OH BOY! The fucking shit I've been dealing with these last few days... fucking A!
I had to take time off writing so it wouldn't seep into my little recap of the trip.
My current drama is probably going to last some more, so it can wait to be written up after my lovelier (somewhat, I guess) moments spent abroad.
While in Paris (first city D and I traveled to after departing Berlin), as I excitedly pranced around a garden on Champs-Elysees (fuck... THAT doesn't sound pretentious at all...), D and I decided to take a seat on a nearby bench to enjoy our lovely crepes and do some people-watching.
D interrupted my merry moment.
D: So... safe to say you've totally forgotten about Monday's bullshit with Darcy?
Moment ruined.
I put my crepe down and looked up at the clouds.
Me: I'm in Paris, D. I'm walking down Champs-Elysees, enjoying my first ever crepe, staring at the Eiffel tower in the distance over those beautiful building over there. Guys have been complimenting me all day... everyone has been kind and helpful all day.
D: Yeah. So weird... but cool.
Me: I'm living the dream that gave any sort of light during my darkest days back in 9th grade, when I'd sit alone at my desk in my French class during "nutritional break." Friendless. Total loner. Too sad and lonely to feel hungry. I'd listen to my teacher's french music, listen to his stories about Paris... and I'd just... be transported there... far, far away from the real hell I was living. It was the only peace I had all school day. Now I'm really here, and it has exceeded anything I ever imagined. The last thing I'm doing right now is thinking about what a total fucking idiot I am in the romance department.
D: Damn. But, good! I don't need you angry and upset about me not letting you see Darcy. I thought you were going to hate me forever.
Me: Oh, I'll always remember and regret the event... it broke my heart, D! But I CAN'T let it ruin all of this for me. I can't let it steal the awe all of this is inspiring. I'm a happy girl and I'm not going to fight it.
D rolled her eyes and called me an idiot.
And that I AM.
An idiotic, foolish girl whose heart only beats for one dude who has no clue, who never asked for the title, who only sees her as a friend (quite the annoying one, at that) and will never see her as anything else.
An idiotic girl who can't respond to the affection of others, and so chooses to be alone... to most likely die alone.
A few posts back I said this trip acquired a theme, and that theme was: AnoMALIE is a girl.
I don't want to sound conceited or arrogant or any of that shit, because I know where the fuck I stand on the attractive meter. I'm mediocre. I mean... I'm a single 28 year old girl... come the fuck on, I know what's up.
HOWEVER, throughout my trip, I was finally getting attention from boys, as in... they were acknowledging I was an OK girl. Dudes were flirting. European dudes were flirting...
TOTAL contrast to my first trip to Europe... where I was treated like a leper. I was too fat to be liked by guys who like "normal" sized girls, and too small for guys with fetishes for the chubby ladies.
It's strange for me. I don't know how to act. My entire life (well, most of it) whenever a dude "flirted" with me, it was out of some dare... or with the sole purpose of ridiculing me to make his group of friends laugh. Or the dudes would be flirting with my group of friends (my sister, especially), and then they'd make it their mission to exclude me... made sure they didn't even look in my direction so I "wouldn't get the wrong idea"... gave me the "UGHH! Not you, lardass! What are you doing here anyway, Porky? I didn't bring a wingman, so scram! Quit cockblocking, you DUFF!" treatment.
This time I was INCLUDED in the compliments, the roses.
This time around, I caught dudes taking second glances at me... with that smile on his face... that... "Hey girl..." spirit. I'd stand there like a deer caught in headlights, too confused to even scowl.
Wait, you're serious right now? Uh... ummm... uh... thank you?
I did a lot of looking down at the ground while smiling.
Paris, in particular, was FULL of compliments. Fucking crazy amount of compliments. Like... I thought they were Italians at one point (Italian men were kind enough to holler at me when I first visited Europe. They were the only group of men who hurled any sort of "compliment" my way).
This took me aback because the first time around, the guys would have burned me at the stake if given the opportunity.
WHOA! Parisian men FLIRT?! WHAAAAT?! Mind. BLOWN!
Dudes acted much like Mexican men at cowboy events... gawking and hollering.
Did the fucking undertaker just tell me I had a pretty mouth? WHAT THE FUCK?!
I had to cut my Père Lachaise Cemetery visit short because while searching for Chopin's grave, an undertaker who was helping out by a nearby tomb (they were doing some sort of restoration to the tomb) wouldn't fucking stop checking me out (head to toe, guys... it was strange) and then would stare at my mouth for god knows how long (I'd lose my nerve and look away, so I don't know how long he did that for... I don't WANT to know). He'd constantly repeat "Que belle bouche!"
Who knows... maybe Parisian culture has become more embracing of thicker Latinas in these last five years, so I was a popular creature... or maybe they just... all went crazy... but, I definitely didn't mind it.
I didn't find a Nino to my Amelie... and I never will... but I saw the sights. I spoke the language. I smiled at the sweet strangers.
I was a motherfucking GIRL, guys!
I had to take time off writing so it wouldn't seep into my little recap of the trip.
My current drama is probably going to last some more, so it can wait to be written up after my lovelier (somewhat, I guess) moments spent abroad.
PARIS.
While in Paris (first city D and I traveled to after departing Berlin), as I excitedly pranced around a garden on Champs-Elysees (fuck... THAT doesn't sound pretentious at all...), D and I decided to take a seat on a nearby bench to enjoy our lovely crepes and do some people-watching.
D interrupted my merry moment.
D: So... safe to say you've totally forgotten about Monday's bullshit with Darcy?
Moment ruined.
I put my crepe down and looked up at the clouds.
Me: I'm in Paris, D. I'm walking down Champs-Elysees, enjoying my first ever crepe, staring at the Eiffel tower in the distance over those beautiful building over there. Guys have been complimenting me all day... everyone has been kind and helpful all day.
D: Yeah. So weird... but cool.
Me: I'm living the dream that gave any sort of light during my darkest days back in 9th grade, when I'd sit alone at my desk in my French class during "nutritional break." Friendless. Total loner. Too sad and lonely to feel hungry. I'd listen to my teacher's french music, listen to his stories about Paris... and I'd just... be transported there... far, far away from the real hell I was living. It was the only peace I had all school day. Now I'm really here, and it has exceeded anything I ever imagined. The last thing I'm doing right now is thinking about what a total fucking idiot I am in the romance department.
D: Damn. But, good! I don't need you angry and upset about me not letting you see Darcy. I thought you were going to hate me forever.
Me: Oh, I'll always remember and regret the event... it broke my heart, D! But I CAN'T let it ruin all of this for me. I can't let it steal the awe all of this is inspiring. I'm a happy girl and I'm not going to fight it.
D rolled her eyes and called me an idiot.
And that I AM.
An idiotic, foolish girl whose heart only beats for one dude who has no clue, who never asked for the title, who only sees her as a friend (quite the annoying one, at that) and will never see her as anything else.
An idiotic girl who can't respond to the affection of others, and so chooses to be alone... to most likely die alone.
A few posts back I said this trip acquired a theme, and that theme was: AnoMALIE is a girl.
I don't want to sound conceited or arrogant or any of that shit, because I know where the fuck I stand on the attractive meter. I'm mediocre. I mean... I'm a single 28 year old girl... come the fuck on, I know what's up.
HOWEVER, throughout my trip, I was finally getting attention from boys, as in... they were acknowledging I was an OK girl. Dudes were flirting. European dudes were flirting...
TOTAL contrast to my first trip to Europe... where I was treated like a leper. I was too fat to be liked by guys who like "normal" sized girls, and too small for guys with fetishes for the chubby ladies.
It's strange for me. I don't know how to act. My entire life (well, most of it) whenever a dude "flirted" with me, it was out of some dare... or with the sole purpose of ridiculing me to make his group of friends laugh. Or the dudes would be flirting with my group of friends (my sister, especially), and then they'd make it their mission to exclude me... made sure they didn't even look in my direction so I "wouldn't get the wrong idea"... gave me the "UGHH! Not you, lardass! What are you doing here anyway, Porky? I didn't bring a wingman, so scram! Quit cockblocking, you DUFF!" treatment.
This time I was INCLUDED in the compliments, the roses.
This time around, I caught dudes taking second glances at me... with that smile on his face... that... "Hey girl..." spirit. I'd stand there like a deer caught in headlights, too confused to even scowl.
Wait, you're serious right now? Uh... ummm... uh... thank you?
I did a lot of looking down at the ground while smiling.
Paris, in particular, was FULL of compliments. Fucking crazy amount of compliments. Like... I thought they were Italians at one point (Italian men were kind enough to holler at me when I first visited Europe. They were the only group of men who hurled any sort of "compliment" my way).
This took me aback because the first time around, the guys would have burned me at the stake if given the opportunity.
WHOA! Parisian men FLIRT?! WHAAAAT?! Mind. BLOWN!
Dudes acted much like Mexican men at cowboy events... gawking and hollering.
Did the fucking undertaker just tell me I had a pretty mouth? WHAT THE FUCK?!
I had to cut my Père Lachaise Cemetery visit short because while searching for Chopin's grave, an undertaker who was helping out by a nearby tomb (they were doing some sort of restoration to the tomb) wouldn't fucking stop checking me out (head to toe, guys... it was strange) and then would stare at my mouth for god knows how long (I'd lose my nerve and look away, so I don't know how long he did that for... I don't WANT to know). He'd constantly repeat "Que belle bouche!"
Who knows... maybe Parisian culture has become more embracing of thicker Latinas in these last five years, so I was a popular creature... or maybe they just... all went crazy... but, I definitely didn't mind it.
I didn't find a Nino to my Amelie... and I never will... but I saw the sights. I spoke the language. I smiled at the sweet strangers.
I was a motherfucking GIRL, guys!
No comments:
Post a Comment