Dear Blair Witch,

I'm not a confrontational guy. My close friends (and not-as-close friends) already know this about me, because it's pretty obvious. I'd much rather take someone out to buy some coffee than punch him in the face because he spilled my coffee. I suppose you could call me a pacifist, but that would not be entirely correct because I personally think any man willing to simply stand there and take a punch to the jaw is indeed quite manly, but also moron. A little self-defense I think is fine now and again.
But... what do you do if it's a woman, and you're a guy (kinda like I am)?
One would most likely say "EQUALITY OF THE SEXES" right before running off to go punch his girlfriend in the face or going to make a sandwich for her boyfriend, but as much as I think women should be given the same rights as men, I do not think a woman is something to be...punched. Or slapped. Or kicked. Or noogied.
Well, maybe noogied.
But let me get to my point before you are brought to tears from sheer boredom: in my Creative Writing class, there is a girl. This girl has a name, but because I feel it would be rude talking about a girl behind her back and using her real name (that and I don't know the PROPER way to spell it) I call her the Blair Witch. Get it? Because her name is Blair. Like from the Blair Witch Project. And 'cause she's a witch.
AND 'CAUSE I HATED THAT MOVIE.
Moving on.
This is a female that came to my school and joined the Creative Writing class the same day I did. Now, at first, I had no problem with her. "Aha, a fellow pupil to my new class of all writings creative!" I said to myself. "I cannot wait to become acquainted with this charming, intellectual being!"
What a blissfully ignorant fool I was, then.
My first sign that she was perhaps NOT the intellectual I thought her to be was that the moment the bell rang to signify the class being over, her first words were (if you have any small children, autistics or other impressionable beings in the room, you may want to avert their eyes for this next bit) "I'MA GO SMOKE THAT WEEEED."
Now, I won't lie: that annoyed me a great deal. I've always found it annoying when people are almost patriotic about their mental addiction to a drug that temporarily makes you act like your cerebral cortex (I would recommend Google) has been replaced with cotton and Jack Black's DNA.
But whatever, I thought to myself, everyone has their own hobbies, and they have their reasons for being so obnoxiously enthusiastic about them. Then I smacked myself for actually considering accepting human beings for their flaws.
It wasn't until later that I realized how very capable the Blair Witch was of getting under your skin cells.
I like to think myself a funny guy (I like to think myself a lot of things) so I get out as many punchlines during one class period as I can. I enjoy them, and so does the majority of the others in the room.
Except the Blair Witch.
One day, after making a joke about toilets that I found quite humorous, this delightful, young bundle of peaches and cream shouts "OH MY GOD, SHUT UP. YOU ARE SO CHILDISH" loud enough for all of Alaska to hear her. Being the gentleman I am, I say nothing to her. Instead I turn to my friend and begin to talk about her behind her back.
AT WHICH POINT
she declares: "IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM YOU CAN SAY IT TO MY FACE."
Why yes, I would love to do so, but you see, your maturity intimidates my childish little heart so very much, I don't think I could take it. I think I'd much rather go stock up on LSD and dye every bit of fabric in my closet black so I can be a charming, MATURE individual much like yourself.
Anywho, right after this 2-minute confrontation takes place (it lasted a half-hour if you want to include the time she spent whispering under her breath that I am a vagina and a-whole-nother plethora of interesting parts of the female anatomy I knew nothing of) she continues her conversation with her friends about her last acid trip.
The Blair Witch is what's known to most people nowadays as a "drama queen", and to others as "a drama mama"; being born and raised in the hood, I much prefer the latter. She is the kind of female who enjoys getting others riled up for the sake of being loud and pointing out how very mighty she is compared to us squishy mortals. She's the kind of female who, when being argued with, shouts the word "WHY?!" at you over and over again while you are simply trying to inform her that she is an obnoxious, little, stuck up, spunk-flavored, narcissistic indie-fag.
This is Alabama, and listening to "WHY?!WHY?!WHY?!" in the Alabamian form is basically "WHAH?!WHAH?!WHAH?!" If the fire alarm were to go off while she was doing that I would not be able to tell the two sounds apart.
It is people like the Blair Witch that make me think: perhaps the whole 2012 thing is not such a terrible concept? I'm most certainly not going to hit her, because I refuse to let my principles be obliterated simply because of a little girl. So maybe she needs a good 'ole meteor to the face. Or a nuclear missile up the nostril.
Or a zombie apocalypse. 'Cause, well, let's be honest: that'd be pretty freakin' sweet.