Chapter 3: The Beauty And The Brains.

My mother gave birth to a perfect baby—Me.

I started life perfectly by avoiding the battle, pain and scars that come with being forced through a vagina. Instead, I was born beautiful with distinctive eye brows, dainty nose, and full red lips. I have a fine crop of hair and an excellent hairline.

Well, my hair—my gorgeous hair, it grew in thick and very silky, the color of chocolate. Every morning I would sit cooperatively while my mother twisted my hair into intricate braids.

When I was in kindergarten, other little girls with little or no bowl cuts struggled to seat near me during lunch break. They take turns to touch my hair and they happily share their toys with me or surrender their turn on the slide. Anything to be my friend.

I understood at the tender age of three that with beauty comes perks and power.

I was the prettiest girl in school including junior high and high school. Well, my popularity and beauty never made me mean. I defied cliques and remained true to my nerdy best friend, Sandra Reyes.

Of course, I had my moments of uncertainty. I was the beautiful one with average grades, Sandra was the intelligent one with average looks. Sometimes I feel envious of her because I too want to be filled with big ideas and have a closet with medals. I always reassure myself by assessing Sandra's haphazard waves in her cringe-worthy brown hair and tell myself that I had been wonderfully made.

Yes, I couldn't find countries like Algeria or Peru on a map or solve complex mathematics, but my beauty will catapult me to wherever I want in this world. All I had to do was marry well, as my mother had. My mother was no genius—I mean she didn't finish more than three semesters at a community college, but her beautiful face and an impeccable taste had won over my rich Dad, a doctor, and now she's living her best life. Her life is an excellent blue print for mine.

In Indiana University, I pledged the best sorority, dated the hottest guys and was on the cover of Mickey's Girls for four straight years. The magazine can only grace beautiful and special girls like Meagan Fox and I. Girls like Sandra with other plain-janes just read it and can't be on it.

I graduated with a 2.9 and followed my best friend, Sandra, to New York City, where she was attending law school. While she wears herself out in the library and worked in a big firm, I enjoy my life of glamour and good times. I discovered the city's best clubs, restaurants, and most eligible men. And I'm still the prettiest girl with the prettiest hair in town.

Sometimes, Sandra would often ask, "aren't you scared of karma?" .

She first mentioned karma in Junior high after I had cheated on a math test. I try to understand what the word actually meant but I brushed it off because actually knowing big words wasn't my area of expertise.

Later, I understood her point: that honesty, hard work and integrity will always pay off in the end, while skating by on your looks is somehow an offense. So how does that got to do with me?

Well, I always tell myself that I don't have to be a plain-jane or volunteer at a shelter to have good karma. I didn't follow the traditional route to success, but here I am today, working a glamorous PR job, I have fabulous friends, and my handsome fiancé, Max Jordan. I deserve my well furnished apartment on Avenue Park West and the enormous, colorless diamond on my left hand.

I have it all figured out, I just don't understand why people, particularly Sandra, insists on making things complicated. She may have followed all the rules but there she is, single and thirty, staying all night at a Law firm she hates. Whereas, I am the happy one, just I had been throughout our childhood.

I tried coaching her, dragged her to parties to inject little fun into her dull, disciplined life. She didn't take any of my advice, she didn't change her style of dressing and she didn't add fun into her life because if she had, she wouldn't be single and thirty. She won't even be loosing Jon to me. Jon would have been wrapped around her fingers, if she had listened to me. Instead, Jon made sweet love to me. He wanted me even as an engaged woman—engaged to his friend. He didn't care if it was the weekend getaway that his friend, Max, planned but couldn't show up because he and Sandra had an emergency work in their firm. Jon cared less about the fact that I'm getting married to his friend, he wanted me and when he did, he told me he enjoyed it.

That's the power I wanted Sandra to have and I was willing to teach her but she wouldn't pay her attention, she chose to complicate things and talked about karma. I chose glamour, beauty and a life of luxury. If eventually, there's Such a thing as karma, why am I the happy one with two distinctive men breathing down my neck? Why is she the one still struggling with books, single and unhappy. I think Karma came for her, she always talks about karma and here it is saying, "hello, Sandra".

Speaking of Jon, despite a barrage of e-mails, phone calls and voicemails. Jon is still ignoring me. Why? I know he wants me—or wanted me, but why is he ignoring me? He can't deny that he likes me a lot but he should pick up the damn phone! My obsession with what Jon is thinking or doing, is growing stronger everyday.

I've decided to take drastic measures, I wore a tight jump suits that shows my cleavage, swept my hair into a pony tail and wore my favorite strawberry lipgloss. Took a six-pack of beers, The flash movie series and called a cab to Jon's apartment . . .