Welcome to the show. It’s that time of the month, and I am filled with self loathing. It matters not that a cute girl stares back at me in the mirror; I’m still fat and ugly and, given the right combination of drugs, would take immense crotch-wetting pleasure in shaving my head and banging my umbrella on someone’s car window.
Aside from being the most vile looking creature this side of the Mississippi, I’m also stupid and incompetent; the proof is in the eight blog post drafts sitting to the right of the screen, as I type these pathetic words.
It is scientifically proven that to make one feel better about herself, she need only put someone else down. I’ve been running through scenarios in my head that might help brighten my mood, and the recurring one is this: run into the packed J.P. Licks of Newton Centre (full of yappy, rich housewives and their bratty kids) and yank the hair of as many of them as I can before a light goes off in their vapid brains guiding them to try and stop me. I’m not talking about the little pull on a few strands that you do to a friend sitting in front of you in class – I mean grabbing a handful of hair, dragging that hand down to waist level (along with her head), then flicking her nose with the other hand.
I did that once – except instead of flicking the nose, I punched her face repeatedly. It wasn’t my fault.
After theater rehearsal one afternoon, I got on the packed school bus and sat way in the back; it was the only seat left and, of course, was right in front of a pea-brain monstrous Hispanic chick and her big-hoop-earrings-wearing, finger-snapping friends. The whole ride they talked shit about me, pulled my hair, and at one point, one of them took my basketball from my lap. I kept quiet the whole time, ’cause I was alone, these creatures were bred for fighting, and my face was rather pretty. Finally, the Monster Chica and her friends got up to get off at their stop; one of them threw the ball back on my lap and I was relieved at the thought it might all be over. But of course, Monster Chica, the last one to leave, stomped on my foot as she walked away. I lost it. I threw my backpack and basketball down, got up, and kicked her in the back. She turned around and for a second I almost shat my pants. At least 30lbs heavier and four inches taller, she came at me and all the kids got up, yelling “Fight! Fight!” She began scratching my face. 30 extra pounds, and all she could do was scratch my face and my shoulders. I was pushing her face away with my hands, when I grabbed a hold of her hair with my right hand. I pulled her head down to my waist, and proceeded to punch her temple and cheek with my left hand – four or five times. I brought her head back up and kicked her in the stomach, called her a bitch, and sat back down.
Other than the time I made a girl bleed while sparring in TaeKwonDo, that was my most victorious moment. This massive, scary looking chick was standing in the middle of the bus, shaking, holding her ear with one hand – I guess her earring got caught in her hair as I yanked and held it, and a bit of her ear was ripped. I watched as she got off the bus and stood on the sidewalk, still shaking.
No one. ever fucked. with me. again.
I feel better now.