The New Definition of Loser

D is a student at U.H. Manoa. Aside from begging for student loans and being in beauty pageants, she writes. A lot.

By D. Kubota

My face was smashed against the window of the Volvo I sat in as my Uncle Marshall loudly asked of my future plans. I’m sure he meant impending graduation from college and marriage to a nice Asian boy, but before I could stop it, the words slid from my mouth.

“Well actually I volunteered at this Anime Convention. Third annual. We don’t get paid or anything but we get to get in free plus I get to meet the voice actors.� He glanced at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues, which to him I was. Only this time it was the language of loser.
“What’s that?�

I felt my ass sink into the seat. I had forgotten, these were not my Dungeons-and-Dragons-loving friends who argued over who made a better couple in fan-fiction: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, or Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. This was my 60-year-old Japanese aunt and my ex-military uncle. This was the same uncle who called my dad a hippy for draft dodging and becoming an environmentalist, and called the anti-war activist Watada a “punk ass.�
“Just-some-thing-where-a-bunch-of-losers-like-me-dress-up-as-cartoon-characters.�
“Sounds like a waste of money,� Marshall groused.
It was true but you know what; I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and I’ve never done any drugs of any kind. So far the highlight of my year is when my dad flew over from Maui and bought me groceries. After a year of studying for fun, an unhealthy outlet was a godsend.

At least my aunt understood. “So where are you gonna get the costume?�
I thought for a moment. “Well I’m going to make one, of course, for the costume contest…and most likely modify my old Halloween costume. I don’t have a sewing machine, so I might end up doing it by hand.�
“No need!� She smiled brightly. “I have a machine.�
Three weekends and a lot of material later, we had my costumes. One, a dark pink top and bottoms that matched those of Chihiro from Spirited Away, and the other in blinding pink lycra and a polyester leftover from a Hot Topic Little Bo peep costume. My aunt had been very nice about the whole ordeal, sewing both costumes and leaving me to cut the patterns and pin them. She didn’t let me use the sewing machine. After all, I once blew up an apple in a microwave.

Arriving at the Kawaii or “Cute� Convention was the biggest dream of my dorky existence. I settled into my seat as an administrator to the hallway costume contest. I felt proud of my Card Captor Sakura cat-girl costume. Sure, the fluffy pink material wasn’t rubber like in the cartoon, but I knew I looked enough like a cheap Halloween hooker with my black-bowed fishnets, cat-ears, and tail, without adding pink rubber to the mix.

Just as I was beginning to feel boredom setting in, I saw her, or rather him— a 6’2� man dressed in a blinding pink wedding dress, complete with blonde wig and crown. He eyed my dress, a slight frown forming. I eyed his facial stubble and wookie-legs, thinking he should have waxed.
“Are those falsies?� His voice was blatantly fem and I was immensely offended.
“What?�
His white glove pointed at my chest. “Your boobs.�
After correcting him, I felt the shock sink in. I had just been accosted by a giant cross-dressing man in a pink wedding dress, and accused of stuffing my bra. The reality dawned upon me: I was the new definition of loser.