FIFTH GRADE INGENUITY

November 17, 2003 | 9:02am

When my gay soccer team practices on Thursday nights, we often scrimmage one another. It’s basically a non-competitive game and one team is always "shirts" while the other is always "skins." Joe, the straight dude, always volunteers his team to be skins. It’s quite odd. Our "straight dude" also has highlighted hair and a year-round tan. In fact, he volunteered to do all of our hair. He’s really awesome and of course, hot. He would be gay if it wasn’t for that sweet girlfriend of his and because he doesn’t take it up the ass, but we love him anyway.

Last night we lost another game. Joe, the straight dude, scored our one and only point. He was so excited he threw his shirt and jersey into the screaming gay crowd. It was the highlight of our game, Joe taking off his shirt, not the point. I on the other hand pissed off some guy and he kicked the shit out of my ankle twenty minutes into the game. Because I had friends that came to visit, I brushed it off and tried playing some more. I was unable to sprint and be the gazelle I’m known for, thus I’m limping today.

But because I can’t workout or go running to keep my svelte and beautiful figure, I have time to tell you more about the fabulousness that is me.

We New Mexicans are frugal and crafty, rich or poor. If it snows (As it does every year, New Mexico is not the Sahara. Santa Fe sits atop the Rocky Mountains at 7,000 feet above sea level.) and you own a truck, you’ll shovel snow from your drive way onto your truck bed, thus freeing your driveway of unwanted terrain and providing added weight to your vehicle which prevents slippage on the freeway.

Here another frugal instance circa 1990:

My fifth grade teacher thinks it was a good idea to buy fish for the class. Can you imagine? We’re going to get aquatic creatures to play with and pet, okay maybe not pet, but at least they’ll be interesting to look at when I’m bored or tied up because Annette put gum in my hair. That bitch.

Our class has this strange system of organization in place. Using stolen street signs, my teacher is able to calm the chaos or give us freedom to be reasonably loud. She’s aquired (read: stolen) a stop sign, a yeild sign, and a go sign of which the last I’ve never seen on any road. When the stop sign is put above the chalkboard (not dry erase which won’t be affordable in New Mexican schools for another five years) we’re under strict orders to shut up. We can whisper on "yield" and on "go" we can run amuk. Needless to say, the system generally didn’t work. I think the entire year we’ve had only two instances with the "go" sign. Otherwise, we take the initiative to yell and be the horrible children we are.

It’s the final month of class. I’ve gotten to feed our fishies a few times this year. Chris almost killed them last month but we flush the tank and replace the water. Thank god Anna and Cole were unhurt in their watery habitat. I love these fish, in fact when I’m old enough, I’m going to get some of my own. Maybe even a turtle if things go well. I heard there are aquatic turtles out there, somewhere.

"Class!" Our teacher yells, putting up the stop sign. "Class, today we’re going to dissect things. How many of you have dissected frogs and stuff?"

"Oooo! Me!..Me!…Grooosss!…I want to!" My class chimes in with many responses. I’m unfazed. Something’s just not right.

"Well, class we have this amazing opportunity to dissect something you may not have ever dissected yet. We’ve studied Anna and Cole all year long and today we’re going to dissect them! Isn’t that a great way to end the year?"

"Huh?" We all look, around and collectively sigh, "Our li’l fishies?"

Many of my classmates shut down then and there. We suddenly had silver trays, push pins, and scalpels. Ana was the first to go. She was always the easiest to catch. There’s a thud when she landed on my shinny operating plate.

Some of the girls and one kid named Nick were hysterical. They were crying and completely beside themselves. I tried to comfort everyone as best I could, I was the one who killed Anna and Cole so no one else had to. I learned that although we New Mexican’s are known for being cheap, that sometimes, thrifty just isn’t good for the soul, or for fifth graders at Carlos Gilbert Elementary school.

I won some award for citizenship that day and was taken to dinner with the guy who tried to kill the fish one month ago. He just happened to have won the citizenship award before I did. The horrification my teacher put us through was unmatched by her own cold and emotional lack of understanding. But at least she paid for my enchiladas and Dr. Pepper.