Particles

Rafa: *nicknameIhate* if you could be any subatomic particle, which one would you be?
Me: What the fuck are you talking about?
Rafa: If you could be any subatomic particle, which one would you be?
Me: What kind of fucking stupid question is that?
Rafa: Stupid because I should KNOW what you'd be, or stupid because YOU don't understand it?
Me:...
D: Too easy! I'd be a proton!
Rafa: I'd be an electron!!
D: Aren't proton's like... what determines the atomic weight of an element? THAT'S why I'd be a proton. They're badasses! Fuckin' important!
Rafa: I'd be an electron because I'd be all over the place. I'd be the one determining relationships and shit.
Me: Yeah, whoring yourself out to some while getting violently repelled by others... you're absolutely correct.
Rafa: You only say that because you'd be a fucking boring-ass neutron.
D: Yeah. She'd HELLA be a neutron. Neutral-ass lame-o.
Me: (internally) Yeah... I... WOULD be a neutron...

That was the last "Rafa Question" of his month-and-a-half vacation with us.
I actually shed a tear or two once D took him to the airport.
He's so loud and obnoxious... it's more than obvious when he's gone.
I also cried because I'm pretty sure this is probably the last time we get to spend this long together, in our home, living like we did from 1985 until 2001 (I think it was on the 5th of this month where he celebrated his 10th year of living away from home. That was the day he left for Basic). Now he has to grow up and work... and his work will take him to different countries for very long periods of time... and he'll probably meet a girl and get married... and that's when he'll no longer belong to us.
All this shit got me thinking and it made me cry.
Distance sucks dick.

Anyway, having to say goodbye to my annoying, but loving brother (last night he did that weird hugging thing to me. It's more than obvious that he knows I'm beyond depressed and lost the will to live... and it's strange to see his reaction. He's concerned, but he doesn't know what to say or do... he just hugs me. It makes me sad) had me in a quiet mood.
Tyson is feeling and looking better, so that got a smile out of me. He even let me wash his "really bad" paw with the solution the vet gave me. He probably knows I'm sad and he's trying to make things better... because he's psychic like that. Tyson's magic.

Then I went to kickboxing.
Yeah.
I never run out of stories when it comes to that class.
This time around, we have an old gentleman... possibly in his 60s... maybe... no, yeah, the man had to be in his 60s because 70s is just too impossible to envision kicking and punching like this man. It was like... seeing my old creative writing professor kickboxing next to me. I think he's in his 60s, so I'll say this little man was also in his 60s.
Anyway, before class starts, we all wait in the room that has all the lights off but some decorative neon lights at the top... it's very zen. We're free to stretch, or meditate, or just stare at what everyone else is doing in that class.
I usually stretch and chill myself out... because I'm damn well aware that I'll end the class frustrated as fuck and probably wishing death upon one or two people. This class fucks me up, attitude-wise... I turn into the fucking Hulk and I need a couple of hours to cool back down into my nerdy self.

As I was "calming" myself down... taking deep breaths while closing my eyes... the little old man sat next to me.
He was new to class, so he started to ask me question.
I'm not the most approachable person--I freely admit that-- and so when someone comes up to me and starts chatting me up, I get a little startled.
I smile a lot... I'm kind of chirpy... and dumb. It's the equivalent of having someone sucker punch you in the back of the head... it leaves you... startled... if not totally handicapped.
Ok, so he talks to me, and I talk back. I try my hardest to be very nice to the man, because I know once class starts, I'll be fantasizing about elbowing his temple all because he clumsily invaded my personal space.
I'm a sweetheart, I swear, sir... just... get OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING WAYYYY! AHHHH! TESTOSTERONE! ME HATE PEOPLE!
(No, seriously, that happens. It's terrible. I'm a fucking animal)

This act of kindness from my behalf somehow gets this old man endeared to me... even after I turn into the kickboxing monster for an hour and a half.
Once class is over, he sits next to me for the cool-down and chats me up again.
Look, Quasimodo, I just want to lay on my back and stretch out my legs and arms in silence. Let the estrogen return to my body real quick... I'm still rocking ripped, purple capris here (Hulk reference, for those who don't get me).
Old man: Oh my god... wow! You completely transform once class starts! Your face just ::he moves his hand over his face from top to bottom, as if removing a mask:: changes. You look MEAN!
Me: Oh... ::nervous laugh:: yeah... it's just... the class, you know.
Old man: Are you a boxer? Were you a boxer? I was looking at you, and boy! Your swing is... your form... you box, right?
(I look around nervously, because the old man's voice is loud, and excited... like a little kid who has just been told he's going to Disneyland, and I'm worried it'll call too much attention to me from the rest of the regulars in class)
Me:... nnnno... only with my siblings, I guess...
and the streetz, muthafuckaaa!
Old man: I was looking at you the whole time, because you were the only one who knew what she was doing.

Yeah, there were people staring by now. All I could do was smile sheepishly while looking down at the floor. I just wanted the old man to shut the hell up.
The old man just kept going and going. I grew aggravated, so I stopped smiling after thirty seconds and listened to the instructor as he instructed us on the stretches.

Old man: You know... you should smile more...
I crack a wide smile... staring between my legs (I'm sitting on the floor now), at the floor.
Goddamn it! Here it goes again... I'm going to hear that motherfucking line people tell me EVERY. FUCKING. TIME!
Old man: There it is! You're a beautiful girl. It's a beautiful smile. It lights up your face. If you smiled more, you'd look friendlier and not so scary. You know... all you have to do is tell yourself "I'm going to smile today!" every day, and before you know it, it'll just be a reflex. Your natural demeanor will be that of... happiness.

As we stretched, he magically disappeared (ok, so he hobbled away and I was too busy contorting my body in the opposite direction to notice).

I'd look "friendlier?" But I thought my scowl exuded kindness!
The class is called "kickboxing," not "imagine yourself frolicking through a prairie field in the middle of a summer night, catching fireflies" class.
Wanna see me smile and giggle like a baby? Find me a fucking prairie with fireflies and I'll fucking OOZE happiness... it'll be fucking contagious, I promise.
Kickboxing requires me to punch and kick... and it makes me sweat as if I have a firefighter's hose for sweat glands. I can't be "friendly" when this is going on. I'm envisioning crushing someone's skull with my knee... I'm more than likely not going to be smiling as this happens-- I'm not that fucking sadistic.

Still, that comment left me even more bummed.
My sadness is... really starting to show...

AND WHY DO OLD MEN ALWAYS FEEL COMPELLED TO GIVE ME ADVICE?!
Granted... their advice IS usually good... but I get a little creeped out... and inevitably sad (they sense my sadness and add a kind suggestion. This messes with my emotions and I turn into a caustic bitch as a method to ward off tears. After a few hours, the thought of an old man trying to cheer up a sad, quiet girl makes me frown).
But I guess it's better than old lady advice: Find yourself a good man, AnoMALIE! Time's a tickin'! Your childbearing days are nearing their end! And if you can, find a RICH man! Who cares if you don't love him?!

Oh! Blessed, unsolicited advice.