you’re trying to break into my house.”

In hindsight, I was a little drunk and probably should have just locked myself in a bedroom and called the cops, but like I said, I was a little drunk. She never answered my inquiry but announced that if I don’t move she was going to physically make me move.

I responded by saying, “Listen bitch, I’m from New York. Do you know what that means? Don’t mess with a New Yorker. We have fighting in our blood.”

At this, she turned as if she was walking away but her boyfriend was pushing my roommate and blocking her path, so she turned back and swung at me. Maybe she put on brass knuckles, maybe she had a sharp ring on her finger or maybe I’m weaker than I thought, but the blow made my eyebrow begin to gush blood. When she saw this, her and her boyfriend ran from the scene, never to be seen again. The following day I had a black eye and my pre-med roommate made me go to the emergency room where I got six stitches.

I realized that day that east coasters have a much different way of fighting than west coasters. On the east coast, we are physical fighters. We get in each other’s faces and yell. Here on the west coast people seem to take the passive approach. They seem to avoid fights at all costs, even if it means ending a friendship over it.

Personally, I prefer the east coast technique, but I’m probably biased.

I still have no clue why that crazy drunk girl was trying to break into my house.