21 May 2005

Little Miss Thang

It was Kyle’s birthday tonight, so Mark and I went out to St Albert for a few. So as this site was supposed to be pursuing some sort of fuck-stupid-chicks sort of theme, two things of theme happened tonight:

Kyle & Marie figure it would be a good idea to hook me up with Marie’s friend, Vivi. So here’s Vivi’s rundown:
• Asian (Chinese, if I recall)
• Is not quite fluent with the anglais yet
• Has her degree in business; whether it’s a BComm or what, I dunno
• Moved to Canada at the start of her university career
• She had/has a wet-on for Kyle
• Apparently wants an “artsy guy” to take her to “cool places”
• Apparently wants to get laid — strong possibility she’s just looking for a trophy boyfriend
• Kyle & Marie attest to her being “fucking hot” (those Asian genes, I suppose)
• To be expected, she’s into couture (see: brand whore?)
• Her family is loaded

Here is my rundown:
• Slavic (Ukrainian, Romanian, Polish)
• I often mumble as I’m wont to be lost in thought
• When I do speak, I am gooders with words consisting of more than three syllables
• I like the business side to her, I’ve come to be fascinated by economics that I can wrap my little head around
• I, too, have a wet-on for Kyle
• While I don’t know how “artsy” I am, the artists I do happen to appreciate are surrealists, often apocalyptic and macabre
• I do know cool places, however… and yes, inside my pants counts
• I like gorgeous women, though have little experience with Asian women
• Just because I work with brands and design doesn’t mean I believe in tributaries
• My family is poor… though not nearly as poor as, say, a family from Laos or some African desert

Kyle & Marie are going to hook a dinner up. Essentially she’s looking for a political move to meet more people within Edmonton, so who am I to deny? And I’ve always wondered whether or not Asian girls’ pubic hair is softer than everyone else’s.

Second event to happen tonight:

As we’re sitting in Crown & Tower, this tables sits next to us — behind me, to be particular — and I catch this semi-cute rail of a girl sit directly to my back. I can’t catch a good glimpse so I only check out her angles, orange sandles, and from my periphery I can tell she’s skin and bones. Now I’ll be honest when I say anorexia is something I can’t empathise with, but I can pity. The warping of self-worth through some sick perception of self-worth based solely on physical appearance. Ugh.

So I’m already making fun of her in my head, but other than a few looks at Mark, I say nothing. Twiggy eventually gets up and I try to see her face (I wouldn’t normally make the effort but I liked her hair, although any sort of lusty thought formed to the rest of her, her arms especially, would be like trying to jerk off to Schindler’s List), so anyhow she gets up to go to the restroom and I tell Kyle that bedding her would be a novelty.

He looks up at her, then to me, “That’s Jill’s sister, eh.”

So here it is: growing up I figured there was a hierarchy to the tribe of humans, then I became disillusioned and found out that those that tried too hard were more often than not crashing and burning on their own lack of esteem or self-worth. Although I can be an ass, this sorta put me for a loop.

I caught Jill’s Sister’s face (we all forgot her name, unfortunately, but oh well) on the way back and couldn’t help but figure she recognized me, not that she cared, but that she knew I sat with Kyle. I wasn’t sure if she was present when Morgan, Jill’s boyfriend, was sitting with us.

This brings me to stories Jill used to tell me about when her and their cousin used to taunt and tease her as children. They wouldn’t include her, they were more tomboyish and would ridicule her for not, and other vague details I am sure I didn’t quite care enough to make any storage in memory for her. Regardless, she grew up into high school to pursue the popular-girl route, or Blonde Syndrome as I sometimes refer to it (though she’s brunette). She was pretty, and, cute enough, maintained the adorable Sisters’ snort-laugh, a sort of trademark they had. I always thought of Jill as hot, and I like the slightly awkward, bitchy girls — and Mark informed me later in the car that he used to make Jill cry at parties in high school, oh well — and Jill’s Sister was no different: she’d developed a reputation for being an ice queen, bitchy, snobby, et cetera. She was suburban-hot, wore all the typical suburban outfits, had her hair like all the other suburban high school girls, and was just all-around suburban-hot.

But now she’s sick. In both appearance and health, which is to presume that her soul is no better for ware. So I got to thinking, what if I could make an experiment of her? Somehow infiltrate her world anonymously, lick her from afar with hints of goodwill, care, beauty, and never ever want to meet her. To offer her some mysterious love, never exposed. And even though it could be creepy, it’d have to be kept lighthearted and genuine, it might be able to do some good? The anonymity would hopefully let her know that whoever is sending her these gifts and prompting her to implore herself wanted nothing back in return except for her to, well, get some fucking meat on her body for one.

The world is amazing in that you can mould almost any soul with the subtle reinforcements of simple comments and gesture. Tell a woman, nay a child of a girl, that she’s ugly enough times, eventually she will become that creature of disgust. Here’s the idea: tell a wounded soul that it’s a thing of beauty enough times, what happens?

It’s too bad no one will ever get around to doing it. Though, on that note: my step-sister was anorexic and she's doing well now. Who knows what she'll do for herself. Makes me only half-laugh at the anorexia link I have posted on this blog, but only half-laugh, not completely not-laugh.

Perhaps I'll offer her a sigil or some sort of motion with my next meditation.

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