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July 26, 2005
PMS
Her perfume entered the train way before she did. When she finally sat down, I noticed that her demeanor was just as overwhelming. Bejeweled and brightly colored, she was quite a spectacle. She wore thick, black Yoko Ono shades that covered her face. She sat down in the seat directly in front of me, pushed her sunglasses on top of her forehead, and crossed her legs in an exxagerated motion. She demanded attention, and she got it from nearly everyone on the train-except me of course. I refuse to let her have her way with me. She looked like the type of chick that always gets what she wants. Those chicks annoy me. Perfectly coiffed and manicured, she looked like she never had to get dirty. She was impeccable. I hated her immediately...
If she runs her hand through her hair one more time, I'll slap her. I swear, I'm gonna get up out of my seat, walk up to her and give her one hard slap right in the face.
She's doing it on purpose. So that I'll look at her. She's so damn vain. I get the point already lady; Your hair is real.
I'm trying hard to ignore her. I know that she wants me to look at her. For some reason, she needs my approval. I know her steez; She thinks she's slick, pretending to be engrossed in that thick ass book she's pulled out of her Louis Vitton bag (incidently, I hate those bags-they're so played out); when really what she's doing is surveying the crowd. She gives hard stares to the women who pose a threat to her countenance, but when they notice her looking a little to long and stare back, she jumps back to the book, skimming the pages with her fingers. She's been reading the same page for five minutes now.
I catch her staring at me a couple of times,via sideways glances but I pretend not to notice. She thinks she's discreetly checking me out but she's more than obvious. The weight of her stare is too heavy-I have no choice but to intercept her stare with a glare so sharp that forces her to recoil in fear. I think she might have smudged her make-up in the process. She quickly averts her gaze and returns to her book. She avoids looking my way for about two mintues, then she starts again.
"What the hell are you looking at bitch?" I want to scream. I feel like smushing her annoying face into that book she's pretending to read and pulling all of her hair out, so she'll never be able to flash it, or run her hands through it ever again. Well, I suppose she does have beautiful hair....
Ahhh...women, what a precious, if not awkward species we are! I never notice men sizing each other up; they dont' seem to be in competition with one another the way women are. Well, I know that men have their own issues (that's to be addressed on another day) but women are really catty towards one another. I try to act like I'm above it, but I suppose I'm just as bad, only I don't make it obvious when I'm sizin' someone up. Or at least, I don't think so, and I would not have even cared about that chick if it weren't for PMS.
I guess it's true what they say; you are what you hate...
Here endeth today's entry.
Posted by renee at July 26, 2005 2:06 PM
Comments
I swear I could've written this entry myself - it's soooo true! Chris Rock was right: Women hate women! We are so competitive with each other, it's ridiculous. And you know that half the reason she was checking you out was to see if YOU were checking HER out! *rolling eyes*
Posted by: Glib Gurl at August 28, 2005 4:27 AM
I think I was sitting next to you when you were watching that woman on the train; only I See her almost every morning.
Posted by: MahoganyMaroon at September 14, 2005 12:29 PM
hey girl
i loved it! now, I would have looked at that girl on the train and said hello. i happen to have friends who are that type of women. and they are not all as shallow as we want to belive they are!
Posted by: auriol from africa at September 30, 2005 3:14 AM