Hello out there

I don't really get into this whole "blog" thing, but other writers do it, Hell, even people who should never have been allowed to touch a pen much less a keyboard are out there doing it too. So, I figured it was about time to jump on the bandwagon to help keep my creative juices flowing (don't worry I'm wearing protection and I just got tested baby). Now here I am without anything much to say and only a scant 10 minutes to think something genius up. This feels kinda funny now that I've come right out and admitted to my lack of material. It feels like you people are looking at me, expecting something (and you are, you're sitting there squinting at your screen right now)....How about we have a little storytime? I'll regale you with the story of the last time I got punched in the face.
When I was a child between the ages of 6 and 11, I had a bit of a superiority complex. Maybe that's not the best word for it...assertive sounds so much nicer, I was a very assertive child. I tended to assert my power over other children in school to help convince them that what I wanted to do was clearly the most fun activity we had available to us. I often convinced groups of girls that it was a good idea to harass the boys in our class using various methods of torture. Most of the time it was just catcalls from across the playground, but we weren't above pinching them too and at times there were all-out fistfights. Though I never really had a clear plan, I always worked toward pissing one or more of the boys off to the point that they would resort to violence. When it finally got to that point I was the first kid on our side to start throwing punches back. I loved to fight and I was good at it, but there were a few times I crossed the line.
I'll always remember the first time I realized "the line" existed, because it was the (aforementioned) face-punching incident. Not that I'd never been hit in the face before, it was just that this time it was repeatedly and I didn't stand a chance. My friend Christina and I were walking home from school one beautiful spring day. An older boy, known for being a "tough kid" at school, was walking leisurely home in front of us. I saw this as a perfect opportunity to start talking some shit; he was a little way ahead of us and would likely ignore me, plus I get to look cool in front of my friend by talking smack to a fifth grader. So I start talking, loudly, to Christina about how I heard Evan's actually nothing but a pussy and mention that I think I could probably take him. He turned around to shoot me a reproachful look, but said nothing and after a moment continued walking. Thinking I'd gotten the better of him I said loudly, "Yeah, you should prob'ly keep walkin' fatty."
With violent speed, he turned on his heels and came at me full charge. He was like a fucking freight train barreling towards, the kid was huge and I could all but see the steam rising from his red face. I might have had time to run, Christina sure as Hell did, but I just stood there in shock. He lept onto me when he got close enough and I fell to my back with him crushing the air out of my lungs. He sat on my chest with his knees pinning my arms and punched me until he was satisfied we understood each other. I understood alright, there was a line and I had clearly crossed it. I'm a little more conscious of such boundries now, though I still have the unfortunate habit of not knowing when to shut up or quit....