Adventures with Mr. Micro-Peen

Adventures with Mr. Micro-Peen

I made the terrible mistake of losing my virginity to Mr. Micro-Peen.  The thing was that having no experience I did not know that his size was abnormally small, I thought it was normal.  Till I met the other one…but that’s another blog post.

The thing with Mr. Micro-Peen was that he was possessive and controlling, on top of having a micro-peen.  Again being inexperienced and naive I let him control me.  He told me what to wear, who I could be friends with and I needed to tell him of all my whereabouts and movements.  In the back of my mind, I knew all along that this was not right, but I went right along with it because I loved him…or I thought I did.
One day my eyes were open wide when Ms. Plus-Size a friend of a friend came to see me with a guilty look on her face.  I knew something was wrong, and I asked her what’s going on.  I thought for sure she was going to off-load some drama on me.  Little did I know that the drama would involve me.  
Ms. Plus-Size told me that she had also been seeing Mr. Micro-Peen.  My stomach flipped, then I started laughing maniacally and grabbed her by the hand to discuss in one of the empty corners of the cafeteria.  I didn’t want my drama to play out for the amusement of everyone in the cafeteria.
Although my heart was breaking I was also thoroughly amused by this recent turn of event, because I wondered who else was putting up with my Prince Charming.  So we started talking and shared stories of our boyfriend.  At the end of our conversation, we concluded that surely enough we were seeing the same guy.  The determinant factor happened when we compared penis stories.  When I asked Ms. Plus-Size to demonstrate the size of his penis, she used half of her pinky as a comparison.  It was right then and there that I had no doubt that she was telling the truth.
At the end of our heart to heart talk, we both laughed at the predicament that we had found ourselves in and preceded to make a plan to confront Mr. Micro-Peen.  
The face on Mr. Micro-Peen when we walked in together to a college event he was attending was precious!  His mouth dropped, and his eyes bugged out, and I had the biggest smile on my face.  ‘Gotcha!’ I thought.
After a few stuttering starts, he was able to get his wits about him and proceeded to tell us that he did not care about Ms. Plus-size and that, he made a mistake.  His unkind words to her upset me to the core, and I knew right away that although I had my puppy love feelings going on for him, that he was not the man for me and never will be.  
In a few days after that, he won me over with several gifts and sweet empty words.  I never heard again from Ms. Plus-Size, but I would see her around campus every once in a while.  By this time Mr. Micro-Peen had an even stronger hold on me and made sure that I did not socialize with any friends connected to Ms. Plus-Size.  Again none of this felt right, and I developed a plan to leave him a few days after getting back with him.  See, the problem with Mr. Micro-Peen was not so much that he had a micro-peen but that he was dishonest, controlling and had a double standard, and that was not going to fly with me.
I finished my freshmen year, left strict instructions to my family to not pass my whereabouts to this individual, left and never looked back.  
Getting a Tossed Salad at Subway

Getting a Tossed Salad at Subway



chopped salad


If you are not aware of the menu, Subway offers salads.  The chop salads are an even healthier alternative to the subs, and it has become one of my favorites.  That day I left work with my brain a bit on the fried side, and I was craving one of the salads to take home with me.  I went on automatic pilot when I walked over to the ‘Sandwich Specialista‘.  I cheerfully said, “I would like a Tossed Salad, please.”  I should have realized when the cashier and the person in front of me cranked their necks to look at me that I had said something wrong.  
A raised eyebrow, a moment of silence…it was then that I realized that I had put my foot in my mouth again (this happens often).  Blushing a bit and with a nervous laugh, I corrected myself “I mean a chopped salad, please”.  Then the world started turning again, and the ‘Specialista‘ got to work.


XOXO Johanny
That time I almost drowned at the pool

That time I almost drowned at the pool

pool

So here I was a long, long time ago, in a land called Worcester.  I decided one day to try my hand at swimming.  I did not know how to swim, but I figured being from an island, I would fall into the water and naturally swim like a mermaid.  In my defense, I was fourteen and into Harlequin Romance.

I walk into the magical kingdom on Y.M.C.A and follow the signs leading me to the pool.  I enter the ladies facilities and immediately change out of my Bermuda shorts and neon shirt.  I put my one piece on, and I did a quick check in the mirror.  Long and behold my scrawny body, with frizzy hair sticking out from my temple, my tad-bit-bigger than normal nose for my tiny face with my brown almost black eyes stared back at me.

Yup, it’s me! I thought, and with no shame in my game, I strolled out through the glass door towards the abnormally blue pool water.  Immediately the hot, muggy air hits my lungs and alarms me a bit, but I quickly ease into my new environment and thought of mermaids swimming.

As soon as I walk in I spot these navy blue flippers, and I got the brightest of ideas!  ‘I’m going to put them on and truly be like a mermaid all I have to do is keep my legs together’  I thought.  I hurriedly put the flippers and jump into the chlorine water.

The time when my dreams crashed with reality felt like a mirror falling and breaking on top of me, thus causing seven years of bad luck.  At that moment, my mind worked on overdrive trying to decipher my master plan had gone wrong, and I panicked.  I was not graceful jumping into the water, and it filled my nose and throat, threatening my life.  I realized, I was not a mermaid, and I certainly could not swim like one.

I quickly tried to save my life, salvage my ego and pride by leaving the pool but then my flippers will not budge from their horizontal position.  I couldn’t push them down to the floor so that I could walk.  My scrawny legs were too weak to push them against the buoyancy of the water.  Instead, they stayed floating much like the fucking mermaid that I didn’t want to be any more or at least not right that second.

Since I couldn’t get my lower body down, my upper body was also in the same horizontal position with my face facing down on the water.  Again I did not know what to do with my arms to keep my head afloat.  So I smacked the water time and time again trying to fight with it, to reason with it, so that it can give me back my human legs.

In the confusion of those few seconds, I spun in a circle, and I spotted the red shorts that are supposed to be of the one guy that can get me out of this situation.  “Life Guard” was imprinted on his shirt and I needed my life guarded against the water and the fucking flippers that very second.

On that same torturous second, a blond walks in through the glass door.  Immediately the hot air from the inside, combined with the cold air from the outside mixes to flush her skin and push her hair in the most intimate of ways.  Her eyes were blue as oppose to my brown.  Her body had curves and was not boyish like mine.  Her hair was straight as oppose to my curly and frizzy mess.  The lifeguard was enthralled; he was captivated.

My slaps of the water could not get his attention.  A minute had gone by, and it felt like an eternity.  I spun one more time to face the wall, and I make a quick decision to stop fighting with the water and instead become part of it.  I didn’t fight with my flippers. Instead, I let them be.  I pushed my face into the water, brought out my arms and began stroking them so as to make my way through the water and bring my body closer to the wall.

One stroke, then another one, my flippers followed suit and moved with my upper body.  I opened one eye and noticed that I was almost there!

I reach the wall, and I touch it with my fingertips.  Exhilarated to have found the wall I completely forget my newfound swimming skills and let my fingers slip thus slapping the water before I could get a good hold on the wall.  I do one last stroke, and finally, I’m at full reach and able to grasp it fully without slipping.  My panic is gone; I have reached the wall.

I pull my face out, place my palms on the ledge and push with all my might, my lean body out of the pool.  I look back at the ‘lifeguard’ with so much disdain and disbelieve! That I spit some of the water that had gotten stuck in my throat in full view so he could see me, then I throw the flippers angrily onto the wet floor and left.  If the door were not pressure resistant, I would think of slamming that too.

That day I realized that I was not a mermaid and would never be one.  That my scrawny body was not so flimsy after all and that I didn’t need a ‘lifeguard’ to save me because that same girl with the brown almost black eyes, frizzy hair and a big nose who was drenched, shaking and breathing hard had just saved my life.

I’m tha latina version of Taylor Swift, I just can’t sing

I’m tha latina version of Taylor Swift, I just can’t sing

breakup songs
Not that we look alike!  We are two very different looking people, but we do share something in common, the inability to keep ONE guy.  
I often use my self-deprecating humor to joke about it, but when I start playing a Taylor Swift song at work everyone knows what’s up.  Once again, a relationship has ended, and it have left me deflated and disappointed in love.  So I turn to her songs that so perfectly describe my heartache at the moment for solace and understanding.  As I listen, I start thinking that maybe I’m the Latina version of Taylor Swift.  I just can’t sing, or write songs about it, but I can write it on my blog.
  Again and again, I find myself in relationships feeling so happy and so sure with that Special Guy just to have it all crashing down unexpectedly.  I am left with mascara running down my face, looking around and wondering ‘what the fuck just happened?’.
I ask myself constantly, ‘Why are men from Mars and I have to be from Venus?’  ‘Why can’t we talk the same language?’  
I often wish that men would come with a technical manual.  The same way my VW Golf came with one.  Whenever a symbol appears on the dashboard, I open up the manual and read about it.  After reading it, I feel confident that I know somewhat what is wrong with my ‘hooptie-doo’ and can move forward with solving the problem. 
Ahhh, if only there were a guy technical manual where when you hear something weird, or he starts acting funny you could flip through the glossary pages and look for ‘weird tone of voice’ or ‘odd behavior’ and check for the troubleshooting steps.    



Just kidding! Just kidding!  I stopped doing that in my 20’s! I’ve turned a new leaf.




After all these breakups, tryouts and experiences I don’t blame myself for not being able to keep a guy.  I only see it as just a waiting game.  I feel that one day the right man would find my weirdness cute and endearing and would not see himself with anyone else but me.  
I figure I will just wait for Mr. Weird Dude to come around.  Till that time comes, I will continue to go on dates and like Cinderella try on other Dudes to see which one will fit my weird.
Till then I will keep listening to Taylor Swift songs, dance, sing and drink red wine.