I broke a mirror at work on Monday. This is day six of my seven-year curse, and let me just say that I totally believe that I’m cursed right now. So many random bad things have been happening to me this week… and today I spent my morning in “urgent” care and waited over two hours for someone to tell me that I *don’t* have pink eye like you all thought I did (you b*tches can stop touching me with your elbows now haha). As if I wasn’t uncomfortable enough, the doctor scanned my eye with an ultraviolet light (which always strikes a nerve in the most bizarre part of my body) and it turns out I scratched my cornea and that’s why my eyeball has been extremely irritated these past couple of days… and while the doctor has told me that it’s 75% healed and should mildly sting for the next day or so, to me the pain is something more akin to sticking my face into a crate of exploding dynamite. I was prescribed no antibiotics… no painkillers. I was basically told to walk it off. Oh, and not only do I have to deal with the constant throbbing in my eye without so much as a vicodin to ease my pain, I have to wear a crazy ass eyepatch that covers half of my face for the next twenty four hours. It’s not a cool pirate patch, either. It’s this gigantic gauze pad adhered to my face with what seems to be fifty strips of tape. I came out of the doctor’s office hoping to make a beeline to my car, but Pammie busted up laughing as soon as she saw me. Everyone looked up to see what her crazy ass what laughing at. So much for my quiet exit! I wanted to go out tonight, but it looks like I’ll be staying indoors. That’s for DAMN sure.
This rant was written by a nice girl named Jessica Griffith who finally snapped:
This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don’t give it up on the first date, who don’t want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they’ve heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren’t perfect and that the guys they’re interested in aren’t either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe… maybe this time he’ll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don’t deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from “there are plenty of fish in the sea,” to “time heals all wounds.” This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.
This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it’s an experience that they don’t want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they’d rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn’t care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they’re too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one’s for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won’t because it’s easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he’s just not ready, he’s just not over her, he’s just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it’s easier to believe that it’s not that they don’t want you, it’s that they don’t want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you’ve returned home alone, for the nights when you’ve seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he’s with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship: it was that he didn’t want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he’d realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.
This is for the “I really like you, so let’s still be friends” comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you’ve received from your female friends, for the nights they’ve reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you’d have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we’ve believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we’d have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don’t think that they deserve more, because they’ve been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don’t understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don’t appreciate them and don’t want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mind games, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call… and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the “stalker chick” you’d met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this “nice girl” who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you’re not looking for a nice girl. You’re not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you’re looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don’t say you’re on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won’t answer your catcalls, sometimes you’re looking at a nice girl in whore’s clothing — we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we’re all thinking the same thing: “This isn’t me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I’ll have slept alone and I’ll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me.” You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don’t want the nice girl.. so don’t say you’re looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we’re willing to extend — but in return, we’re looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they’re running they’re chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets… the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she’s a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won’t matter), hoping against hope that maybe you’ll realize that they’re the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.
So maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we’re waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)
I had the BEST time at D&B’s on Thursday. The set went there for Charlene’s 21st birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever had fun at D&B’s before that. I never looked forward to going (especially on FILIPINO Thursdays)… I should’ve known that a little alcohol could fix that. $7, one Zombie and one Chambord later, I was on a GOOD one. I’m such a cheap date. I’ve NEVER had such a good alcoholic experience. It’s usually fun for a while, then the fun quickly ends with me yakking or hungover… but none of that ish happened this time. Edgar was SOOO mad at me! I drove Trace there, so I was supposed to be able to drive both of us home. I only had two drinks in the span of three hours, so I figured that I would be okay, but that Zombie f*cking killed me… and then Errol bought me a Chambord Sour that I couldn’t pass up… when it hits your lips… YUM. I could barely keep my eyes open. I somehow managed to score a ridiculously high score in skee ball, though! I kept hitting the 50 shot… then I hit the *100* shot… which is like IMPOSSIBLE even when you’re sober. Having Edgar yell at me for being the most irresponsible designated driver ever didn’t even kill my buzz. After much debating that I was OK to drive, Julz ended up driving my car back to Ed’s where we all smoked some candy sheesh (my new favorite) and sobered up with some Mexican food (thanks, ROSS!). Tonight is Errol’s graduation party. He makes me feel terribly old and behind, but I can’t say enough how proud I am of him. Thank goodness he lives up the street from me. This designated driver shit is overrated.
Pictures from our weekend in San Juan Capistrano and Scott’s party have been posted (thanks, Jay, Julz and Edgar!). Yesterday, Jay took me out for breakfast at Hash House in Hillcrest. YUM! That was the most INCREDIBLE breakfast ever. When we got there, he was like… Reservation for Jay. LOL. I’ve never eaten at a place that someone made reservations for me at. These two girls were eating near us and one of their boyfriend’s came in and surprised them with flowers. What the… I almost cried. I’m such a nerd. It was so sweet. These ladies who were waiting to be seated clapped when he was leaving haha. We stopped to check out shoes at Mint and Best Buy for Jay’s weekly visit before he had to go to work. Afterwards, I picked up my SOUL sister, Trace, and went to Grossmont hospital to apply for a job. We went across the street to the mall to stalk Skokie, but he had already gone home from work. Afterwards, we ate at Chipotople and had the BEST girl talk! Lately, I’ve been surrounded by testosterone, so it’s refreshing to vent with a girl. Guys just aren’t built to endure that kind of bitching! Later that night, the set came over to Edgar’s to chill and we beatboxed LOL. I only had one line, but I owned that shit. Haha. Good times!
I’m in a FLAN comatose right now. Too much flan is too much Mayan… Is was so f*cking good, though! Meehchelle’s grandma was trying to kill me with that shit haha. I didn’t know that flan is basically milk and eggs (my tummy’s WORST enemies ever!) I felt like I was going to die this morning. Anyway, I had a pretty chill weekend. On Friday, I went to the movies after work with Edgar, Pammie, Meehchelle, Julz and Skokie. “Kicking and Screaming” was f*cking HILARIOUS. I’m a tornado of anger! Ahahahaha. We smoked some sheesh at Edgar’s afterwards before heading home. Yesterday was Kalana’s birthday party. My sister and I elliptical’d our butts off at the gym earlier in the day and knocked the f*ck out after we showered. We didn’t get to Meehchelle’s parents house until late, so we missed the astrojump! Damn. There was plenty of food left, though… FLAN… ahhh. I got to see GERALD, who I haven’t seen in weeks (only in my dreams… ahahaha), but he leaves today again for some place I can never remember the name of. I miss him and his Axe deodorant. I’m gonna go through Axe withdrawals when he leaves for Iraq for six months. Too bad Edgar is one of those freakishly unsweaty people who doesn’t need deodorant. I told him that he should wear it anyway just to humor me. Scent drives me wild ;) ANYWAY. Most of Meehchelle’s family had left, and we had our standard poker and hookah session. Meehchelle, Trace and I drank Chambord Sours, but it wasn’t enough for me to get faded (or even buzzed). I haven’t gotten fucked up in a loooong time. I feel like such a square haha. I plan on getting eff’d up in VEGAS this July. Is everyone down to go? I think Edgar is renting out the PENTHOUSE timeshare. Woot! It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to lose my inhibitions and have a good time without thinking about shit too much. I’m looking forward to it…
Lauryn Hill – “Tell Him”
Now I may have faith to make mountains fall
But if I lack love, then I am nothing at all
I can give away everything I possess
But left without love, then I have no happiness
I know I’m imperfect and not without sin
But now that I’m older all childish things end
and tell him…
I haven’t heard this song since high school, but I remembered every single word when I listened to it recently… It’s weird the way my mind retains potentially useless information, but I can’t remember what I did two days ago or how to get to a place I’ve been to ten thousand times. This weekend was different from weekends past… I barely saw any of my friends and I actually worked the ENTIRE weekend… plus I work tomorrow and Tuesday, also. Five days in a row? It feels like Christmas. I haven’t had a decent paycheck in a while, so I’m not complaining. It feels good to be busy, anyway. On Friday, I kept trying to get a hold of Genevieve so she could cover my shift because I felt nauseous again. No cigar, though. I actually ended up having a pretty good time at work tending to all the Mother’s Day procrastinators… I’ve never seen so many boys shopping for candles. Afterwards, I met up with Edgar, Errol, Julz, Pammie, Vince and Trace to go bowling. I think the earth’s axis shifted or something, because I bowled a MOTHERF*CKING 168! I couldn’t believe it… well, no one could believe it really. I usually score something closer to 60! I had them print my score sheet, because it was probably the first and only time I’d score that well… Sooo many people from the set weren’t there that night. You b*tches missed a milestone. I went home afterwards, while some of the others went to Alex’s to play poker. I never play poker with the set. I usually just have philosophical conversations with Errol or smoke sheesh with Trace and Julz… I feel more comfortable doing that at Edgar’s or Errol’s. On Saturday, I woke up early to go to work and chilled with my cousins in Scripps Ranch afterwards. Today, I went to work and met up with my family afterwards for dinner. We ate at Panda Palace. I ate take out from there last week while watching Fever Pitch by myself, and it just depresses me to eat it now. Sad. Tomorrow I have work at seven in the motherf*cking morning… in La Jolla… so I need to be up in five hours and drive an hour in traffic. F*cking zombie status. Maybe I’ll stop at Coffee Tea Bean & Leaf for some much needed caffeine (I know it’s Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf… Pammie says it the other way, though. Ahahahahahahaha). I don’t even like coffee, but I need something to wake me up at that ungodly hour. Plus I have class after work and I plan on hitting the gym after school, so I need some liquid energy to make it through the day. I’ve been spending so many nights smoking the hookah and sitting on my ass and drinking ten million liters of Coke… I need to treat my body better if I want it to help me pick up sexy motherf*ckers. Haha. Just kidding, Edgar. I’ll just be happier and more fun to be around if I get in shape. I know you’re thinking… Is it POSSIBLE for Mayan to be more fun than she is now? I’m not gonna lie to you. I’ve been holding back. The amount of fun I’m gonna be is illegal in some small countries. You should start preparing yourselves now while I get ready for bed… before midnight! I usually don’t sleep till two or three or FIVE in the morning, but this is the new Mayan. Let the fun begin.
Whenever I’d be out eating with my friends, I’d always feel sorry for those people who were eating at a booth by themselves. I’d come up with hypothetical situations in my head that would cause them to eat alone. Do they not have any friends? Are they on their lunch break from work? Are they single? Did their girlfriend just break up with them? I never used to eat by myself. It just made me feel really lonely. The only time I ate alone was when I was on my lunch break at work, and sometimes not even then… I kind of like the ME time now, but I think that too much time alone gives me too much time to think. I spent most of today by myself. I drove around. I picked up some Chinese take out. I went to the movies and watched Fever Pitch by myself… which made me feel even more lonely because it was a romantic comedy and it was just me and another couple in the theatre. I’ve never watched a movie alone before. I feel crazy laughing with no one around me. I found myself laughing and turning to look at no one to confirm the hilarity of something Jimmy Fallon said during the funny parts. People can’t ALWAYS be with me… Life just doesn’t allow it. I wish I was more independent like Meech or Pammie. Maybe I wouldn’t mind the solitude so much.