Always chosen last

So some things never change. Today I have intro to theatre and we had to pair up, of course, my group was just lined up waiting to be paired off. You know how much I stick out in a line up? I mean seriously? Come on, not only am I short, fat and have this strange fluff of hair, I have a big fucking pirate boot on. Really, when I was walking across the stage floor, I sounded just like a pirate, step, clunk, step, clunk, damn, repeat. All I needed to complete the look was a freakin' hook or a parrot. And I hate birds. Nasty, shitty, chirpy, creatures. EWW. But I digress, what was my point? Oh yeah, I was for sure going to be picked last! I knew it. Story of my life. No one even looked my direction. I am not invisible, I am fat. Get that? Fat is not the secret to invisibility (...or is it?...) at least look at me damnit. I look at you with all your acne, bad tat's, greasy hair, cellulite (who knew young people had cottage cheese asses?) and ugly feet (it was flip-flop weather and yuck, can we said pedi?). And guess I was in pimpin' 101 and just didn't know it because all the theatre dorks had on hats? Who knew. Hey I kinda had that pimpin' swagger down!
Oh yeah, so I keep getting off the point. I wasn't picked last. I know hard to believe. Some lady who I thought was young but just looked old picked me, pretty much right away. I guess she figured we are in the same age bracket or I wasn't threatening looking. Not sure. But it still makes me nervous being picked for anything. I don't want to be picked last unless we are running a race or some shit. Pick me last, sure, I am all over that.

Well, I suppose that is really all I have left to say...and my belly hurts. Shouldn't have eaten that can of citrus fruit.