Ugly Peoples

Trying to score? Go out with your ugly friends. I'm a 5 foot 2 semi-cute, thick, yellow skinned girl who really cannot compete with my friend Stacey who happens to look like a cross between Gabrielle Union and Kelly Rowland. Love her to death, but the girl is a giant cock block. While walking in her shadows as a circus freak, I am overwhelmed by the number of responses she receives from men by merely "doing her thing". Doing her thing includes wearing the newest styles (fitting into them is also a plus) having her hair did at all times, flawless make-up, and a good dance game. I on the other hand, dress semi-cornball, my hair is decent to say the least, my makeup is aight when i try, and my dance game is not what it used to be my freshmen year of college. Nonetheless, I throw myself into the club scene looking like my friend's personal assistant rather than her partner in crime.

All of my friends are actually really pretty, attractive young women.
I can't really say that I have an ugly friend. So this leads me to believe that I am actually the friend that is ugly. It was easier for me to avoid this conclusion however because my group of friends were so diverse in college. We looked like the muses from Disney's rendition of Hercules: all beautiful but distinctively different. There was Janelle: the stlyish-conversationalist that g-ed the hell out of any dude she spotted. Interesting touches roused her ensemble, her hair, or makeup. There was Yamel: Who resembles beyonce in the face (minus the lace-front). She's a Dominican girl with simple elegance, who's blatant personal standards kept men drooling, but afraid. There was Talisha: the girl i call the chocolate bunny because her skin is flawless. Her skin is like a brown, silk sheet--smooth, soft, and radiant. She's got a nice rack and a baby face to die for. Then there's Amy: the pseudo-Christina Milian looking lady with the small frame and the commercial face. She was the one with the bubbly personality who was easy on the eyes.

And then there was my ass.
Your average chic with a short coif who knew her fashion potential but clung onto it by a string because of financial hardship. I was the one who only danced her ass off when drunk like a skunk; otherwise i was a grumpy mess. I usually danced afloat in the midst of my temporarily wifed up friends as they danced with their temporary boos for the rest of the night.
Then suddenly without warning, i would feel someone come up behind me and start dancing. OHHH i got INTO it. Then i'd turn around and it would be fucking Cleofus Jones n' shit... tryna cop a feel.

Life ain't fair.
My friends would always say, "Kristan, the man of your dreams is not going to be someone you meet in a club." I thought about this notion and decided that there might be some truth to that indeed. But I know that I am the woman of SOMEONEs dreams--so maybe I should stop going out all together. Or perhaps I should find some ugly friends. Or maybe I should begin to see myself as others see me. Do people think i'm cute? Or pretty? Or gorgeous? Its all relative. My friend Stacey seems to be the prototype for what is attractive, but is a prototype necessarily everyone's type?

Who knows. Until then, I'll play my position as the wingman, but soon--very soon---I'll be taking flight.