Sunday, March 25, 2012

Bitchface or Sadface?

It's no secret I have a bitch face.

I don't really know how to fix this issue... I mean... HOW do you fix the way your face looks when you're being quiet? I can't sit there with a smile plastered on my face... that'll just make me look deranged, are you fucking kidding me?
I was just born this way.
Fuck you, brahh.
Don't touch me.
A clown? It's freakin' Christmas and I get A CLOWN?
Get this shit off me.
The face wins me haters quite regularly... just look at my previous post for proof (I see that bitch tomorrow... blaaaaahhhhhh).
If people aren't hating... they feel sorry for me.
I'm either really pissed or miserable, according to folks (and yeah, I guess they're often correct... though they usually just skip past "Why aren't I home sleeping right now?"-- that one's ALWAYS correct).

Contemplating slitting my wrists and slipping into the tub... or just wondering why "Boba" goes by  "pearl tea" "Bubble tea" "Tapioca balls" etc... 
Since this week I already bumped into someone who thinks my bitchface is for real, it was only fair to bump into someone today who was under the impression that I was once "La Sad Girl" of my all-Latina gang (because all Mexican-Americans my age belonged to a gang at some point, obviously).

I was quietly sitting alone in my favorite pew at church (Yes, I have a "favorite" pew. Sue me). It was ten minutes to eight in the morning, and I was tired, having slept only a few hours.
Add to that, the fact that I've NEVER been a morning person... AND that I use church as a time to meditate... in SILENCE...
I was pretty much a zombie.

Other people... I imagine it's naturally outgoing, rambunctious people, can't seem to grasp this idea... the idea of being OK with being alone and quiet... and they immediately think you're in need of attention.

As I sat at the pew, staring at the floor and working on some mental math (macro counting... trying to squeeze in some room for an ice cream cone... you know, VITAL shit like that), I felt a lady hug me.
Whatthefuck?
She wrapped her arms completely around me, rubbing my back, and gently bumped her head against mine a couple of times. Her head-scarf was hitting me right in the eye, pretty much blinding me.
thefuuuuckisgoingon?!
Then she very... kindly... said:
Smile. Jesus loves you!
Whaaaat is going on?
When she released me, I looked at her... probably with the most bewildered look on my face, and then felt relief when I noticed she was the lady who always sits behind me at English mass.
I smiled.
Then I felt stupid.
Fuck... do I look that damn pathetic?

So... that question: How the fuck do I look NORMAL when I'm being quiet and having "alone" time? I don't want any more "enemies" and much less any more awkward, far-too-public sympathy hugs.
Remember, I don't want to look deranged, and I'm too afraid for plastic surgery or drugs.

My parents should have never mated that fateful May/June day of 1984. Bad combo, guys.

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