Two drunk Mexicans and a mannequin head

I feel guilty for publishing my last post. I was about to delete it when I thought, fuck it, any one who reads this can't think any less of me than they already do. I admit to rubbing off to comics and watching myself shit...calling my mother names isn't so bad in comparison. I think.

She isn't a bitch, although she was being an insensitive one. After class (which totally fucking rocked again) I called my dad to tell my mom I'm breaking up with her. She and I talk every day; I think we need to give it a rest.

When I told my dad to tell my mom that I won't be calling her this weekend (because I am five), he said I was being too sensitive. This is the story of my life. I feel one way, my parents tell me I shouldn't feel that way, we fight about it, and then they tell me how to feel after the fight. Is it any wonder I have no sense of self?? That I look to others to gauge who I am, how I feel, everything?? I only have one thing to say about this...PATOOEY. (That's me spitting.)

So why am I the sensitive one and she's not the insensitive one? I'm actually asking. Someone please tell me.

Thankfully, I'm not angry any more. In fact I feel fine, just a little hurt. I was crying when I wrote my previous post, cried again the minute I walked out of class. I cried from 23rd to 49th street, until something made me stop.

A huge woman with a mannequin head sat down in front of me (I was in the two seater facing her). It was one of those cosmetology heads, the kind used to practice hair-dos. It was pretty funny, both the hair-do and the overall sight. This woman was ginormous.

A stop later two drunk Mexicans got on and stood (or at least tried to stand) directly in front of the big woman and myself. Mexican A was the quiet drunk, head hung low, each hand clenched around the subway poles, looking like he was going to blow chunks at any second. Mexican B was fucking bombed and apparently couldn't control the volume of his voice as he'd go from mumbling to yelling with every other word. He kept moving around a lot too, even did a couple stripper swings around the pole without meaning to. He was so drunk that it was actually kind of sad to watch, but damn I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

The big lady was completely uncomfortable with this scene. She kept making these overly dramatic facial expressions which I translated to mean, "You drunk, bitch. Sit yo' ass down." The best part was that she had the mannequin head cradled in her arms so that each time Mexican B would stagger near her, she'd rock and protect the head like it was her body-less child.

So here I am sitting on the train crying about my mom, my work situation, my life, when Shizza blesses me with a front row seat to the R Train Circus. I quietly giggled for a little while, but by Steinway I was flat out laughing my ass off which I'm sure made the scene slightly more entertaining for someone else.

Thanks Shizza. I needed both the reality check and the funny.

I'm sorry, mom. No she doesn't read this, just sending my apology out into the universe.