you're ugly, micky.

Listen, I’m not the kind of girl you wake up next to and think “My god, what an angel.” I’ve never been beautiful. Cute at best. People say, “oh, what a cute girl.” But sometimes you just want to be drop dead, you know? Like, sometimes you just want people to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare because they can’t believe how beautiful you are. But I can’t change my face, not without some serious dough. And let’s face it; I have no stomach for pain.

Besides, even if I did find someone who thought my unwashed face was attractive in the morning, I would probably screw it up anyway. I’m way too neurotic. I can’t hold conversations over dinner in restaurants. I can’t play cutesy. I have strange habits that would make even the most well-meaning man run in the other direction. It’s not something I can change. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m a package deal, you know?

The other night I was at a bar with my friend Kashi. Now, she’s what most people consider to be beautiful. White teeth, perfect skin, shiny hair. She’s totally neurotic too, but it doesn’t matter so much for her. She still manages to collect men like magnets. It’s hard being her friend sometimes. I can’t help my insecurities and sometimes I just want to totally mar her face. Like, throw a cup of scalding hot coffee at her so her cheeks pucker up with burn scars. Or cut off all of her hair when she’s sleeping. Honestly though, I don’t think it would matter. She could have horrible deformities and she would still get more attention than me. When Kashi and I go out I take solace in being the smart one. I can always count on my intellect. Kashi may be beautiful but she’s dumb as driftwood. Sometimes I wonder if I actually have it so bad. All that attention would probably get old anyway.

One of my favorite smells is my fingers like an hour after I’ve smoked a cigarette. That burnt toast smell. It’s the small things, you know?

Kashi tells me my problem is that I’m too picky. I don’t know how an ugly girl can be picky. I think that’s what she means. She’s polite in her criticisms. That grates me sometimes. Why can’t she just come right out and say it? I just want her to say “Micky, you’re really not that attractive and you should probably settle for the first man who offers to buy you a drink.” I wouldn’t, but still. I’d respect her a lot more if she were honest.

Anyway, Kashi and I were at this bar, The Elkhound. We go to it all the time. It’s a nasty little place full of nasty people. But the liquor is cheap and there’s always a place to sit. Kashi was wearing some dolled up thing, lace and ruffles. She looked like a goddamn wedding cake. I always wear black. Not because I’m making a statement or anything, but because I’m thin and pale and black just looks better on me than any other color. Right off the bat some gangly Gumby-looking dufus comes up to Kashi and offers to buy her a drink. Kashi, being the thoughtful best friend that she is, says “not unless you buy my friend Micky a drink too.” Free alcohol is free alcohol no matter which way you put it down. The guy puts on this ridiculous sad face but in the end he ponies up 10 bucks for two double whiskey gingers. I told him “it’s going to take a helluva lot more booze than that to make you attractive fella, believe me. I know.” He got real mad and stormed off to the bathroom.

Maybe the upside to always being the ugly friend is that I get free booze but I don’t have to put out for it. I leave that up to Kashi. Like I said, she’s dumb as a fucking rock. She thinks she has to sleep with those dweebs. Man oh man. Me, I just float on home with a belly full of free whiskey and go right to sleep. It could be so much worse.

So Gumby comes back from the bathroom only now he’s got two other guys trailing behind him. And one of them, honest to god, is the most incredible looking thing I’ve ever seen. Immediately I’m thinking about my exit strategy because I already know that he’ll go for Kashi and I’m too drunk to pretend like I don’t care. But would you believe it? Dude walks straight up to me and asks me my name. In a goddamned British accent. It’s like some alternate universe and I can see Kashi from the corner of my eye squirming around in her seat. She was completely gaffed. For probably only the second or third time in my life I’m actually the wanted one. It felt so fucking great.

I ended up leaving with him. I mean, what else was I gonna do, you know? He was staying in this super posh suite up by the freeway. I may not be beautiful but I definitely know how to knock em’ dead in the sack. I don’t think he was prepared for my dexterity, poor thing. Like a fish out of water- flopping all over the place. Afterwards he wanted to talk. He asked me about my life, my friends. He told me I looked like Serge Gainsbougs daughter. He was really laying it on thick. It was probably 5 or 6 in the morning when he finally fell asleep. I had to basically perform magic to get myself out from under his arms and legs. He had himself wrapped around me like a goddamned octopus.

The thing about being ugly is that when someone halfway decent shows interest in you the first thing you think is that they’re just using you for something. I always prepare myself for the worst. I sifted through the clothes on the floor and pulled out the guy’s wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He had a wad of American money, probably pulled it out of the ATM earlier. I took the whole stack of bills and stuffed it in my purse, got dressed, and snuck out as quietly as possible. Like I said, I’m no angel.