On Friday, my little sister let me know that on Saturday we were going to go shopping. I agreed, because I don't spend much time with her ever since she started working. I would have gone pet-rock shopping, tagging, whatever, as long as it was time spent with the little monster.
Shopping? How bad could it be?
It was wretched!!
Nah, it wasn't. It was OK. I didn't like how she drove though. She's one of those jerks that weave in and out of traffic thinking they're going to get somewhere faster that way.
OK, Paul Walker, take it easy. You're gonna give me fucking diabetes here! (I still don't know how much truth there is to that claim... of getting diabetes after a huge scare, but I say it anyway))
I damn the day my dad agreed to buying her a Jetta! That thing fits anywhere and makes my little sister think she's God... but it does fit in small parking spaces (but damn construction workers always look into the vehicle and stare. They do that to anything that has a chick in it, really) so I can't hate to its full potential.
Anyway, shopping with my little sister's strange. We're polar opposites. We always get the "No way, she's your sister?" reaction from friends (I guess my friends do that to her because she's your... slightly Bimbo-ish chick, while her friends do it to me cause I'm a nerd/jerk that rolls her eyes each time one of them criticizes another girl for not wearing designer shit). She's white, I'm tan. She has gibungous (giant but not humongous) eyes, I have... big-ish eyes. She has Rimmel-worthy lashes, I have... probably Maybelline lashes.
She got the good genes, I got the Why-the-fuck-do-these-even-exist? genes (ok, I may be exaggerating, but the fact that I got short changed during genetic recombination is fucking evident).
So... on with my story, we like different stores. She dragged me into her Offspring-of-douche-bags stores (fuck, did I just call my parents douche bags?), and I took her to the I'm-not-spending-sixty-fucking-dollars-on-pants! store.
The funny thing was, whenever one of us was going to make a purchase, the other would egg her on to do it.
So what if it's a hundred dollars? You got money, right? Plus, it's sooooo cute!
I found myself checking out some of the dresses at the Offspring-of-douche-bags stores... even a bag or two.
What the hell, dude? Is it the music in the background hypnotizing me to buy this? I don't need another wallet!
Then as I'd stand in line and listen to the stupid 12 year old girls behind me with Mommy and Daddy's credit card talking. The superficial "I know, right?" chatter would wake me from my trance, making me return the items in my hands almost immediately (I know, right?).
The shopping experience was nice. I guess. I talked to my sister and that's all that mattered (I made her buy 6 pairs of jeans during one of our "You got money, right?" episodes at American Eagle. She only convinced me to buy 4 shirts at one store. She obviously doesn't have the same power I have. Ha-ha).
I came home, exhausted (it's hard rejecting so much clothes in three hours). I then remembered I had promised some cousins I'd go to this one baby shower they were throwing their middle sister. I had her present riding in the back of my car all last week, I might as well show up for the party to drop it off.
Of course, I had to go teach catechism first... man.
I had (still have) a cold. My nose was stuffy, my throat hurt, and my head felt like it was in the clouds (still does. Although alluding to having my head stuffed in a jar fits a little better).
I just sat in class and let Mom take over. I looked over some bio notes and fell asleep for a good half hour, only to wake up to one of the kids talking about how much he hates his mom because he has a curfew (sweet kid).
We finally went to the shower at 7pm, thinking we'd be the last to show up.
I hate social events, and especially being late, so I was pretty pissed about the whole thing.
Babies+ pregnant ladies+ headache/stuffy nose/stuffy head/deafness= Absent-minded AnoMALIE.
I said hi to maybe 15 people. Each time excusing myself because I was sick.
Don't get those babies near me... I have a cold!
Oh, AnoMALIE, you sweet, generous girl! Always thinking about others!
Yeah... that's it. And since I love babies and all... riiiight.
Anyway, I blame the baby shower on my overall exhaustion. I participated in so many games (and lost all of them) that I made up for lost time (all those years where I'd wanted to play, but was too shy to volunteer). I almost won one, where you have to guess the size of the Mommy's belly, but I missed by two inches. Since I got so close, I kept the ribbon I had cut, and wrapped it around my wrist, like a suicidal teen who has survived the slitting of her own wrist (kind of inappropriate for a baby shower, but I'm AnoMALIE, when the hell am I ever appropriate?).
I also kind of played with some little kids, despite my original claim of being sick.
One of the kids had a thing for licking people "doggy style," according to his mom.
Dude, "doggy-style?" And I'm the inappropriate one here?
That was probably the most entertaining thing to watch. He'd go up to his relatives (at least they weren't strangers, right?) and just lick whatever body part was closest to him. He'd lick up and down with as much of his tongue making contact as possible.
"Ew! What the hell, Baby Hercules?!"
The faces these people made cracked me up the most.
The other little kid I talked to was Baby Hercules' older sister. The little five year old came up to me and smiled. Then asked where I worked.
Grrrreat! Now even kids ask me this shit?
"I don't work..." I said.
She looked at me confused.
"I go to school... like you."
"Really?! Where?"
Oh man... does she think I go to elementary school?
"Umm... it's UNLV. Where your Mom used to go."
She looked at me and smiled... totally confused. Duh. Only I tell the truth to kids as if they were 20.
"Never heard of it."
Yep. She thinks I'm an idiot.
She then interrupted my thinking.
"I play the violin!"
"Really? You're..."
"Yeah! I gave up Ballet because it was boring. No more ballet. Now I play the violin and it's this tiny little thing. Mommy has one too, but it's big and old and ugly."
Big, and old, and ugly, huh? Interesting.
That little girl was hilarious. She's like a tiny adult. At one point, she went up to my Pregnant Cousin (the one we were throwing the shower for) and asked if she could touch her tummy. The entire time she touched the tummy, the little girl looked pensive. After about three minutes, she very seriously asked:
"Do you know who the daddy is?"
The little girl genuinely looked concerned.
Pregnant Cousin got surprised, the little girl's mom flustered, and the rest of us laughed.
That kid watches too much Maury.
I wasn't so upset over attending yet another Baby Shower, mainly because my female cousins present are near my age, and the pregnant ladies were all 24+ years old. I had the chance to hang out with non-pregnant chicks my age for a change at this type of party.
Pregnant-Cousin's Little Sister (PCLS), who's 20, had asked me to buy her some Andy Capp's Cheddar Fries. She lives in San Ysidro, couple miles south of San Diego, and apparently, they don't sell Andy Capp's down there. She lived in Vegas for about 6 years, and developed a serious addiction (like all us other John S. Park elementary student) to the fries.
I did bring her a bag, but when I gave it to her, she committed the big mistake of placing them within her little cousin's reach. The little boy found them, opened them, and of course, ate them within minutes.
When PCLS found out, she was so upset, she cried when she had to re-tell The Case of the Stolen Cheddar Fries to Pregnant Cousin (and here I thought Pregnant Cousin was the hormonal one in the building).
I felt bad for PCLS, so, as a way to fix her heartbreak/disappointment/craving, I proposed a trip to the nearest 7-11.
Since I wasn't thinking straight, my Hard-Kicking-Cousin (the one in the picture a couple of entries prior, the one being held by my grandma) brought this to all of our attention:
"Dude... it's 10:30 at night. Where are we?"
I sat still.
Dude, you're telling me you're scared of going out at 10:30pm?
"We're in fucking Northtown! Do you really want to go to a 7-11 around here?!"
Ohhhhhh! OKKK!
"Ah... so we should go a little south, huh?" I asked.
"But I don't wanna go far," said PCLS.
"But I don't wanna get shanked," said HKC.
"What if we go to a Wall-Mart?" asked Crazy-Driving-Cousin.
"And get sexually-harassed by the Chuntis (ghetto Mexicans)?" I asked.
Us four girls sat and considered our two choices:
Can we live after getting shanked by a couple of hood-rats... or can we live after getting sexually harassed by a few construction workers shorter than us?
"Fuck it... You're five foot eight, right AnoMALIE? You can clothesline a couple shorties if you tried. Wall-Mart it is."
I'm always left in charge of giving harassers an elbow if need be. I'd like to know when I have ever taken self-defense courses according to these acquaintances. The years I spent in the hood only taught me how to throw down with bitches... never any sexually deprived men.
Anyway, here we are, 4 girls at 10:30 at night going to the damn Wall-Mart on Nellis and Charleston in search of some Cheddar Fries for sentimental PCLS.
I swore never to go back to that Wall-Mart since the ill-fated day I made a rush to the place the day of Easter.
Biggest mistake of my life, totally not worth the $3.99 bow I had to buy for a birthday gift.
So many pinches, "accidental finger graces", whistles, and "Ay, mama, tantas curvas y yo sin frenos!" that I felt like washing myself off with battery acid once I got to my car.
G-to-the-fucking-HETTO!
But I made the journey just to make PCLS happy (plus, I knew PCLS would ahve my back if anything went wrong. PCLS looks like the type that can clothesline three guys while I struggle with my first. I may not be scrawny anywhere else, but my wrists are like those of an 8-year-old ballerina's).
Not so many ghetto Mexicans (I guess Fort Cheyenne had a Chunti dance going on or something). Yes, there were a couple of stares, but I'm sure it was thanks to our attire (HKC loves looking like a Mexican Soap Star Actress. CDC loves dressing like a music video Mexican)... and the green-ribbon "How Big Is Mommy? How Big Is Baby?" wristband I had made for myself while at the Baby Shower didn't help at making us look normal.
We got the fries (I ended up buying a 3.75 lbs. bag of Jolly Ranchers, the old school kind I'd get in like... 4th grade. Did anyone know they sold those?! 3.75 pounds?! Mannnnn!), I was dropped off at home, and I collapsed in bed.
Now I'm just... tired... with a congested nose, stuffy head... and I'm sneezing like crazy
(Oh no... might it be... allergies? Nooooooo! That's what I get for boasting about "Well, I don't have allergies..." yada yada yada. Nice job, AnoMALIE). I had to call off my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles outing for today.
No Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo till I get this nose under control (and shit... I have two exams this week. F.U.C.K.)
3 comments:
I've had a theory that VWs are "hot-chick" cars for a long time. It doesn't always hold true, but often enough to make it worth looking. What I'm saying is that it's probably not only construction workers that are staring in, but creepy old guys like me too. Now I've probably said too much.
Oh man, did you just call yourself creepy? Ahaha.
I think my little sister's heard about this theory... because she was pretty adamant about getting a Jetta, and never really gave us a good explanation.
I did indeed.
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