The Box Out

I have recently been a victim of the BOX OUT. The box out can be defined as complete group isolation via human body. The best example is if you make the rookie mistake of taking the last bar stool at the bar and the douche bag sitting to your left turns their back on you to talk to everyone but you- Boom. You have just been boxed out.

There are several other types of boxing out including the “table box out”, which is the particular maneuver I experience. The table box out is when you are sitting next to someone at a table and a person walks up to your table and wedges themselves in between you and your neighbor. The term box out is a sports term that hails from my high school basketball days. Playing as a power forward, you have a deep understanding that the best offense is defense… and the best defense is using your body so your opponent can not be near the hole. Only, this time, the opponent was me, the defender was Forehead and the hole had an A in front of it being my friend Catnip. I call this girl forehead because well… she has a pretty big forehead. She is one of those girls that looks like she is consistently smelling something bad- wrinkled nose, pursed lips, raised eyebrows, and one gianormous forehead. In her defense, maybe her forehead isn’t that big… maybe her hairline is too far back, or maybe her eyes are really small and far apart because of fetal alcohol syndrome. Either way, its not her fault… but its not mine either and little did she know I have an awesome blog I can call her out on. Now catnip got his nickname because being a recent male divorcee, young, and good looking is basically like catnip in our neighborhood. I swear to god, he attracts more pussy than a milk bowl…

But let’s start at the beginning- I was on a very serious vodka cleanse due some pee wee football drama that is so confusing, in fact, that I had to draw a diagram to explain the fucked up situation to my friends. SEE PICTURE.





My friends and I quickly got into the story- this bitch that, that bitch this, etc. Basically, we all agreed that these people are bat shit crazy and that my family shouldn’t be involved with them…. And that I should drink copious amounts on liquor for the pure entertainment of them. After a few shots and 4 redbull vodkas, I had the mother of all revenge schemes cooked up and had decide that I need to start collecting my girlfriends to come to the next parent’s mixer with me so we could strategically and systematically take down the Lansing Momfia. Because, let’s be honest- you lie about me and tell people I’m a whore, you threaten me to stay away from your husband, you make my life hard, and I’m going to make an honest woman out of you… like I haven’t slept with someone’s boyfriend out of hatred before… bitch please… only I can’t this time because I’m married. The sunny side of this slutty story is that I have friends who aren’t… happily married that is… and would love to opportunity to make fat old women feel bad about themselves while at the same time earning my devoted and unbending loyalty. I cheer “You think you’re threatened by me? Wait until you meet my friends!”

My friend Shamy gets a little tiffy with me about not being self confident blah blah blah and instead of graciously thanking her, I simply justify my statement by saying, “I think you are prettier than me but at the end of the day, I’m smarter than you, so it all works out.” It was the confession apparently heard round the bar because my other friend Blamchel quickly responded. In a very sad and pathetic attempt to smooth over the situation, I explain to both of them that I don’t think that they are dumb. I, in fact, think they are very smart HOWEVER COMMA I believe that I am smart-ER, hence the ER. I then go on to ask them if they need me to repeat it slow-ER. Listen up, you can be the prettiest, you can be the smartest, OR you can be the funniest. You can’t have it all or the world of friendship would be out of whack and you’d have bitches trying to cut your throat and shit. Let me have smart for fucks sake.

So let’s fast forward to the box out. I am sitting at a table with Shamy, Shamy’s friend Brian, and Catnip minding my own business. Forehead swoops in like a half bald eagle and wedges herself between me and catnip. All of this is fine by me as a younger gentleman has just taken off his shirt and is belly dancing on the bar. I immediately start yelling NO SHIRT NO SERVICE – a statement that I clearly did not mean as this kids face improved about 114% when his shirt was off. In a flash of drunken stupidity someone throws a napkin full of mustard at Super Shirtless and now he wants to start a fight. Catnip stands up from his seat to calm everyone down and like weighted scale, as he got up, forehead went down- right next to me.

I introduce myself and she ignores me. I speak louder and put my hand out to give her a shake and she give me the “uh, huh”. Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd, now I have mentally named her forehead and decided that enough is enough. I don’t want your husband, boyfriend, girlfriend. I’m not doing anything inappropriate. Not hugging, not touching, not anything. I’m a safe three feet away from anyone that I speak to – not for you – I’m just uncomfortable with strangers. This was my boiling point. Forehead was going to pay for her sins and all the sins of the Lansing Momfia that came before her.

Catnip and I would speak, she would find us and wedge her way in. This repeated a good 4-5 times before forehead was basically sitting in my lap at one point and I exploded. I stood up, asked her if she wanted to sit in my lap, moved my chair back, and stared at her until she got up and left. To be quiet honest, I don’t remember much of the exchange, just that she was a rude bitch.

My beef with forehead is long before over and unfortunately for her, we live in a world where assholes finish first and friends, if I was ever absolutely 100% sure of something, I could hang my hat on the fact that I am an asshole. Watch out forehead- I’m coming for you.