jungggg/pavlov: “only reason i hit ‘er cause she kept talkin greasy”

Lyric courtesy Remy Martin, soundtrack courtesy Summer Madness (yes, it really is that good–for one, 50 gets mashed sensitive over the PM Dawn song from the Boomerang soundtrack–and that’s just the beginning?). Summer Madness courtesy my HBO bootleg BFF and your favorite blogger, Chris. PayPal him some love okthx.
Last night I dreamed I told this lady I know something really personal, the most personal thing, the glowing pebble/time-bomb in my heart that only the people who’ve lived inside my right ventricle know about me, essentially. I dreamed I let her in on the secret, and a few days later, she casually mentioned it later to a group of like, 9 people, like no biggie, whatever. Like it was gossip. My response, of course, was to leap over the table and pound her face. It was unsettling–meeting trust-betrayal w/violence? way to go, subconscious–and also since I haven’t been in a fistfight since 1993, the feeling of physically harming someone, essentially as a marquee ad for my own pain ‘n’ sadness, was both alarming and alarmingly familiar. I wish I didn’t know what it felt like.
So yeah, if anyone has flagrantly told you anything personal about me recently–forwarded emails, gossiped about my secret affection for flax seeds and grapeseed oil, dropped the bomb on my OCD, you know, that kind of thing–please report to the principal’s office. I’ll be squashed and juiced like a bloodorange out in the school parking lot.
But it made me curious; I want to know peoples’ youth fist-fight stories: how old were you, why did you do it and what was the emotion behind it? Was it self defense? What were you hiding/reacting to? Blog it and send me the link or write me a story. I love you.
In pavlovian news, I have finally heard that stupid Bobby Valentino song enough that when it comes on, I get excited.