Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Note to AnoMALIE's inner Chiquita Banana: Don't EVER do that AGAIN.

Ah, Justin Long... the Jeepers Creepers guy... the Mac Guy... the... well, cute guy.
I don't usually think of him though(not like... say, another Justin: Timberlake). The times he jumps into my head are when I see him in the Mac commercial (and I smile)... or when I see this one boy I've known since last semester (and I laugh).

Best-friend and I refer to him (talking about the school boy now) as "the Justin Long boy." I never learned his name, even though there were only 17 of us in class last semester (and at most, there would be 10 of us in there in any given day). Maybe I did... I just don't remember. (His name might start with a D... I'll call him that from now on in this story)
Why don't I remember? Because his laugh haunts me to this day. That... and well.. I did something stupid the one time he spoke to me (and that makes me want to crawl in a hole and die each time it's brought up).

First off: His Laugh.
The professor was a funny man, one of my favorites, but the class was a total bore (who gives a **** about Daphnia and... wow, I did a great job getting that out of my mind. PLANKTON!). But as always, AnoMALIE finds a guy to become fixated on and doodle about the entire semester.
One day, after the professor made fun of D, it was something really-- very funny-- and out came this... noise.
I refuse to reproduce it. But it was one of the worst, nerdiest laughs ever. No, there was no snorting involved (I tend to do that whenever I think something is REALLY funny. So the person hearing me snort should feel honored, not disgusted. HA). But the sound... it was reminiscent of... a horse sneezing after snorting some hay... repeatedly.
Dear me... why was i present to hear this?
I still hear the sound each time I see D.

Second, and most mortifying: I fucking WINKED at him!
I had never spoken to the guy, just laughed at his jokes.
This isn't strange since I'm unbelievably bashful.
What I don't understand is what led me to commit such a sleazy move.
It was the day we were all supposed to turn in our second of three research papers to the professor. Best-friend and I were the first ones to so, and D came a little late, and never saw us do it. There were only six of us in class, so the kid was definitely talking to us when he went up to the pile and said:
Did you girls already bring your reports up?
He was motioning at the stack of papers, and he made this cute eyebrow movement, like if he was going to come up and get ours.
I must have found it "too cute" cause all of a sudden I did something totally out of character:
I turned to him, smiled, and said "We sure did," then winked at him with my right eye.
(it all plays back to me in slow motion)
When I caught myself, I thought:
Who the hell do I think I am? Curse you, damn Latino blood! First you surprise me with the accent from time to time, now you make me act like... West Side Story's, Maria! Why don't I just shimmy next time?!
He looked away in what I perceive as horror, and for the rest of the semester he seemed scared of me. I scared him off!

Whenever I see him walk past me after class (he takes really long, unnatural-looking strides... sort of like an ostrich), I feel blood rushing to my cheeks... out of pure embarrassment.
Was it the damn wink?!

See what you do, Chiquita Banana! You scared off Justin Long!

Monday, February 26, 2007

Where did you hear "no boba" in that entire sentence?

I love worrying myself sick for an event, and then realizing I pumped myself up for no reason. It's a sick cycle, but I do it anyway... it helps ease the disappointment. Just a survival trick I picked up my first year of college (better would be getting new study habits... but my ADD will never permit it).

Today, while I was in a much happier mood, a lady that's always been nice to me made me angry (a common sight nowadays). Ever since... I don't know... maybe November? I've acquired a love for Boba. Best-friend took my other good friend and I to the Meadows Mall one day and introduced us to the new Asian sensation that is Boba tea.
At first I was a bit reluctant of what the poster referred to as "black balls" (Do YOU want squishy black balls in your mouth? You know... I've never really thought about that). Each time I thought about it, I'd giggle... and became afraid of getting one of these squishy black balls lodged in my esophagus. However, once I tried them, I liked them. Plus, the lady who sold them to Best-friend was very friendly and thought mine and Good-friend's reaction to the Boba Poster was hilarious. She also gave us free... I can't remember the name of the little "cakes" but they're these little healthier-looking-than-Twinkies pastries. So I was happy with the customer service.
After a while.. I realized I was becoming addicted to squishing the gooey balls while drinking something really cold. I took about 5 different people in different occasions to have a go at these things. None liked it as much as I, but I always said:
I go cause the little lady's so nice to me! She's really a sweet lady and I just want her to get more customers.
I went again in January with a cousin, who was leaving to Florida in a couple of days, as a going-away outing. I hyped the damn place up for her, and when we finally got there, the sweet lady was rude to us!
I was dumb enough to think it was her having a bad day, so I decided to go again today (I had been craving Boba since Ash Wednesday).
I gave the lady my best smile, I was courteous, and said:
I'll have a peanut butter one. No whipped cream.
Best-friend asked:
With Boba?
I said:
With Boba.

5 minutes later.

I was given my Boba, and it was... just a peanut butter milkshake... no little bobas.
I pondered whether or not telling the lady (Yo.. what's up with my freakin' Boba?!). Best-friend convinced me to do it (rather than sticking to the usual "Oh... I guess I'll just... sit here and take it" garbage).
I tried being nice... very nice... but she got all ass-hurt on me. She scowled at me then went:
You told me you didn't want any Boba! You said no whip cream, no boba! It'll cost you 25 cents!
I looked at Best-friend and laughed.
Did I?! (Was it implied when I said NO WHIPPED CREAM?!)
The lady took the drink from my hand in a hissy-fit fashion, turned to her ONE worker and scoffed:
NOW she wants Boba.
While pointing back at me.
(Yeah, bitch! And I'll flick ten more quarters your way so you can fill my damn cup with fucking Boba if I damn well please! Want attitude? I'll give you fucking Mexican attitude, bitch... come here! Wait... it's lent. Well... Middly-Fiddly... fiddly, fiddly! fff... I hate BOBA!)
When I got my drink back, I was terrified thinking she might have spit in it... or added faucet water... I don't know. It was just extra runny and all messed up.
Just poke them down with your straw.
She said as she handed the mangled cup to me full of little Bobas floating on top.
Faucet water, or no faucet water, I drank it anyway.

Sure, I was mad most of the time, but I just had to think back on a really cute dog I saw at the pet shop earlier that day:
A nice little English Bulldog, that in my mind I named "Capone."

The real Capone would have approved of Internal-AnoMALIE's reaction ...

Sunday, February 25, 2007

However will I slouch?

This damned injury is still there... making it difficult for me to sit. By difficult, I mean I can't slouch as usual. I must keep an upright position and walk like a stuffy jerk. Good for my posture, not my "cool" status.

Somehow this weekend has spiraled into a crappy one. I thought it'd be a good weekend... packed with fun studying. By fun I mean "useful" and "any" studying.
Instead, by body's had none of that. I've sat at home, gotten my butt massaged, played some dumb game on my cell phone (Chainz in case anyone was wondering... level 27), and gotten hot towel treatments on my lower back... with the occasional burn on the ass (how Bam endured all that branding on his ass for Jackass I haven't a clue).
I also received some "bad" news from my folks. I feel uncomfortable disclosing it... but I'll just leave it at the news being of a somewhat frivolous nature, but still capable of bumming us all out. Stupid city of Las Vegas... and Real Estate agents.

Then came the conversation from hell with an aunt. She made the huge mistake of asking me what I was planning on doing with my Biology degree.
What can you do with that?
I sat in silence for a couple of seconds... trying to come up with the correct terms in Spanish to explain it all. After sitting in silence for a while (not being able to solve the really difficult cell phone game I was playing at the time added to this long pause), and having my 19-year-old cousin get away from her dish washing duty to chime in with a:
Yeah, what are you gonna do?
I shrugged my shoulders and said:
I don't know.
My aunt then added:
Well, I mean, besides teaching, what can you do?
I love this lady, she's great, but when you get into school issues with me, I tend to become rude and bitchy.
I'd never be a teacher. I hate kids, I have no patience with them, and they drive me insane. School drives me insane. I'm dying for it to be over.
Well then, what can you do with a Biology degree?
(Become a circus clown in Colombia that gets shot and killed by a rival gang, then have my death reported on sensationalized Spanish new shows like Primer Impacto... I DON'T KNOW!)
I can...
(Shit... what's the word for research?)
go to medical school-- but I don't want to do that anymore-- become a teacher like you said, I can... I don't know. There's lots of things I can do. I just want to get out right now and then figure it out. I don't know.
(I can be a lame-o who writes Bio textbooks with typos every other word. I can become a "flavorologist" in the Greater Manchester area in England. I can be at the beck and call of someone smarter than me who's doing research on desert tortoises. I can recite to you the different steps involved in the Calvin Cycle... WITH structures. I can travel with the National Geographic channel and help deliver bottled water to the smart geologists. I can do a lot of things, damn it! How do I say it in Spanish! I can help develop dish-washing soap for Palmolive, for Pete's sake!)
My aunt looked at me... my cousin "eh"ed (and continued washing the dishes), and I rolled my eyes and went back to the difficult picture game on my cell phone.
While rolling my eyes at Mom merits a slap on the shoulder from her, I got nothing for doing it to my lovely aunt... just the horrible guilt of knowing I pulled a move "tweens" are best known for.

So yeah... aside from the nice game on my cell phone... I think this blog is what keeps me from bursting out into tears while screaming "My life sucks right now!"
I blame my upcoming twenty-second birthday on the emotional wreckage I am right now.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

All the pretty Scene Kids.

I'm handicapped for the weekend. I feel like such an old lady!
I was doing my typical hour cardio yesterday early afternoon and everything was fine. however, once I stepped off the treadmill, and began my stretches, I noticed something was up with my lower back.
What the... hell... did I do to my back?
Stretches I can do for five minutes each were so painful to me, and I couldn't even touch my toes.
Dude, either I've just gained twenty pounds while sleeping, or I just... f*ed up my back.
(I must admit, this lent thing is really annoying me because I'm starting to sound like Ned Flanders with all these invented words I use to prevent myself from cussing. LAME life to live.)
As I attempted to stretch a little more, I noticed the pain wasn't going anywhere, and that it was only increasing. I therefore limped my ass to my room, thought that taking a hot shower would help, but even then I was having problems. I can only imagine how ladies feel when they have hip-replacement surgery... it was bad.
Now, I could have had an OK day trying to recuperate, but this damned injury occurred the day of the Cartel show. Hmm... stay home and rest my bad right hip... or go to a concert with the homies? Well, hello! What am I gonna need my hip for, anyway? Let the show go on!
I limped all over the place, unable to take long strides as I walked... which could have been a disaster in the parking lot if we would have arrived later (totally possible with my slow ass that takes 3+ hours to pick out an outfit-- as much as it may appear that I do not).
My two friends and I stood against a wall the entire time, and I had to be standing because bending down was quite a painful hassle for me (I can't even feed my dog, for crying out loud!).
I have no idea how long it's been since my last English-speaking concert, but man!! have things changed! Where the hell did all these scene kids come from? What in the... what are they thinking when they get ready to go out? How are they going to explain some of their hair/clothing choices when they get older and see pictures of themselves?? I would have taken pictures of some of the worst styles I saw, but I didn't want scene kids to flock to the flash like the moths they are (if you're a scene kid, bite me!). But let me just say: if your hair resembles a skunk, or like if you've just been in a brawl--and lost-- with a pack of wild Dingos, please don't let it smell like it too.

Anyway, the bands preceding Cartel were great. Very talented as opposed to previous bands I've been subjected to (their names I no longer remember due to their my-balls-are-being-attacked-with-an-ice-pick high pitch piercing my eardrums, forcing my brain to enter survival-mode, entering a catatonic state where nothing is memorable now). In particular, Quietdrive where the lead singer busted out a violin and won me over (bring out a string instrument, play the s**t out of it, and you'll win my admiration for life. That's just the orchestra-nerd way). All the bands had a great vocal quality to them... and Cobra Starship... well... Gabe's just one hilarious man. That's another fast way to my heart: crack me up, and make fun of yourself, and you'll have me forever. Plus, Gabe was the best dancer up there... that guy can rock to any beat. Viva Uruguay.
While Cartel played, my best homie wanted to buy merch, so we went outside. So much smoking was going on, I swear a day of my life has been shaved off (one less day of painful hip-replacement surgery to put up with, I suppose). While out there, band members of Boys Like Girls went out, were semi-mauled by 14 year old 4'8" girls, and signed autographs. I must say... the lead singer is one gorgeous man. Nice as well... signing crap like Starbucks containers for little dumb girls who'll have ulcers before Senior year of High School.
The worst was when Gabe from Cobra came out. Now that guy was mauled. Best-homie and I were caught in the middle of the action and were smothered against Gabe's tiny ass/long legs.
"AHHHH!" (I feel sorry for that girl's future boyfriend... I hope she doesn't pull off that kind of stunt after he kisses her)
How can people deal with that s**t? How can people do that to others? After a while I was more like: F*ck it, let's go. This s*it is aggravating me and my ass is being touched by unknown s*it... and luckily I have no penis, or else I'd be about to ass rape this poor guy if we don't leave this damn crowd now.
The whole time I stood there I thought of Cameron Diaz and how she says autographs are stupid, and how reportedly she'll lecture a fan who asks her to sign one on just how stupid autographs are.

Dude, Cameron, you got a point there (but I still got Gabe's autograph... haha).

Thursday, February 22, 2007

you have got to be sh... what? I can't cuss?!

It appears that all in this world is attempting to make me cuss or gossip.

I bumped into a girl I hadn't seen in about two years today. I knew her since ninth grade, and all the time she was sort of rude and snobbish towards me. She's about five inches shorter than I am, she'd turn beet red if she walked up the stairs to our history class in a hurry, and she used to be about my same weight... but since she was shorter, she looked like a pomegranate (I'm only being rude because she was rude to me).
I still remember when I moved to the new side of town, to a new high school, and knew no one in class. I remember seeing her get dropped off by the school bus right in front of my house. I'd see her cross the tiny desert to her house (Funny side note: once I saw my neighbor's dog--a 6-month-old pitbull-- chasing after her as she got off the bus. She was already a meanie to me by then, so I did what any other bitter girl would have done: watched her run her mean-ass home leaping over tiny Joshua trees and creosote bushes, that's what! You don't make AnoMALIE angry). I thought she'd be nice to me, and when I told her I was her neighbor, she just looked at me and said: "Humph... so you're the one who moved to that pink house?" Not much else (Now you know why I didn't help her during the pitbull incident?).
That didn't really bother me, what did was how she saw I was a loner and did nothing to try and help a girl out. Instead, she'd talk trash whenever we did anything in Bio class and I would mess up (cause I'm one of the dopiest people in the universe). Like once, when our teacher was trying to be innovative, we played BioJeopardy, a very lame version of Jeopardy, by dividing the class according to gender.
So here I am, in a class where nobody likes me (except some of the boys who were always sweet to me since they don't usually go with the whole girl drama b.s.), in a group where not a single member approves of me. As a way of trying to fit in, I tried answering as many questions I felt confident in answering. The plan worked out fine the first two times I raised my hand, each time earning 300 points for a total of 600 points for the girl's side. Yeah, no other girl had raised her hand to answer.
Then came time for a 600 point question. I can no longer remember what the question was (why waste space remembering something that screwed me over like that?), but I remember it was something I knew very well. My hand shot up almost immediately after the teacher finished asking her question.
Wrong! Minus 600 points!
"Pshhh... yeah. Thanks a lot dumb ass. You just Fuckin' ruined our game. We're at zero now!" the jerky girl said.
Her words were followed by grunts and "Psshhyeahs" from the girls.
Yeah... 600 point I racked up ALONE, imbeciles. Fuck trying to help you guys out again.
I didn't raise my hand again. I sat quietly with my chin resting on my hands that were directly above the black science-class counter top (pathetic, I know, but I was 14 and had just been called a dumb ass. Devastating blow for a nerd).
And there began my dislike for Jerk-face (the girls from that high school in general) AND class participation. I also think it's been the only time anyone other than me has referred to me as a "dumb ass" and meant it.
Junior year I was moved to a different high school, as was she, and there we began to dialogue a little more (she'd ask me for History class answers cause I was pimp like that). Those last two years she really ballooned up, and in part I was thinking it was karma finally catching up with her for being such a jerk. But it also made her very accessible and nice.

Then today... man o man! I saw her again, and she's thin (as a rail)! No one has seen her so small.

Here comes my complaint: Why, Oh why! did this news story have to come about during lent, after I made the conscious effort of laying off the cussing AND the gossip?

Upon seeing her, the first thing that crossed my mind was:
"OH SHIT! Is that *Jerk-face*?!"
I then followed that by quickly telling my closest friends about what I had just seen.
Dude! She's like, a twig! She's freakin'... skinny!
It was like a really bad episode of Jenny Jones... you know... when tormented adults are reunited with old high school bullies in a show with the really creative title of "I was a geek/fatty/loner then, but look at me now!" But in this case, it was the tormentor reunited with the tormented to say "Who's the pomegranate now, dumb ass?!"
Hey! It's winter! I'm supposed to be pale and red-cheeked... and packing on the pounds! It's in my genes! My ancestors have been doing it for ages, and it's worked for them! (yeah, too bad it's 68 degrees outside... and it's Vegas)

I came home and I still couldn't get over it. So I checked out her Myspace account, and sure enough, there she was: Jerk-face in all her skinny-girl-glory.
Grr... How can I keep from cussing AND gossiping when that rude girl has managed to shrink to a size even thin girls are jealous of?!

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Oh Lent, why must you pain me this way?

Today marks the first day of Lent.

Needless to say, I was a little bit neurotic. I mean, who wouldn't be after 19 hours of not ingesting anything but a sip of water and a vitamin? Add to that the longest school day, and you get... well, a very neurotic AnoMALIE.

However, I can't complain about lent this year as much as I did last. It couldn't suck nearly as much as it did last year. Why? Because Ash Wednesday fell on my 21st birthday. That has been the only day I've ever wished I was born a pagan.
Instead of drinking the rounds and partying till sunup (I didn't even have class the following day!), I fasted (yey, hooray!), went to a super packed Mass, then went to bed. No cake, no drinking, no nothing (but then again, the birthday before that I happened to go watch:
with my family. The entire time I kept thinking: Happy Birthday to Me... as I watched two gangster in front of me bawl their eyes out).
So yeah, the only thing I can really be upset about this time is feeling crappy the entire time while in class, at times almost being driven to tears because I'm... well... neurotic (when malnourished!). I didn't even go to church this year (mainly because I had class during the times mass was available), I just got the little ash cross printed on my forehead because my mom couldn't stand the thought of her little AnoMALIE not getting some sort of blessing.
As a way to amend that bad move, I've decided that this year I'm SERIOUSLY giving up cussing. On the real. I do that far too often... to the point where I sometimes don't even know I'm dropping the F-bomb around children under 5. I'm like that one cartoon character on Tiny Tune Adventures (Fowlmouth) that had to be bleeped ever few seconds.
The only times I can now control myself is when I'm in a group where there's a really fundamentalist Christian... or Mormon (I've never been able to cuss around them comfortably) present. Only they can control my potty mouth because I fear making them feel bad (screw the children! j/k).
Aside from that, I also decided to stop gossiping. I find it easier since there are only certain people that bring that characteristic out in me. I'm just going to have to avoid those people for the next 40 days, then after that I think this whole... gossip problem will be resolved (or you know, lessened in degree).
Sadly, the potty-mouth AnoMALIE will be no more... except in my short stories, cause ain't nothing getting rid of that!

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

still bummed

I'm totally bummed.
I try to forget but everything reminds me of...
My Plates.
I had to catch a ride with my best friend today. She tried cheering me up, shit, even the professors were putting on their best comedy routines... but the giggles would leave me five minutes after exiting the class.
To kill it, I received my test score for Thursday's exam. I did worse than expected, better than last year, but that's something I can readily do today. I'm going to have to work my ass off in there... kind of like the way I hustled in last semester's Cell Phys class.
Anyway, aside from school drama that knows how to depress me shitless, lets go back to my stolen plates!
I was issued new ones today. I sort of looked them over... like a disappointed mother looking at her kid's report card riddled with D's and F's, but an A in art. After a couple of hours, I realized they gave me the wrong decal... ahhh, the wonderful DMV: finding new, and innovative ways of FUCKING you over to have you stand in that line once more.
I should try and make myself a little happier, but... I just don't want to try.
Oh! and still talking about my jacked plates:
I found out there's a rapper out there that goes by MY nickname... the nickname on my plates. Since my plates were "AnoMALIE's-nickname" with a number one following it, I suppose these imbeciles thought "Awesome... they support 'AnoMALIE' and it says 'one' as in, 'one love.' I'm taking these."
Motherfuckers. They're lucky I'm too lazy to find them... or else I'd be shoving those stolen plates up their ass and out their mouth.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Well, I take it all back now!

So I woke up this morning to the news that my license plates, that look like this:

(Only difference being that instead of numbers, it has my nickname) was indeed missing.
Instead of those familiar, much loved plates, I had the normal Nevada plates screwed on.

It was one in the afternoon, and as I was looking through Myspace, my little sister walked in, still rubbing the sleep from her eye, to give me the news.
"So you hear the news?"
What happened?" (here I am, and idiot, thinking my aunt's operation went wrong)
"Some fool stole your plates and put some other ones on. I noticed last night as I pulled in at 3:45 in the morning (3:45 in the morning?! you're a fucking 19 year old! What are you doing out till 3:45 in the morning! I'm 21 and the latest I show up is 10:30pm!). Mom called the cops, and now you have to get new ones."

We sat around the house waiting for any developments. Mom later called to tell us the plates on my car were from a vehicle being rented out at the time.
So... looks like my talking about my "peaceful" neighbors was all bull. Those bastards partied last night, stole my plates at two in the morning, then bailed out of the city in a stolen vehicle... with my nice, I'm-already-attached-to-them plates!

I said it once, and I'll say it again: FUCK YOU, ALL-STAR GAME! Fuck you, fuck you, F.U.C.K.Y.O.U!

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Stupid Star Studded Event.

So all this All-Star Game hype is getting to me.
It's quite frustrating. I can't travel from point A to point B in peace. I always have to bump into giant traffic full of assholes who forcefully cut in while giving me the finger, or idiots that block the damn intersection with their gas guzzling SUVs.
I hate tourists... especially the rude ones.
My little sister's enjoying it though. She's told my mom that she's "working overtime" at the airport these passed two days. She has actually been hanging out with the eternally annoying Twiggy and some other chick that isn't that much of a bright bulb. They're going to "lounges" and the mall in hopes of scoping out the celebrities or even the really hot tourists.
Yesterday, my little sister got checked out by this one Mexican celebrity while at some lounge at Caesar's. He came up to her, but didn't say a word. Neither did my sister.
See, she may be a tiny bit of a liar, but a hoe she is not. I suppose that's reassuring... it'd be better if she wouldn't have to lie all the time though.
She saw some basketball players, and missed out on seeing Michael Jordan by 5 minutes. I told her if I would have been her, I would have been banging my head on the table until passing out. Missing out on MJ would piss me off like a mother.
I've never met a celebrity, but knowing that no one I know has bumped into Michael Jordan makes me feel a little better.

Also... we have new neighbors, I don't know if it's just for the weekend or what, but they bought the house that used to belong to a very spoiled rich girl. Who are the new inhabitants? Mac Dre's crew. No lie.
There are about 7 SUVs with the Mac Dre label on them, around 3 unmarked cars, and one giant tour bus all parked in the huge front yard.
They're not making much of a ruckus as we first suspected they would (I mean, they did start the whole hyphy movement. Which reminds me, I really giggle with that name. Why the hell would you name something after a part of a fungus?). They're quite peacefull and low key (regardless of what that giant entourage of cars and huge tour bus may say in their front yard).
And still, I have yet to actually see these celebrities (I probably have, I just don't recognize them because I haven't seen MTV since I was 14 in 1999).

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Well, well, well.

So, sadly enough, I've decided to open a new blog. This one's not as personal, sappy, or whatever the hell the other one was. But who's to say this won't turn into the diaryland one... there's always school to ruin that.
Fuck... I can't say much cause I'm pretty tired... just wanna try this out for a while and see how it goes.