Frankie Valli and Street Fighting

Why do I write. Truthfully it’s because no on on God’s green earth has the patience to listen to all the things I have to say. Aside, perhaps, from my Mom. Her’s is an issue of time. I’m a natural-born extrovert so talking is in my blood. I love to talk and to share and to connect. Just ask some close friends of mine (or Cole--he suffers the most).

  

Given my very long hiatus from public writing, there is no possible or agreeable way to catch up. It was a whirlwind of a winter. Here’s a non-comprehensive summary:

There have been finals.

There have been friendships.

There have been parties planned and executed.

There have been attempted temple break-ins.

There has been heartache, breakups, and regrettable rebounds.

There have been baby strokes (medically termed as complex migraines) and hospital trips.

There have been out-of-control snapchat stories. *consider this my public apology*

There have been weddings of dear, dear friends.

There has been love.

There has been loss.

There has been growth.  

Perfect. I can't say anything else about the last six months here.

But I can say that I love to be American. It brings a lot of good things with it, including California.

Last weekend me and my two cousins made the trip to Sacramento to go see

Uncle Jose, Aunt Lisa, Grandma Marilyn and Grandpa Walt. The fam bam. The Hirschi side. The California side. The outrageous side

While at my grandparents house this weekend I came across my favorite painting in the world. They are quite the art collectors, but this piece is unmatched. It’s a painting of Grandma’s first six grandbabies. Brittany, Michael, Kylie, Me, Brandon and Jake. But there are only five bodies in the picture.

Yeah, five bodies for six babies.

We’re not sure how the commissioned artist got so bloody confused, but she melded Jake and Brandon’s bodies together into one super baby. We can’t help but wonder why the artist did this, but it’s the only time I’ve ever questioned Grandma’s extremely refined taste.

Super baby. Hahahahahah. 

Super Baby pictured middle front

In the end, the trip brought lots of fun memories—like my super smash brawl with a concerned citizen. Sunday night we went to a minor league ball game (God bless America) and after the game we had to walk what seemed like the entire Oregon trail to get back to our car. We finally made it to the parking garage, and Michael decided to pull his favorite prank: scare Aunt Lisa (you have to do what you can to keep those journeys light-hearted and positive). He and I were a little ahead so he hid behind a pillar and I stood out in the open. As Lisa and Jose approached they asked where Michael was,

“Oh up ahead” I said, feeling so proud of my discreet collaboration.

I’ve seen all the James Bond movies so this sort of thing comes very naturally to me.  #007

Then, right as Jose and Lisa are passing the pillar, a somewhat husky latino walks up right beside them on the side Michael is hiding. Michael jumps out and yells, 

“RAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHRRRR!!!!”

and our new acquaintance was not what I would call “happy”. He stopped and glared at Michael and I thought Michael was about to get his front teeth smashed into his throat.

Ever the amicable jokester, Michael set to apologizing,

“Oh sorry man I was just trying to talk to my parents”

Meanwhile I’m trying to figure when you would talk to your parents that way? Like if you want raise in your allowance? An extended curfew? Discussing your dreams and goals? Discussing Donald trump?

Probably Trump.

the perturbed citizen continued on without a word.

However, his friends, just a couple feet behind him, would not be so easily placated.

In particular, a drunk woman who was smoking decided to pick on someone her own size. As the universe would have it, this turned out to be me.

‘WHATS GOING ON HERE YOU GUYS GOT A PROBLEM?!” she yells defiantly. We responded in unison, but Aunt Lisa was the most emphatic. “No”.

and this is where my eternal--and evidentially life-threatening--weakness betrayed me.

 I started laughing. Hard. Not at this new broad who is clearly disturbed, but at replaying the image of my cousin jumping out at that burley dude who was not so friendly.

I don’t think the lady was really in a state to appreciate my sense of humor #Godgiven, because as a I laughed, she began to yell obscenities at me and turned around, I believe, to fight me.

Now, strangely enough, I was not offended at her behavior. In fact, I was thinking that maybe this was a very good thing that was about to go down. Because I am 24 and I have never been in a fist fight with anyone ever. This is kind of hugely embarrassing to me! Everyone has had at least one good fight in their life. I think they are normally reserved for elementary school, middle school or even high school, but I haven’t ever punched anyone. (except for a sucker punch to my little brother’s abdomen when I was ten which had me reeling with guilt for about a week. I learned to control my temper after that.)

Point being, it is very cool to be in at least one fist fight. And I am abhorred at the lack of physical violence in my life’s journey. 

Unfortunately, Aunt Lisa’s emphatic replies got more emphatic, and my drunk opponent’s boyfriend restrained her.  I was standing there kind of stupid looking like “I don’t think she’s goes to Vasa so I can take her” #vasa

We didn’t fight. Which means I still gotta fight someone.  SOMEONE. Anyone.

a pic of the crew: Lisa and Jose are far left, Michael, my lil sis, Me,
Kylie, Jake, Aunt Kathy, Jackie and Scott

 So the moral of this weekend is 1. Family first always. And 2. Love never dies. Or if it does it must be really hard to kill it and 3. Always be ready to get your life’s fight in. any day, any time, any where.

Love Alaina