While vacationing in Ocean City, Maryland over the weekend, my friends and I took a much-needed trip out of hetero-ville and into what is popularly known in the gay dictionary as Rehomo, but what you, reader, might know as Rehoboth Beach in Delaware.

It sits about 20 minutes away from OC and I was the designated driver for the night. In a friend’s car, I drove a few of us over state lines to a gay club.

My friends and I arrive. They grab a drink and we begin dancing and enjoying ourselves, until a guy in a red T-shirt with an over-sized forehead decides to randomly give the guy I’m seeing a nuggee.

I asked my boo if he knew him. He said he didn’t and continued to dance as if oblivious to what happened. I didn’t care at the time, largely because I thought it was just drunk stupidity, but a few minutes later the red T-shirt douche-bag comes back, trying to talk to him.

“Hey, you gotta back  off.” I told him. He told me they were just talking. I told him again to back off. He finally did so, but arrived shortly after with a tall looking friend, trying to show off something. I wasn’t really paying attention, however, because I was just trying to have fun with my man.

A third time, this loser comes by and wants to talk to me to explain something. I ignore him and tell him I don’t want to talk. This determined SOB doesn’t give up, and so I try positioning my back towards him to block any dumbass conversation from happening.

I just wanna dance!

As I continuing to boogie, the red T-shirt douche-bag hops over with some chick on his back, and the two bounce and bump around my sweetheart and I. They’re hopping around in a circle around us like idiots, seemingly determined to be as annoying as can be.  Red T-shirt DB then slap me in the face–either intentionally or accidentally, I’ll never really know.

But being that he already tested my often-short patience, I didn’t need a reason to respond. I grab him by the shirt (with the girl still on his back) and quickly wind back my arm. Clenching my fist, I crack him in his cheek and grind my hand into his nose.

His head whiplashes backward with a spray of blood, and he and the girl lose their balance. She falls on top of them as they both slowly collapse and slam on the floor.

He tries to get himself up, obviously hurt. I look at him, waiting, not really knowing what to do next. He, too, looks confused, so I proceed to leave, which is when he begins to chase after me.

I decide I am not running away and turn around. He tries running into me with his first, but my arm is way longer than his and I dodge it, grab his body and throw him into a wall. I’m told a bartender jumped over his counter while bodyguards quickly came and tired separating us. They bring us to opposite sides of the club. One is talking to me and asking what happened, and I assumed the DB was being questioned, as well. Focused on answering the bodyguard, I explain to him what happened, and the piece of shit comes from behind and punches me in my eye.

I could have walked away from the entire situation and left the club. I could have kicked his ribs in while he was on the ground.

But it’s not over, yet.

He gets kicked out of the club.

After my friends and I decide to leave briefly later, the broad who was on his back is waiting for me with a girlfriend at the exit of the club.

“Where you the one that punched my friend?!” she yells at me. I want to tell her I didn’t bust up her already ugly-ass face, but I ignore her and walk to my friend’s car while my two friends and my boyfriend follow. As I approach the car, I look behind to see the crazy girl and her friend running toward us in skanky high heels.

I get into the car and lock the doors. My friends are inside, and the crazy girls get close enough to make eye contact with me as I sit guarded by the window of the car and they just inches on the outside.  She tries to open the door. Time stops for a few seconds, and I pray I correctly locked the doors.

I did. She squirms to open the locked door and I take off with her hand not letting go. She finally releases her hand, but not before she tries punching a window.

We get home safely. And that was my Labor Day Weekend.