How YOU doin'?

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!

Am I the Romy or Michele? Romele?

I've watched my fair share of high school reunion-themed movies.
There are funny versions, dramatic versions... and I think there might be a horror flick up in there somewhere.

I finally became part of the population who can admit to attending such a thing-- a high school reunion.
I feel like my version of the reunion was a little bit of everything.

First, the preparation.
The day OF the reunion, I was running late due to the gym, a broken water pipe at home, and a very violent outburst from ANGRomalY.

So, thanks to this violent mishap, I was running late to the tailgate.
When Kelley and I finally showed up to school, to our not-so-surprise, we saw there was only a small table of our ex-classmates located in front of a food truck (overall, our graduating class was roughly 200 kids).
NONE spoke up to us. NONE.
No surprise there, either.

We walked around the school, feeling a horrible case of unexpected, unwelcome nostalgia... so we walked back out to the classmates.
I waved at one of the ex classmates, and he waved back.
Kelley and I stood by the trashcan, since Kelley's dude (our "group" was Kelley, her dude, another ex-schoolmate, and me) was eating his food (ordered from the food truck).
It was like we were living an episode of Freaks and Geeks... a 2013 episode. Cool kids sitting and mingling at a round table, us four geeks standing by the trashcan, observing.
After a couple of minutes of debating whether or not to go to the Homecoming football game going on in the distance, three of the "popular" girls approached us.
"I remember your name, you're Kelley. You (pointing at me), your face is familiar and I remember seeing you around at school, but I can't remember your name..." said the girl who finally decided to speak up. I remembered her FULL name... I had ONE class with her ever, and there I was, mentally repeating her name, but refusing to utter it.
The shortest girl sensed our uneasiness, and it was visible in her face-- she wanted to leave us alone... but the other two continued yapping away, wanting to introduce themselves (again, I remembered their full names, but acted as if I had NO fucking clue who they were). It was all so fake... SO SO fake. So fake, I felt SAD.
I stood there and listened to their life stories... fake smile plastered on my face as I debated how I should respond when my turn approached.
Cunt-y? Pretentious? Condescending? Curt? Sincere?
I went with sincere... then turned on the bitch-level when I heard their questions.
"So... when do you find the time to travel? You've managed to visit all these places while... on summer break? How do you get time off from work to see all these places?"
Me: I don't work and I travel whenever I feel like it.

No one else was getting questions... why the fuck was I?
I'm sure to anyone reading this it might seem uncalled for-- my behavior-- but see, you had to be there to get a feel for the air... to hear their tone... to see their faces. These girls were self-centered chicks... chicks who never gave a fuck about anyone who was not part of their tight-knit group. They didn't even smile at you if you weren't part of the group. How would people be admitted to their group? Be pretty, of course.

Anyway, once that weird exchange was over, we went ahead and, as a band, headed for the football game and our designated seats... my group of 4 being the ones at the back, of course.
We sat there for half the game... getting group photos taken and all that.

Once the cold became uncomfortable, we headed for the bar.
The bar was where things got super interesting. We all had name tags and seats... and warmth... and alcohol.
More photos were snapped and more mingling was done.
This is where the distinction was made in the chicks. Men, for the most part, looked good regardless of their life choices, but girls? It was blatantly obvious which girls were the nerdy/studious/good girls because we (yes, obviously I include myself here. I have anger issues, but I'm a good girl) were the younger looking broads. The hard-drinking/obsessively tanning/ heavy make-up wearing girls looked old or tired. But I shouldn't talk so much shit, because overall, we were a decent group of people who aged sort of well.

I looked around and felt like an out of place kid (I should have been keen to this earlier, since the lady who sold me my game ticket asked me if I was a kid... ME... a kid. Must be my perpetual look of confusion that made her ask this). Many guys and chicks were trying to hook up, or looked interested... I just looked scared or repulsed.

Then I saw my high school crush. World stopped. Heart moved to my esophagus for the rest of the night.
In high school, this guy had a beautiful face... and a cartoon voice. His smile would make me smile... and daydream. His eyes were big and bright. He was funny, but never by making fun of others. He wasn't very bright-- normal, I guess, and he was very, very short... and scrawny. I never spoke to the boy, though. Since we never shared a class, I had zero reason to speak to him... had to settle for watching him walk by during lunch... or by chance bumping into him in a hallway.

Now? He is beautiful. His voice is hot. His smile is still radiant AS FUCK. His eyes are a little sad now, however... which sucks. He has this scruff going on... and BOY! did that shit inspire sighs out of me! He's bulky... thick neck and thighs and broad shoulders and big hands... and damn! Just so beautiful.
Best of all: he's tall! Taller than me!
He's an engineer of some sort, so I guess he was smarter than the average bear.

As I was chatting up one of my best friends, she spotted him walking by and called him over.
I froze. I looked him straight in the eyes... and I froze.
What do I do when I sense I'll like a guy too much? I separate myself... I run away.
And I did just that. I let my friend walk over to him alone, and I took a seat ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM, like the total fucking idiot that I am.
I held eye-contact with him three more times throughout the night... and he would often be near me... but I never worked the nerve to SMILE or introduce myself. I just looked at him like a fucking deer caught in headlights... suffering weird, panic-driven thoughts. Fuck fuck fuck! He's so gorgeous... fuck fuck fuck... I'm gonna puke! Is he behind me?! WHY is he behind me! Get away, get away, get away! God... he's so gorgeous. Goddamn it, I should have dressed up!
When my friend offered to introduce us, I threatened years of shunning.
God, I'm a moron.

::sigh::
In all of this, there was ONE very cute moment where this precious boy from my freshman year of French class addressed me. I entered his circle of dude friends to say goodbye to one of my friends and the boy took my hand and shook it.
Him: Hi! I remember you! I KNOW we had a class together because I had a crush on you. You have the same face... and you had your hair down to here (puts hands down to his chest) and always wore it down. You were very shy and always doing your work. Don't wanna sound creepy or anything... but yeah.
Me: Haha. Yeah, I remember you too. It was French class. You sat behind me. You were very funny.

It warmed my heart to hear that... this boy was one of the very few to EVER be kind to me Freshman year of high school. I remember almost everyone who was mean to me... but every single person who ever showed the slightest sign of kindness to me I remember with a special light. This guy always clapped after my French presentations, and always smiled when I spoke-- no way will I forget that.

I hate admitting this, but overall, I enjoyed this reunion... even if I woke up the next day sad as a motherfucker and unwilling to participate in social activities... and that I cried a few times between the end of that night and now.
Once alcohol did some lubrication, we were all (for the most part) kind to one another and laughed quite a bit... I even drove one of my friends home-- one of the most uptight, straight-edge chicks of our class was a bit too wine-happy to drive.
We laughed the entire car ride to her home... where her angry husband waited after putting their two young daughters to bed.

My... time sure is wonky.

To HER?

Sophomore year of high school was easier than Freshman year.

My face was somewhat familiar to the kids in my classes... but still, the cliques were very strong.

I was still getting bullied and ostracized (like that really cool time when a group of upper classmen were having a donut party before school started, and a couple of them decided, Eh, what the hell? Let's just wipe our donut-glaze-covered hands on this timid Mexican girl's black windbreaker... while she's wearing it. That felt great. Standing there, having these guys wipe the glaze off their hands all over my ONLY jacket... and nobody doing a thing to stop them... you know, just laughing. That was very nice. That's sarcasm, by the way), but I was a little more open to talking in class-- people were finally responding to my shy smile.

I remember being a little excited about getting this "popular" girl to talk to me (Lina, her name was Lina...). She was part of this huge clique... clique which had many members in my advanced classes. Maybe once she ok's me, the rest of the group will be nice to me... It's a really big group... and they're so cool...

She was pretty, funny, and goofy... she did not care to act silly to get a laugh.

This popular girl had become friendly towards me after she noticed my high scores in chemistry. She'd ask me for answers, I'd give them to her-- it had been my way of life throughout ALL my school years, why change now?

I remember one day, before chemistry began, part of her group approached her in class to discuss some sort of after-school plans. I was unlucky enough to be giving her an answer when the horde approached. The popular girl turned around smiling, telling me she'd get right back to me... and that's where I made eye-contact with this huge girl. The girl stared directly into the eyes... disgusted... frown on her face.

MeanGirl: Why are you talking... ::looks me up and down once, slowly:: to her?

The popular girl said something I couldn't understand. I felt the color leaving my face... eyes beginning to burn.

MeanGirl: DON'T talk to her.

She was very authoritative... very intimidating.

MeanGirl pulled the popular girl out of the classroom, but not without first giving me one more dirty, extremely repulsed look.

I took my seat at the table in the far back... and did not look up the remainder of class.

The popular girl never again talked to me... she just found another girl to help her with answers.

I continued doing my chemistry work alone... of course... and NO ONE... no one, no one, NO ONE tried helping me or talking to me in that class again (no, I don't attribute this to the mean girl, but I'm sure if the popular girl would have continued to talk to me, that'd make ONE person who'd talk to me in chemistry. Whenever partners were required, I had to be GIVEN one... and that person would ALWAYS scoff and roll their eyes... I swear... "partnered" lab assignments gave me panic attacks. Often, the actual teacher had to be my partner-- she was a sweetheart, she pitied the hell out of me).

Fast-forward ten years when I notice this mean girl is somehow part of Darcy's group, after seeing her in a group photo.

It felt like a joke... a really mean one... like... getting sucker punched below the belt.

I kept this knowledge to myself, no one from the group knew of my history with this chick (except for ONE of the guys-- the manipulative one, of course, because that's how my life works out).

Last year, when I coincided with her at one of the group's parties, I was-- why lie-- scared of seeing her after so long. The dude who knew of my story promised all would go well.

She greeted me like anyone greets a stranger, and I felt relief.

I don't know if this is true for everyone, but from my experience, only ONE person who has been cruel to me in the past remembers me when they've seen me years later. 

Either these people committed their cruelty aloofly (some sort of demon possession)... or feel so embarrassed about hurting others so recklessly, that their mind has refused to remember any of it.

But me? I remember every single face, every single name, of those who have been especially cruel to me in the past.

I don't think this mean girl remembered me... but I certainly did.

I proceeded to do something stupid:

I trusted her... I trusted that sad encounter in high school was just... something in the past.

People can change, right? Maybe she was just having a very bad day and she was angry at the world when I was unfortunate enough to cross her sight.

I really, REALLY wanted to believe she wasn't mean-spirited. Why else would these guys hang out with her?

The next few times she was very normal and... indifferent to me, which is fine by me.

Then came a BBQ night a couple of weeks ago (the day I was used as bait) where she had me laughing for hours... and the unthinkable happened: she hugged me goodbye.

I told her, sincerely " Thank you for the laughs! You are hilarious!"

I thought we were finally good... and I felt good about it... because if she had no recollection of that mean blip in our past, I felt it was ok to let go. WHY remember something that hurt my soul so bad 12 years ago? The girl was obviously having a shitty day that day she practically murdered me with her eyes, and didn't consider the repercussions her cruel actions would elicit. I was fine forgiving and forgetting... because obviously she was a completely different person.

Then this weekend happened...

Know Me.

I've had a journal since second grade, when my teacher in Mexico (it was that year where my folks thought they were going to move and raise us there. That would have sucked dick) made me start jotting down what I did each day.
Back then, all my entires would end in "Fin." I don't know how the fuck I got credit for that (though I never did the epic assholery my brother did in his school journal. His second grade teacher would collect the journals at the end of the week, so when she finally got to read Rafa's, there were about three days in that one week where he filled up two pages worth of "Hoy no hice nada" translates to "Today I did nothing." Now THAT is awesome at another level).

I wish I were this concise today.
I AM happy my handwriting improved... a little.

(viernes 25 De septiembre De 1992. Almorse un licuado y me fui a la escuela y estudie y sali de la escuela y me fui enque mi madrina Rosa-alisia y me fui a la casa y fuy a ser la tarea y me fui a dormir. fin--- sadly, I MAY write longer run-on sentences NOW)

Commemorating Rafa's birthday in writing since 1992

(domingo 27 De septiembre De 1992. Almorse serial y me cambie y me fui a la Iglesia y sali y me fui a el casador porque mi ermano cumplia años 9 años y me fui a *hometown* y llege a la casa y ise la tarea y me fui a dormir fin-- I still don't know why this lady didn't get on my case over the run-ons)

Like how Mom tried to disguise her writing in my little journal?
Props to her. What 7 year old can write that fucking word?

(almorse un licuado y fui a la escuela estudie y sali de la es-cuela y me fui a la casa y luego fui a *Hometown's municipality* y me compraron un helado helado y fui con mi tia Licha y ise la tarea y me fui a dormir. fin-- What can I say? I loved me some licuados [milkshakes] and tia Licha time)

Not much has changed... except I'm far more neurotic now... and I'm not that much of a milkshake aficionado today.

Anyway, I've been keeping some form of journal since then.
I entered the on-line thing because of a high school classmate. She was the... I don't remember if it was the student body president, or just the junior class president, but point of the story was: she was some sort of president.

She was nice... I guess... just very... how should I say... misguided? She was very pretentious. She was very opinionated... but her opinions weren't always very... well thought out. She could be HELL of ignorant... but I think it was only because she was just... brought up that way? She never really meant it to be an asshole, she just didn't know better, I guess.
Anyway, there would be days when I'd get along with her, then there were others where her big mouth would nearly give me a myocardial infarction.
Her: SO... now with this whole... 9-11 thing... like... how is it to wake up a Muslim today... you know a week later?
AfghanFriendofMine: ... the same as any other day... ?
Her: Like... you don't... feel fear of showing up to school? Maybe... think about putting on a little make up so you DON'T look too... Afghan?
AFoM: No. I didn't do it. No family member of mine did it. Why should I be scared?
Yo, Alexis, YOU'RE not scared of walking around the halls being... well... you know... white... and you know... your ancestors once owning slaves and everything... and now with slavery being abolished and everything... you're not scared of walking around town? Maybe try putting on a little blackface... or at least getting a tan... so you know... you don't look too white?

I'd hear shit like that almost on a daily basis, because we had almost every class together since we were part of the tight-knit AP group.
Her comments would make my skin crawl... and quite honestly, I'd often fight the urge to slam my thickest textbook across her face.
Then, one day, as if by magic, I found her on-line journal.
I didn't say shit... I just read. And read. And read.
I got to know her beyond "the annoying girl who asks ignorant questions and thinks she's always right. The girl who will also go to extremes to make others 'admire' her."

In order to keep track, and read her shit, I had to make my own account on the site...
AND SO, my on-line journals came to be (well, the first one. Besides that one and this one, I don't have any more... and I don't plan to, either).

Anyway. I thought of all this because this girl finally became engaged today.
This girl, who most of us had great difficulty dealing with cordially, found a dude who wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

Good luck to you... both of you.
Hopefully she grows as a person and becomes less eager to garner laudations from others (that's me, taking on her voice. She's the one who taught me the term "verbose," and I only memorized it because my brain linked "Alexis = Verbose." I KILLED that word on the SAT)... and hopefully he... has a strong heart and easily-vaso-dialating blood vessels... 'cause someone's gonna be cursing the gods on a regular basis.

And I? Well, Ray Charles has got me covered.


No one bothers to get to know me.
(See what I did there? Well, only if you know my name, that's when it makes sense, I guess)

Even Annoying Alexis could find someone who didn't let her go... should give me hope, but somehow it only makes me sadder. Hmm.

The song IS gorgeous, though. And absolutely 100 percent pertinent to my life... since like... 4th grade.

Lawyers

Graduation Day for tons of folk today.
Cool stuff.
With the graduations, come the parties.
Today, I've been invited to my childhood friend's law school graduation party.
I agreed to go... because I really am fond of her. We have some good memories together. When we were four, she showed me how to whistle, I showed her how to make pies... I also punched her in the face shortly after.
I didn't see her on a regular basis once we entered elementary school, because her parents divorced... and that is one TWISTED-ASS story (her mom being too demanding, driving her dad into severe panic attacks to the point where he finally just loses it and is locked up in a mental institution for years. Friend's mom then takes all of his money and quits speaking to any of her husband's relatives/acquaintances. Her mom then tells my friend that her father abandoned them and continues to bad-mouth him throughout my friend's life. Friend is resentful of her father. Her dad is finally released from the institution in '03, tries living a normal life... but deeply misses his daughter. He'd see girls his daughters age and he'd continuously bring her up--he did that to me every single time. I'd get uncomfortable because I'd see his tears building up, and I mean, what do you do with a sentimental grown man ready to burst into tears because you reminded him of his estranged daughter?-- Anyway, as this man starts getting better, he feels he's good enough to quit using his meds... one day decides to drive two blocks over to his brother's house, he gets pulled over, he freaks out, cops then freak out and taze him FOUR times, which ultimately kills him. He dies never having seen or spoken to his daughter for 17 years. Daughter shows up alone to ten minutes of his funeral mass, but sits in the back so no one sees her. The story would make me cry for a good two years each time I'd have to tell it. I find it HORRIBLY sad).
We met back up in high school, because we happened to go to the same one... and we had many classes together, because we were both part of the AP crew.
We rekindled our friendship.

Anyway, I'm kind of honored that she thought of me when it came to doing her list of 40 invites.
There's only one teeny, tiny problem: the whole high school thing.
I saw her list... and the vast majority are people from high school.
In case I haven't stressed this enough on here: I HATED high school.

So umm... I'm... doing that whole thing where I have to pump myself up.
Social anxiety sucks dick... it licks asshole when it involves the pricks from high school.
No, I don't hate everyone from high school, I have plenty of good friends I acquired throughout those four years of HELL.
You see, this friend was popular. A cheerleader. Pretty.
I was a nerd. I was quiet. I was new.
I was CLEARLY a Mexican in a sea of white kids (I apologize, friends, but it was true. I stood out like a sore thumb in that school).
Yes, this friend is also Mexican, but she was lucky to be blessed with light skin, and she was assimilated to the white-preppy-people culture. I sure as fuck WAS NOT. I was HOOD.
Therefore, her friends and my friends clashed.
They still do.
I'm chill, laid-back, down to earth (for the most part. I accept the fact that I can get delusional). As are my friends. Her friends are superficial, uptight, and self-absorbed. She can get that way as well, but deep down, she's a sweet girl with a very sad story that only very few know (me being one of them. I know things SHE doesn't know), so that's why we're still friends.

I'm trying to get mentally prepared for this encounter... you know, so I don't leave this party in tears.
It appears the winner here is "You're happy. You're happy. You're happy. Put a smile on your face and convince them. That scowl of yours only freaks people out. You're free. You have no responsibilities. You can hook-up with whoever you want. You don't have to work or study... and you get to travel for an indefinite amount of time. You're happy. You're happy. You're happy."

Let's hear it for the miserable times ahead! Wooooo!

Crappy

Once upon a time, I was a high schooler.

Freshman year of high school sucked, as I've previously stated, since I was new to a predominantly upper-middle-class WASP community. I spent that entire year crying my ass off, alone, and wishing to die, seriously.
Sophomore year came along, and people were actually being a little nicer to me.
I had THREE friends this year, and all three were pretty Latina 11th graders (how that happened... I'm not quite sure. I think I had one of them in my trig class or something).
The fact that these new friends were pretty, meant cute boys would come around and join the group. This ultimately lead to the cute boys being nice to me, that is, if they wanted a shot with one of my friends.
I knew these guys weren't in the circle for me, but it didn't mean I couldn't crush on them.
There was one dude in particular that I would stare at in amazement. I practically worshipped him.
He was about 5'10, very built (football player), and super popular... Corey (sigh).
He'd talk to me once in a while, but remember, I was a shy, 16 year old outcast who didn't know how to interact with others... so... I'd be more than awkward around him.

Well, one day, my BFF of the group (girl Corey was crushing on but my friend hated because she thought he was a tool) let him in on my crush. It was not mean-spirited in the least bit-- no sarcasm there. She did it as a way to help me out, I suppose... and he seemed fine with it, almost happy about it. ??? Something that totally blew my mind.
Saddest part of this entire thing? The secret was divulged the LAST day of school, more importantly, it was MY last day at that particular high school. I was being transferred to a new school that was (supposedly) closer to me... and Corey wasn't going to come along, since he would be a Senior. Bummer.

Fast forward nine years (Jesus Christ!) and you have me watching Tru Tv today... some show about a certain pool at a certain hotel/casino near my old college.
Who do I see? Corey. What is he doing? Well... I'll let you see for yourself:



What can I say? I had questionable taste as a teen (and my friend was correct in her judgement of character).
To think... I could have been those wristbands... (ewww... NO. No... no)

Oh no she di'nt!

What the hell do you do when an ex-high school teacher of yours requests to be your friend on Facebook?

I'm at a loss for words right now...
Confused... dude... understatement... [Why does she want to be my friend? WHY does she have a Facebook account? What genius told her about Facebook???]
I added her anyway... you know... to be nice... she did give me 8's out of 9 on my practice AP exams (which gave me a false sense of security... since in the end, I only scored a 3 in both English AP exams that I took... too low to be accepted by cheap ass UNLV).

What is it with me and teachers?

What about the peg leg?

So I had a conversation with my (I'm finally getting use to saying, and accepting) gay friend last week over a bulletin he posted concerning Halloween costumes.

Him: A word to the wise...
ladies- please don't be a cat! that is such a cop out!
so is a vampire

I asked him what was up with that (since you know, I've never "celebrated" Halloween or anything).
He just said I'd understand come Halloween time.

But being a cat would be so cute...

Ok... so last night I figured out why it was said.

What the fuck is wrong with us girls?
Out of all the chicks at the party, four were pirates. Four!!!
Their costumes were freakishly similar (but never the same one).

-There was a slutty nurse (who I felt compelled to ask if she knew what a defibrillator was... as well as what "inoculation" meant, but alas, I bit my tongue and smiled at her when she publicly explained "I'm a nurse! hehe..." Gee, you don't say? I thought those red crosses stood for radioactive material).
-There was a hardcore SKANKY cop (oh believe me, there will be pictures, once I find them... and I'll compare them to the cop costume one of my best friends wore last year. So much better).
-There was a playboy bunny (not so skanky... but... maybe that was because she wasn't as "voluptuous" as the other chicks i.e. she was a twig with no breast implants)
-There was one cheerleader (which baffled me... because... I thought more chicks dressed up as cheerleaders).
-There was a... sexy ladybug? (I still kind of am confused as to what this girl was... but there was a ton of skin, stiletto heels, knee-high stockings... and what appeared to be the wings of a lady bug??)
-There were TWO cats.

"I'm a sexy kitty!" (said with the world's most annoying Ghetto NewYoRican accent. I'm talking more annoying than Rosie Perez. Yeah, well, can the sexy kitty please just... meow or something, fuck!)

There were more... but those are the most memorable.
What was I? That's for me to know and you to never find out.

When the girls arrived... I started wondering where the hell I was.

When in the hell... did I become acquainted with (to?) Playboy Playmates, and why am I invited to their parties?

Somehow... over the last... 4 years since I graduated high school, my female acquaintances have become... scandalously... stereotypical Vegas chicks.
That'd be great if I were a dude... (I guess my guy friends luck out... when it comes to eye candy of course, because none of these girls have much going on en la cabeza... and they're poster girls for the derogatory use of the word "bitch," to tell you the truth. Plus, the dudes invited to these parties cockblock like a motherfucker, and give you shit if you bring a dude that isn't part of the group... kind of like lions do when new male come near their pride. Primitive bastards)
Or maybe if the guy acquaintances from high school would have done such a thing... wait, no... 'cause if they were stereotypical Vegas guys, they'd be douche bags... which my high school male acquaintances sure fucking are.
(To sum it up, yesterday's party was... wow... just wow.)

Happy Halloween...
yada fucking yada.