So I was running a really killer tabletop Vampire game at my apartment for a number of my friends as my neighbors in the apartment next door had what was apparently a... well, a "really ragin' kegger, man!" We just turned up my stereo (which is mercifully bigger than theirs) and ignored it, happily gaming the night away, getting quietly tipsy on peach cider.

That is, until one of the little hooligans climbs over the neighbor's rail, across a narrow ledge, and onto my balcony. He jumped to the deck, and stood there, grinning like an idiot, then attempted to come inside, almost stepping on my girlfriend in the process.

I'm a fairly territorial person. I saw a strange male jump onto my deck and stand right behind my girlfriend, then try and come into my apartment. So what did I do? I did what any red-blooded, meat-eating male human would do: I grabbed the large dagger I had been playing with, stood up, and told the invader to kindly get the fuck out of my apartment.

Mass chaos ensued, but in the end no punches were thrown, no blood drawn. I sheathed my dagger and the crazy boy left my apartment. It turned out that he was the younger brother of one of my players; he saw his family member and, in his inebriated state, figured it'd be cool if he came by and said "hi". Said player took his brother outside and promptly gave him a very stern dressing-down. Meanwhile, I calmed myself down and gathered up my things, having decided that it would be better if we went elsewhere for a while so we wouldn't have to deal with the group next door any longer. I spoke to the invader as I left, out of "territorial" mode and back in "diplomatic" mode; I apologized for threatening him with a deadly weapon, and he apologized for being so monumentally stupid as to tresspass on my apartment without permission.

So, thankfully, the whole thing came to a peaceful end. But it's an experience none of us are about to forget...

Thinking back on this later, several hours after the event happened, I realized: I pulled a weapon on another human being for the first time shortly after midnight on Remembrance Day. There is some bizarre, screwed-up synchronicity there, I think.

One early morning, a man walked into the medical clinic at which I work as a receptionist. His shirtsleeve was in tatters and his upper arm was bleeding profusely. When I asked him what had happened, he explained that he had gotten into an argument with his (female) neighbor, and that she bit his arm. He was soft-spoken and polite, and asked if he could see a doctor.

Now you should understand, this sort of thing doesn't happen around here very often. Ours is a small clinic in a sleepy suburb.

Trying to keep the amusement off my face, since everyone knows that receptionists are supposed to be cool and impassive, I sent him into the doctor's office. Even through the closed door, I could hear the doctor muttering, mostly to herself, "What the hell am I supposed to write in your file? 'human bite'?"

After examining him, the doctor told him to go to the nurse to get the wound cleaned and disinfected. While he was waiting in the lobby for the nurse to see him, another patient came into the waiting room. Seeing the man with the bloody shirt, he did a double take.

"What happened to you? Did a dog bite you?" he asked, staring.

"No," the man with the bloody shirt answered, not missing a beat, "a bitch did."

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