The return of the JAMMF

Prime example of why I don't want to marry a Latino:
(Phone rings, it says it's unavailable. Typically, I'd never answer, but since Little Sister and Older Brother are overseas, whenever they call, it says the same thing. So I answer in case it's one of them)

Me: Hello!
Unknown person: Buenas tardes, estoy llamando de *Survey group* haciendo una encuesta sobre productos que usan las amas de casa (Good afternoon, I'm calling from *survey group* doing a survey on products housewives use)
Me: Oh...
Male Telemarketer: Se encuentra la señora de la casa? (Is the lady of the house there?)
Me: No.
Male Telemarketer: Entonces... se encuentra el señor, El Jefe, de la casa? (Well then, is the man, the boss, of the house there?)
Me:...
(click).

Fuck that. There is no "El Jefe" in my house. FUCK THAT.
I fucking despise machismo... with a goddamn passion.
The day I hear my boyfriend/husband/etc.etc. refer to himself as "El Jefe" in comparison to me, I'm fucking knocking his teeth out with an elbow to the mouth.

Talking about what I hate in guys:

Last night JAMMF came up to me after church.
I saw him eyeing me as I stood outside, waiting for mom to come out of the sacristy (aka room where the people who help out in church go to get ready or grab the blessed goods).
I've seen him around quite often, and I point him out to as many people as I can, calling him:
"The fucking jackass who screamed at me in church because I was LOOKING at my phone."

I think it has gone to his head, thinking I'm pointing him out as a hottie or something (OH PLEASE! As if the fucking scowl and glare I toss his way could say anything but "I fucking hope you get in a nasty car accident where battery acid lands on your smug little face and disfigures you more than you already are, bitch!").
Yes, he's well-dressed... but that only makes him a well-dressed jackass motherfucker. Nothing more.

Anyway, as I stood outside in the semi-cold in my poorly chosen outfit (I was so excited about Manchester's 6-0 win yesterday, I wore my jersey... that cold, cold jersey), and standing next to my aunt, the midget approached me in his dumb little trench coat and we had the following exchange (in Spanish, of course, but I roughly translated it):

JAMMF: Excuse me.
(I look over to make sure he's the one talking)
Aunt: Yes?
( I roll my eyes and look away... as in... I turn my head so much to the side, the midget's practically having a conversation with my neck)
JAMMF: I was wondering, is she your daughter?
Me: (internally) Oh, what, bitch, are you going to complain about me to my aunt, pussy?
Aunt: No, she's my niece, her Mom's over there.
(Points to Mom, who is busy talking to church members who are curious about the free English classes she talked about during the announcements after mass)
JAMMF: Oh, well, I was wondering if you ladies would like to join our youth group and family group... to help out in church and everything...
(I turn to face him, I see he's smiling, and his stupid ass dimples make me want to slap them right off his face. I also notice that he's very close to me... and that I'm an entire head taller than him. So I look down at him, without moving my head just rolling my eyes down to meet his. I give him the most fake smile--one where I don't even show my teeth-- and I slowly --but firmly-- shake my head no... almost blurting out, "Fuck. no.")
Aunt: Oh, sorry, ::nervous giggle:: but she doesn't like doing that kind of stuff.
(Aunt pats my back, trying to lighten my condescending demeanor. It doesn't help. I just say "Nope," and turn my head as far away from him as possible)
JAMMF: Oh, what a shame... pretty girls are always like that. What can one do?

I nearly vomited (flattery gets you nowhere with me), but I was too angry to do so.
I looked over at him, giving him The Best Glare Ever, and my aunt asked me what the hell my problem was.
Me: He's a bitch.
I told her the story... how I remember it was in October because I'm still furious that he was such a fucking prick to me and almost made me cry in church.

I guess I was a little too loud... and I guess JAMMF's friends saw me give The Best Glare Ever, because next thing you know, the dumb bastards are all in a circle, talking and occasionally looking in my direction... like some lame-ass, football huddle where they gossip rather than talk strategic plays to get to the end zone.

My brother's giant (she's about 5'10") 15-year-old goddaughter came up to me after she heard what the sissies were saying (since she helps around church and is an altar girl, she managed to infiltrate the huddle).

However, she's a very blunt, and funny girl.
She made things all better when she said:

Surprise, surprise, they're talking about you... but what do you expect? They're a bunch of beaners!

She looked over to the huddle of sissies as she finished her sentence.

God bless giant 15-year-olds.
They say things so humorously, you almost forget almost any other person would get punched for it (she's Mexican, so I guess she feels free to use the expression. She'll say that about anyone... and I asked her who wasn't a beaner, and her response? "Us." O...K.).

But... whatever... I don't care.
I can take care of myself... why else do you think I've been lifting? (Actually, I've been lifting just in case I need to punch some suckas at the football match in March. But hey, if I need to use 'em to punch some suckas after church, I don't mind)

Come and get me, bitches (and those guns are only going to get bigger... oooo-rahh!! haha... You know I'm kidding, right? I can't even flex properly, much less get "guns.").