Borriguero

I walked to the bar with Ricura, her ringlets bouncing in the humid evening, our thoughts ready for partying, slightly dazed from the joint we had smoked in our dorm earlier that afternoon (giggling on my bed, the harsh smoke getting caught in our throats, exhaled through slippery lip glossed lips). Flirty, tropical straight out of the lambada video style clothing. My makeup was already running, I could feel the rivulets of sweat swimming down my back, gathering at the base of my back and in my well, crack. We passed a cafe and received catcalls and propositions from the varied men lingering in the doorways and outside tables. I sass them right back because I'm afraid of no one, though I am always at some degree, wary and scared of everyone and everything. I flip my hair, touch it nervously. I don't feel at ease with what I did with it (which is basically, absolutely nothing). I wanted to braid it but then Ricura took that idea and made it ten times cooler and actually did it. I ended up with zilch; messy lady hair, a little ill at ease, slightly jealous. Petty jealousy, how I fight it. I envy her skin, a lovely burnished cocoa, I envy her way with men, and her attitude of hard bitch when she has to be. Tough as nails, tough as a borriguero.

I will look back at this moment to figure myself out, figure out what I was going for, what I was thinking. I'll make fun of myself for running after guys I did not understand whatsoever, guys who I thought were so deep and interesting, might have just been plain stupid. Guys who I found mysterious may have just been fucked in the head, just in a different environment. Case in point: Casita de Limon whom I am sure I had a couple of flirty little tete a tete's, not to mention the fucking driving need I get when I am around him to show him that I am the best possible candidate to be his little somethin somethin, you know? We actually had a couple of dates, even if they were during the day, even if they were for silly things, we ate together more than once, we talked at length. I just felt a bit awkward with him at all times, all the time. It's because I liked him and when I like guys I become this silent, complacent QUIET girl whom I hate. She's like the inner nanny ego girl I hate. Callate housefrau! I hate that timid squeek I become, it's boring and not the real me.

420 and how I ate my weight in brownies and lost my brain

That's about it, yeah.

Cute English guys with lovely/terrible Newcastle accents are not a good enough reason to keep the beer coming and staying out till 3am on a Tuesday night. You know, responsibilities and such? how about them?