Monday, May 08, 2006
Jealousy
I can't take it anymore. The anorexic bus driver who my girlfriend made out with has been stalking her on Myspace. Like, unabashedly. This is particularly hard for me to stomach because on our two-year anniversary (April 28), Annie tentatively broke up with me because she said she wasn't sure how she felt about the girl. Since then, she's claimed that she's changed her mind, that she loves me and wants to work things out. Which we've been doing, and all is good. However, this girl just won't go away. Everytime I log onto Myspace, she's written Annie a new comment. Now, the comments are never overtly aggressive. They're just these quiet, relentless little pleas for attention. She's offered Annie blessings on her new niece, written cutesy little things about how the "bosten red socks suck!!" (yes, that's how she spelled "Boston"), and has casually informed Annie that "May 9th is National Orgasm day--so spread 'em!!!" which obviously forces Annie to envision her screaming and moaning, hairy little back arched, and having what I'm sure is in her case the dorkiest orgasm ever.
Now, there is only so much comfort to be found in the fact that this woman is 30 years old, works for the transit authority, can't spell to save her life, and is a former crackhead who has had the word "ADDICT" tattooed across her back in Old English letters. The reason for this is as follows: she's a foot shorter than me, weighs roughly one hundred pounds less than me, and is drop dead gorgeous. I don't mean to call myself unattractive. I'm actually somewhat pretty and fairly fit. I'm just acutely aware that, at 5'9 and 138 pounds, my size emasculates Annie.
Granted, she's never faulted me for this. She just says things like, "I wish I were taller," and "I wish I could pick you up and swing you around." Now, someone of Annie's size and stature would have no problem slinging a shriveled latina over her shoulder and feeling like quite the he-man. If Annie tried to pick me up and swing me around, she'd probably die. She's 5'5, smokes over a pack of cigarettes a day, and drinks substantial quantities of beer. Even a muscled, gargantuan gym rat would have a hard time swinging my hefty ass to and fro.
Basically, I've been so consumed by jealousy (which is alternately justified and completely irrational) that I un-ironically changed the song on my myspace profile to Brandy and Monica's "The Boy is Mine." Every day, I have to physically restrain myself from sending her petty messages deriding the glamour-shot photos she's posted of herself, the dime-sized mole on her chin, and the nest of greasy black hair that sits on top of her pointy head like a dirty mop. Like Daryl, the Soul Glo heir from from Coming To America, but worse.
Now, there is only so much comfort to be found in the fact that this woman is 30 years old, works for the transit authority, can't spell to save her life, and is a former crackhead who has had the word "ADDICT" tattooed across her back in Old English letters. The reason for this is as follows: she's a foot shorter than me, weighs roughly one hundred pounds less than me, and is drop dead gorgeous. I don't mean to call myself unattractive. I'm actually somewhat pretty and fairly fit. I'm just acutely aware that, at 5'9 and 138 pounds, my size emasculates Annie.
Granted, she's never faulted me for this. She just says things like, "I wish I were taller," and "I wish I could pick you up and swing you around." Now, someone of Annie's size and stature would have no problem slinging a shriveled latina over her shoulder and feeling like quite the he-man. If Annie tried to pick me up and swing me around, she'd probably die. She's 5'5, smokes over a pack of cigarettes a day, and drinks substantial quantities of beer. Even a muscled, gargantuan gym rat would have a hard time swinging my hefty ass to and fro.
Basically, I've been so consumed by jealousy (which is alternately justified and completely irrational) that I un-ironically changed the song on my myspace profile to Brandy and Monica's "The Boy is Mine." Every day, I have to physically restrain myself from sending her petty messages deriding the glamour-shot photos she's posted of herself, the dime-sized mole on her chin, and the nest of greasy black hair that sits on top of her pointy head like a dirty mop. Like Daryl, the Soul Glo heir from from Coming To America, but worse.
# posted by Katie @ 5:04 PM 
