Feeling better.
I let everything blow over.
Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Today's topic: what else? Boys.
Frank (that's what I'll refer to him as, even if his name is Francisco, but let's Americanize it 'cause I can) picked us up at the airport, and took Mom, Pocahontas, and I home. The drive was somewhat lengthy, especially since it was during their rush-hour (their siesta was about to start... shit gets the streets all out of whack. Gotta love Siesta, though). We were driving past their national stadium, got into a little conversation about our soccer fanaticism, then Frank asked about my relationship status.
Frank: Y que dice el novio? Como la dejo venir sola? (so what does the boyfriend think? How'd he let you come out here without him?)
Me: Nada, porque no hay novio. Así esta mejor porque me puedo pasear por todas partes sin preguntarle a alguien por permiso. Single for life! (nothing, 'cause there is no boyfriend. It's better that way, 'cause I can hangout all over the place without asking anyone for permission)
Frank: Jaja, tienes mucha razón. (haha, good point)
I found myself giving the same speech to every new person I'd meet. I wasn't irritated by it, however, since it's understandable to be confused as to why a 27 year old Latina would be single (though before meeting me, they were under the impression that I was a "niña"... which they called me the entire time. Loved it). That shit's just unusual.
Frank and the girls then tried encouraging me to hit the night clubs.
They found it strange that I preferred the company of ten-year-old Emi and five-year-old Val... and that instead of craving the deafening beats of dance music pulsing through my veins at a club, I preferred the feel of the sun on my shoulders as I'd sit in the middle of green fields in the wilderness.
Does this girl WANT to die alone?
There were plenty of good-looking boys out there. Very good looking... of all shapes and sizes.
And yes, I scoped them out-- I'm not fucking blind!
But... the trip pretty much solidified the fact that I just don't give a fuck.
The trip also solidified the fact that I was born in the wrong era.
I'm an old-dude magnet... but not even in the pervy way.
I find that older gentlemen... admire me... in a melancholic way... if that makes any sense. The way they stare at me, not lustfully, but with this sad little smile.... and the things they say to me.
They tell me I'm great, and sweet, and interesting, and smart, and... well, a shitton of wonderful compliments I'd probably kill for just to hear it from a young dude.
I find the words more like... words of encouragement, I guess you could say. They think I'm great, and they just sit and hope that I don't let the bitterness get to me and change me.
You're a terrific girl, they don't make them like you anymore... but young guys don't see it... they won't see it until wayyy further down the road... just sit it out and don't let the frustration change you. If only I were younger...
I usually stare back with my typical bitter-sweet smile... followed by a shrug-- code for:
Yeah... well... what else can I do about it? Sometimes I wish so too.
On Beach Day, an older gentleman took us to the beach.
Dude is 16 years my senior, a school principal and a fisherman.
He took the men to a good fishing spot, while he left us chicks in a shady area.
Prior to hitting the beach, we had chilled at his house and he had watched me eat the food he prepared.
I don't know about other folk, but I tend to eat in silence. That day, I sat alone, in silence, on the patio. I ate my tilapia and drank my coffee as I stared at the star-fruit, mango, and avocado trees. I also took the time to admire the numerous wild orchids sprouting all over the front yard. The only noises coming out of me where the occasional low whistle I'd make to the little toy poodle who'd hangout by my feet.
Once I was done eating, I proceeded to tickle the little poodle... I wasn't about to let that little monster get away from me. Plus, I'm not allergic to dogs... I can pet those motherfuckers as much as I please.
The whole time I sensed the dude staring at me, but he would not utter a word.
His sense of humor was also extremely dry... and he'd use colloquialisms not found in Mexican Spanish, so a lot of the jokes would be lost in translation.
When it came time to heading for the beach, we stopped at a convenience store and I got into a mini argument with Dad because he didn't let me buy a beer.
Dad: That isn't good for your health!
Me: Yeah, well, yesterday you forced me to eat fucking KFC and that shit is DEFINITELY unhealthier than one fucking beer.
Dad: You're embarrassing me!!
Me: IT'S A FUCKING BEER!
As I stormed out of the store and huffed and puffed in the parking lot, the older gentleman walked over to me and asked me if I knew what drink was healthiest, after purified water... which he had seen me guzzling down all day.
Dude: Wine. A glass of wine. You're good.
I angrily got in my car and huffed and puffed some more.
Me: (staring at the back of Dad's head) You embarrass me when you whip out your wad of cash in front of everyone... you don't see me saying shit...
Mom: AnoMALIE, shut up!
At the beach, maybe an hour prior to leaving, the gentlemen came back from their fishing.
Everyone was in the water, splashing around, everyone but me.
I would sit on a huge tree branch and jot shit down in my journal.
The older gentleman was the only other person not in the water, and he first approached me with something in his hand.
Dude: You're a biologist, right?
Me: I guess you can say that...
Dude: What's the name for this little animal?
He opened his hands and out came a cute little hermit crab.
Me: Ah! That's a cute little hermit crab! How'd you catch him?
I looked up at him as I finished the sentence, mainly out of habit, and considering I was highly amused like some autistic three year old, I had an enormous smile on my face. We locked eyes.
Dude: That's the most I've heard you talk...
He tried handing me the hermit crab, but the little bastard (hermit crab) pinched me, so I dropped it.
I chased after the crab... mainly to get away from the guy.
I decided to stay on the shore, collecting shells... you know, be me.
I wasn't sunbathing, I wasn't trying to look sexy for the hot surfers walking by... I was just... being me... living in my own little world, alone-- collecting shells and doodling shit on the sand.
When night fell and we had to leave the dude's house, I went for the firm handshake... but he pulled me in and gave me the biggest bear-hug of my life, completely immobilizing me.
He kissed my left ear and whispered
"You! You're incredible! You just need to speak up!"
...
The consensus was clear:
AnoMALIE, you're tiiight! Now let someone in, don't be a clam!
The girls and Frank invited dudes over, and introduced me... Frank was diligent in his attempts to find me a Tica boyfriend... but all attempts were futile.
Yes, I'd find the boys cute... but my heart was not there. Ever. Nothing.
As I'd doodle my name on the sand... and surround it with hearts, I found myself wondering
Is it really that important to find someone? Do I want to find someone?
I honestly don't know.
I'll just continue to act like I don't care.
I let everything blow over.
Back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Today's topic: what else? Boys.
Frank (that's what I'll refer to him as, even if his name is Francisco, but let's Americanize it 'cause I can) picked us up at the airport, and took Mom, Pocahontas, and I home. The drive was somewhat lengthy, especially since it was during their rush-hour (their siesta was about to start... shit gets the streets all out of whack. Gotta love Siesta, though). We were driving past their national stadium, got into a little conversation about our soccer fanaticism, then Frank asked about my relationship status.
Frank: Y que dice el novio? Como la dejo venir sola? (so what does the boyfriend think? How'd he let you come out here without him?)
Me: Nada, porque no hay novio. Así esta mejor porque me puedo pasear por todas partes sin preguntarle a alguien por permiso. Single for life! (nothing, 'cause there is no boyfriend. It's better that way, 'cause I can hangout all over the place without asking anyone for permission)
Frank: Jaja, tienes mucha razón. (haha, good point)
I found myself giving the same speech to every new person I'd meet. I wasn't irritated by it, however, since it's understandable to be confused as to why a 27 year old Latina would be single (though before meeting me, they were under the impression that I was a "niña"... which they called me the entire time. Loved it). That shit's just unusual.
Frank and the girls then tried encouraging me to hit the night clubs.
They found it strange that I preferred the company of ten-year-old Emi and five-year-old Val... and that instead of craving the deafening beats of dance music pulsing through my veins at a club, I preferred the feel of the sun on my shoulders as I'd sit in the middle of green fields in the wilderness.
Does this girl WANT to die alone?
There were plenty of good-looking boys out there. Very good looking... of all shapes and sizes.
And yes, I scoped them out-- I'm not fucking blind!
But... the trip pretty much solidified the fact that I just don't give a fuck.
The trip also solidified the fact that I was born in the wrong era.
I'm an old-dude magnet... but not even in the pervy way.
I find that older gentlemen... admire me... in a melancholic way... if that makes any sense. The way they stare at me, not lustfully, but with this sad little smile.... and the things they say to me.
They tell me I'm great, and sweet, and interesting, and smart, and... well, a shitton of wonderful compliments I'd probably kill for just to hear it from a young dude.
I find the words more like... words of encouragement, I guess you could say. They think I'm great, and they just sit and hope that I don't let the bitterness get to me and change me.
You're a terrific girl, they don't make them like you anymore... but young guys don't see it... they won't see it until wayyy further down the road... just sit it out and don't let the frustration change you. If only I were younger...
I usually stare back with my typical bitter-sweet smile... followed by a shrug-- code for:
Yeah... well... what else can I do about it? Sometimes I wish so too.
On Beach Day, an older gentleman took us to the beach.
Dude is 16 years my senior, a school principal and a fisherman.
He took the men to a good fishing spot, while he left us chicks in a shady area.
Prior to hitting the beach, we had chilled at his house and he had watched me eat the food he prepared.
I don't know about other folk, but I tend to eat in silence. That day, I sat alone, in silence, on the patio. I ate my tilapia and drank my coffee as I stared at the star-fruit, mango, and avocado trees. I also took the time to admire the numerous wild orchids sprouting all over the front yard. The only noises coming out of me where the occasional low whistle I'd make to the little toy poodle who'd hangout by my feet.
Once I was done eating, I proceeded to tickle the little poodle... I wasn't about to let that little monster get away from me. Plus, I'm not allergic to dogs... I can pet those motherfuckers as much as I please.
The whole time I sensed the dude staring at me, but he would not utter a word.
His sense of humor was also extremely dry... and he'd use colloquialisms not found in Mexican Spanish, so a lot of the jokes would be lost in translation.
When it came time to heading for the beach, we stopped at a convenience store and I got into a mini argument with Dad because he didn't let me buy a beer.
Dad: That isn't good for your health!
Me: Yeah, well, yesterday you forced me to eat fucking KFC and that shit is DEFINITELY unhealthier than one fucking beer.
Dad: You're embarrassing me!!
Me: IT'S A FUCKING BEER!
As I stormed out of the store and huffed and puffed in the parking lot, the older gentleman walked over to me and asked me if I knew what drink was healthiest, after purified water... which he had seen me guzzling down all day.
Dude: Wine. A glass of wine. You're good.
I angrily got in my car and huffed and puffed some more.
Me: (staring at the back of Dad's head) You embarrass me when you whip out your wad of cash in front of everyone... you don't see me saying shit...
Mom: AnoMALIE, shut up!
At the beach, maybe an hour prior to leaving, the gentlemen came back from their fishing.
Everyone was in the water, splashing around, everyone but me.
I would sit on a huge tree branch and jot shit down in my journal.
The older gentleman was the only other person not in the water, and he first approached me with something in his hand.
Dude: You're a biologist, right?
Me: I guess you can say that...
Dude: What's the name for this little animal?
He opened his hands and out came a cute little hermit crab.
Me: Ah! That's a cute little hermit crab! How'd you catch him?
I looked up at him as I finished the sentence, mainly out of habit, and considering I was highly amused like some autistic three year old, I had an enormous smile on my face. We locked eyes.
Dude: That's the most I've heard you talk...
He tried handing me the hermit crab, but the little bastard (hermit crab) pinched me, so I dropped it.
I chased after the crab... mainly to get away from the guy.
I decided to stay on the shore, collecting shells... you know, be me.
I wasn't sunbathing, I wasn't trying to look sexy for the hot surfers walking by... I was just... being me... living in my own little world, alone-- collecting shells and doodling shit on the sand.
When night fell and we had to leave the dude's house, I went for the firm handshake... but he pulled me in and gave me the biggest bear-hug of my life, completely immobilizing me.
He kissed my left ear and whispered
"You! You're incredible! You just need to speak up!"
...
The consensus was clear:
AnoMALIE, you're tiiight! Now let someone in, don't be a clam!
The girls and Frank invited dudes over, and introduced me... Frank was diligent in his attempts to find me a Tica boyfriend... but all attempts were futile.
Yes, I'd find the boys cute... but my heart was not there. Ever. Nothing.
As I'd doodle my name on the sand... and surround it with hearts, I found myself wondering
Is it really that important to find someone? Do I want to find someone?
I honestly don't know.
I'll just continue to act like I don't care.
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