Which Reminds Me

Yes, the Jockettas were politicking and so it seems that all of the smokers got green cards, free admission to the U.S., for some mysterious reason. I cannot imagine why that would be, nor do I care. It is not like I had anything to do with it, I am sure. I remember that in the senior issue of the high school paper, when everyone was asked about their college plans, people were heading all over the map, many bound for the U.S., so not really surprising that many ended up here. It is not like Olympic awards were guaranteed to the "other" girls' P.E. class either. I have read articles in magazines about the issue of Olympics pride but don't know much about it in a personal way. In case you forgot, Comaneci was a Romanian at the time that she won the Olympics, not yet a U.S. citizen, but her perfect performance was not a requisite for U.S. citizenship, obviously, or most of us would be shipped to Siberia. So this whole Olympic confection is just stupid and annoying and irritating and I really would not care to comment. I am not the person who started this nonsense in the first place, obviously.

Which Reminds Me

I so much do not care what those stupid blond bimbos from high school think about anything, meaning specifically Kelly Elliott, Gwen Juneau, and Jeanice Barton Lewis. If they really wanted to compare notes with me it would not be so hard for them to find my phone number of my Facebook page message button or something. But for me to feel like I would need to justify my existence in their eyes before I could get a green card to get back into my own native country, the U.S.A., would be so utterly ridiculous as to defy belief. Kelly, Gwen and Jean are nothing to me. I really don't care about them or anybody else for that matter. I will be avoiding them forever and anyway I don't Louisiana for anything.

Which Reminds Me

During high school never once did I take a puff from or even touch the cigarette passed around the locker room after girls' P.E. class. Now this does not mean that I was in the "other" girls' P.E. class, the one reserved from Jocketta types with Olympic destinies. No, obviously that stuff about the smokers vs. the non-smokers derives from some politicking of the Jocketta types who were attempting to distinguish themselves in various ways from the non-Olympic rabble that included myself obviously. I really should not have to explain that point once again. Obviously I do not smoke and yet I have not heard of any Olympic medals gained by their Jocketta tactics.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, it is somewhat awkward that my obnoxiously abusive harasser in high school, Henry Siman, was from an extremely wealthy family. They have so much money they could probably buy out the entire country's justice system, so not the kind of people that I would want to find spewing curses directly into my face. How very scary. Creepy. Weird. So these very rich and powerfully nasty people want to me to go to hell. I, however, would rather not oblige their offensive request. I would prefer to avoid obliging them in any way, obviously. After all, I am putting my faith in Jesus Son of God in heaven, not in just some guy from high school, whoever he may be. I really never cared that much about Henry.

Which Reminds Me

I think that it was in 10th grade that we were taken on a field trip to see the movie, "Man of La Mancha" starring Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren, a musical, at Cine Presidente, the movie theatre that actually was not far from our school. It was not long after that time that Kike Siman, although not in our class, and I cannot exactly remember whether he went along on our class's field trip, took to serenading me in the halls of high school with the song "Dulcinea." He might have gotten a smile or laugh the first couple times so he kept doing that over and over again. Every time he might see me in the halls at my locker or walking to class he would get right in my face to sing "Dulcinea" to me. He also had an "I'm your Latin lover" speech that he would reel off, something that sounded vaguely like something I might have seen in a movie on TV. So this was really getting on my nerves. These Arab guys are just so stupid. No matter how coolly and emotionless I shrug off this stupid Kike, a nickname for Henry, he continues to get right in my face with his recited spiel and never gets a clue that his behavior is really anti-social and obnoxious and offensive and makes me want to scream. Finally one day I must have been particularly cold in just ignoring him, so he dropped the spiel and started spitting curses at me, something about how he was going to ruin my life or something to that effect. So obviously this Henry is no Christian. He has a lot in common with the starving guys who one fears to encounter on the sidewalk walking to a local store, because their English vocabulary is limited to, "I love you, baby," and you will hear them practicing vocabulary lessons as they walk past you. They actually have no other vocabulary, it is safe to presume.

Which Reminds Me

Our high school class was taken on a field trip during school to see the movie, "Don Quixote," in which the barmaid Aldonza is serenaded by the bumbling wannabe-a-knight. Later, back at school, Quique got into the habit of serenading me with the song Dulcinea (trans. Sweetish?) even though I am not a Spanish barmaid, look nothing like Sophia Loren, and never in my life worked as a barmaid at some Spanish tavern. It was just that my name sounds like candy, which also could taste sweetish if eaten. All of this teasing was a colossal nuisance and I just want Quique to go away and leave me alone. I dislike being singled out for all of this negative attention by a person who obviously does not like me and is only trying make some insulting commentary on white girls, as if he would know anything about me. Obviously not.

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I do feel sorry for those crude and vulgar lowly Italian barmaids as portrayed by Sophia Loren, but I am not the one of thought of trying to put the joke on me, neither am I the author of such a joke that was unimaginable to me. As far as I am concerned, Kike is just a creepy nuisance who never seemed to get a clue. I shrugged him off coolly, emotionless, because I would not want him to think that he could get to me. He is nothing to me.