Revenge Tastes Like the Color Purple



I hope you’re having a great week.  I unfortunately found out I have 4 group projects coming up.  I’m sad, I’m frustrated, I’m anxious.  “Group” projects and I don’t get along.  I admit I’m a bit antisocial, but it’s not because I want to be that way, I’m just “programmed” to function a certain way.  My way is antisocial.  I’m socially awkward and rarely speak up in class.  I let my writing do the job.  I don’t want this post to become a “why group projects suck” type of thing, so I’ll just skip to the other part.

I really wanted to post my thoughts on chivalry this week, but school work and tests didn’t let me.  I know I haven’t given my blog much love lately, so I really, really wanted to post a little something.  Knowing I have a Philosophy test tomorrow blocked me, so I simply decided to share with you one of my assignments.  This was a fun essay to write!

The guidelines were:
-Must involve a conflict, a color and a candy.
-Must be inspired by true events.

Revenge Tastes Like The Color Purple

I’ve never been social enough to bond with roommates, especially with ones that won’t let me sleep, leave the freezer and front door open, the lights and stove on, and turn off the heater when I’m about to take a shower.  I’ve been living in this apartment for almost four years.  I’m the oldest and I have experience.  Naturally, I would be “the boss.”

Cleaning products are expensive, so former roommates and I would split the cost equally.  I’m used to leaving for the summer and returning to find the apartment exactly how I left it.  This year, I returned to an apartment with three freshmen roommates and no cleaning supplies.  They had all arrived during the summer and must have cleaned their asses off, because not even the mop and broom were to be found.  I didn’t even bother to say hi nor learn their names.

“I’m Melanie.  Knock on my door if you need anything.  Leave a $5 bill on the bulletin board to purchase cleaning supplies.”  My introduction was exactly how conversations should be.  Short, sweet and to the point.  A “thank you” wasn’t necessary.

For the next few weeks I would go to class, and go straight to my room as soon as I arrived to the already open apartment, shooing away needless and empty conversations.  I remember finding my melted pint of ice cream in the open freezer a few times.  I also remember waking up in the middle of the night to find most of the lights on and an empty bulletin board.  Am I living with 5 year-olds?  I bought a mop and broom to clean my room and kept them there.

After spending hours studying for an exam, I was hungry and went to the kitchen to get my weekly Snickers bar.  I kept it in the fridge.  At least they knew how to close it and I wouldn’t find it all gushy.  As I opened the fridge, I noticed my name on a piece of paper.  I didn’t read it.  Just the fact that they felt the need to write me a stupid note instead of telling whatever it was they wrote down to my face, irritated me.  I grabbed the Snickers and went to my room.  Before opening it, I heard someone jam the paper between my door and its frame.  Irritation was no longer a word to describe how I was feeling.  I put the candy bar on my bed and decided to take a shower to let off some steam.  I grabbed my stuff and opened the door, letting the note fall to the floor behind me.

The water was so cold, I gasped with every splash.  I could feel their souls giggle with joy after turning off the heater.  I sat my naked and cold ass on the toilet and left the water on to make them think I felt right at home even though I was forced to end my shower after only two minutes.  I got bored and I did some exploring.  I opened the bathroom cabinet and saw our soaps next to our toothbrushes.  Mine was Palmolive next to a no-name soft bristle brush.  Clearly, I’m a gentle and humble human being next to bitches using Dove soap and fancy Oral-B toothbrushes their daddies bought for them.  I turned off the water and went to my room to find the note on my bed next to my Snickers.  I couldn’t believe they had the nerve to open my door and let themselves in.  I read it.


Please clean the bathroom (mirror, cabinet, toilet, shower, sink and floor).  Your cooperation is appreciated.”

The damn thing was even signed by all three of them, as if it was a legal document.  And the fact that they specified the things they wanted me to clean, irked me even more.  As if I didn’t know the toilet, sink, and shower are a part of a bathroom.  Yes, I was indeed, living with 5 year-olds.  What was I supposed to clean with?  I had nothing and I didn’t plan on using my new broom as a brush.  I was so mad, I lost my appetite and put away the chocolate.  I went to sleep that night thinking about how to make their lives a living hell, just as they were doing to mine.  I woke up the next day pretending they weren’t there.  I didn’t look at them; I didn’t say a word to them.

After taking my exam, I got to the apartment and found yet another note.  This time it was a purple post-it on the bathroom door.  “Please clean me.” – It said.

Rage took over me and my hands took their lavender scented dishwashing detergents, toothbrushes and towels.  I squeezed those bottles all over the toilet, sink, mirror and shower until there was nothing left.  My brushes were their fancy toothbrushes.  It took me forever to get the job done sloppily, but at least I did what I could.

The next day my $5 were no longer on the bulletin board.  I knew they took the money to buy dishwashing detergent and maybe toothbrushes because new cleaning supplies were nowhere to be found.  I wanted to dirty up the bathroom so bad, but I couldn’t do it.  I was not going to undo what I did, but I really did want to get back at them.  I wasn’t willing to leave a piece of crap in the toilet but I was willing to make them think I did, even if it was for a split second.  I took my Snickers bar and dropped it in the clean toilet.  I took one of the purple post-its and wrote “Eat me. J”  Smiley face and all.  I stuck it on the inside of the lid and closed it.

A Snickers bar may be sweet, but revenge is even sweeter.


I googled “Pin Up Snickers” and this popped up!  It’s Candy II- Snickers by Mel Ramos, who is now one of my favorite artists.  I get how some of his pieces may rub people the wrong way (most of them are like this – women placed on or in something edible) but I find them quite fun.

I hope you liked my inspired by true events homework.  And wouldn’t it be fun if colors had a taste?  What would the color purple taste like?

Lady Stank


It’s the most horrific time of the year: back to school.  I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with this place (Río Piedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico).  It exudes a sense of freedom.  There’s art everywhere.  A plain white wall is hard to find here.  Everything seems simple.  Just like these sentences.

StreetartThese buildings greet me each day.

didntsee this every Sunday when I get to Río Piedras.

Coffee is almost at arm’s length and a cold beer is just around the corner.  People always say “good morning” as they walk past me.  It’s mostly men.  They don’t always have good intentions, so I focus on their tone.  Some of them make “good morning” sound like a rape announcement.  Those that make it sound like one, don’t get “good morning” back.  I honestly hope their morning ends up being crappy.  Like spill coffee on your crotch crappy.  I guess you could say I’m getting to the hate part of this love-hate relationship.

Time is money here.  Everything is fast paced.  The light is about to turn green?  You better be 10 miles down the road when it does ‘cause if not, Mr. I just spilled my coffee will play you the song that best describes his feelings at the moment.  A little song called “hornraping.”  Anyone can play it, really.  Just honk your horn and never let go.  A beautiful long “beep” will magically make your car disappear.  At least, that’s what Mr. I just spilled my coffee thinks.

I never get why people in cars are always in such a rush.  I’d much rather be in a car with a/c than walk to school in this heat, which is what I’ve been doing for the past 3 1/2 years.  My arms and legs are noticeably darker than the rest of my body thanks to this.  Now we’re getting to the frustration part of this post.

I can’t dress the way I want to.  The way I dress in my hometown is so different.  I always have on at least one vintage-inspired article of clothing.  I can’t do that here.  I sweat buckets of lady stank and am not willing to ruin pieces I almost killed for just to look cute at the university.  And yep, same goes for hair.  What’s the point in curling or victory-rolling it if it’ll be flat by the time I get to class?  My hair is always up in a bun, a high ponytail or maybe a braid.  That’s it, nothing special.  I’m always wearing men’s t-shirts I cut and stretch to make them look less manly.  The pricing on graphic tees is ridiculous.  A Coca-Cola logo shirt for men costs  $12 while the same shirt for women costs $18.  Yeah, I think I’m gonna go with the one for men.  $6 extra for what?  A little shape?  Pfffft!  Don’t even get me started on make-up.

Really, don’t try to get me started, ’cause I won’t start.

The heat here is different than the heat in Ponce.  It’s hot and humid at the same time while in Ponce it’s just hot.  I can wiggle my nose without breaking a sweat over there and the only thing I can wear in both places are these babies:

converseDon’t mind the dingy floor.  It’s been like that since I got here.  Nothing can make it look clean.

Ah yes, my limited edition sequin Converse.  I got these for Christmas when I was 14 years old.  They’ve been everywhere with me.  Music festivals, a Metallica concert, the mall on black friday… They don’t sell them anymore.  I wish I could buy another pair.  I plan on wearing them until they fall apart.

As I’m writing this (almost 11 PM) some kid is screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of the street.  Why?  Because it’s Río Piedras.  It’s extremely noisy here.  Some truck, I don’t know if it’s the garbage truck or what… But it comes at 4 AM.  Gun shots can be heard almost daily.  Beeping cars are always around and here I am, trying to blog.

Yep, it’s definately a love-hate relationship I have with Río Piedras.  I feel as if I can be free here but at the same time, I can’t express myself the way I enjoy doing it: through fashion.