Fuck Your V-Day

I woke up at seven, got up and started getting ready for work. Nothing better than having my mom telling me shit about how I don’t do anything in my life, great. That was a hellavuh good morning for me. Went crying to my room and only gave myself four minutes to do so. After that, I realized that I wasn’t crying because of the shit my mom told me just then, but because I realized it has been a year already since I move back to San Diego since I left Oregon, since I left the one that I thought was ‘it’. My mind didn’t know it, but my heart did (or subconcious, whatevs). I’m pretty sure I’m not the only once that has experienced this kind of situation.

Since elementary, I remember getting so excited for Valentine’s, just going to the store to buy candy and the most awesome V-cards there were out there to hand out to my classmates.
At first it didn’t hurt, seeing that most of my female classmates would receive anonymous letters from guys declaring their love to them, roses and fancy chocolate being delivered. It didn’t hurt because I would think to myself “Next year…”. “Next year” never happened to me. But who am I to blame? Really? Who would do that? Who would be the poor bastard to like a chubby, four-eyed girl with a slick back ponytail like me? No one. I never had a secret Valentine, or just a Valentine for what matters. Just grew up hopeless in that department. A big ass hopeless romantic.

I was bullied for my physical appearance growing up, since first grade of Elementary, all the way up through High School. From how I would pronounce my “ch”, how my glasses were so big and thick, the extra pounds on me, and not really having a style, well, pretty much for everything. Girls would talk to me behind my back and boys would laugh right in front of my face. And I really didn’t understand why, why was I the target of so many people. Fortunately that didn’t make me change the way I was, kind.
Everything that I’ve been through has made me who I am right now. Yeah, I may be read like a female version of a Don Juan, but I do have feelings. I’ve had very nice bonds with my men, and also shitty experiences/feelings with them as well. Life has taught me to be a cabrona. It has its advantages and disadvantages, and they are usually in two extreme opposite poles.

That’s how I grew up disliking Valentine’s Day. I think I’ve only celebrated Valentine’s three times, and that was because I was dating my first boyfriend (around five years ago). Nothing before that, and still, nothing after that. I could say that I could care less, but damn, it looks like it feels hella nice. *Exhale slowly* Oh well, that’s life and I can’t do anything about it. Fuck everything and everyone, especially you, Cupid! You keep freaking missing!

 

 

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Third and Last Strike Pt.1

Couldn’t sleep that night, smoked some weed, didn’t help, so I finished unpacking for the second time all my belongings from the car. I felt good, being in my home felt great, cooked some breakfast for him for when he got off from work he would have some hot food on the table. Everything was painting for a good day, but he got home stressed from work. That was it, that’s what ticked him off, off on me…

He only took a couple of bites and sat in bed, his attitude was weird, he was acting kind of sketchy. We left the apartment and went to do some laundry at the laundry matt. He took my tablet and spent all the time inside of the car in the backseat chatting with who know’s who…Who am I lying to ? He was talking to that girl. He stepped out, finally, I approached him and asked him what was going on, then he said “We’re done”, I used stared at him with such disbelief and disappointment. Went inside, started grabbing my stuff and headed to the car fast. He was right behind me, trying to get into the car as fast as he could before I had a chance to lock the passenger door. As soon as he got inside he started banging the console and almost blew the air bag up. This was the first time I raised my voice at him, he called me a bitch and I said to him, very loudly “You think that this is me being a bitch? You’re wrong, but if you really want to see a bitch, hang on ’cause you’ll see one RIGHT NOW”. I drove to the apartment, went straight into the room and threw all of his clothes from the closet out to the living room. He then, again, said that he was going to stay at some buddie’s house and wouldn’t come back ’till the next day and that he hoped that I was gone by then. He prepared his overnight bag and went out for a walk. I coulnd’t take the frustration and anger, I had to talk to someone, so I called my ex-roomate and she came by. Half an hour later, he comes back, quietly, picks up the bag, and left without saying a word. I went into the kitchen and kind of opened the blinds, there he was, inside of a ridiculous orange car, that’s when I finally was able to put a face to the name. My world crashed, just kept walking back and forth in the living room, my friend didn’t know how to calm me down, she was also in disbelief.