I've been in a post-COMP slump. One would think I would still be riding the high from comp-scores, but that elated feeling lasted all of... oooo I don't know... a day? maybe two? It's like my brain and body were all "awesome! we did our job. namaste-and-peace-out-muthaf****aaaa". And the one gyri of my brain that I have left is all "please noooo come baaaaack!!!! We aren't done!! that was just the freakin dress rehearsal!!!! doooon't leeeeeave!"
and you know how the rest of my brain has responded to that desperate plea?
With silence and abandonment. That's how.
What. An A-hole.
So you know how the people in my class suck? and for some reason don't see me for the bright-shining-star that I am? Well, it turns out that 5th semester has way too much free time, and seeing as I have no friends here and my own brain/personality is on a *temporary* hiatus, it consequently turns out that an American-portion size of loneliness follows suit. So while I may have a shell made of many-many types of bulletproof material, I have discovered my shell free zone...
Zumba.
I went for the first time here a few weeks ago. I show up early, and already it was packed. But I found myself a lovely spot and quietly stood there, minding my own business as everyone else had their spanish social fest. [have I noted before that I live in an area where 99.9% of everything is spanish? well now I have.] But then the music started. o.m.g. 1 hour of non-stop intense shimmy-ing, salsa-ing, cha-cha-ing, and letting these hips go wild. I. die. I have a perma smile on the whole time and reach my socializing maximum by smiling at my dance neighbor and use gestures that say "wow I'm sweaty" [*wipe sweat from brow and fan face with hands] and "this is fun!!" [*2 thumbs up + big smile]. I totally become one of those sexy latinas. I *totally* fit in. Before I know it I'm shouting "ARRRRIBA" with them and chanting for "meringue la proxima". I can "para bajar" like nobody's business. And at the end I was clapping and saying "gracias! gracias! gracias!"
Now let me tell you a little bit about my living situation right now. While there are wonderful aspects to the arrangement, such as nice/safe area, I'm going to bypass talking about that - because that's boring. So here's the situation: this is Candice's Great-Aunt's apartment. Great-Aunt is like, 80, and still runs a newspaper in the Bahamas, and even when she does come to Miami she stays in a hotel because it's not worth opening up this condo for her 1-2night stay. Great-Aunt has a son. Candice's 2nd cousin. Let's call him douchenozzle. He also lives/works in Bahamas for the newspaper. He is the epitome of a spoiled brat. So he knows Candice is going to stay in the condo, knows I'm going to stay as well. All is fine. However, then he has a hissy-fit because he doesn't want anyone to use his room. Um yea, it's a 2-bedroom condo. He assumed Candice and I would share a room. Um yea, he's in his 40s. Comes to the condo all of 2-3 times a year. But God-forbid someone use his room. So, greataunt informs Candice of this objection from douchenozzle, but even she knows hes an effing brat so she's all "your friend can use the room and if douchenozzle does end up coming I'll give you a heads-up and she can move her stuff into your room".
"My" room has 2 single beds. like the ones you had when you were 6 and had to share a room with a sister. Whatever, I can deal with a single bed. But, I can't use the bathroom or closet in the room. Instead I have the hallway coat closet for all my clothes. and the foyer-ish bathroom. Still. whatever. I can handle it.
In the 4 weeks that I have been here, effing douchenozzle has said he was coming 5 different times. so 5 times I have had to pack up the shit that I did have in the room, and be ready to move my bags into Candice's room (king bed). Each time, he never ended up coming. He was supposed arrive yesterday, but greataunt calls and is all "he decided to stay for dinner in london (UK), but he says he will for sure arrive tomorrow". So Candice is all "okay he for sure has ticket".
I pack up my shit today. Move my bags into Candice's room and she's all "what are you doing!?" I'm like, what does it look like. duuurrrr.
She laughs and is all 'he might not even stop by the apartment now".
I'm all "well this is a fun game".
*SO* from fun-game to fun-fact, he has gone from poking-the-bear to waking-the-bear. and she is effing pissed.
Dear spoiled-bratty-prince-douche-of-doucenozzleland. should you ever meet me. watch your 40-something-year-old-balls. they are about to get kicked in by this QUEENbitch.
latina. out.
xoxo
No comments:
Post a Comment