"Who do you think you are?"
Well, the name's --- but you can call me Reina. Why? Bueno…I rock. Seriously. I rock harder than Metallica in "Enter Sandman", more spasmodic than Meat Loaf in "I'll Do Anything For Love." (Has anyone realized what it is he won't do? I feel unfulfilled in not knowing what.) My accomplishments make me Queen-material. So do my failures. I succeed at those, too. I'm hotter than capsaicin and can swallow it with no tears. I'm audacious enough to stand in front of you in a two-piece and dare you to question my intelligence. I'm resilient enough to have withstood everything life has thrown and brave enough to continue forth. I'm narcissistic enough to self-define, cocky enough to wave bye if my importance in your life isn't as high I believe it should be. I'm lovely enough to…
Espera... I KNOW WHO I AM. The more important question is…
Who do YOU think I am?
As I ran my five miles with my mother this morning (Yes, she dusted me but I don't feel ashamed. She's an android. ), I was in the zone. My thighs were flexing, my abs were burning, and my mind was clear. I had my IPOD playlist blaring in my ears, and Celia Cruz & I were bragging about our tumbao. And as she started to sing about our ability to turn heads, I added a little swivel into my run. (What can I say? I was feeling myself.) Anyway, as the last mile and a half loomed in front of me, I slowed my pace so I can switch up my playlist. I love Celia, but I needed something a little harder. Where's that new Ludacris album? While idling, this decent looking fella starts to jog in place beside me and ask if I needed help. (Apparently, in San Juan, fiddling with your MP3 player means you're in distress. Did you know that?) I smile and shake my head no, but that doesn't deter him. He touches me, gives me his most seductive eyes, and asks "Are you sure?" Sigh. Obviously, he needs my attention, and I understand…you know…cause I rock. (Of course, this exchange was in Spanish, but I'm being kind for the "real" Americans out there.)
Me: "Really, I'm good. Thanks."
Him: "I can make you better." He starts trailing his finger down my arm at that point.
(gag)
Me: I jerk away and reply "I doubt it."
I turn up the music on my IPOD and start jogging in place to re-warm my legs. Damn cabrón interrupted my flow. He, of course, like any affronted fella, replies "Bitch! You fucking broads and your perception of your value. Who the hell do you think you are? "
Rage fills me and then dissipates just as quickly. Ludacris provides me with my answer as he flows:
Rage fills me and then dissipates just as quickly. Ludacris provides me with my answer as he flows:
"Back up on that ass,
Back to put rappers on one knee like they bout to run the 100 meter dash,
Bow down to greatness, before I get pissed and run up in the stands like the Indiana Pacers"
I reply "Greatness. You obviously didn't know that."
4 comments:
I can make you better? pfft...lame.
Celia Cruz, you say? AZUCAR!
You know i'm loving this, chica! Did you smile sweetly while you replied to the jerk? I sure hope so!
And I did notice the words 'bow dow'...Luda is looking cuter after this ;)
If someone cannot see how intelligent you are while you're parading in your two-piece, you only have to open your mouth and speak!
I have definitely been where you were and not too long ago; symptoms were a little different but im sure the feelings were the same. It was not an easy process but once you get through it, the feeling of power in self is indescribable: 'I am me, i am the ish, i am the cat's meow'...the end.
I'm bowing down to you, Reina.
There's nothing wrong with knowing who you are (especially when you're this exceptional). And there's nothing wrong with letting someone know who you are (especially when they're that misguided). And I get to keep your company from time to time.
THAT alone makes me exceptional...
Sweet. And I think the next time you recite a convo that took place in Spanish, you need to write it in Spanish so us "Americans" can learn a lil' something :P
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