Why Self-Defense is a Joke for Petite Women (alt. title: Why Jasmin Should Carry a Gun)

I took a class in college called "Self-Defense for Women". The first day of class, I walk in and there are about 25 women and three men. One guy was this muscle-bound Mexican guy (just COVERED in tattoos)- obviously there to meet chicks. The second was Mr. Martial Arts, in the class to show off his mad skillz to the ladies (I was not impressed that he was trying to show off in a beginner class).

The third was a heartwarmingly geeky guy who looked like he STILL got beat up for his lunch money, even in college. (I LOVED him, but anytime any woman would approach him he would blush, look at his feet, and mumble an answer. Men like this are my KRYPTONITE. I find myself powerless to resist them. My forward nature tends to scare them away, or you know, turn them on. In this case, he maintained his distance.

So, for the first three weeks, all we did was practice screaming things like "FIRE!" and "STOP RIGHT THERE!" and "NO! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" (or in my smart-ass case, terrified shrieking of "SHARK!"), since nobody will come and help you if you scream "HELP!" because you may be in the process of being raped, and that is messy business for an innocent bystander. Property damage is what gets upstanding citizens to come and lend a hand.

So, after having people repeatedly running out of the showers (since they could hear screams of "FIRE!"), the teacher decided to teach us some actual self-defense maneuvers. There was one move that stuck in my mind, where the assailant grabs you (the Damsel In Distress) from behind around the throat with both hands. The teacher showed us this neat whippy-around move to remove the hands from your throat so that you can scream and run away to safety.

After class I went STRAIGHT to Andrew's house, aiming to kick his ass with my newfound self-defending skills. Because I'm 5' 1 ½" and he is 6' 3" and badly in need of an ass-whooping, of course.

Instead of doing the smart thing, and just kicking in the door and kicking his ass, I say to him, "Hey, grab me around the throat from behind!"

He does, half-assedly, and I easily do my little move and I'm free. Since I'm brilliant, and eager to test this new trick (since I'm ALWAYS being grabbed from behind by the throat), I say to him, "Now, REALLY, grab me around the throat like you mean it."

So he does.

I try my move. It doesn't work! My life flashes before my eyes while I gasp for enough air to hiss "let… me… go!" and there are light handprint bruises around my foolish little neck. I was furious.

I went into class the next day, spitting mad

"Why didn't this work on my 6'3" boyfriend?" I ask angrily, "I was practicing at home, and I told him to really try, and it DIDN'T WORK!"

What did the teacher say? "It only works if your assailant is your size."

I say, "How many hardened muggers and criminals top out at 5' 1", ma'am?" So I dropped the class, since I obviously can't protect myself unless I'm being attacked by an exceptionally shrimpy kindergartener with the skills this class had armed me with.

So how does a woman protect herself? Pepper spray means he has to be within eight feet of you. And this girl has an itchy trigger finger, since it's not fatal. (Yes, I threatened to pepper spray a guy in class once, but he threatened me and was being stupid. So I pulled out my pepper spray and said, "It's 8 AM and you are pissing me off. You DON'T think I'm going to pepper spray you?")

But if someone is seriously threatening you, pepper spray only makes them angry (according to my all-knowing father). So remember kids, pepper spray is for fun, not self-defense.

So, I casually mentioned to my father that he should take me to the shooting range so that I could learn how to safely operate firearms. He was outwardly enthusiastic, but I could tell that he was entirely uncomfortable with either (a) my inappropriate gender behavior (girls shouldn't shoot guns), or (b) me operating firearms, safely or otherwise.

He blew me off, never took me, never bought me a gun. This is the man who, after a VERY casual comment on my part about perhaps, maybe wanting to start mountain biking, bought me an expensive mountain bike. For my 18th birthday. Which I have yet to ride. In my defense it was dark when I left the house and dark when I got back, and when it wasn't, I was up at Mills, where an expensive bike was a liability. I'll really start riding it. Really!

So anyway, since hand-to-hand combat is out for me, I thought "Maybe I should carry a gun."

It seems like a good idea, but there are problems with carrying a gun. For example, sometimes I can't find my cell phone in my purse. Now, it's a good deal smaller than a gun, but the phone vibrates and glows when I need it. If I had a gun in my purse and I was accosted, it would go like this:

Assailant: "Give me your money, lady! Or I'll kill you!" or "If you scream, I'll kill you."

Me: "Hang on one second…. [digs in purse] Where is it…"

Assailant: "Give me your purse! Stop digging!"

Me: "Screw it." [Hits Assailant with purse, knocking him unconscious. Steals his wallet.]

You see, sticking the gun in my purse wouldn't work. So I would have to wear it. Since I would want my holster to match my belt and shoes, I would have to get one in brown AND one in black. A girl has got to look good defending herself.

Then there is that whole issue of my accident-proneness. I would be shooting some vandal, and I might burn myself on the gun. Or something. Ok, so maybe no gun.

So, after great thought, I have decided to keep carrying anvils in my purse.

Proof that I Spend Too Much Time in an Office

I noticed that staples out of a regular staple have little bumps on the back. Documents out of the photocopier that it staples are flat. One only notices this when you have two piles; one lays perfectly flat and the other one has a hugely raised corner.

I'm sure that the reason for this is that I don't have the vast strength of a thousand pound machine. Imagine that. At 5' 1 ½" and I don't have super-strength. So unfair. And the staples mock me.