"you have chubby cheeks."

"What do ya got in thur? Walnuts?"
"Ohhhhhh!" cries a junkie. He's right. It was an offense. A great a offense. Strong enough to make me cry.
In fact, I distinctly remember fighting off the urge to cry.
Robert doesn't understand how bad his countrified accented words hit me. He, Bill and Terrance all brought me to the point of tears while they weren't looking. All because of a god damn Kit-Kat bar.
So, I didn't wanna share. What was the problem?
"Huy! I been nice to ya. Why wont you gimme a piece? I haven't called ya Chubby Cheeks in a while."
Bill snickers. Fuck him.
"That's true. But I don't wanna share."
And so he proceeds to insult me. Bill and Terrance kick in.
I sit there and do the same thing that I always do. "I hate you!" I say and bury my face in my arms only look up every once in a while, laughing a little. I'm trying to play along with their jokes like it's nothing. After all, that's what they've done all year. Just teased me.
And I've teased back. A little. Not too much, really. At least I don't think so.
It's just that I seem to talk to these boys easily when they're not being assholes. But when they turn on me and begin to tease...I never know what to do. I don't dare tease them any more. These guys are used to being around rough girls with backbones who will swing their insults away.
I have no backbone. I have no smart ass comments. Not for them anyway. They'd easily swing down anything I say and throw even worse stuff at me.
I'm not used to that. I hate to say that I'm really fucking sensitive...but I am. I really am. Especially about my face and my cheeks.
Yeah, I have big dimples and chubby cheeks, thanks for noticing. Why do you have to be such a dumb ass mother fucking asshole about it?
It hurts. It hurts a lot for someone to point out what you consider one of your WORST imperfections. Especially for someone barely transitioning from UBER SHY INSECURE teen to almost normal.
God, it hurts to be ridiculed and mocked. And feeling so pathetically defenseless when it happens. I think that hurts even worse.

i iz da aim stalkah. beware!

-ENTER AIM USER NAME HERE- has blocked you. She will not receive your message.
For a moment, I'm appalled. Why would Mady block me? Of course, I wouldn't exactly blame her because I am an obsessive AIMer who probably sends her 20 bajillion [its a word cause i said it is!] messages in two hours:

Myusernamehere: hey.
Myusernamehere: sup?
Myusernamehere: are you there or
on invisible?
Myusernamehere: gah. you talk to me more on facebook than on
here.
Myusernamehere: lol.
[5 minutes later]
Myusernamehere: mmmmmmmaaadddddyyyyyyyyyyy?
Myusernamehere: where you at? stop obsessing over
the freakin jonas brothers and talk to me!
Myusernamehere: D:
[35 minutes later]
Myusernamehere: hullo?
Myusernamehere:
imboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredandijusttypedallthatwithoutlookingatthekeyboardorusingspaces
Myusernamehere: must i resort to talking to myself again?
Myusernamehere: gosh, you are always saying how you don't have a life, why won't you answerrrr?
[3 hours later]
Myusernamehere: OK, so you talk to me more on facebook than on here,
because? oh yes. i always want lengthy conversations about possible meaningful
stuff, but can't really have these kinds of convos with you when the
meaningfulness varies between your definition and mine. sigh. when will i learn to accept that our convos will always be "hey!" "hi!" "sup" "nm u?" "same." "ah. OK." "yep."

And that's when I got that message that might as well have said this:
She's blocked you. Go away.
And THEN, when I take a second look at her screen name in disbelief, I realize that the letters in the screen name are right---but the capitalization aren't.
Shit. I have been spamming a poor innocent stranger with all my crazy typing... Dammit!

In the end I just send the last message to Mady before exiting out of the AIM box in shame.

Oh, please, don't judge me too harshly.
Here's the thing: I need someone to talk to. Naturally I pick Mady because she's the closest friend I have. My best friend. UNFORTUNATELY, we're polar opposites. The most polar of the most. fucking. opposites. that you can get. So, when I try to converse with her and try to share problems I'm going through... they just seem to fly over her head. As well as her problems with me. The frustration level is extremely high and we tend to bud heads a lot. So why do I keep bugging her on aim?
Because.
Even though I seldom tell her what really bothers me, she's still my closest friend. And sometimes the company-----or even the feeling of company makes me feel better when I'm a little wired up.
This is why I don't care when she dismisses my attempts to get into a conversation about teenage girl problems. I mean, at least I have someone to ALLMMMOSSSTTT converse deeply with.
Sadly, that's good enough for me right now.
.
.
.
.
.
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AND that's why I have this blog thing. To write about other internal conflict. And also why I love you. :]