Mi Abue

This past month has been... one of the worst in a very long time (this year, overall, has been one of the worst).

I've had the intention to update this thing since I got back from Mexico, but so many things occurred in such a short span of time (my dad's aunt passed away ten days after my grandma, and my mom's uncle passed away maybe 4 days after that... so funerals were all over the place. The world apparently wanted to see me miserable ever so badly, which of course, it got), I just never got to it.

So, concerning the whole week-long trip to Mexico, these are my points:

1. I was not scared this time around when it came to the trip. Whatsoever. (There's just something about an actual death [as opposed to just the threat of one] in the family that made me... feel invincible... if that makes sense. "My grandma just died! God wouldn't fuck us over like that right now..." And frankly, I could have cared less if I was really meant to die on the way there)
   
2. Funerals are FAR more painful/difficult to endure in Mexico than the U.S. (The entire fucking town is at your house, as your dead relative sits in the living room... the entire fucking day/night. You have ZERO privacy to cry by yourself, because they're sitting there, staring at you... that's right, they just STARE. No one offers to hug you, or pull you away... they just stare at you as you sob uncontrollably at the casket. In my case, I was greasy and smelly from the 20+ hour non-stop car ride. My hair was in a messy, uncombed braid when I walked into the living room to see my grandmother. I did not bother to comb my hair, change clothes, and much less shower before going in public. I just wanted to go in there, kiss my grandmother, and then continue with the living.The room was packed with people who fell silent when we walked in, they stared at my mom, expecting her to scream or something, and they continued to stare as we struggled to open the casket. They stared as Mom hugged and kissed her mother... and I caught them staring at me as I turned away to sob out of my mom's view. I couldn't whisper the "Perdóneme, abuelita... perdóneme" I had been thinking all day... I couldn't do shit [technically, if I were into theatrics, I could have done A LOT, but as far as I'm concerned, NO ONE will know that AnoMALIE cries]. Let's not forget I had not slept in over 36 hours... and I had only been snacking on 2 granola bars Dad was smart enough to pack. Since the house was packed day and night, I had to sleep sitting up... for maybe 2 hours. Mass is a different story. 6 people are to stand at guard next to the casket at all time... and each person that would volunteer to stand would bring a tear to my eye. So many memories flooded my mind while in church. My grandma wanted to go to church SO badly the second to last Sunday we were in Mexico. Of course, since she was bedridden, we couldn't do anything about it. "You're here now, grandma," was all I could think, and I couldn't stop crying over the state we could finally bring her: dead. From there, we had to man up, and walk behind the hearse all the way to the cemetery as the ladies of town sang the [scary] church songs they've sung for centuries in this town. The trip is long... the songs are sad... and hearing/seeing my mom and her siblings sobbing... that shit made me feel like my chest was ready to explode. And I sang... oh yes... I sang. I bugged my poor grandmother for the last 2 years with fucking guitar hero day and night, why the hell was I going to shut up now? And that, of course, made me cry some more. Then the actual burial was HARD. Something about the part where they close the casket... it... it kills me just a little more inside. "This is it, grandma... no more. No more. Now you're just a memory." Then to see the boys of the town, shoveling dirt on top... not strangers doing their job at Palm... but kids with which I grew up playing tag/basketball/volleyball, kids I fought with almost every summer, kids I'd cuss out in heated arguments... they were the ones helping with a task none of us dared to do: bury my grandmother. It touched my heart... hella. And then to just sit there, by the dirt... holding flowers... staring at that fresh mound of dirt... everyone gone... just you. That's when I can talk to my grandma? When she's in the hole, under all this dirt? Fucked. Up.)
3. My mom is the shit! (she eulogized my grandma right after they finished covering the grave. I've never heard such eloquence. And no, I'm not saying that because she's my mother... EVERYONE there noticed it. EVERYONE there cried. Even the town badass--yeah, we have one of those-- that NEVER shows emotion. No one beats her performance... no one, educated, famous, whatever... my mom made town history that day. She did not cry, her voice did not crack, she did not stutter, she did not have awkward pauses... and the whole time she improvised. My mom only went to 6th grade... yet she is one badass female. BADASS. "Damn *MyBrother*, did you inherit that gift of public speaking?" Bro: No... I fucking wish! I'd be running the world by now! Cousin: Daaaamn, she should write for Obama!)
4. Mexico is GORGEOUS in September! (on our drive through Sonora, Chihuahua and finally Durango, I saw nothing but beauty. The mountains were green, lush fields of wild flowers appeared every couple of minutes... there were deer, eagles!, bunnies, coyotes... I mean... it was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't help but silently thank my grandma...)

My grandma played a GIANT role in my life... something I wasn't very aware of up until the moment I walked into that living-room, that Monday afternoon.
I walk like she did  (shuffling my feet).
I cuss like she did (sweet Jesus, did she cuss! and it was SO cute! "Ahi voy... viejo cabron...").
I hate fish like did (ok, so I eat sushi now, but I can't stand cooking fish).
I puke bile when pissed/nervous like she did.
I mean... the list can go on.
She gave me my name... something I didn't grow fond of until recently.
She purchased my first bike back in like... '93?
She... protected my mom when my grandpa would go fucking crazy... and she would try calming us down as well.
I spent the vast majority of my summers in Mexico. Yes, OFTEN I'd complain... and often I'd straight up try my hardest to avoid visiting my grandparents.
I'd complain over my grandma "not loving me." "Why didn't she have ANY pictures of any of YOUR kids, Mom?!" And it wasn't until I saw her laying in the coffin that I realized... she had no need to have photos of us, she saw us each and every summer. Whether we'd be happy because our crush finally held our hand in public, pissed because we were called in early from play in order to eat dinner, dirty/sweaty after a long day at the park, she had the opportunity to see us, hear us, smell us, feel us. She would wait 9 months to hear/see all our bullshit antics... she got to know us... go as far as advise us (Her: Go to the dance, AnoMALIE. Me: Why?? Her: So you can ::puts her hands up, as if dancing with an imaginary partner:: dance and find yourself a cute guy!).

These past summers, my college summers, I felt regret over going to Mexico so often. I turned down internships, jobs... things that would help further my science career... all for going to Mexico and spending the maximum amount of days possible. Basically, I felt I had wasted my life, for no reason.
And now that I think about it... all that time STILL isn't enough... it WASN'T enough. My grandma, my grandparents deserved that and much more. They gave me so much, yet I gave so little in return.

I'll never forget our last moment together this summer:

We sat in her room, saying our goodbyes 6 hours before our departure time... she laid in her bed, immobile... her eyes watery, but Mom, Sis, Aunt, and I "cracking jokes" in hopes of making her smile.

Grandma: When are you coming back?
Mom: December.
Grandma: ... that's... too long.
:: two tears roll down her cheeks::

Mom: No... look, it's September, October, November, December. 4 months. You'll see us in 4 months! :)
Sis: When we get back, you'll probably be walking by then! :)
Me: Yeah, Grandma! And we'll all be here for Christmas! :)
She just looked at us... tears still in her eyes...
Grandma: ...no.
::We hug her::
Mom: I want you to get better! Start eating... and... move those legs of yours! :)

She gave us her blessing... gently (not like the way in which we'd complain, saying she'd just "slap" our mouth, instead of the real thing)... and she gave me a real (as opposed to an "air") kiss on my cheek.

...I didn't kiss her.
I ran out of the room.

My resilient... "Iron" grandma... all 4 foot 8 of her... is gone. Now just a sweet, sweet memory. Her 89 years of life, a true testament of the courage, patience, and dedication a woman is capable of possessing.

You finally got to rest, abuelita.

RIP

I leave for Mexico again tonight.

My grandma just passed away...

I've never screamed for anyone like that before...

this hurts.

I have the problem where I seem to think my loved ones will live forever...
once they do go, I feel... surprised... even if they WERE in their 80s... with broken bones... and the worst case of senile dementia.
They're MY loved ones. THEY WON'T DIE.

:(

Poor grandma...
poor mom... her birthday's Wednesday...
:(

At least... I'll have great memories with my grandma, right?
I mean... I WAS the only one who could make her laugh this summer... (I'd sing on guitar hero, and she'd laugh at me... which I didn't mind, because I do anything to make people smile, and to make HER smile, in all that anguish she was in... I'd do ANYTHING, even if it meant having the rest of town think I was crazy with my wail-singing in the mornings and evenings. "WHY DO THEY ALWAYS SEND THE POOOOOOOR!!?!" hahaha)

Abuela, la adoro!!!!
Thank you for EVERYTHING you ever gave me... and I wish I had one one-hundredth of the courage and patience you had.
And thanks for my mean-mug... I represent Garcia to the max with that bad boy!
:)

La Diferencia.

Aunque malgastes el tiempo sin mi cariño,
Y aunque no quieras este amor que yo te ofrezco,
Y aunque no quieras pronunciar mi humilde nombre,
de cualquier modo yo te seguiré queriendo.

Yo se que nunca tu podras jamas amarme.
Que a tu cariño llegué demasiado tarde.
No me desprecies,
No es mi culpa,
No seas mala.
Porque tu eres
de quien quiero enamorarme.

Que daño puedo hacerte con quererte?
Si no me quieres tu, yo te comprendo.
Perfectamente sé que no nací yo para ti,
pero que puedo hacer si ya te quiero?

Déjame vivir de esta manera.
Yo te quiero tal cual y sin condiciones.
Sin esperar que un día tu me quieras como yo,
consciente estoy mi amor que nunca me querrás.

Talvez mañana yo despierte solo,
pero por el momento quiero estar soñando.
No me despiertes tu,
no ves que asi yo soy feliz?
Consciente estoy mi amor,
que no eres para mi.
No hay necesidad que me desprecies,
tu ponte en mi lugar, a ver que harias?

La diferencia entre tu y yo
talvez sería, corazón,
que yo en tu lugar si te amaría.

Ditto.

Attack of the wedding, once again

Yesterday, my good ol' cousin officially jumped into the "I'M MARRIED, MUTHAFUCKA!" wagon.

And yes... I was a bridesmaid... and YES, my day was not... the greatest.

Here's why:

(Hairdresser's place, 9AM, four of us are getting our hair done at the place)

Hairdresser number 1: AnoMALIE, come with me.
(as I walk up to HDN1, to walk towards her chair)
Hairdresser number 2: (in Spanish) HDN1, do you know how to comb hair?
Hairdresser number 1: (pausing) ... yeah... I think I do.
Me: (internally) Grrrreat! I'm FUCKED!!!

(a little later, same place)

Hairdresser: So, who's the bride?
Me: None of us... she's related to the bride, the rest of us are related to the groom.
Hairdresser: How old are you?
Me: 24
Hairdresser: So when are you getting married?
Me: (internally) So I can be the ex-wife, mother of five, to some ex-cholo like you are? (spoken) Never!

-When I went to get my make-up done, my sis and little cousin had the awesome make-up artist... while I got the one who looked like Marylin-Manson-Phase Rose McGowan... No need to discuss how I turned out.
-Church time rolled around and I was the last one to be told who I was partnered up with (I don't like ending my sentences with prepositions, but I'm in a hurry to finish... but it's fucking killing me!).
-I was the tallest girl, and my poor godfather (my partner), was down to my ear...
-After church, I came home to change into flip flops for the rest of the wedding.
-I watched my godson treat OUR cousin like his girlfriend all night. It was... awkward as fuck.
-My brother got HAMMERED... I mean... fucking trashed... and was going around making an ass of himself with all the family members he could find, no matter their age (toddlers to 80 something year olds... he did not discriminate).
- The bridesmaid dress was a piece of shit. It kept rolling off my shoulders... to the point where the front of my bra was showing, in its entirety, when we did the traditional dance in which all the bridesmaids hold hands, single-filed, and run around the entire salon. I could not do a thing about it, since both my hands were busy, and I was in mid sprint... NOT COOL. I might as well have gone to the wedding in a skirt and Bustier.

More things occurred... but the thing that ruined the night, by far, was my drunken brother. We had to bring him home, with the help of 4 guys and a girl, before the wedding was over.
I'd be a little more pissed had no one else at the party been drunk...
but you see... it was Open Bar... and... well... boys and girls (alike) were shit faced, left and right.

Oh, the memories!

all ten fingers, all ten toes

I survived.
By a hair.

No, I'm not saying that because I almost fell of a cliff... or even had a gun pointed at my face (I did have a gun pointed at me, but it was at a military checkpoint, so it doesn't count), but because there were plenty of circumstances where I felt I'd die of a heart attack.
The vibe this summer was... surreal, to say the least.
It was a war zone, plain and simple. The law vs. The criminals... and the criminals are winning, CLEARLY.

I spent a majority of the time crying... ok, not crying (I only did that at night, maybe four times in all), but I whined a lot. And I almost got on a bus to come back to Vegas 3 times.
My day consisted of: waking up as late as possible, that usually being 11AM, playing Guitar Hero World Tour (and mastering all 4 "instruments," including the vocals... where I learned I could probably replace Chris Martin in real life without anyone noticing... well, up until we'd have to go on tour or film music videos, where they'd see that no, I am NOT an emaciated British man) from 12-2PM, watching my soap opera from 2-3, studying for the GRE from 3PM to 6PM (I looked FORWARD to this! Can you believe that?!), preparing to go out to the park from 6-7, going to the park and sometimes playing volleyball (when the dumb cunts would let me... my God, was there hostility towards me this year!) from 7-9:15PM, moping around the house until my brain couldn't take it anymore and gave up the fight against the sandman... which would be around 1 AM.
I avoided going to the "cities," out of fear of bumping into the "Zetas."

All in all... it was terrible.

And no... it DID NOT help me forget the June Cancun Debacle.

(However, coming home sure felt great... my friends are the shit!!!)

Guh-bah!

I leave for Mexico later today.

We're traveling through Juarez.

...
In all honesty, I've never been so scared.

Please, I mean this with all my heart: pray for my family.

My only wish is to come back alive from this shit (to suffer some more because of love troubles... haha).

Have a great life, people... mine is spiraling out of control.

I've never been there...

So... I came clean to MGH in Cancun.
Of course, I needed the help from my cousin... and I waited until Thursday to let him in on the news.

I spent Thursday visiting Chichen Itza from 6 AM until 8 PM. I was driven to my hotel only to be told it was on fire.
yes...
My hotel was on fire, and I had to stand outside.
We were evacuated, but I was worried because MGH and Mooney were separated from my sis and I, since they didn't go on the tour with us.
After being allowed to my room in complete darkness to collect "only the essential!" I was reunited with Mooney and MGH. We took a taxi to a different hotel that we were set up to stay for the remainder of our visit.

I noticed MGH was a bit weird... and he then told me Mooney had told him I "needed to tell him something" and that I "would get sad whenever he went out with his friends."
I would have told him the truth right then and there, but since TravelinDin was in the room, I acted like he was crazy.
We proceeded to go to a nightclub... all 11 of our gang (we befriended all the teens of the hotel, haha), where I noticed he would hang around us more often than usual (we had gone to another club on Sunday, where he pretty much vanished into the crowd after half an hour).
I danced with him for a while, but once 3 AM rolled around, my sis was ready to drop and she wanted to leave. So we did... hence, I couldn't talk to him about the day's events.

The fact MGH hadn't said anything about Thursday was bugging the shit out of me, so come Friday afternoon, I told him after a dinner at Margaritaville.
Originally, I wasn't going to... but I was buzzed from a loaded margarita (I also hadn't had food that day, so I became buzzed almost immediately).

Mooney and TravelinDin left Margaritaville, but I heard a song that stopped me in my tracks as I was walking out.

Me: THIS IS MY SONGGGG!
MGH: Then let's stayyy!
Me: Oh my God... why are they playing THIS song?
MGH: IDK... let's listen.

So these break dancers started doing a show on stage to my song.
The liquid courage got to me, and I said:
"Mooney told me what she old you..."
MGH: About what?
Me: (giving him my "Oh, don't you act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" look, but at the same time immediately regretting ever opening my mouth) You know..
MGH: About you getting bummed out when I go out?
Me: No... come on... she said someth... oh my god... did that guy just do that?!
(I look over to the break dancers who were doing some crazy shit with their bodies)
Me: Man, these girls are gone! let's catch up!

And... that's how that ended.
He acted like he didn't know what was going on... this can't be good... he doesn't want me to talk about it... I know it... wow... just... wow...
No need to press the matter... I felt stupid enough.

I finally told him "you know... Mooney told you the truth... I do like you" at 1 AM today. No, not on the phone... not on skype... through a message on facebook.
Yes. I said a lot of things... including this line, that may sound corny as fuck, but I meant/mean with all sincerity: To me, you are perfect.

I avoided him the rest of the day... No need to say more... I know the outcome.

He left for Mexico today...
I leave for another part of Mexico Tomorrow.
I won't see him/hear from him until late August, if I'm lucky.

And that's how we end things with that story (sorry I got you involved in this, Mooney... but you have no idea how much I appreciate your assistance. Thank you. You were right... it felt good to get it all out... to be blunt about it... even if the outcome was not the one desired. Let's never speak of this again... I feel stupid enough for involving you in all this shit :( ).

But let's get to the imprtant part of this all: What was the song playing in the background as my heart was breaking Friday afternoon at Margaritaville?
The song that stopped me in my tracks, gave me courage, and eventually made everything seem to go in heart-breaking slow motion?



I kid you not.
:(

My life is a motherfucking movie... one in which I don't enjoy being such a lonely protagonist.