The summer of 1999 was rough on me.
The previous summer had been incredible-- I was encountering a surge in popularity due to me suddenly hitting puberty and looking sort of different to the people in Hometown (I'm notorious for being pretty constant in appearance. People freak the fuck out when I change). As the year progressed, puberty hit me HARDER and I ballooned.
A girl can never gain weight without others being hypercritical and vocalizing their disgust... because the girl deserves all that berating because FUCK HER for being such a fucking slob... because all fat people are subhuman fucking slobs. They need to be put in their place.(SARCASM, here, ok... just had to place the disclaimer)
SO, while I spent that summer in Mexico continually contemplating suicide and hovering dangerously close to the edges of the town's bridge... I did have a couple of friends.
My best friends were my two cousins I've mentioned previously... the pretty girls.
This close friendship with the pretty girls made me popular with the cute guys... because they wanted me to hook them up with my friends.
This was my initiation to the DUFF Club.
Good fucking times in that club... I dare say I have a lifetime membership. (There's that sarcasm again-- the good times, that is... I'm pretty rock solid about my lifetime status)
Anyway, that summer, a pair of twins seemed to be the most active in seeking my help in coupling them with my friends.
These twins were BY FAR the most popular men in the entire municipality... like most fucking twins.
This constant chill-time spent with the twin boys made me popular because other girls wanted me to put in a good word for them... but also popular with the same girls because they'd proceed to gossip about what a whore I was (this always confused me. One minute I'm a fat cow/pig no one wants to be seen with, and the next I'm a whore... when would I have time to fuck all these guys when everyone was so concerned with publicly ostracizing the shit out of me?).
Like the lonely, sad girl I was, I tried to oblige EVERYONE as best as I could.
The only people who seemed to NOT be ashamed of being seen with me where these twins.
Needless to say, I did get them each a shot with their girls... and I (thought I) formed a close bond with the dudes.
Fast forward to the fall of '99 and how my time only WORSENED as I entered a new school... as a Freshman in High School... an ex-ghetto Mexican-American girl in an affluent, vastly-white school.
The ostracism reach a completely different level, and my only friends were those willing to chat with me on-line.
These twin boys were some of the few who'd still chat with me.
One day, I commented how one of the twins-- let's call him V-- looked like the little boy on Seventh Heaven. I meant it as a compliment, David Gallagher was fucking beautiful, but V took it as the most horrendous personal attack, so he fired right back.
"Yeah? Well, you're Betty La Fea, only the fat version."
Ugly Betty... he called me Ugly Betty (imagine my distress when America Ferrera played this role years later... apparently we look alike, according to EVERYBODY), only he added the extra punch about the weight at the end.
BOOM! Nuclear War.
I let that bitch have it... I unleashed all the built up hatred in my heart and told him every single bad thing about him.
I'm terrible when it comes to speaking, but give me the opportunity to attack you in a written form? I will FUCK. YOU. UP.
Our friendship ended that moment.
I had not spoken to this twin since that incident. I have remained on good terms with his twin, but have gone out of my way to avoid that idiot V-- despite the fact that we're actually 3rd cousins (our grandfathers were very close).
Well, guess who I bumped into this afternoon as I walked out of my hardcore workout? Good ol' Simon Camden (aka "V").
He was on his way into the gym, but throwing something into a garbage can directly in my path, so when I looked up in order to avoid colliding with the can, I noticed him. I stared him in the face until he made eye-contact with me.
Like the idiot I've always been, I greeted him with a giant smile and loud acknowledgement.
"Hey, V!"
He, in typical V fashion, stared at me like he's carefully wafting some unknown concoction in high school chemistry class... looking down at me as if I'm a lowly plebe to his royal highness.
I don't know if he recognized me, but he stopped, and VERY shamelessly maneuvered his entire body so he could check out my ass-- unabashedly STARE at my asscheeks-- and uttered the phrase I will mock for the rest of my life:
How you doin'?
Now, I wouldn't make so much fun of this... had he been JOKING... but NO! He was serious.
He did not look me in the eye... he did not utter my name-- he stared at my spandex-clad ass while dropping the sleaziest line known to humankind... he spoke to my ass.
!
?
!
I laughed, continued walking forward (if he wanted to stare at my ass, what was the point of me just standing there trying to hold eye-contact like a normal, conscious creature?), threw up the peace sign (for real, I did all that... I don't know where I got the self-esteem to be that cool, but I did) and raised my voice loud enough for him to hear me say "I'm doing well!"
I did not look back.
I kept walking to my car (so fucking far away... all these "Beach Body" fanatics are making gym-life difficult), randomly bursting out into uncontrollable, childish giggles... with me occasionally repeating V's line, in the same tone and everything (nice to know my impersonation-tendencies return to me when I'm greatly amused).
"How you doin'?"
Today, the 7th Heaven goody-goody died and arose from its ashes only to become Joey Tribbiani.
Ps. V is now fat.
TAKE THAT, MUTHAFUCKAAAAA!
The previous summer had been incredible-- I was encountering a surge in popularity due to me suddenly hitting puberty and looking sort of different to the people in Hometown (I'm notorious for being pretty constant in appearance. People freak the fuck out when I change). As the year progressed, puberty hit me HARDER and I ballooned.
A girl can never gain weight without others being hypercritical and vocalizing their disgust... because the girl deserves all that berating because FUCK HER for being such a fucking slob... because all fat people are subhuman fucking slobs. They need to be put in their place.(SARCASM, here, ok... just had to place the disclaimer)
SO, while I spent that summer in Mexico continually contemplating suicide and hovering dangerously close to the edges of the town's bridge... I did have a couple of friends.
My best friends were my two cousins I've mentioned previously... the pretty girls.
This close friendship with the pretty girls made me popular with the cute guys... because they wanted me to hook them up with my friends.
This was my initiation to the DUFF Club.
Good fucking times in that club... I dare say I have a lifetime membership. (There's that sarcasm again-- the good times, that is... I'm pretty rock solid about my lifetime status)
Anyway, that summer, a pair of twins seemed to be the most active in seeking my help in coupling them with my friends.
These twins were BY FAR the most popular men in the entire municipality... like most fucking twins.
This constant chill-time spent with the twin boys made me popular because other girls wanted me to put in a good word for them... but also popular with the same girls because they'd proceed to gossip about what a whore I was (this always confused me. One minute I'm a fat cow/pig no one wants to be seen with, and the next I'm a whore... when would I have time to fuck all these guys when everyone was so concerned with publicly ostracizing the shit out of me?).
Like the lonely, sad girl I was, I tried to oblige EVERYONE as best as I could.
The only people who seemed to NOT be ashamed of being seen with me where these twins.
Needless to say, I did get them each a shot with their girls... and I (thought I) formed a close bond with the dudes.
Fast forward to the fall of '99 and how my time only WORSENED as I entered a new school... as a Freshman in High School... an ex-ghetto Mexican-American girl in an affluent, vastly-white school.
The ostracism reach a completely different level, and my only friends were those willing to chat with me on-line.
These twin boys were some of the few who'd still chat with me.
One day, I commented how one of the twins-- let's call him V-- looked like the little boy on Seventh Heaven. I meant it as a compliment, David Gallagher was fucking beautiful, but V took it as the most horrendous personal attack, so he fired right back.
"Yeah? Well, you're Betty La Fea, only the fat version."
Ugly Betty... he called me Ugly Betty (imagine my distress when America Ferrera played this role years later... apparently we look alike, according to EVERYBODY), only he added the extra punch about the weight at the end.
BOOM! Nuclear War.
I let that bitch have it... I unleashed all the built up hatred in my heart and told him every single bad thing about him.
I'm terrible when it comes to speaking, but give me the opportunity to attack you in a written form? I will FUCK. YOU. UP.
Our friendship ended that moment.
I had not spoken to this twin since that incident. I have remained on good terms with his twin, but have gone out of my way to avoid that idiot V-- despite the fact that we're actually 3rd cousins (our grandfathers were very close).
Well, guess who I bumped into this afternoon as I walked out of my hardcore workout? Good ol' Simon Camden (aka "V").
He was on his way into the gym, but throwing something into a garbage can directly in my path, so when I looked up in order to avoid colliding with the can, I noticed him. I stared him in the face until he made eye-contact with me.
Like the idiot I've always been, I greeted him with a giant smile and loud acknowledgement.
"Hey, V!"
He, in typical V fashion, stared at me like he's carefully wafting some unknown concoction in high school chemistry class... looking down at me as if I'm a lowly plebe to his royal highness.
I don't know if he recognized me, but he stopped, and VERY shamelessly maneuvered his entire body so he could check out my ass-- unabashedly STARE at my asscheeks-- and uttered the phrase I will mock for the rest of my life:
How you doin'?
Now, I wouldn't make so much fun of this... had he been JOKING... but NO! He was serious.
He did not look me in the eye... he did not utter my name-- he stared at my spandex-clad ass while dropping the sleaziest line known to humankind... he spoke to my ass.
!
?
!
I laughed, continued walking forward (if he wanted to stare at my ass, what was the point of me just standing there trying to hold eye-contact like a normal, conscious creature?), threw up the peace sign (for real, I did all that... I don't know where I got the self-esteem to be that cool, but I did) and raised my voice loud enough for him to hear me say "I'm doing well!"
I did not look back.
I kept walking to my car (so fucking far away... all these "Beach Body" fanatics are making gym-life difficult), randomly bursting out into uncontrollable, childish giggles... with me occasionally repeating V's line, in the same tone and everything (nice to know my impersonation-tendencies return to me when I'm greatly amused).
"How you doin'?"
Today, the 7th Heaven goody-goody died and arose from its ashes only to become Joey Tribbiani.
Ps. V is now fat.
TAKE THAT, MUTHAFUCKAAAAA!
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