Reasons Why I Should Not Be Allowed To Read Chuck Palahniuk

So I’m reading Fight Club.
And it’s getting me a little wild.

I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that as an adolescent, I lived in constant terror of getting into a fight (and we all know that teenage girlfights are the worst, right Travis?). Nevermind that I was a quiet, goofy-looking quasi nerd who sang in choir and took AP Biology and never bothered anybody. For some reason, I was convinced that some girl was going to hear from some other girl about me hitting on her boyfriend and go all Maury on my ass. Like, with shrieking and hair pulling and nail scratching and all that jazz.

Thing is, now that I’m an adult, I kind of wish it would have happened. Because once you turn 18, there are consequences and repercussions to those types of things.
Like jail, instead of detention.
And fines, instead of being marched down the street to the offender’s house to apologize.

I kind of feel like I had my chance and I blew it. Nowadays, I’d willingly get into a fight with the first woman who swerved her SUV into my lane, if it weren’t for all those pesky legal ramifications.

At the next light I'd be all, "Yo, whatchu do that for bitch"
And she'd be all, "I'm sorry, what?"
And I'd be all, "Why you be up in my lane, ho?"
And she'd be all, "I don't know what you're talking about."
And I'd be all, "Get out the car, skank, cause I'm gonna kick yo' ass"
And she'd be all, "I'm calling the police."

And maybe I'd get in a good right hook, which would be totally sweet, but at the end of the day we all know that I'd be sitting in a jail cell wondering how I was going to let work know that I wouldn't be in tomorrow.

Hi [manager]? This is Lily. I wanted to call to tell you that I'm not going to be in today. It's nothing serious - I just have some things that need to take care of. Oh, and if the police show up and start asking questions, just tell them that I have an identical twin. I'll explain later. Thanks!

Still, you know what?
If I ever was in a fight? I’d win, hands down.

Because I am one strong mother-effer.
Don’t let my size fool you. I may be five-foot-five, 130 pounds (okay, 135, but in my defense, I’ve been too busy to work out lately), but I’m jacked.
And resourceful.
And I’ve been known to fight dirty. (never doubt – I WILL punch you in your babymaker. Just ask my sister).

So here I am, itching for a fight and absolutely loathing my corporate job, and what do I do? I go and read Fight Club.

Like an ass.

And you think I was disgruntled and dissatisfied before?!?
Well let me tell you.
I am not…I repeat….I am NOT my fucking khakis.

*insert tribal yell here*

I guess I get like this once in a while.
All “anti-establishment” and “rebel without a cause” and “space monkey” now and again.
It might have something to do with my hormones. Or the fact that I was married to a crazy conspiracy theorist. Or the fact that I really do hate khakis (they make my butt look big).

But whatever the reason, I’m daydreaming about blowing up hummers and getting into fistfights and peeing in rich peoples’ soup and generally wreaking havoc on society.

[sidenote: I’m also daydreaming about doing naughty things to Brad Pitt in his Tyler Durden days, before he got all puffy and grew that ridiculous beard. YUM]


So what do I do now with all this pent-up angst? Shall I super-glue a quarter to the floor? Tamper with the soap dispenser in the ladies’ room? Take a bite out of someone’s lunch?

As a responsible, working adult, my options are severely limited. But let it be known that given the right circumstances, I would totally..TOTALLY... be down for some serious mayhem.

Anybody wanna fight?