So I meant to post about this a week and a half ago when it actually happened, but I didn't. So there.

The stairs outside of our apartment are rough. When we first moved here, we assumed the yelling, catcalls, puddles of puke and confrontations we saw from our living room window were the result of drunken Festival revelers, of which there were plenty. However, the Festival has come and gone, but the other things remain. Frequently, we have extremely drunk people (read: cannot lift the bottle to their mouth, alcohol poisoning imminent) sitting on the steps, yelling incoherently or propositioning the women who pass. even more frequently, we have groups of youngish people drinking on the steps while looking to pick fights with anyone who passes.

Last Wednesday, I was invited to a friend's surprise birthday party. As I walked up the steps to start my journey there, one of the young women on the steps drunkenly grapped my arm.

I froze. I really, REALLY don't like strangers touching me. I then twisted my arm to force her to release her grip. She muttered something, and I gave her (what I thought was) a withering glare. I then turned to leave.

She, apparently deciding that she had been wronged, used this opportunity to punch me as hard as she could right on my left kidney.

I wheeled around. After surveying the situation (at least 7 other people who she knew, nobody that I did) I decided that retaliation was not my best option. I simply said in what I hope was simultaneously stern and loving (ahem), "Seriously! Do NOT touch me!" Then I walked briskly up the stairs and to the party. Jeni, queen of witty comebacks and appropriate responses.

The next morning, a drunk man asked me to marry him.

Weird, huh? Even in L.A. that kind of thing just didn't happen.