Why I Hated Paula
September 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
We called her tuna at first, because of the way she stank. It wasn’t an inspired nickname, but it was too true to be very funny. Then we started calling her Shamu, because of the way she stank and that she was fat. She was my roommate at the group home, where we had this point system for everything we did, and the only way you could get moved up to a higher level is if you got a certain amount of points for a certain amount of weeks, and if you got all the way up to level 3, you got to do things like go out on weekends and skip out on bullshit activities like Bagel Fest.
Paula was always a level 3, because she was too much of a loser to fuck up, she couldn’t miss curfew because she never went out, and because she was a total narc. She didn’t even skip out on the stupid activities, because if she didn’t go to those activities she would have nowhere else to be. I could have done something fun with Level3 privileges, but the only things holding me back from getting there were booze, boys, and Paula.
I once came close to killing her in her sleep. She was gaping that chapped mouth of hers wide open, snoring so loud that it rattled the windows, and some voice in my head was like, “Just kill her. Just get over there and kill her. You take medication for being a mental case, so you could probably get away with it.” And I got up and I got a safety pin and I opened the pin and I was going to drop it down her throat. But, who was I kidding with all of that business? I’m not the murdering sort, so instead I just spit in her mouth. She woke up and started yelling, and I got in trouble for it, which meant no Level3 that week.
The very look of her was enough to make me hate her, as if her snaggle teeth, thick, huge glasses, sausage lips, and thunder thighs were a glaring example of how the world just said, “nothing can be done to fix this.” I wanted to room with Amanda, because she was my best friend, but I didn’t get to because the staff thought we were too dependent on each other, which probably meant that they thought we were lesbians. Instead I had to room with Paula, who once made me so mad that I chucked my bottle of Cover Girl Creamy Natural foundation at the wall, smashing it and leaving me foundationless as well as losing me a bunch of points.
There are Paulas all over this planet, too, and we’re forced to look at them when we order fast food or go to the DMV, or they’re milling about at county fairs shoving fried foods into their snaggle toothed mouths. And it isn’t like I’m any sort of beauty queen myself, because if I was I would probably feel more at ease with the Paulas because I wouldn’t be afraid of being or becoming one. But instead I’m average, so I know that twenty pounds and a few bad moments of aging could eventually push me into that territory.
Eventually Paula left the home to go live with some relatives, I started doing my drinking early in the school days to make sure it was off my breath by the time I got home, and I went out with this guy who was super cool about coming to the group home, so I didn’t end up missing curfew, and I finally got Level 3. And I never missed that bitch for a second.