Monday, December 31, 2007

End of the year awards, season 1

Last day of the year, so I might as well type up some sort of end-of-the-year list.

I'll do it on the best and worst of 2007:

Best of AnoMALIE's 2007:
1) I joined a gym.
(Not only that, but I stuck with it. I'm now an addict of weight lifting, squats, lunges, and feeling the burn on my triceps. I like yoga... but I still giggle a bit at the thought that I'm supposed to feel something other than... a good stretch. I'll never be a good yogi. I also like the kickboxing classes, but I decided to go easy on that for a while because I could have sworn I'm going deaf[er] with that loud ass techno music blaring for an hour and a twenty minutes. I have FutureDentist Friend and Chase to thank for my membership... they peer pressured me long enough for me to finally say "Fuck it, let's do this thing!" My eternal thanks to them. I'm a new person thanks to them... a new, endorphin-addicted person, thanks ladies!)
2) I graduated.
(This one encompasses everything that came along with it. I left UNLV. I left Biology. I get to relax. Yeeeah! I proved a ton of bastards wrong by not getting pregnant, not dropping out, not becoming an alcoholic [am I turning into one now that school's out? Nah. I just drank for a week, but I quit that shit], and just sticking to my guns and completing what I set out to do. Don't ever tell me I can't do something... I'll prove you wrong then dig your fucking bigoted nose in your own shit. :) I also received the most amazing graduation present ever... thinking I wasn't going to get it when I asked. I'll visit London and Madrid... Manchester and Bilbao... shit, I might even get to travel to my family's home town of Malaga. I'll finally see Manchester play live... and I'll get to scream my heart out at Cristiano Ronaldo. I'm stoked... I feel better than I would have felt if my parents would have actually given me that pony I asked for back when I was 6... it's an unbelievable feeling. Things are finally going a little bit my way. I finally get to take a breather... and live for once without the worry of having to get the grades in school. Let us hope I don't go crazy not knowing what to do with myself now that I don't have school to stress me out)

And as hard as I may try... those are the only two things I can think of that were positives in the year 2007.

Worst of AnoMALIE's 2007:
1) My family stumbled upon a gold mine.
(I won't go into details about this... as it makes me uncomfortable. People would think getting bank, the crazy amount we got as well as the crazy way in which we acquired it, would be nothing but good news. Not so. Biggie Smalls had a point when he said "More money, more problems." The manner in which people turn on you, and how quick it all happens, is astounding.)
2) My maternal grandfather died.
(I understand people die. I understand he lived a long, fruitful life with his 86 years... however... so much was left unsaid. I never apologized... I never asked for an explanation... and the scars remain. I didn't think his death would affect me in the manner it did... I thought everything would be solved with his death... I hated him so much, I thought I'd stop hating and be released of feeling anything once he died. But the opposite occurred. I became discombobulated. I cried too much. It was too much work to get up in the mornings sometimes. The remorse wouldn't let me smile. Shit... to this day, sometimes the remorse attacks me out of the blue. I hate him. I love him. I miss him. I feel relief of some sort knowing I won't have to fake respect for him when I go to Mexico. Relief in knowing I won't hear another embarassing story of what he's been up to since I last saw him. And then I feel bad about feeling like that. However, the damage is done... and I have to learn to live with it... make do with what I have. Fuck. Grow up, AnoMALIE.)
3) My father was diagnosed and treated for colon cancer.
(I spent months cheering my mom up after her dad died. Once Dad was told he had cancer... I freaked... and I could tell Mom became worried for us. I don't want them to lose their father too. It was tough being strong for Dad... acting like I wasn't worried and telling others they were stupid for ever being worried about anything going wrong. I hated being the one taking him to his appointments... and then putting on a front about "Oh! That's great!! You're going to be fine!" each time the doctors would say something that would worry the shit out of me. I hated holding my tongue around my brother. I hated keeping Dad's problem a secret from Older Brother. It was a hassle to go around telling everyone to please be quiet about my Dad so that Older Brother wouldn't find out.
Once Dad was operated, a new problem arose. The flocks of people... my Dad's complaining... his HORRIBLE case of paranoia. Geeze, I'm still dealing with it now.
And seriously, while I love God and Jesus and I'm comfortable [FINALLY] with my religion, I don't want to be lectured on any of the above for the next twenty years!! PLEASE!! Please, if you're going to mention thanking Jesus/God for my father being fixed, PLEASE go through the trouble of praying for, and thanking, the surgeon who fixed my father. If it weren't for that man, I probably would have driven to San Fransisco and jumped off the fucking bridge... or kept it even closer and just driving to Hoover Damn and jumping to my death. That man was so patient and explained things so calmly, I'll be indebted to him for life. "Gracias a Dios!" Yes, thanks be to God... but also for the man who did the dirty job of cutting Dad open correctly)

While there were plenty of honorable mentions for Best/Worst things that occurred this year, that's all I care to write about, really.

I think this year ranks in my top 5 for WORST EVER. Right up there with the year I found out Altar Boy impregnated that whore in 2001, and that one year where I seemed to be my "best friends" punching bag back in 1994.

May 2008 be one of the most amazing ever.
Resolutions (if any) tomorrow.

Happy New Year's Eve!

Sunday, December 30, 2007

V is for...

Rumor alert!!

Today, I was made aware of one of the stupidest comments EBT has ever said.
What was said?

Well, according to him (this comes from co-workers of his, which coincidentally are employed by my parents) he--drum roll, please-- is a virgin.


If EBT's a virgin, then I'm a motherfucking rock star.

Whatever, buddy... gave me a good laugh, nonetheless... for a couple of hours.

What didn't make me laugh, however, is this dumb little bitch I hung out with today.
Mooney, you were very right in declining to go to the movies with us.
I won't go into details, just that the dumb little cunt is so fucking spoiled, she ruined all my plans for the day, and we had to cater to each and every one of her stupid ass demands.
We didn't go see Juno like I had planned... we drove up and down g.damn Las Vegas... and we went to the fucking Forum Shops...

I'd be furious right now... but Little Sister bought me this as we browsed through the Nike Store:

Does that girl know how to cheer me up, or what?
I'm so easy, I hate myself...
But man, oh man... am I fucking dying for it to be March 1st already!

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Not so free in that zone

Well, I guess after last night I can mark three things off my "To do before I die" list:
1) Check out a gay bar.
2) See a drag show.
3) Get my ass grabbed/fondled by a female stranger.

Now, honestly, none of that has ever been on my list (no shit, Sherlock), but it all happened last night.

Before the bar thing happened, I accompanied Chase to her band practice, and I was astonished by the similarity between one of her band mates and Ray Romano's voice. I mean, the likeness is uncanny.
The entire time, I found myself thinking "Keep talking!!! I feel like I'm in the presence of Ray! I miss Ray..."
I also wanted him to keep talking, or anyone else for that matter, because I was stuck listening to the one other person there who's not part of the band (but thinks she is), the wife of... I think he's a basist?
She talked... and talked... and talked... even when all I would do would be smile... or nod... or look in her direction.

She was trying to force me to drink a Bud Light... but she couldn't hear me saying "I don't like beer!!" Instead, she thought I didn't want to drink because I felt bad about "wasting her money."
She leaned in to me and screamed:
"Listen!! I make in one day, what you make in a year!! SO DRINK UP!! Don't feel bad about wasting my money."
I smiled... held back my urge to grab the open beer, turn it upside down on her lap, then get up and leave... but instead, I screamed "I. DON'T. LIKE. BEER!!!!"
"What kind of person doesn't like beer?!"
"Umm... me."
So she went on and drank... I think maybe 7?
At her 7th, she then proceeded to talk to me about what a sham marriage is. She told me never to get married, unless I found that ONE guy who'll still give me butterflies in my stomach each time he kisses me... then it's ok to get married.
I nodded.
Then she went off and talked about boobs.
How big boobs are great... how she loves her boobs... and how people thought she got her boobs only to call attention.
She then goes:
"If I wanted to call attention, don't you think I could just do this..."
She grabbed her left tit and proceeded to lick it... and I mean lick that thing like a hungry baby calf .

What do you do when you see a 37-year-old woman licking her left boob in front of you?

I was more than ecstatic when it was time to leave the place.
Sure, bummed I wasn't going to hear Ray Romano's voice anymore... but fucking alleviated that I was no longer going to see this lady do weird shit to herself in my presence (if you want to do weird shit, do it in the privacy of your own home... or I guess a club).

Anyway, from there, we called our group of friends and asked where they were.
Where were they?
Free Zone.
And a little hammered.

I was reluctant at first (here I have family members constantly thinking I bat for the other team because I refuse to get a boyfriend... and now... if by some off-chance they see me walking into a gay bar... I can only imagine the damn roaring rumors this action will spark), but seeing the state DiabetesType1 Friend was in (she greeted us a block away from the club, because that's where we found parking), Chase and I decided to go in and check on the other two girls inside (Chase said she heard FutureDentist Friend screaming "Woooo-hooo!!" over the phone... so it was safe to assume she was tipsy as well).
En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo... God, here I go...
The bouncer at the club was a lot more cautious about letting me in the place than any other bouncer I've encountered.
He checked my ID meticulously... then made me remove my glasses... inspected my ID some more, and finally let me in.
Was it because I was smiling in person?

We then got in and saw why FutureDentist Friend was screaming: a drag show was going on.

Yes... we were up close and personal with the drag queens.
I must say... those guys have great make-up skills... and it saddened me to see three of the four had better bodies than me (How can they control their boobs like that?! And no, I'm not talking padded bras... I'm talking BOOBS).

As we stood there watching the show, some fucker decided to sit next to me and smoke his damn Kools...
That, along with the shot and Mai-Tai DiabetesType1 Friend bought me, made up my mind to get the hell out of there and hit the dance floor with the buddies.

So we danced...
And danced...
and danced.

It was comfortable because there weren't any guys trying to rub their crotch on you... or even staring at you. Well, actually, there were only two guys doing that... and I'm guessing they go to the club to do exactly that, bother the straight girls that only dance with their female friends to have a good time being dorks (there was no one to impress, so you know, whatever. I've never really felt that before... except maybe a couple of family get-togethers where I've danced my ass off like that).

Anyway, I noticed gay dudes are pretty touchy feely.
They won't think twice about moving you over by grabbing you firmly in the waist with both hands.
Well, then... thanks, dude... I guess... that's better than you poking my ribs with your elbow... I suppose.

And the ladies?
Well... there were a good amount of chicks that looked straight to me. Most chicks that weren't straight were there with their girlfriends... so there was not much to worry about.
But of course, since you're dealing with AnoMALIE and her shitty luck, of course she was going to be the one to get groped by an overly aggressive lesbo.

I was standing there... minding my own business,
Man... they have a pole in the middle of the dance floor!!

when all of a sudden I feel a small, slender hand grabbing the small of my back.
Whoa, there, buddy, if you want me to move, just push me!
The hand then proceeds to caress my entire left ass cheek in an S motion down, and when it reached the bottom, she cupped her hand, then spanked me lightly.
Instead of screaming, or punching her--like I would have done, to anyone grabbing my ass, had I been my usual self... or had I not downed alcohol at the speed of light upon entering the establishment-- I stood there like a deer caught in headlights.

Did I... did she... I got... Oh my God...

I just turned to Chase and said
"That girl just touched my ass..."

So what did we do?
We went to the very far corner of the dance floor and made an impenetrable circle where we danced until the back of our necks were soaked in sweat. I took the spot directly in front of the wall... so no sneaky bastards (female or male... what a hassle) could get behind me (why must I have such an irresistible ass?! To the wrong people, of course... 'cause you know, we're talking about ME. My ass could never be irresistible to someone like, say, Cristiano Ronaldo).

So there you have it... I went to a gay bar... and while it was fun to see guys weren't being your typical creeps who want to slip GHB into your drink or ass rape you on the dance floor, it was a little annoying to have to watch yourself from the ladies. It was also depressing to see the good-looking drag queens... they do a better job at being a girl than I ever will.

Just sad...
Now if you don't mind... I gotta go shower...
My poor little ass is just a tad bit disturbed...
the Body Pump instructors didn't warn me about this.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

I should place an add

Yesterday I agreed to be a bridesmaid for my cousin/hairdresser's wedding.
That marks the... maybe sixth or seventh wedding I'm a bridesmaid for since 1998 (I know, I've been in the game for that long. How fucking depressing).
And let's not forget the... seven or eight Quinceañeras I've been in (those shits are pretty damn similar to weddings if you ask me).
Give me three more years, by then I'll so beat that chick in the upcoming "27 Dresses" movie.

Talking about movies, there's a ton out there that I feel urged to watch.
First, and while I feel like a douche admitting this, I want to watch I Am Legend.
That little wish is coming true today, since there's a dude who wants to watch it way more than I do ("I don't give a shit! I'm going to watch that movie even if I have to go all by my motherfucking self!!" direct quote from him, yesterday, which surprised me because the guy never cusses), and I agreed to accompany him because I feel bad thinking about him sitting in a movie theater all by himself watching an old movie.

Anyway, I also want to watch:
-Sweeny Todd (I offered to go watch this one yesterday... and it's when Never-Cusses-Boy went on a cussing tirade. Ok, dude, chill!)
-The Kite Runner (Everyone I've talked to about this movie has said they won't go because they don't want to cry. What's so wrong with crying, motherfuckers? It's a touching movie, so what?!)
-Walk Hard (I'm a sucker for this type of movie... and while I see nothing wrong with crying, I also want to laugh during this time of the year. I forgot to bring it up yesterday during the heated, swear-word infested debate)
And maybe, JUST maybe:
-P.S. I Love You. (I'm a girl. Yeah. Plus, I just saw 300 for the first time last week, and I'm now madly in lust with Gerard Butler. Mmm...mmm...mmmmm)

However, the movie I want to go watch with all my might is:

The problem in that is that the people I'm hanging out with this week would rather be shot than go to that movie.
Dude... why must I have such eclectic taste in movies (ok, maybe not that eclectic, but still, they're movies most of my friends would frown upon like "WTF is this indie shit?!" when in all reality, not all of them are indie flicks)?
And why must I be such a pussy and agree to watch some damn film I'm probably going to be laughing (and not at the appropriate times) all the way through?

Resolution right here (one of many, I suppose): In 2008, I'll quit being a chump and not agree to go to movies I know I'll dislike (it's getting pretty damn expensive to put up with this little addiciton of mine of not being able to turn down movies).

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Drink up! Merry Christmas!

What have I been up to this past week?

Sweet, sweet lord...
Oh so much.

And by "Oh so much," I mean "I can't remember most of it because it's all a fucking drunken haze."

While I have in my possession photographs from two of my three drunken episodes of the past week (I was smart enough not to bring one for the EBT/CSID outing last Tuesday, I did take some to the drinking events I went to Thursday and Sunday night), I'm only posting photos from Thursday, since it was my graduation party/21st birthday party of one of my buddies.

Tuesday's outing will never be mentioned again after today.
To summarize that day in less than 500 words:
I went out, freaked out thinking they were taking me to The Green Door for a minute, got tipsy off two Cuba Libres (I fucking hate rum), got a little vocal about my true feeling towards EBT (e.g. "Well, I did think you were cool before you started fucking all those girls... like my cousins," "You know... sometimes I just want to fucking erase you from my world... but it's so hard because you're so cute and smart... and you know, I act like I hate you and want to ignore you... but if you wanted to kiss me right now... I'd totally be all for it... you have green eyes? Dude, I thought they were hazel... I love green eyes!" I'm such a slut, dude), EBT gave me "the talk" (no, he didn't tell me where babies come from... although I'm sure he wouldn't have been too bothered in showing me. He gave me the "If I haven't approached you sooner, it's because I'm thinking seriously about you. I'm getting old... you're finally free... let's see where this goes... maybe we can settle down together" talk), and I laughed/cried as I tried to turn him down gently (My last words were "Give me a month or two..." when I really wanted to say "Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!!" ... but he has green eyes!! God, I'm such a moron. I just figured come February, I'll be in London and his ass will not be able to follow me there).
From this day forward, I will say no more on the subject of my outing with EBT on his birthday. It never happened, yeah?

So I "recuperated" all Wednesday.
Then came Thursday night.
I'll let the pictures do the talking (no, I won't, I'll have to add captions):

(This here's the view from our suite... it was a fucking awesome suite... number 2253-- aka my age next to my basketball jersey number-- and it was all by sheer luck, the number of course. We got the room free thanks to our Mexican hook-ups... hence why being Mexican is fucking awesome. While we're known for doing the "dirtier" jobs... we'll have some of the best connections thanks to that, and of course, we'll all group together to bring a great night out to fruition. It was a beautiful thing, really, the team work... brought a tear to my eye)

(That's a diagram of where our room was located. See the red dot? Yeah... we were THAT great at hooking it up. 22nd of 23 floors, room facing the strip, smack dab in the middle. Too bad it was a girls night out... we didn't have any guys to impress and then bed because they'd be so turned on by our powerful connections... j/k, guys wanted to come, but we'd never give up the room number. Fuck them if they thought they were going to party with us and our liquor)
(That right there was the first thing "The Girls" did when they saw the view from our room. I, being an innocent goody-two-shoes, was mesmerized by the Bellagio being across the street... "The Girls" just wanted to flash the people on the strip. Hoes. J/k The girl in the far left is blurred because she really went all out when it came to flashing the strip. Nut.)
(Then the drinking began. The girl in the pink was buzzed... singing and dancing on the pillar there... and throughout the night, she bumped the hell out of the slab... to the point where she was bruised the next morning. To the left, you can see the goodies the butlers--yey!! Butlers!!-- left us. Sure, there was plenty of liquor, but they also gave us SO much cheese... I swore off [fancy] cheese the next morning.)
(Now the drinking is getting serious... with our neat-o game of loteria. I, of course, lost this round and had to take a swig of Crown Royal... after I finished off half a bottle of Absolut, one you'll notice is not in the picture, 'cause guess what? It's in my lap! The girl in the pastel pink was a wuss... she had a baby shot of Grey Goose and called it a night. Girl in the pink, being the birthday girl, totally seconded--sp? is that a word? I use it in Spanish, I don't know if it's used in English-- my motion and was getting twizzzted at a much faster pace. The guy in the red was showing us a bunch of neat-o games. He was friends with Pastel Pink, so he kept all the shit tame and lame)
(It's 3:30 AM, Do YOU know where your kid is?
We were busy finishing bottles. Ok, I wasn't plastered-plastered because I had to take care of the children [because I'm the one who's been going to Body Pump the last seven months. I knew that'd come back and bite me in the ass]. As you can see, the girl that completely flashed the strip is missing by now, but that's because she's in bed, trying to sleep while her vomiting will not permit it. The other girls [while they did puke later on in the night] I had to keep from going out of the room, because they kept getting the urge to go to leave to God knows where, and at one point, some dude tried opening the door-- a complete stranger. Needless to say, that sobered me the fuck up... so I started taking pictures like this one)
(It's 4 AM, newbies aren't so fantastic now. I still have to be alert and ready to kick ass if need be, so I stayed awake... sobered up... sort of... while watching cable [Yey!! Cable!!]. Intermittently, the girls would wake up... I just remember having a conversation with Birthday Girl one of the times while watching some sort of extreme sports show... it was skateboarding, park discipline... and Ryan Sheckler was on... and I just remember referring to him as my "16-year-old boyfriend" and then correcting myself by saying "He's 16 here, but he's turning 18 on the 30th..." [how did I know that??] and so, we laughed... then I changed it to some soccer channel... only to see Cristiano Ronaldo was on... and I then said "Now this guy... he's the fucking love of my life!!" to which Birthday Girl responded with "God, AnoMALIE... I didn't know you liked so many guys!" Hello... I'm a girl! Just because I don't go ga-ga over the usual Mexicans we're around DOES NOT mean I don't like guys... it just means I don't like THOSE guys)
(I managed to take a picture of my buzzed self at some point. I stayed awake the entire night-- I'm a good care-taker like that-- but everyone woke up at 7 AM, after Birthday Girl's sister called saying her dad was going to catch her if she didn't come home ASAP [Birthday Girl came because she kind of, sort of, lied to her parents about where she was going to be all night. I did as well, but I'm a fucking pro at it. I was not missed when I didn't come home to sleep that night]. I had to change into some jeans and my Notre Dame hoodie, take my sister's keys, leave my heavily intoxicated sister to take care of Vomiting LVBLVD Flasher, and drive my sister's car to Birthday Girl's home. I only imagine that kind of fast action being taken by a damn sancho when his lover's husband shows up and he now had to make a quick getaway. Anyway, I then received a phone call from Sister saying she was going to meet me at Birthday Girl's home, because VLVBLVDF was bringing her there. Luckily, Birthday Girl lived 10 minutes away from the Hotel/Casino.
And that, my friends, sobered me up automatically, and 100%... and made me come home at 7:30 AM. I stayed awake until 9:15 AM... at which point I said "Congratulations to me!" and fell fast asleep in the middle of Live with Regis and Kelley. I woke up at 1 PM, and then had to act like nothing was going on for the rest of the day... which was one of the hardest things I've had to do as of yet)

Then came Sunday (I was having such a hard time Friday-Saturday... my memory sucked ass... and each time I told myself I was going to blog about my experience, I'd forget. I just wanted to sleep... and kill the creators of Absolut Vodka).
Ah yes.
I took pictures... and video... but I will never, ever, ever post them up.
It was a more intimate setting (I mean, we weren't in a casino playing Loteria with a butler)...
And all the girls in attendance came out of it crying.
I learned these three things that day:
1. Jägermeister fucks me up QUICK.
2. Jäger Bombs are the fucking devil (Chase couldn't stop talking about my blog, and I... couldn't stop talking about my blog).
3. I couldn't have picked a better group of females to call my friends. They're fucking amazing and I'm just upset it took me so long to find them!

Now... even after all this craze and confusion... round two is coming up starting tomorrow... and sweet Baby Jesus, please give me strength to make it through the next week... and then I swear, never again.

I'm allowed to act wild just once in my life... right? What better reason than me saying "Fuck, guys, I totally graduated even after fucking up three classes... I came right back and kicked motherfucking ass!! And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school! I'll die of alcohol poisoning instead." (And no, believe it or not, I did not say that ONCE this weekend... even while intoxicated. Ok... maybe I did say "And NO, I'm NOT going to be a fucking doctor... fuck medical school!" once)
I'll be sweet, designated driver, ex-Catholic School teacher AnoMALIE once again... until I go to London this February and hunt down the Manchester U squad all over England, that is... haaaaa... all bets are off then... ALL bets.

Which reminds me: Merry Christmas (I only got one crappy present this year: an off-teal/grey sweater... with beaded roses all over... that totally screams "I'm a 40-year-old soccer Mom whose husband is totally boning the nanny, but I don't give a fuck because I'm an alcoholic and have a country club membership, and I myself get boned by all the pool boys! Do I need to get some more Botox?" Hot stuff)!!

Wednesday, December 19, 2007


No need to call the cops, I survived (but not unscathed. I'll talk more about this once I get a little more of my dignity back).

Anyway, with less than a week left until Christmas, I have yet to go shopping.
I was going to go today with Little Sister... but since Twiggy was going to be accompanying her, I decided against it.
Once Little Sister came back, she said:

AnoMALIE... what do you want? You're so fucking impossible to shop for!!

This is probably the only case where I'll definitely mean it when I say:
It doesn't matter.

As long as it comes from the heart, that is.
Don't you go giving me no bullshit socks unless it has a particular meaning... I'll give you points even if you bullshit the reason.
What's so hard about that?

(I tried playing it cool when she mentioned "someone" was going to get me Guitar Hero but thought twice about it because I don't like video games. I said "Oh... whatever dude... whatever comes from the heart." When what I really wanted to say was "Is he/she fucking stupid?!?! Of fucking COURSE I want Guitar Hero!!")

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Christianity tree?

My sister's been bitching about putting up our Christmas tree for the last week or so.
She bitched, and bitched, and bitched until yesterday, when Mom finally pulled out the box containing the tree.

Instead of going about and decorating the tree like we thought she would, Little Sister decided she was going to sit behind me at the office, until I logged off-line.
Me: Dude, that tree over there's waiting for ya... why don't you let me finish up here and then I'll call you over to get on-line?
LS: I want to get on NOW.
Me: Well, you could easily be helping Mom with the tree while I finish doing what I'm doing...
LS: No! Why am I the only one responsible for fixing the tree?!
Me: Because you've been bitching about it for a week now. I could care less about the tree. I didn't want the tree. I don't need the tree.
LS: So what if I wanted the tree?! Is it so wrong I didn't want this house to look like... some atheist house like you want it to look?!
Me: Oh yeah... because nothing says "I love Jesus" like a tree in the middle of your living room. Pardon me, I forgot.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to believe my sister's a 20-year-old working woman.

The tree is yet to be decorated:

Monday, December 17, 2007

Yeah, sure, ok

8:25 PM, I walk into Mom and Dad's room, ignoring the fact that I could hear familiar voices that made my stomach turn.

(What should have happened)

Me: Bye Mom, bye Dad.
(notice ex-boyfriend-thing at the other side of Dad's bed... along with his stupid piece-of-shit cousin I hate with a passion and if it were up to me, I'd kick his fucking ass and then have him deported back to Mexico... the cock-sucker -- gee, hate much? What ever gave you that idea? Anyway, I roll my eyes, but greet them with a hypocritical, huge smile)
Me: Oh, hey fuckers! Well... I'm off to the gym! Don't ever do as much as look in my direction again, yeah? Peace.

(What really happened)
Me: Bye Mom, bye Dad!
(notice ex-boyfriend-thing at the other side of Dad's bed... along with the cock-sucker I despise, and I walk over to their stupid side to give them the mandatory Latin Hug-and-kiss. God, I hate being a Latina sometimes)
Ex-Boyfriend-Thing: Hey AnoMALIE! It's been ages!
Me: (internally) I know motherfucker... you think it's accidental? I work hard at keeping it that way, menso! (spoken) I know! What has it been... over a year now?
EBT: Yeah... something like that, AnoMALIE!
Cock-Sucker-I-Despise: Que, yo estoy pintado aqui o que? (roughly translated to "What? Am I painted over here, or what?")
Me: Oh... (internally) bitch, you don't even exist in my world (spoken) Oh, hey CSID. (Unlike with EBT, I don't think twice about being rude to CSID)
CSID: Yeah, I saw you at the Enanitos Verdes/Hombres G concert last month.
Me: (internally) How could I forget, bitch, you ruined the night.
CSID: Yeah... I saw you give me the cold shoulder... or... you could have been busy.
Me: (internally) Fuck you. Calling me out in front of my parents... you fucking little snitch. Pussy. (Spoken) Oh, no, I saw you. I gave you a head nod... but come on... it was Enanitos Verdes! I love them... I'm in my own little world when they play.

(CSID gives me his trademark smirk that makes me want to slap the taste out his mouth)

I was there too... but I didn't see you, AnoMALIE...
Me: (internally) Maybe because your little underaged girlfriend keeps your leash too short, idiot. (spoken) Oh, hmm... I didn't think you liked Spanish rock... (internally) you always listened to soft-girly "rock" singing about "como te va mi amor, como te va? En el silencio la pregunta entre tu y yo." At least, that's the only thing I ever heard in your car.
EBT: I think we should hang out more, AnoMALIE!
Me: Yeah well... what can you do? (internally) And what? Have me killed by your possessive, psycho, alcoholic kidlover? Pass!
Dad: But you just finished school... you have a ton of free time now!
Me: (internally) Thanks a lot, dad... why don't you just take your Oxycodone and sleep a little, yeah?

(I smile... I imagine it similar to the smiley faces kids draw with a squiggle for a mouth)

That's great, AnoMALIE! I'm planning on going out tomorrow...
CSID: For his birthday!
Me: Oh yeah, huh! (internally) 2007-1979 (spoken) You're... 28 tomorrow! (internally) Old man! Why can't I forget your birthday?
EBT: Yeah, so... I think we should hang out.
CSID: Come on! For his birthday!
Me: (internally) I fucking hate you, you parasite!! (spoken) Well... I don't know... I'm sort of busy on Tuesdays (internally) Shit! It's The Biggest Loser season finale tomorrow!
Dad: Doing what?
Me: I... go to the gym until around 10... so I come home around 10:30... I don't think I can go out that late... right, parents? (internally) Yes! I win!
Dad: Oh... isn't that normal for kids your age?
Me: (internally) God... it's 8:35... I gotta jet if i want to make it on time. (spoken) Yeah, I guess... look, it was nice talking to you guys again, but I'm going to be late for class! (internally) Yes! I win again! Quick exit, quick exit!!
EBT: So it's a yes?
Me: Yeah, sure, ok. I'll see you tomorrow.
(I start walking out of the room)
CSID: You're going to need her number
(internally) You fucking maggot. (spoken) Yeah, *say number out-loud* Just ask Mom for it.

I then got in my car and thought about carbon monoxide poisoning (I kid. But I did feel especially shitty at the moment).

Why... oh why can't I be as blunt as I sometimes wish I could be?

Now I have a... now I get to celebrate someone's birthday (crazy how not even my gym attire and pig tails deterred him)... and fear for my freaking life thanks to an overzealous, psychotic girlfriend (Seriously, if I don't report myself in two days, call the fucking cops... his girl's a nut!).

Why can't I be a bitch when it's imperative?!

Friday, December 14, 2007

Snobville, population: +1

I was first told I was to wear glasses when I was a Junior in high school.
I of course, being a great Mexican, withdrew in denial and never wore those things for the remainder of high school.
I was like a mom with postpartum depression... I just hid those glasses in a drawer and wanted nothing to do with those nerd magnets (I was already an AP student... no need to add fucking glasses to the mix).

Well, I started noticing that I had a hard time reading yellow and green dry-erase markers in my calculus class when I entered college.
Of course, I solved this problem by looking over at my neighbor's notes until some blinder bat complained about the stupidity of writing with yellow markers on a board.

My eye problem gained momentum once I got into organic chemistry and chose some shitty seats.
The teacher loved using the overhead projector... and I couldn't see the tiny electrons she'd draw on mechanisms (nerd talk, I know).
That's when I decided to find and wear my old glasses.
I'd quickly put them on once o-chem lecture began, and then I'd get rid of them once the professor finished writing for the day.
Once Organic Chemistry was over, I stashed the glasses back in their hiding spot.

No problems during Fall of 2005... but then came the Spring of 2006.
My worst nightmare.
The Biochemistry professor loved making PowerPoints with disgusting color schemes.
The one I hated with a passion was aqua-ish blue background with white writing. I'd go ape shit when he'd use those colors (I still groan with rage whenever I see some ass use those colors together).
It was freaking impossible to read anything.
Mammalian Physiology didn't help. One professor did the same type of shit.
Buttttt! I did learn my lesson that semester.
No, I didn't learn Biochemistry II OR Mam Phys... I failed those two bitches with a hardcore F. The lesson I learned was: USE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING GLASSES AnoMALIE! Quit living in denial and just wear those damn wire-rimmed glasses for fucks sake, before you go blind!

Well, like a good kid, I wore my glasses for the remainder of my college experience (but only during lecture).
However, towards the end of this semester, I started noticing how I was having a hard time reading very small, distant print while wearing my now-accepted-and-worn-without-a-care glasses. I also had to squint to see people... often times completely ignoring some friends who'd smile at me (I almost lost a few friends over my new "conceited bitch attitude." I'd have to explain that no, I wasn't turning my nose up at them... or giving them the stink eye... I was seriously having a hard time making out any sort of facial feature on a person's face).

This leads me to what happened yesterday.
Tired of being a blind idiot who's scared of driving at night for fear of striking a small animal/child in my boondock side of town, I decided to go for an eye exam.
Mooney's ever so kind to hook it up.
She dealt with my baby attitude when it came to checking my eye's pressure (that's what the air blowing into my eye was for, correct?), not losing her cool the entire... ten minutes I sat there going "No!!! I don't like anything being shot in my eye!!"
Mooney: Well, I'd hope you wouldn't like anything being shot in your eye!
Tests showed I'm now to wear glasses all the time.
To make me feel better (and because she loves me), Mooney gave me a family discount... and that gave me the extra push I needed to buy myself these bad boys:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen... I am now the proud owner of a pair of Dolce & Gabbana glasses!
Fuhhhhhhhhhhhhhck yesssssssssss.

I was told my glasses would be ready in a half hour, so I had to walk around the Fashion Show and get a headache 'til then.
I was getting a bad case of buyer's remorse... but I finally said "Fuck it. I'm graduating... I deserve this little thing!"
When I finally went to pick up my glasses, right before I left, the dude who was helping me pick out the glasses in the first place remembered he hadn't given me the case.
I thought it was going to be your average case (how foolish of me, I should have known Italians do things with fucking style!), but when the guy handed me the case, I almost jumped up to kiss the hand with which he was handing me the case.
Why? Because it looks like this:So beautiful, I get watery eyed just staring at the case in all its majestic glory.
It looks so chic and feminine... Ooooo... ahhh.
Ladies and gentlemen, AnoMALIE is growing up.
Looking a little extra nerdy... but... chic... with her bitchin' pair of glasses!

(Not even a day with them has passed and I'm already getting the elitist attitude D&G buyers have. I realized I get slightly offended when others compare their glasses to mine.
As I sat at a lounge with a couple of friends last night, "celebrating" the end of semester for them, end of college for me, one of the chicks at the table pointed at my glasses and then pulled out her pair of glasses from her bag. "We have the same glasses!" she said, twice. Her glasses were black plastic like mine, that's it. The first time she said it, my head went "Did she just say what I think she said?" The second time I smiled at her, with the desire to throw a fork at her, flipping over her Paella, scream "Where the fuck is your D&G? Fuck that, yours look nothing like mine!" and then spit by her shoe... j/k. I did want to roll my eyes at her though. Instead, I smiled while little sister screamed "Yours are Dolce & Gabbana too?!" as some lame, 1980's merengue music made it difficult for any of us to hear her. I don't know, maybe it was just the mojitos in me that were making me a little snobby last night... who knows?)

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Nothing lucky about it

Yesterday, in my I'm-out-of-school-jubilation, I made the mistake of posting my "status" on Myspace.

I've gotten a good amount of messages regarding my "I'm done with UNLV!" (not exactly what I said, but you get the picture) comment.

I appreciate most of the messages... you know... the nice ones.
They make me smile and help me recognize which mother fuckers I call friends are on their toes when it comes to my welfare (especially since I rarely post shit).

Anyway, point of this is to mention the fact that there's ONE message/comment I CANNOT stand.
Not one bit.

You lucky bitch.
?!?! (I've gotten it from 3 people, male and female. Those exact words)
Now... call me just a bitch, and it's still all good (especially when you're angry... dude, will I feel accomplished!).
Call me a "lucky bitch" when I mention that I fished myself some secret Juanes concert tickets from the radio/Univision news broadcast.
We're still cool then.

However... there isn't anything "lucky" about me graduating.
Fuck no, man.
It's called busting my ass and going insane.
That's what I did these last four years while a shitload of you spent it fucking around, getting shitfaced on the strip every other day (not like you were normal and got shitfaced every other week, or maybe at semester's end).
I skipped parties (or went as far as taking pocket-sized notecards with me to events like Quinceañeras and weddings), made family members angry, ignored friends, missed out on vacations, and lost a fucking ton of my hair by either stressing the fuck out and not getting enough sleep or me just physically pulling it out during those frustrating nights of studying Organic Chemistry and Biochemistry. I even ignored guys, for fucks sake!

I basically lived like a hermit. A freaking monk, dude. (well, I kind of liked the solitude, to tell you the honest truth)

There's nothing "lucky" about me graduating.

So... If I get one more of those comments, I'm going to have to choke a bitch.

Now if you don't mind... I got some shopping/eye-examining/drinking to do with the homies.

I'm done!!

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Mexicans rock his world too!

Into my 5th hour of studying Molecular Biology this afternoon, I overheard Little Sister talking to her... best friend? ex-best-friend-who-is-now-forgiven?... let's just call her the buddy I so lovingly ::scoff:: call "Twiggy."

LS: Omg... really??
LS: So who was there?
LS: That is so cool... girl, that is so cool. I'm jealous.

Little Sister did not sound so "jealous" to me.
When she hung up the phone, I asked what was going on.

LS: Ehh... well, Twiggy was saying how David Beckham was at the Chipotle across school like two hours ago.
Me: ?!?!?!?
LS: Yeah... some dude... I can't remember his name... he's the president of something at school... he was interviewing him or some shit.
Me: ?!?!?!?
Why the fuck am I never around when something so indescribably awesome happens around campus?
I'm there when the AC decides it wants to go on strike... or when there's been an outbreak of fruitflies in the bio building (those little guys know how to go up nostrils and eyes like nobody's business)... or when ants decide they want to take up residence on my favorite wall/sitting area... but I'm never there when someone gets runover at "suicide crosswalk" or when some soccer star is in a building that sells (faaaake!! Ok, maybe not their barbacoa... mmm) Mexican food... I know how to make Mexican food!

At least it wasn't Cristiano Ronaldo.

God... how I needed this break.
I was seeing way too much shit an associating it all with Molecular concepts.
You know that AOL logo that appears right before you're going to get connected? Ok, maybe you don't since I'm probably one of the only fucking losers left in the universe that still uses dial-up (I'm praying to God that soon we'll get cable in this fucking cave we call a home).
Well, it has this picture of three little dudes all over each other waving at you like "come right in, buddy!" and as I was staring at them eagerly waiting to get connected and read my spam, I thought "Why the hell has AOL decided to use TFIID,A,B as a graphic?"

Yes... I needed this break.

But all good things must come to an end... so now I must go back to drinking my Redbull and talking/screaming to myself and drawing and re-writing bullshit notes on a subject I will no longer use in my real life come 8PM, December 12th, 2007.

Ta-ta (boxxxxx!)!
(see, this bullshit consumes my everyday life! G-damn you, biology!)

Sunday, December 9, 2007


Note to self: Don't ever wear UNLV hoodie to a hospital.

Apparently, not only is my UNLV sweater warm and awesome... it also attracts old men.
Annoying, man.

I let the first one slide.
Actually, the first comment directed at me thanks to my sweater amused me.

I was riding down the elevator when this adorable old man in a wheelchair and his huge (as in, many of them) family crammed into the elevator where it was only me and Little Sister.
As this old man's grand kid pushed the wheelchair into the elevator, the old man saw my sweater and in this sort of weak voice said "UNLV?? Booo!"
I had to smile... the man was just too cute
(he reminded me of the late Pat Morita).
The man's older sons apologized to me... I just shook my head like "nah, no problem."
Then they started talking about how awesome Apocalypto is.
...OK?? Is it ok if I start talking about the awesomeness of Mr. Miyagi?
I was cool with that elevator ride... even if it was with an old man who apparently hates my university (I guess I didn't take offense because I can't wait to get the hell out).
Then came the second man who got in my face because of my sweater.

Once again, I was in the elevator, but this time I was going up to Dad's room.
Some guy that looked like a hardcore NASCAR fan in his mid-40's rushed into the elevator, looked me straight in the eye and screamed "UNLV!! YEAHHH!!"


I'll admit, I kind of feared for my life at that instant and tensed up.
I was ready to knee the shit out of anyone in that fifteen second ride to Dad's room.

Then came the last old man that got in my face.

I was walking out of the hospital (at least I wasn't in the damn elevator this time) and walking past the cafeteria when some dude that was hidden from my view thanks to a Christmas tree screamed "U-N-L-V!"
For a second I wondered if maybe I knew this booming voice...
Then I wondered why the fuck nurses don't get more in the faces of nimrods who think it's a great idea to be hollering down the lobby of a hospital.
I stopped to see if maybe the moron was my cousin or some distant uncle since so many seem to be running around the place
(the hospital staff finds it funny how so many folks come see my dad. I believe one time they refered to us as a "wedding party" because it was 12 of us waiting around... but what can you do? We're Latinos, we're supposed to do that).
It wasn't.
It was some huge, robust man in his late thirties with a goatee that sort of looked like a fat
(pardon me, I mean, ROBUST) Brett Favre. RBF gave me the... what is it... "heavy metal" sign? when I looked over at him.

I won't wear this sweater anymore.
I believe Wednesday will be my last time sporting the sweater... it will never see the light of day after that Molecular final is done and over with.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

I don't even need drugs

I'm out of it.

So out of it.

I started the day off by getting in the shower with my sweat pants still on.
When I realized it, I kind of just sat there... and left them on.
Fuck. It.
They needed to be cleaned anyway.
I had forgotten how much I hate the feeling of wet clothes.
After I was out and the pants were in the dryer, I thought about how funny it'd be to take a picture for my blog... but once again, let me reiterate, I'm out of it.

Then, as Little Sister and I had breakfast/lunch (brunch?) at P.F. Changs, I almost gave the waitress a $25 dollar tip, confusing a 20 for one of my singles.
Little Sister caught me on that one... or else, not only would I be out of it... I'd be BROKE and out of it.
I also dropped my chopsticks under the table... I felt like a moron and had to eat my slippery, steamed vegetable dumpling with a fork, like some wanker.

We then visited Mom and Dad at the hospital (more on this later).
Supposedly we were taking Mom lunch, yet I forgot it in the car.
It was cold as shit, it didn't help that we were practically hanging out at Red Rock, but being the good daughter I am, I sent Little Sister to go get it (you didn't think I was going to get it, having a younger sibling at arm's reach, did you?).

I visited Dad from 1:30 to 6, and most of the time... I'd either say "Huh?" each time Dad said something in his groggy voice... or I'd completely ignore him.
I spaced the fuck out for most of my stay (I did accidentally harm him when he asked me to lift him up... he gave me the elbow that had been used to draw blood, how the hell was I supposed to know? I felt like a dipshit when I saw his little elbow bleeding once I put him down).

At 6:15 I left for church on the opposite side of town.
I cut off two cars... one of the times really pissing off one of the drivers who sped up to me to scream some bull... all I did was look over him and do my "What, motherfucker?!" pose (you know, you spread your arms out like a gangster and cock your head up) while mouthing those exact words, making sure to accentuate the "F" by really pressing down on my bottom lip with my incisors... and he left me alone. I guess he was expecting a nice soccer mom and not a spaced out ex-hoodrat.

At church... I don't know what I did... I was zoning out, once again... I didn't follow directions as well as I usually do... I'd remain kneeling for a long while... I'd be the last one to sit down, that kind of stuff.

Coming home I cut off another cholo... he tried catching up to me in his hooptie, but once I noticed it, I sort of feared for my life (and my bottom lip doesn't like it when I so angrily scream "motherfucker" at more than one person in one day) and gunned it until my exit came up.

However, as spaced out and retarded as I may have been, nothing beats Dad when I visited him.
For the first three hours, he was so out of it... that his morphine-induced hallucinations were cracking me up!
1) He told the nurses that he had three daughters (I'm sure Older Brother won't be too glad about that).
2) He was complaining to me about how mean the nurses were, and as he was about to tell me what one of them did to him last night, he just went blank and didn't say a word for about a minute... then he came back and completely changed the subject.
3) When his surgeon came in (this was embarrassing more than it was funny) Dad said "Can I tell you something? When I first met you, I thought you looked like a bum! But now you look so rich and professional!" (God, find me a hole I can crawl into and die!!!)
4) He made a "pee-pee" song he'd say so that Little Sister and I could leave the room while he tinkled (he did it to embarrass us out of the room... with great success). I can't remember it very well... all I know is that he somehow worked the words "changuitas" (little monkeys) and "su papi va hacer pipi" (literally: your dad is going to make pee-pee, but meaning "your dad is going to tinkle").
5) He kept talking about what's going to get people into hell.
6) He asked me about Chase out of the blue.
Dad: And Chase, does she know I'm in here?
Me: Umm... yes, Dad, I told her. ??
Dad: (nods)
Me: ...but only her... (well, in person.)
Dad: Why?
Me: Because I'm not close enough with anybody else... ??
Dad: Ah... ok... yes... it's better if only Chase knows.
Me: ???
7) Once again out of the blue, he says "Man, this stuff (the morphine) doesn't let me cry!! I want to cry!!"
After 5PM he was doing better. He hadn't taken any morphine for about 2 hours... so he wasn't acting all crazy.
He traded "crazy" for "cranky," so I left Mom at the hospital to handle him for the rest of the day.

Party at my house tonight!!!
(yeah... right... whatever. I need to study)

Friday, December 7, 2007

It has begun...

I don't eat when I'm nervous/upset.

Of course, I never really know when I'm upset/nervous.
I'll just notice the adults around me getting pissed off because I turn down everything they offer (have an eating disorder once in your life and they'll never forgive you... even after seven years)... including chocolate... and that's when the angels in heaven sing:

You're upset, AnoMALIE!

First. we got lost trying to get tot he hospital.
Then my sister got a phone call from Older Brother who was asking us what we wanted from Notre Dame... all the while I'm trying to get directions from Mom... and all you hear is me and Little Sister going at it.
Me: Shut the fuck up, for a motherfucking second!!
Little Sister: You shut the fuck up, bitch!!
Me: Look, you little cunt, shut the fuck up before I fucking punch the fuck out of you!
LS: Why don't you try it? Fuck, AnoMALIE, you're such a fucking bitch!!
Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP!! I'm trying to get directions, you dumb, annoying idiot!! This is more important!
Bro: Dang... what's going on?
LS: AnoMALIE's being a fucking dumb bitch right now... let me call you later.
Me: You shut the fuck up!!
I'm so rational, aren't I?

Anyway, once we found the lobby, I sat from 1PM until 4 PM waiting for Mom to come out of Dad's room because supposedly, she was going to stay with him until they wheeled him out for surgery at 2:30.
As the time ticked away, I was ready to take drugs or some shit to make me pass out and make me stop thinking the crazy shit that was running through my mind.
Finally, Mom came out... and then the waiting game continued until 7:30 when the surgeon came out to tell us everything was cool.
Then we played the waiting game some more until 9 to see my very sedated Daddy.

Now I'm home.
Hungry-ish... kind of cranky... with a headache... and I still sort of feel like I'm having an out of body experience.

But my Pops is A-OK.... even 35 pounds lighter.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Bad Host

So Dad's getting cut tomorrow (the proper word to use here would be "going in for surgery," but I'm in no way proper).

He's been relying on me for moral support.
Dad, you sure about this? You're talking about AnoMALIE comforting you... the girl notorious for crying whenever given the "I'm so disappointed in you" speech... from anyone, really.
He seems to think a BS (in my case, it stands for BullShit) in biology means I'm already working on my residency at some hospital.
With the actual knowledge I have, the most I could probably do for him now is give him a lecture on Calmodulin and CaM kinases.
Since I've never had any sort of procedure done... hell, I haven't even broken a bone (well, the only one I broke was the pinky on my right foot--or was it my left?--, and that shit sucked, but I didn't even go to the hospital for that bad boy... I just sucked it up and had one shitty ass summer)... I really can't give him the proper support of "Don't worry, you won't even feel it! You'll be up and about in three days!"

Anyway, Dad's upcoming surgery has brought many visitors to the house.
I say hello to maybe 20 percent of the visitors.
For the most part, I stay in my sister's room and draw (I should probably be studying for finals, but eh, fuck it) or sneak out of the house to go to the gym. I've only been caught once by one of the visitors as I was sneaking out of the house in my gym clothes yesterday. I made some lame-o excuse about "Oh, I'm running late and this class is long... and I didn't want to bother you guys" then I redirected her to the Milano cookies.
What a gracious host I am, right?
I was given props, according to Mom, for giving our guests "gourmet" cookies.
Gourmet when I give you truffles, yeah? It was either that or give Tyson the cookies... and we all know dogs can't eat chocolate.

I guess this problem with pops has brought the family closer.
My jerk uncle who usually talks shit about my dad to everyone came over on Tuesday, and when I walked in the bedroom to say bye to Daddy before school, I saw my uncle had watery/puffy eyes.
Ok, relax you guys... this isn't Steel Magnolias.

And yesterday, my cousin, the husband of the girl who caught me sneaking out of the house, was caught by surprise when they told him Dad had cancer.
Oh my God, uncle! I thought you were going to have like... your appendix removed!
It was amusing to see him trying to finish the last of his Milano cookie with milk.

This has also brought over almost all of Dad's church congregation to the house.
It's pretty obnoxious... but as long as they manage to control my dad and his freak-outs, I guess I can welcome it... and I put up with the chanting/praying/screaming better than if it were under any other circumstance.
However, I can't wait until this is all over and they quit showing up at the house at all hours of the day... taking up my parking spots or preventing my successful exit from the house because they're blocking my escape routes.

The next three weeks are going to be... maddening... I just hope I don't start writing crazier shit up in here... frustrated out of my mind and all that stuff.
If I do, I won't hold it against you if you ignore me for a second, yeah?

If you like being in a hospital all day, clap your hands!!

I hate being a Debbie Downer.

What a way to celebrate my 200th entry, no?

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

I may get shot for this...

But Milano cookies are severely over-hyped.

It took 22 years for me to taste a Milano cookie... and now that I have, I'm definitely not impressed.

Milano cookie + dipped in milk = Yucccccccccck.

I'd rather bite into some garlic than do that again.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007


I'm shy.

I've never been much of a talker, ever... even when surrounded by friends, if there's one new person, I'll keep mum.

I never really noticed how others viewed my quiet persona until the last day of 7th grade.

I was sitting behind my best friend of the time, and her friends had gathered around us as we waited for the bell to ring.
Somehow, and I can't remember what the hell the subject was, I started talking.
I said something witty, and it got a crazy reaction from the people in the group.
After everyone was done laughing, the "tough" one of the group looked over at me and said
"Dude!! You're funny! And here we thought you couldn't talk!"
I looked at her with a look of "WTF?" and someone else said
"Yeah, we all thought you were a mute since you never talk in class! That's why we never really talked to you because we thought we weren't going to understand you."

It was fucking algebra class... how the hell was I going to talk in there?

I just looked over at my friend and asked her why the hell she didn't tell people I talked.
It was a funny moment for everyone in the immediate area, but deep inside, I was sort of hurt and angry.

Anyway! This brings me to what I've been doing recently.
I'm a kid at heart, big time, and I enjoy children's programming almost as frequently as regular adult programming.
I'll watch Arthur when I'm in the mood... I'll watch The Suite Life of Zach and Cody before heading out to yoga Saturday morning... and recently, I've been regularly watching Signing Time (I think that's the name?) on PBS.
I'm really hooked on the show because it teaches kids sign language. The first time I watched it, the host's voice really bugged me... but after seeing the kids they put on the show, my heart melted.
So here you have me, weekdays at 1 in the afternoon, signing along to little kid songs and trying to memorize things like the difference between "flowers" and "Spring" (and also collecting a list of favorites. So far, "Bee" has the edge over "sun").

People sometimes think I'm mute, right? I might as well fuck around with them a little and talk in ASL.
Never again will people have to listen to my aggravating, jocky-voice.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Basket case

My patience as of recently has really been waning.

In church today (man, I was reminded why I avoid mass on Sundays... it gets PACKED) some folks sitting to my right were a little too eager to get their money in the basket, and instead of waiting for the basket to come to them-- so that they could pass it on down to us-- they shoved the money in the face of the people in front. That way, the nice people in the front row could put the money in the basket for them (make any sense? I mean, visually, because logically it just means they're fucking impatient retards).

I became irritated, and signed the letters "r-e-t-a-r-d-s" to my sister.
She pushed my hand down.
Sister: Shhh... what if they understand?!
Me: They don't even know how to work a basket!

I'm mean.

And talking about things that go "Grrr,"

¡¡Vamos Pumas!! (pardon my super Mexican-ess right now, it just runs in my blood to do this. Although... I never get this excited for UNLV. I celebrate UNLV happiness by being a little more gringa and doing things like... screaming "Yeaaaaaaaah!!" all the time)

My boys made it to the final.
Santos 4- Pumas 5
God, I really need to get into la UNAM.

¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
¿Cómo no te voy a querer?
Si mi corazón azul es,
Y mi piel dorada,
Siempre te querré.

I don't care if they don't beat Atlante (I have a thing for them too, but my heart belongs to Pumas), I'm just glad they beat the unstoppable Santos.

And that's the end of my fútbol talk.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

En boca cerrada...

Me: Man... last night I had the worst nightmare...
Little Sister: What was it? (She knows that if she doesn't ask, I'll never sit through any of her dream sequences)
Me: I dreamt that this guy I have a crush on was gay... and that we were best friends and I was helping him look for a boyfriend...
Little Sister: Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Me: Fucked up, right?
Little Sister: You have a crush on someone?!?

Thank you, thank you!
Yes... I'm that good.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Ran over Superman

So I come home from school today, and Mom tells me to go to the garage.

I walk in and I see this:

Ok, Mom, it's just Lex Luthor (the name we gave her car)... what about it?

Look closer.Holy Macaroni! What happened?!

Oh my God! What did you do?!

Lexxxxx!! Man... I can't look anymore... it hurts.
Who was at fault? Mom, of course.
Lex ran over some 19-year-old girl's car.
It was "tricked" out aka had tiny little tires that made it almost invisible to see in Lex the Hoss. Lex just rolled over the car and smashed it, very "à la Monster truck," leaving the poor girl carless.
Mom couldn't see it, girl wasn't paying attention to the road/was eating and texting and now you have a dead white tricked out car, a smashed up Lex Luthor who's probably going to end his days back at the Denver dealer we got him from (Nooo! I wanted him!! I was going to trade Bambi and keep Lex, but now I can't have him because the Dos Santos don't roll in crashed cars... although... Bambi's a smashed car... why the F don't I get a new ride??), and a Mom who will now get the uglier, bigger version of the Lex SUV.

What was the first thing I said to Mom upon seeing it?

And you had the nerve to "ground" me, a 22-year-old, for coming home late last night because "one of these days you're going to get into an accident!!"
What the helllllllll?!

Yes, I was chastising Mom and giving her a hard time.
I still do it when I think about it.

Me: So, Dad, I hear Mom nearly killed you coming home from work today (Dad was in the car with her).
Dad: Yeah, I know... here I am, thinking cancer's going to kill me, but no... it's your mom who's gonna do that!
Mom pouts and goes out of the room.

And I'm gonna keep doing it until Mom lifts this ban, so I can go to the Dollyrots concert with Chase on Sunday.
She already prevented me from going over to Leky's house to play some Guitar Hero with the homies and the cute ass puppies... I'm not about to let this other thing happen.

They keep multiplying

(I'm sitting at a table at a bowling alley, ready to change into some socks, but first I must get the socks from my friend's, AnoMALIE05, boyfriend. Her boyfriend is staring into an endless abyss, I guess, not saying a word)
What are you doing?
AnoMALIE05's Boyfriend: Hold on... I'm trying to take it all in.
Me: What?
A05'sBF: That there can be more than one AnoMALIE in this world and that I'm hanging out with three of them at the same time.
Me: Oh... that.
A05'sBF: I had never heard that name before, until I met my girlfriend. And now you're telling me I'm in the presence of 3? Wow. My head's spinning.
(I sat still, patiently waiting for the pair of socks he was so kindly going to donate to me... for a good three minutes)

That now ranks in my top 5 of "weirdest responses to my name."

Last night I hung out with not one, but two other AnoMALIEs, and our group of friends took full advantage.

We were refered to as "AnoMALIE05," "AnoMALIE04," and "AnoMALIE03" the entire night.
Oddly enough, our high school graduation years go in order like that.

The guys would take turns yelling "AnoMALIE!!" only to have all three of us turn around in unison, completely confused.
How infantile.
I loved it.
Plus, our nicknames weren't as bad as one boy of the group.
When he showed up to the bowling alley, all the guys pointed and said:
"Hey look!! It's Merman!!"
And all of us chicks turned around and wondered out loud,
"WTF is a merman?"
About an hour or two later it hit me.
Oh!! Merman!
He really did look like Mermaid Man, only in a twenty-year-old version.

I blame all these distractions for my all-time low score I've ever bowled in AnoMALIE history.
What was my all-time low score that I've never bowled before, not even when I was 10?
I bowled a 41!

Now, I can't take all the credit, since A05'sBF was partly responsible.
I let him bowl three different frames for me.
The first time he got me a one.
The second time he got me a 5.
The last time he got me a 3.
It didn't help that my first frame I bowled a 0.
And I kept getting one or threes... a couple of fives, and my highest was an 8 at one time.
It was a disgrace.
i let A05'sBF bowl for me because 1) He loves to bowl, and 2) each time he bowled for other people he'd get them a strike.

I'm keeping your socks, motherfucker!!

I screamed at him the third time he bowled me a zero on the first attempt.
I did it in front of a handicapped bowling league (they were all in wheelchairs, some accompanied by their young families) that was having some sort of tournament... and it did make me feel a little bad, but my level of pissed-off-ness far outweighed my level of consideration.

But... aside from all that... I did have fun.
And the day ended with us going out to the boondocks (not the same ones I live in, but in the complete opposite side of the valley) to drop off one of the AnoMALIEs, and seeing a pair of really cute, escaped bunnies running towards us on AnoMALIE05's street.
I would have grabbed one of them (one was albino, the other was half and half black and white--the black being his entire upper side of the body, and the white being his hind quarters) but AnoMALIE05 and her sister convinced me they were evil bunnies who loved biting the shit out of people.

Yes, I'm one of the most gullible humans in the universe.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Why, that's shocking!

For the last couple of weeks, I've been suffering from a very annoying problem.

The problem?

I can't get in/out of a car without getting the shit shocked out of me.
I also constantly feel that gross... tingly feeling... you know... when you know you're charged with electricity... and your hair's about to stand on end.

Well... I originally wasn't going to do anything about it... because this whole electrostatic shock crap never lasts too long with me.

However, the shocks are so damn painful, and so frequent now, that yesterday I decided to investigate what the culprit behind my pain could be (I mainly did it because on my way to school that day, as I was about to get in my car, this huge shock snapped the hell out of my index finger. It made me scream, which then led to my neighbor's dog barking at me quite viciously, then my dog barked right back... and it was just so annoying and loud).

I traced over my steps...
What do I do?
I touch a metallic surface... after coming out of my house...
Where do I go?
School... gym... church... casinos...
What do I wear?
A ton of shi... hold on... what do I wear?

Things started making sense.

1) I'm always wearing these two particular sweaters whenever I get shocked... maybe that has something to do with it?
2) But... when I wear those sweaters to the gym I never get shocked.

What's the difference between me wearing the sweaters to go out to sweat my ass off and me going out to interact with normal people?


Ding, ding, ding!

I never get shocked going to the gym because I have a cotton sports bra on...
But when I have to go out, I'm not about to wear something that smashes my boobs together.
As comfortable as it is to walk around in a sports bra... it doesn't look nearly as neat-o as when I wear my favorite bras (my chest defies gravity, I tell ya!).

Over the summer I bumped into the coolest bras ever.
VS Secret has this awesome collection, Secret Embrace (more like Fantastic Embrace!), so awesome that chicks somehow refuse to tell each other about them until you accidentally/out of curosity buy one for $30+... then you become part of the fan club and can't stop talking about how awesome they make your boobs look.
It holds so fucking well, better than any other cups I've come across, the wire I rarely feel (a feat worthy of worship, since wearing under-wire bras typically hurt/bother like a motherfucker), I can change the straps to be regular or racerback, and best of all, when worn, they don't make me look like some lactating mother (problem I'm sure I've mentioned here before, since I often complain about my chest), they make my boobs look fantastic!

So I went crazy and bought myself... too many.

I had no problems with the bra from July up until I started wearing these two sweaters that I really like and wear often (because they're black and warm) a couple of weeks back when the weather turned chilly.
That has to be it!
I checked out the components of the bras and sweaters.

80% Nylon, 20% Lycra Spandex

55% Cotton, 45% Polyester

Nylon + Polyester + movement + cold, dry weather (I looked this part up. Our weather isn't helping the situation out) = One very aggravated, electrically charged AnoMALIE.

No wonder I felt the tingly thing mainly on my chest area! I always thought it was just in my head.

So, now I know what I must do in order to stop yelping and sticking my injured fingers in my mouth in pain each time I step in or out of a car.
I must choose between the following:

1) Don't wear those freaking amazing bras.
2) Don't wear those cozy black sweaters.
3) Remember to breathe into my hands before opening a car door... or just dip my hands in water before touching anything metallic.

You know what my answer's going to be here, right?

AnoMALIE's going to be walking around with a water bottle!

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

No thanks

I will touch this subject as infrequently as possible (because I do mention how this blog isn't supposed to be a downer, I have another place for those thoughts):
Dad is driving me insane!!
I've told him time and time again that what he has is not as terrible as others have it.
I tell him he'll be fine.
And he still freaks out on me!

I could stand the freaks outs if it weren't for two things:
1) He tries to convert me out of Catholicism and into his more rambunctious religion.
2) He tries to convince me to go back to medical school.

My answers?

1) Dad, I'm glad you found a place for yourself... but I enjoy my quiet time with the Catholics. I'm boring and I enjoy sitting in silent reverence to God. It's meditation to me. Plus, I'm sort of a traditionalist deep down inside.
2) No. No. No. Never. No. No. No.
I'd rather do something I love, and I don't love the idea of being a doctor.
Plus, the stress of it all is going to kill me. Don't you remember my vomiting/fainting episodes prior to exams? Do you want me to die?

Yesterday not only did he wake me up early so I could dive him around from doctor's office to doctor's office, but he also kept me up.
He had a freak-out episode in his room, asked Mom to bring me to the room, and then I sat from 8:30 PM until 11:30 PM convincing him he was OK health-wise.
In those 3 hours, I:
1) Brought all my biology books to him to show him various pictures of the colon.
2) Read portions of my bio books to him.
3) Cracked jokes.
4) Watched the Biggest Loser with him and tried to guess how much weight the contestants had lost.
5) Convinced him to eat, since all he had eaten throughout the day was a Pop-Tart and 4 cookies (?!?!?).
6) Convinced Dad he had been feeling "sick" because he hadn't eaten all day.
7) Put up with an hour-long "evangelizing" from Dad. One of the most... uncomfortable things ever... because I hate talking religion, especially with him since we clash in so many points... and because I had to bite my tongue each time he put down another religion, mainly because he's sick and I don't want to aggravate him some more.
8) Learned Dad isn't fond of Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons... or Buddhists/Hindus/Muslims.
9) Became frightened with Dad's Fundamentalist Christian ideology... I'm still terrified of it... I'm fucking horrified.
10) Kept Dad from breaking down into tears by being kind of... brash each time he said something absolutely wrong. E.g.
Dad: I'm such a bad man!!
Me: No, you're not! People have taken advantage of you more times than anyone I know!! People don't take advantage of bad people!
Dad: But I do so many bad things!
Me: What?? Do you have another family? Do you do drugs? Do you sell drugs? Do you beat my mom?
Dad: No...
Me: Well, don't say that!!
11) Didn't break into tears. Not even one.
12) Learned Daddy's kind of a bad reader.
13) Learned Daddy's kind of bad with words.

So... final time I say this:
I'm tired.
I'm sort of mad...
and if I ever hear my Dad cry and say "I'm such a bad man! God is testing us" in the same sentence again, I'm going to fucking lose it!
Don't blame God.
It's not so bad.
You're going to live.

Now, onto other, more pleasant news:
I'm jealous of my friend.
She met Diego Luna recently and... ah, what a lucky chick to actually chit-chat with that guy.
I'd be furious if she had met Gael Garcia Bernal. J/k

I'll have my chance come March... but it'll be Cristiano Ronaldo!

Oh yeah, I'm going to Europe sometime in February... coming back... ??
I'm scared... but stoked beyond compare.
More on this later...