Shhhh! Do you hear that?
Do you?
That's the sound of me, crying, because my birthday is exactly A MONTH away (I hope there were ambulance/cop sirens going off while people read that... although when I cry, I sound just like a bunny snacking on lettuce... i.e. I'm silent, with the occasional sniffle or sob).
...
....
Holy Moses.
Nah, I'm not crying. I'm just kidding and making a big deal.
I've actually been going around telling everyone I'm 26 for the last month. My brain has been automatically doing that for the last three years.
Anyway, on this day, the person I remember most is an elementary school classmate of mine--Adam-- who turns 26 today.
I only remember this because he was so fucking annoying.
He was my classmate in third and fifth grade, but I was stuck in G.A.T.E. classes with him starting at second grade (when I was still technically ESL with my all-Spanish class. Go figure. My theory is that I was held off in Spanish classes for so long because of my name... it's so ardently hispanic... without having the name "Maria" involved). I had to learn to put up with him because his mom was the P.E. teacher, and that lady was SO legit... I felt bad being a bitch to her son.
The fact that Adam's mom was the school P.E. teacher was crazy, because Adam was the perfect example of a human meatball. He was shorter than most girls, and really, really fat. It was absolutely hilarious to watch him run (he'd only run after girls... that little perv... or to the cafeteria, for obvious reasons) because his legs were so short, but they'd move so fast.
He had the longest mullet I have ever seen... a mullet he rocked all through elementary school-- I'm talking kinder to fifth grade. He'd always be combing it during free time... and talking shit to girls because our hair wasn't nearly as shiny as his (yeah, prick, I bet if I had such a hefty appetite as you, my scalp's natural oils would coat my hair follicles to make them so shiny I could blind a pilot in the sky).
He had round glasses... the type you see on Mrs. Clause. He'd always be pressing them back into his pudgy face.
He also had very, very, very defined dimples... short, stubby fingers... and a REALLY LOUD mouth.
Did I mention he was a prick?
Due to the fact that his mother was the P.E. teacher, none of us could cross him or else he'd convince her to make us run laps... or worse yet, square dance as punishment. He also had the power to cancel Field Day (only THE best day of the entire school year where the school would be divided into the Blue and White team. We'd then compete against each other in a bunch of games for the entire day. God, I loved that day).
I was lucky, because apparently, Adam had a crush on me. I only knew this because his mom told me so when she first met me. I told her my name and she was all excited and referred to me as "Adam's little girlfriend" and when I corrected her (Huh? Who's Adam? My boyfriend's name is Freddy. HAHAHA! Oh, Freddy...) was when she told me that Adam would go home and tell her stories about me... because of G.A.T.E.
Of course, I was unaware of his true feelings because he spent his fucking time being an asshole to me (story of my life). Adam would tell his mom I was so smart and funny... with such cool interests and stories... that he had wasted no time in asking me out. YEAAAAH, RIIIIIIGHT.
In all reality, I lived my life in... not fear, but just dread of seeing this kid. He'd always find the need to correct me... every time. He was a little know-it-all. And he'd belittle my work in G.A.T.E. class, something I took seriously because I was so insecure due to the fact that I was the only hispanic kid in class... so I took people's comments seriously... because they were native English speakers... with American parents who knew what was up. I was just a Mexican farm girl... what the fuck did I know?
My clearest memory is this one time that we did a... is it "vendiagram?" No, no, that was another story... it was a "diorama" (I tell you... I spoke/wrote/read in Spanish, I only went by what I heard in English... I wasn't interested in the actual spelling of things 'cause I wasn't being graded on it). We had to use a shoebox and make a 3-D replica of something. Everyone went for the more obvious shit like "This is my house," "This is a theater stage."
I went for the crazy cool shit: this is an aquarium! (FYI: I had never seen an aquarium in real life. I was ghetto, come on now. I relied on what I had seen on TV and my good ol' imagination)
I painted my shoebox all different shades of blue on the outside. I framed the inside with different ocean photos from "National Geographic" magazines.
I positioned the box on its side, and added the prettiest fishes I could find, of all sizes, at different distances... even dangling some on strings so they could just chill in the middle, in order to create the illusion of depth (No one had given me this idea, it was ALL MINE. I had this artistic shit on lock at a very early age, BUT STILL my parents forced me onto science. Blah. What a waste).
My big "BAM!" was glueing a photo of a dolphin on either side of the box, just... right there, right in your face... where they looked like they were jumping out of the box.
My proudest motherfucking moment right there (sadly, I have no idea where that box ended up. I might have taken it home and wrecked it by stepping on it, in one of my infamous fits of rage or something).
Anyway, this box had rave reviews from my teachers and classmates. All but sorry-ass Adam. He hated on my diorama like it was his damn job. He went as far as to grab my shoebox (which was displayed in the ultimate location: the cafeteria/multipurpose room) and hide (hid? I'm having a tense crisis here thanks to this depressing memory) it! A first grader had found my box between the unused cafeteria tables and brought it over to the lunch lady... who saw my name and stuff, and gave it back to the G.A.T.E. teacher.
Being that I'm a sensitive idiot, this of course made me cry... and garnered him my eternal scorn.
Bastard asshole.
Anyway, Adam did this shit to me all through elementary school and I couldn't do shit because I was too afraid of a couple of extra laps in P.E.
I remember that I accidentally found out his birthday when I was a third grader because he was boasting about it.
Every morning, during announcements, kids with birthdays were mentioned.
This day, they mentioned Adam (coincidentally, it was also a Tuesday. Creepy) and he squealed (choice words, motherfucker) with glee in his seat.
Me, being nice-- and since he sat three desks away from me-- told him he was exactly a month older than me. How cool! :)
And he fucking shot me down! Why do I care? Your birthday could be in seven months and I still wouldn't care. (Jordan Shrug)
His Jordan Shrug was what hurt the most... also the way he looked at me as if I had just asked him for money while stepping on his brand new shoes.
That was probably the hardest I've ever tried not to cry.
I hope you die, you fucking fatass.
He CRIED.
The teacher called me over to her desk, and sure enough, I was in trouble.
I spent that day's recess squatting against the wall and reciting multiplication tables... while he ran around laughing and pointing at me (which of course, made me give him the death stare before the sentimental idiot in me started to whimper and sob). Recess ended with the teacher making ME apologize to HIM... and then seeing him turn around to look at me and smirk as we walked back to class.
That fucking asshole.
And that's why I remember him on this day... and why I think February 1st is a piece of shit.
Do you?
That's the sound of me, crying, because my birthday is exactly A MONTH away (I hope there were ambulance/cop sirens going off while people read that... although when I cry, I sound just like a bunny snacking on lettuce... i.e. I'm silent, with the occasional sniffle or sob).
...
....
Holy Moses.
Nah, I'm not crying. I'm just kidding and making a big deal.
I've actually been going around telling everyone I'm 26 for the last month. My brain has been automatically doing that for the last three years.
Anyway, on this day, the person I remember most is an elementary school classmate of mine--Adam-- who turns 26 today.
I only remember this because he was so fucking annoying.
He was my classmate in third and fifth grade, but I was stuck in G.A.T.E. classes with him starting at second grade (when I was still technically ESL with my all-Spanish class. Go figure. My theory is that I was held off in Spanish classes for so long because of my name... it's so ardently hispanic... without having the name "Maria" involved). I had to learn to put up with him because his mom was the P.E. teacher, and that lady was SO legit... I felt bad being a bitch to her son.
The fact that Adam's mom was the school P.E. teacher was crazy, because Adam was the perfect example of a human meatball. He was shorter than most girls, and really, really fat. It was absolutely hilarious to watch him run (he'd only run after girls... that little perv... or to the cafeteria, for obvious reasons) because his legs were so short, but they'd move so fast.
He had the longest mullet I have ever seen... a mullet he rocked all through elementary school-- I'm talking kinder to fifth grade. He'd always be combing it during free time... and talking shit to girls because our hair wasn't nearly as shiny as his (yeah, prick, I bet if I had such a hefty appetite as you, my scalp's natural oils would coat my hair follicles to make them so shiny I could blind a pilot in the sky).
He had round glasses... the type you see on Mrs. Clause. He'd always be pressing them back into his pudgy face.
He also had very, very, very defined dimples... short, stubby fingers... and a REALLY LOUD mouth.
Did I mention he was a prick?
Due to the fact that his mother was the P.E. teacher, none of us could cross him or else he'd convince her to make us run laps... or worse yet, square dance as punishment. He also had the power to cancel Field Day (only THE best day of the entire school year where the school would be divided into the Blue and White team. We'd then compete against each other in a bunch of games for the entire day. God, I loved that day).
I was lucky, because apparently, Adam had a crush on me. I only knew this because his mom told me so when she first met me. I told her my name and she was all excited and referred to me as "Adam's little girlfriend" and when I corrected her (Huh? Who's Adam? My boyfriend's name is Freddy. HAHAHA! Oh, Freddy...) was when she told me that Adam would go home and tell her stories about me... because of G.A.T.E.
Of course, I was unaware of his true feelings because he spent his fucking time being an asshole to me (story of my life). Adam would tell his mom I was so smart and funny... with such cool interests and stories... that he had wasted no time in asking me out. YEAAAAH, RIIIIIIGHT.
In all reality, I lived my life in... not fear, but just dread of seeing this kid. He'd always find the need to correct me... every time. He was a little know-it-all. And he'd belittle my work in G.A.T.E. class, something I took seriously because I was so insecure due to the fact that I was the only hispanic kid in class... so I took people's comments seriously... because they were native English speakers... with American parents who knew what was up. I was just a Mexican farm girl... what the fuck did I know?
My clearest memory is this one time that we did a... is it "vendiagram?" No, no, that was another story... it was a "diorama" (I tell you... I spoke/wrote/read in Spanish, I only went by what I heard in English... I wasn't interested in the actual spelling of things 'cause I wasn't being graded on it). We had to use a shoebox and make a 3-D replica of something. Everyone went for the more obvious shit like "This is my house," "This is a theater stage."
I went for the crazy cool shit: this is an aquarium! (FYI: I had never seen an aquarium in real life. I was ghetto, come on now. I relied on what I had seen on TV and my good ol' imagination)
I painted my shoebox all different shades of blue on the outside. I framed the inside with different ocean photos from "National Geographic" magazines.
I positioned the box on its side, and added the prettiest fishes I could find, of all sizes, at different distances... even dangling some on strings so they could just chill in the middle, in order to create the illusion of depth (No one had given me this idea, it was ALL MINE. I had this artistic shit on lock at a very early age, BUT STILL my parents forced me onto science. Blah. What a waste).
My big "BAM!" was glueing a photo of a dolphin on either side of the box, just... right there, right in your face... where they looked like they were jumping out of the box.
My proudest motherfucking moment right there (sadly, I have no idea where that box ended up. I might have taken it home and wrecked it by stepping on it, in one of my infamous fits of rage or something).
Anyway, this box had rave reviews from my teachers and classmates. All but sorry-ass Adam. He hated on my diorama like it was his damn job. He went as far as to grab my shoebox (which was displayed in the ultimate location: the cafeteria/multipurpose room) and hide (hid? I'm having a tense crisis here thanks to this depressing memory) it! A first grader had found my box between the unused cafeteria tables and brought it over to the lunch lady... who saw my name and stuff, and gave it back to the G.A.T.E. teacher.
Being that I'm a sensitive idiot, this of course made me cry... and garnered him my eternal scorn.
Bastard asshole.
Anyway, Adam did this shit to me all through elementary school and I couldn't do shit because I was too afraid of a couple of extra laps in P.E.
I remember that I accidentally found out his birthday when I was a third grader because he was boasting about it.
Every morning, during announcements, kids with birthdays were mentioned.
This day, they mentioned Adam (coincidentally, it was also a Tuesday. Creepy) and he squealed (choice words, motherfucker) with glee in his seat.
Me, being nice-- and since he sat three desks away from me-- told him he was exactly a month older than me. How cool! :)
And he fucking shot me down! Why do I care? Your birthday could be in seven months and I still wouldn't care. (Jordan Shrug)
His Jordan Shrug was what hurt the most... also the way he looked at me as if I had just asked him for money while stepping on his brand new shoes.
That was probably the hardest I've ever tried not to cry.
I hope you die, you fucking fatass.
He CRIED.
The teacher called me over to her desk, and sure enough, I was in trouble.
I spent that day's recess squatting against the wall and reciting multiplication tables... while he ran around laughing and pointing at me (which of course, made me give him the death stare before the sentimental idiot in me started to whimper and sob). Recess ended with the teacher making ME apologize to HIM... and then seeing him turn around to look at me and smirk as we walked back to class.
That fucking asshole.
And that's why I remember him on this day... and why I think February 1st is a piece of shit.
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