Free ‘What The Hell Was I Thinking?!!’ - Confessions of the World’s Most Controversial Sex Symbol by Jake Brown, Jasmin St. Claire Page A

surrogate mother in ways, because she made herself more emotionally available to me at times than my own mother did. My grandmother used to stand up for me when my mom would be off on one of her rants. In some households, grandparents are just that: grandparents. In other households, like mine, they’re more directly involved with child rearing, and my grandmother definitely helped to raise me. She was awesome; she always tried to see my side and would always do little things like sneak me cookies that my mom wouldn’t allow me to eat. Or she’d take me to Central Park and we’d go to the petting zoo and feed the birds together. I remember once she got me this ‘My Buddy’ doll that had these two red braids, and a red shirt, and blue pants, and these little black Mary-Jane shoes, and we’d have little tea parties with it. I remember my grandmother even coming to the beach at St. Croix once with my dad and I. I remember another time, I was 18 or 19 and had signed up with a modeling agency in New York, and wanted to get some portfolio pictures done. My mother as usual just started yelling at me, making a huge scene, and my grandmother came to my defense, told her not to yell at me, and in the end, my dad paid for the portfolio pictures. It sounds strange, but I think in a very ODD way, I felt at times more like my grandmother was my mother in terms of being my friend, but she was also a disciplinarian too. Lord knows she’d raised my mother, but I don’t even think my grandmother felt she’d been as strict with my mom as she was with me. I think my grandmother felt my mom was excessive a lot of the time, which is why she tried to make up for it with kindness. I miss my grandmother and my father dearly and daily — even as I sit here writing this book. The years since both their passing has given me some perspective and patience, but at the time, I was devastated and feeling aimless of direction or a care in the world.
    By the fall of 1992, I was definitely not someone to fuck with. I had so much anger inside me toward men that I was walking around something akin to a ticking time bomb. One such example was the late spring following my break-up with Dick. I was hanging out at a bar on 8th street in the Village, and some scum-fuck came up to try and hit on me, and ended up grabbing me. So I told him to fuck off, and he responded by bringing drunken his friend back over, and they started fucking with me simultaneously. Well, I got scared, and I guess fear translated into me finally standing up for myself to a guy. My ulterior motivation was the fact that I had gotten off of a dancing shift and was carrying around a large wad of cash on me. I figured that if I had put up with Dick pushing me around, no fucking way was I going to take it from some drunken asshole. So basically I asked, ‘What’s your problem?’ to which the first drunken asshole replied, ‘Nothing, you just have a fresh mouth.’ So not knowing to this day what came over me, I said, ‘Do you want to step outside and talk about it?’ and I ended up beating the shit out of them! No bullshit, as soon as we got outside, the first guy said, ‘So what are you gonna do now?’ I replied, ‘I don’t know, what are you gonna do?’ and before he could respond, I broke a beer bottle against the guy’s nose and kicked the other guy in the balls. Then I started throwing hands, fists, and elbows at him and when it was over, I was thankfully still standing without a scratch on me. First off, any MALE who would actually be low enough to go outside and be willing to fight a woman my size has it coming, so I guess I had the element of surprise working for me. They’re lucky too, because I had a switchblade I carried around on me and was pissed enough to use it. Not to mention how drunk both of them were. When I was done, I just went back into the bar and continued drinking and they both went to the hospital. That’s a reflection of how angry I was at that time