Monday, April 30, 2007
1) Running (I think I pulled a muscle... I now limp like a lame horse)
2) Studying (and my brain hurts... bad)
3) Watching television (although my attention was elsewhere. Can't blame me since it was mostly "The Hills," my little sister's new addiction)
4) Watching movies (Amelie only made me sadder... About a Boy made me cry... and Love Actually made me angry--who the hell stays with a cheating son of a bitch bastard? C'mon British people! I still love them all like crazy though. Maybe it was the order I watched them in?)
5) Listening to music (aaaand we all know how that turned out... plus, I now have "Hate is a strong wooooord, but I really, really, really don't like youuuuuuu!" in my head... inappropriate to bust out singing at certain places/circumstances)
6) Watching the NFL draft (When the hell did I become a sport's fan? My heart hurt for Brady Quinn... really, really, bad. Poor boy. I still love you, Brady!)
7) Watching basketball (I did get pleasure out of this. Screw the Lakers... it's all about Phoenix, Shawn Marion, Steve Nash, and I guess I can cheer on THE BULLS if all else fails)
8) Hanging out (Drinking Boba and playing card games with the ladies and two gentlemen... both fellas were taken, nonetheless)
9) Visiting the strip (club... J/k... I should probably give that a shot now)
10) Sleeping (it made me nauseous yesterday)
11) Reading (even about Mom Jeans. I shudder at the thought)
And the list could go on... for a while.
What finally worked was going to school.
Yeah... lame and all... but it did make me feel better and forget absolutely everything that happened over this horrible weekend.
Shoot... I even had the little diversion of shopping... that was... an experience.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
(And here I always thought marble only served the purpose of making me slip and suffer nasty falls)
I no longer need to lay on the floor in order to answer a phone call... but it saved my ass on Friday.
I was given phone-duty by Mom (she left to Mexico at 5 PM Friday) since my little sister would lose control even before answering (I'd only lose it after someone would say something nice... like that they were sorry). Dad wasn't available until 12 AM... so I had to answer the phone from 5 PM till around 11 PM, when people stopped calling.
At first I had no idea what to do... I'd burst into sobs each time someone would get to the "We just want you to know that..." part of their speech. I'd have to whisper back my reply each time.
The idea of lying on the floor came by accident.
Since I was alone, and had just gotten off my running binge (for some reason, I run when upset...), I got out of the shower and was walking around in a wife beater and boy shorts. I held my iPod in my left hand, phone on the right... just lying on the floor, waiting for the next phone call.
The cold floor would keep me from sobbing... I think my body was just confused as to what it should have been doing. Sobbing... or shivering?
From there on, I was able to answer the phone without getting choked up or letting a sob go. I was good.
I did shed a ton of tears though...
I'd cry each time a Spanish song came on during the shuffle (and we all know I have around 370 Spanish songs out of a possible 494... I'd basically be praying for No Doubt or The Killers to come on) because I'd remember how much my grandpa loved music.
"Hey, Mija, sing me a song," he'd tell me EACH and EVERY summer.
"Who the hell told you I could sing? Birds are gonna start dropping dead mid-flight once I open my mouth... haven't you heard me talk? My voice doesn't get much better than that," I'd answer back.
"Are you kidding me? Quit being an ass."
The latter was one of the main reasons I was crying so badly. I was such an asshole to him... not just behind his back... but mainly to his face.
Sure, he wasn't a terrific, perfect man... he's the main reason behind so many of my traumas... but he was still my grandpa. Plus, I never knew the full extent of his... craziness until I was like... 7. Those previous 6 years were amazing... even the years between 8-14... he had some pretty cool things to show me. His war stories were my favorite... embellished often... but he was such a great story teller. I could see myself in the rainy forests, standing alongside him in the holes he'd have to dig in order to get some shut eye. He had this one story of a giant frog that once got in his trench... and how it scared the shit out of him... that one cracked me up every time... just how he described the frog would have me heaving with laughter.
I just got older and let the bad times overpower the good... and I turned mean... and rude towards the old man.
Fuck... I was a monster. Who likes making an old man feel bad?
I'm ok now... I still haven't accepted the fact that when I go back to Mexico in July... he won't be there. I've fooled myself into believing he's just on a trip. I'd only see him about 5 times during my vacation in the first place. I usually showed up during times he'd be out "en el monte," at his various ranches... feeding the cattle... herding his horses... tending his lands. That, or he'd be in the city, "grocery shopping" or getting his hair cut... or his "truck repaired"... or eating some menudo at a specific "restaurant" that he craved around ten times a month.
I think I'll just tell myself "Oh well, he's out grocery shopping today... guess I won't see him today," or "I guess his truck broke down AGAIN and he had to travel to the next town to get it fixed."
I'll remember his mischievous smile... how his sky-blue eyes would light up each time we told him a good joke... how he would let us run in his huge corn fields while playing tag, and how he showed us the difference between a good snake and a bad one (eww... snakes).
I just don't want to answer any more phone calls... they burst my bubble. They let me know that hey, the chick getting the condolences is ME... it's MY grandpa that died.
He's gone. No more.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Perdóneme por todos estos años en los que rehusé perdonarlo. Perdóneme por la terquedad. Perdóneme por ser altanera.
Yo debería haber sido humilde… buena… como lo era de pequeña. La niña a la quien casi se le salía el corazón, de gusto, cada vez que lo veía acercarse en su yegua.
Quisiera que esto fuera como en esos años, cuando moría por ir a México… llegar a verlo… jugar con sus animales… y escuchar sus historias… cuando yo lo adoraba.
Aunque me volví rencorosa e ingrata tras los años, todavía mantengo el amor por los animales… el amor por el campo… el amor por mi lindísimo pueblo. Todavía llevo en mi lo que usted me enseño… y lo seguiré cargando… por toda una vida.
Trato de comprender porque la vida lo hizo así… y creo entender.
Me parte el alma saber que no pudo aguantar unas cuantas semanas más… que no lograre platicarle de mi próxima graduación… que como usted me aconsejo, hice algo con mi vida para nunca depender de algún hombre.
Pondré el apellido muy en alto… se lo prometo… y jamás renegare de mis raíces.
Espero y nuestro Señor lo haya perdonado… y espero que no se haya partido con una gran pena en el alma. Espero que, como usted me hizo creer, usted se haya olvidado de lo que me hizo hace quince años. Espero que solo yo sea la quien carga con ese dolor.
Espero que mientras esperaba su final… solo momentos de extrema felicidad hayan cruzado su memoria. Sus travesuras en Corea… la ingenuidad de su niñez… su primer amor… la alegría de tener su primer hijo… el gusto de tener tantos nietos… sus animales… todas sus aventuras en California.
Nunca imagine que fuera ser tan difícil despedirme de usted. Estupidamente pensé que me daría gusto saber que usted ya no existiría para atormentar mis recuerdos. Le doy gracias a dios que de lo único que puedo pensar en esta hora tan obscura, es en toda la alegría, todo el orgullo que le dio a mi vida.
Que dios lo tenga en su santa gloria.
Perdóneme, abuelito… perdóneme.
The most influential man in my life... the first man I ever admired... a man who was a Korean War veteran... a man who helped build the California railroads (my Paul Bunyan)... a man who was forced to work since the age of 11, after his father died, in order to help keep his family of 12 afloat ... has passed away... weeks shy of my return to Mexico.
He would have been 87 in December.
It kills me that I can't go say good-bye one last time... because fucking school has to ruin it for me once more.
Who the fuck has an exam during study week? ME!
Fuck you, school... FUCK YOU.
Guadalupe Monarrez, hoy se convirtió en leyenda.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
My folks just love their Univision... so I'll be eating some... hmm... what do I eat? Soup? Ok, I'll be eating soup, and next thing you know, Jorge Ramos will interrupt my comfortable situation with his evening news by showing me a couple of Mara Salvatrucha cholos dismembered in the streets of San Salvador.
Well, today Mr. Ramos didn't have time to ruin my dinner (although I do enjoy seeing him... he's a hottie even with his 49 years of age) because I ate later than usual. All they were talking about were celebrities by the time I sat down to eat.
That's when Jennifer Peña came on the television, and I then had this wonderful exchange with Dad:
Dad: Mira, mija, esa es la muchacha que me recuerda tanto a ti (Look, sweetie, that's the girl that reminds me so much of you).
Me: Jennifer Peña?
Me: Sera en lo getona (Must be in the big mouth).
Dad: No... she looks a lot like you.
(I stare some more at the television as Jennifer's music video plays)
Me: Dad.. if it's because of the booty shorts, I swear I'll never wear them around the house again.
Me: And don't you go around telling truckers you have a daughter that looks like Jennifer Peña... don't give them high expectations like that!*
This also creeps me out coming from my dad. The girl's a total sex-pot... shaking her can in her booty shorts/underwear/wet apparel. Daddy... what the hell? Why can't you say I look like some classic lady (I don't mean to put down good ol' Jennifer Peña. Shit, if I had that body, you better believe I would have been exhibiting it by now)? A lady that goes around with more than half her body fully clothed, maybe.
It's like if I told my dad that in his younger years, he reminded me of Leonardo DiCaprio in "The Beach."
...Well... at least he didn't say someone like... ok, let's not get on that subject.
*Once, when this Indian trucker (because my folks work with truckers) told my mom that my little sister looked like Shakira. Mom's reply was: "I don't just have one, but TWO daughters prettier than Shakira." To say that her comment pissed me off would be an understatement. It's one thing to hold your kids in high esteem and think they're beautiful... but when you exaggerate that badly, it's just a vile LIE! Punishable by law, if it were up to me.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Damn... I never, ever thought I'd be this cool with the wife of the scrawny little bitch-boy who'd cry each time we tagged him out during baseball... the little bastard who'd terrorize the neighborhood riding his little red tricycle in steel-tipped cowboy boots and cowboy hat.
However, today I noticed she wasn't very talkative. Instead, the girl was listening to my CD.
Heh-heh... I know, I know... I'm a great DJ! (I thought)
Then I paid closer attention to the song that was playing:
Y el viento de mi vida me levanta,
Con mis alas tan quebradas de luchar
Subire una montaña,
Cerraré mis ojos y voy a volar
Volveré a amar,
volveré a vivir
Volveré a sentir mi corazón.
Mi cuerpo sentirá el fuego una vez más
Voy a renacer,
Volver a empezar,
Y volveré a amar
All right... a little sad... but whatever...
Si yo quería ser esa mujer,
la madre de tus hijos.
Y juntos caminar hacia el altar
directo hacia la muerte.
Y al final ni hablar,
los dos nos destruimos.
Y al final, que tal?
Tu y yo ya no existimos.
No, No quiero ser esa mujer,
ella se fue a un abismo.
Y tuno eres aquel que prometió
seria mi súper héroe. Y que
todo acabo, no queda mas
seremos dos extraños. Yo
te olvidare, me olvidaras
Woops! She's still a newly-wed... let's just skip that...
Next song's short and sweet:
Este no es un dia muy normal,
lo mejor seria no pensar.
De este lado algo puede occurrir
y no sé si voy a resistir.
Siento que me han escogido
pues unos ojos me miran sólo a mi
Esto alguien ya me lo contó
que sientes asfixia al salir,
pero ésto nunca lo esperé,
a esta presión quién puede vivir.
Otra vez en mi elemento pero en espacio pequeño,
no hay arriba, no hay abajo, todo es movimiento.
Y ahora creo saber que algún ser me lleva
ya a un gran lugar.
Creo que estoy a punto de salir
pues la asfixia vuelve a occurir,
mas mi cuerpo cae sobre algo gris
y el agua comienza a escurrir.
¿Qué nadie se ha dado cuenta?
o será mi nuevo hogar,
¿Qué nadie se ha dado cuenta?
o será este mi final.
So, I lied about the sweet... the song's about a fish that gets flushed down a toilet and he's slowly dying on a dry portion of the sewer... ok... but maybe she didn't catch on?
Then this one begins:
Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach blonde tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seats...
Fuckkk, yes... ok, I'm bitter... so what?! That's what I get for driving around with a CD that's burned in alphabetical order...
I turned off the CD and turned on the radio.
Cousin-in-law: Damn, AnoMALIE... are you ok?
Me: Yeah! I'm fine, dude. That CD just got burned in alphabetical order...
CIL: You know... you can always talk to me about it.
Shit, dude... I just like sad songs, ok?
Me: Alright, cool.
We're both mute, all you hear is reggaeton on the radio. I DESPISE reggaeton, but I'll leave it there just so she doesn't listen to the next song on the CD. What song? This one:
Vientos que te aceleren.
Aunque el tiempo pase,
algunas marcas quedan.
Sueños que se ven romper.
Con pasos solitarios,vuelvo otra vez
Y buscarás un nuevo sol,
cuando las nubes se abran.
No olvidarás todolo que nos dijimos.
Porque en tu sangre mis palabras
We listened to Daddy Yankee go off about ripping stuff (Why, oh why is that song so catchy?!). We were quiet for about five minutes when CIL finally spoke up.
Me: What? You don't think I want to talk about it now, do you?
CIL: Whatever, man, you're hopeless.
I know my cousins are enjoying wedded bliss right now, and that the girl's all about love and happiness (I mean, my cousin was her first and only boyfriend, so she doesn't know what it's like to get torn to pieces by a douche bag) while I'm gloom and doom. I'm not about to ruin that (usually) short, placid, period with my horrid love stories and how things can take a turn for the worst over something as simple as... not wanting to attend a Valentine's Day party (while your significant other still goes and then proceeds to impregnate a hoe and then have that ruin your Bunnies-and-Bon-Bons kind of life). I mean... that shit can't happen to everybody, right?
I'll just let her keep thinking I'm the Ice Queen... that needs to listen to happier music.
Who cares if in all reality I do, but I just have a greater affinity for songs with titles like "Resentment" that have lyrics like:
"I know she was attractive, but I was here first.
Been ridin' with you for six years (Holler! Same here! Tell 'em girl!), why did I deserve
To be treated this way by you, you?
I know you're probably thinking, 'What's up with Bee?'
I've been crying for too long. What did you do to me?
I used to be so strong, but now you took my soul.
I'm crying. Can't stop crying. Can't stop crying!
You could of told me that you wasn't (ew, I hate that right there) happy.
I know you didn't wanna hurt me.
But look what you done-done to me, now.
I gotta look at her in her eyes and see she's had half of me.
How could you lie?"
Damn, good stuff right there, Bee.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
I just got a jury summons... for a third fucking time in 4 years.
I should become a felon to quit getting this shit.
Screw civic duty!
(I fucking kid... please... oh please, I don't wanna get in trouble for complaining!)
Shit. There go my plans for anything fun and exciting in the month of May. Luckily it's for the 22nd of May... so it doesn't get in the way of Shiny Toy Guns (I almost wrote "Shiny Plastic Pistols"... what is wrong with me?) or Memorial Day weekend... unless I get chosen for a super long trial... which is unlikely, right? Shit, I just jinxed myself.
::singing:: Looks like a shitty Summer!!!!! Foh-oh-oh-or meeeeeee! ::done:: (unless you bought Gwen Stefani's new album, this wouldn't make sense to anyone. If you haven't bought it yet... don't... it's a big disappointment because she's a sell-out ever since making the acquaintance of Akon. Yeah, that's me ranting like an ass)
Let me just say it one more time:
Friday, April 20, 2007
If I ever become a mother... I'm totally letting my little girl do this.
Except my kid would get much more profane... j/k! My folks would murder me if I ever did that with my kid.
While we're on the subject of kids/parents:Alec Baldwin's one angry dad (and why is this news headlining on AOL? I don't care if Ireland's a little jerk of a child, that's their business that I can live without ever knowing), but I sure laughed when he called his kid a "thoughtless little pig." While my dad would never, ever call me that... Mom called (and still does) me a "Cabrona" and "hija de tu chingada madre" (the latter is literally "Daughter of your fucked mother." "Cabrona" can be... sort of like "fucker" or something milder than "bitch") ever since I can remember. I tried saving the messages she left me the day of my 20th birthday when I wasn't answering my phone because I was too busy bowling (it was 9:48 pm when she started calling, not even 10! I was so frustrated I started to cry at the bowling alley!)... that would have been some good stuff.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Some songs I'd put on repeat, others I'd skip past... still... it withstood a 20 hour car ride in December... and all these mornings where I listen to music as I prepare to head out to school. I guess I might have gone through the songs faster had I owned some sort of transmitter that would allow me to listen to the damn thing in my car... but do I? Nooo. I'm ghetto.
For the first time in nearly 4 months I opened up i-Tunes and checked out the stats on my i-Pod.
It's creepy to see the frequency with which I listen to certain songs all the way through. There were songs I'd only listened to only once (ex. Usher's "Throwback." I think I subconsciously refuse to listen to the song because of the grammatical errors), a couple in the 20-30's count (ex. No Doubt's "Too Late" with a count of 28. Yeah, I dig the song and it bums me out real nice), and one... well... it's in a league of its own (Cafe Tacuba's "Eres" with a grand total of 78 times. Yes. Yes. That song has unbelievable power over me... plus, there was this entire episode I went through last year and it was that song that got me out of the hole I was digging for myself. I also listen to it to laugh sometimes because Chase and Leky say it sounds like a song off a porno). However, the count helps me pick out what songs to drop off the i-Pod.
I then started deleting songs to make room for some newer ones on the i-Pod. Some songs I'd missed adding the first time around, while other songs I'd added out of pure stupidity ("maybe I'll learn to like it").
This time, I added English songs that aren't "sung" by either Tupac or BSB (great range I have there, huh?). Still, Spanish songs grossly outnumber English ones... and I wonder why my Beaner accent sneaks up on me from time to time during conversations. I'm surprised I can articulate any idea in the English language after noticing this shit.
I also added songs that aren't depressing. It's amazing the different degrees of depression certain songs bring about in me.
-Aww... I remember hearing this song Thanksgiving of 1989!
-Man... I'm gonna die alone...
-Dude... why'd this singer have to die?
All that good stuff. I put PCD to make sure I'd have something to at least bounce my head to (I almost said "ass" but refrained from it... because I'm really not all about shaking my ass... and especially not like a Pussy Cat Doll... those girls are made of rubber or some shit) and some NAS to rap along to (cause I'm tired of getting weird looks from people after singing the first line of Tupac's "Hit 'Em Up."
"I ain't got no mutha fuckin' friends. That's why I fucked your bitch, you fat mutha-fucka!"
Yeah, way to impress the fellas. Might as well keep it a little tamer with this guy, NAS. Plus, he has that one song, Virgo... it does a great job getting stuck in my head and I really don't sound like a hood-rat when singing that one).
Apple claims Nanos can fit 500 songs. Bullshit, homies, bullshit. I only managed to shove 494 songs (of those, I think maybe 80 are in English. Hahaha! Bad, AnoMALIE! Bad!)... in other words, NOT ENOUGH!
I don't listen to nearly enough music... and this 2 GB restriction doesn't help.
I lead an exciting life, I know.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
If you're going to wake me up from my slumber... someone better be dying... or my house better be on fire... anything else, you're getting your ass kicked (like with a bear in hibernation. Would you ever wake him/her up? No, unless you want to get your intestines confused for a big ball of yarn).
This rule has been followed since I can remember. I'm a peaceful kid as long as I'm given my time to rest.
As a baby, I'd sleep all day long, and only wake up when hungry. I didn't even bother crying... mom knew my routine: AnoMALIE has her eyes open? Well, let's feed her before she cries or something... then she'll go back to sleep and not bother a soul.
As an older kid, sure, I got up for school, but on the weekends I'd be laid out till maybe 11am. That became a little troublesome because I'd sleep in the living room (because we were ghetto, remember? 5 people lived in a one bedroom apartment... my little sister and I had to sleep in the sofa-bed in the living room while my folks and older brother slept in the one bedroom--SO many traumatizing stories came out of that) and sometimes we'd have early visitors... or Mom just wanted to open the curtains... but did they ever wake me up? Hell no. They knew not to. Instead, they waited till I woke up on my own and acted like no one was home till then.
As a teenager the rule only became more strongly enforced. Don't feel like getting a shoe right between the eyes? Well, don't come into my room and wake me up... I have surprisingly good accuracy when irritated.
Do not, I repeat, DO NOT wake up a sleeping AnoMALIE.
Apparently, my close acquaintances are aware of this rule, but not the rest of the world (gee, that's hard to believe).
For the past three weeks this one bastard's been calling my phone at an ungodly hour... thus waking me from my very comfortable sleep (and in the most annoying way possible: by having my phone ring!).
The first time I answered was when he called at 5:26 in the morning . He had called the previous day in the afternoon, but since I was in school I had the phone on silent. When I saw the number appear on my phone the following morning, I thought
Shit... who died?!
Because no regular person gets a phone call at 5 in the morning.
So I answered the phone...
"Julio, I'm outside."
Bitch... who the fuck is Julio? Do I sound like a Julio?!
"Nah... dude... you got the wrong number..."
Now, that bitch should have considered himself lucky. I was too dazed and worried to go off on him over the phone like I typically do to other unlucky callers (although I had an ex who would wake me up by calling me at around 8 in the morning every day just to hear me talk. I never went off on him once, and I answered all of his stupid questions while watching children's programming on TV. Weird dude with weird requests... but hey, you gotta give the people what they want, correct? Doesn't hurt when someone's willing to listen to me drone on and on about asymmetrical skirts). I should have never heard from him after the whole "nah, dude, you got the wrong number," thing, but no... he called 6 more times! All times on a different day (he did call twice in one morning though) and all between 5:15 and 5:45 in the morning!
After I answered the first time, I learned to put my phone on alarm only... and I thought it would get through to him.
Fucker... if the person ain't answering... quit fucking calling!
So I didn't hear from him for about a week (ok, maybe it was just 3 days) and I thought it was safe to go back to having my phone full volume as I slept (because I am paranoid and I think "What if Mom or Little Sister need me and I'm too busy sleeping?").
Bad idea! (shit, I feel like that should be the new title to this page... I just can't learn from mistakes! I'm like a fucking mule)
Guess who called me today at 5:02 in the morning?
That's his name.
And apparently I'm Julio... and our boss is Maaaaaaario.
Julio gives David a ride... or maybe it's the other way around... I'm too furious to care. I have no clue why Julio makes David believe my number is his... or why David insists on calling me even after I told him not to.
I thought about answering, but seeing the number appear on the screen made me feel like if I answered, I'd say some shit I'd live to regret... or that I'd have to go confess to a priest later on. So, I just made his damn call go straight to voicemail.
He left me a message:
"Julio, it's me... Daaaaaaaavid. I can't come in to work today ::groans:: so just tell Maaaaario that I'm sick ::sniffle:: I gotta go to the doctor later today... so ahh... yeah"
Ya! Dejame dormir o muerete con un chingado, imbecil!
I'm obviously not going to let this slip so easily. I've given this bitch one too many opportunities to learn that he's dialing the wrong number and irritating the wrong chick by continuously referring to her as Julio (and here I always thought I sounded like a sex-hotline operator in the mornings... you know... being groggy and all that shit) and calling at such an ungodly hour.
What am I gonna do?
Why, privatize my number and crank phone call him at 2 in the morning, that's what!
The level of evilness behind the phone call is still being debated between me and my sister... but it's gonna be good... especially since I now know his name, as well as two of his acquaintances.
I just hope that by 2 in the morning I still remember what it is I'm supposed to be doing. It's a miracle when I remember to rinse off my mascara at that time... let's hope I can manage to role-play an angry spouse at that time or something like that.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
"DON'T YOU TRY AND TELL ME I CAME FROM A MONKEY!"
excuse whenever she, Chase, Leky, and I talk evolution.
It's not like we start the evolution conversation (shit, we have better things to argue about... like say, hoes)... she brings it on all by herself.
Leky: So how many guys can a girl kiss before you consider her a skank?
Me: I dunno... (why are you asking me? Do I look like a hoe expert?-- actually, with the frequency with which I do it... talk shit about hoes that is)
Chase: Depends on the circumstances.... like if she kisses 50 guys in one night, then yeah, she's a hoe.
Leky: What do you think, Lucky Soprano (aka "Funny Friend")?
Lucky Soprano: You know what really irritates me? When people try and tell me I come from a monkey!
Me, Leky, Chase: WTF?
All three of us (Leky, Chase, and I) are bio majors (well, Leky switched to Criminal Justice after two years, like a smart person, while Chase and I stuck with bio and regretted it months later) and Lucky Soprano's a... I believe an Education major. This outburst from her makes Leky, Chase, and me look at each other, slowly crack our knuckles, and prepare for the roast (yeah, yeah, we're mean).
I'd write up some of her arguments... but even thinking about them works me up. The last time this girl had a science class was back in 10th grade when it was mandatory (actually, no, she took Bio 100, I believe... so she feels well prepared for this argument), but she still feels up for a fight with 3 people who definitely don't agree with her.
After a while of not getting through to her, we give up... because it becomes obvious that the only people getting angry are, well, us.
I think maybe I'd be better prepared for this argument if this type of argument ever arose in my family... but they're all generally bio lovers (well, PBS lovers). We're all religious, some more than others, but we don't take evolution as an attack on our religion (despite what this new Pope says...), we kinda try to work it in (but not like "intelligent design," no, no). So until this friend of mine brought up the whole "I'm not related to a monkey!" argument, I never really had to fight with anyone over the topic of evolution.
Well!! This bring me to what happened today.
As I was going to enter my first class, Chase pointed out a flier that was posted on the wall outside the lecture hall.
Chase: OMG, AnoMALIE! Come look at this!
I thought it was going to be something that would be grossly misspelled... or maybe that the price for egg donation had skyrocketed (Chase and I have fun considering the possibilities: fast money... no need to raise a kid... but do I really want to see little kids running around that look like me and don't call me mommy? That would be some creepy shit), but once I read it, Lucky Soprano came to mind:
Although I'm not very down with arguing with anyone (I'd much rather fist fight to get shit over with. haha) we're now thinking about bringing Lucky Soprano with us to this lecture (and as many science major as we can). It'd be fun to see if Lucky Soprano claps along to what the lecturer says... and maybe she'll even inputs some of her own ideas... I mean, she and the lecturer are both education people... great minds think alike, right?
Then again, this might come to later on bite us in the ass next time Leky, Chase, and I have the evolution conversation with Lucky Soprano (because this happens every single time we go out). She might find new material to piss us off with.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Let's start off on why this day would have been cool (at the end, I'll add the little scenario that made me unable to enjoy any of today's events):
-I had studied all weekend! Do you know how hard that is for me?! I gave up drinks and a game of dodge ball in the name of biochemistry and mammalian physiology! But it did make me feel accomplished and special (and sorta, kinda nerdy). Anyway! This studying made me feel ready for school (blah blah blah) and I sort of understood what the teacher was saying (whenever I wasn't tuning out and drifting off into space).
-In class (while I was alone because Chase was feeling tired and stayed home) I noticed how I was completely surrounded by a certain group. I typically have "gaps" around where I sit... you know... one person sits a seat away from me... the other maybe 3? ha! Well, not in this class. It seems an ethnic group has decided to embrace me (because let's keep it real here: how many Latinos do you see in a science class? I sometimes become jealous of the people speaking Chinese to each other and wonder why I don't have anyone to speak Spanish with)! Who are they? Why, the very sweet an intelligent Asians!
I've been told a couple of times that I look Asian (one of the times it was one of my best friends saying this... a Vietnamese girl). I guess this eye can look Filipino sometimes:I get the whole "Are you Filipino?" question almost as often as the "Are you Muslim?" question (I wear this gold chain--like your typical Mexican-- of the virgin of Guadalupe I got when I was 9... and I guess she looks like a lady in a burqa... ??). These kids have decided to sit next to me and take me into their circle whenever my friend is absent. They do this every time, so I suppose I'm now part of a clique (a smart one, at that)! Yeah!!!
-In this class (where I'm the new pseudo-Asian) I don't usually have a hard time paying attention. The professor goes off on tangents that some people complain about, but I just can't get enough (I'd rather hear him talk about his research with turtles than hear another thing about the digestive system and stupid ass Peyer's Patches). Well, today we were talking about the male reproductive system, a subject I've tried VERY hard (haha, look at that, I can say puns) to listen to without cracking a smile. I've done this since 8th grade... and I thought I was good for today (especially since Chase wasn't there... so I had no one to crack jokes with) after so many years of practice.
I was OK at first... I looked at the images without laughing even after the dudes behind me laughed whenever the word "scrotum" was mentioned. Then came one of the professors tangents:
(talking about newborn baby boys)
Professors: So after the doctor's checked the baby's vitals... he'll quickly palpate the baby's scrotum... and what's that? (He was referring to "palpate")
Guy behind me who's in his late 20's (whispering): Someone palpating my scrotum? A party!
Me (internally): I am an adult... I am a... mature... grown ass... girl... oh, hell, who the fuck am I kidding? (out loud) AHAHAHAHA!
-After class, rather than staying at school for endless hours wanting to bang my head against a table until I fall unconscious, I got to go home. Once there, I was able to run for an hour, take a shower... and go back to school refreshed and... feeling freaking great. I also brought Chase to school with me. I prefer to ride in a car with another person rather than going alone. Gives me someone to talk to instead of concentrating on cussing out other drivers (don't get me wrong, I'll call someone a douche bag regardless of who's in my car). So that made me happy.
More interesting, OK stuff happened... but I'm getting sleepy... let's just get to me puking already:
My day would have been acceptable if I hadn't bumped into... Staff Writer (works for a local magazine... as well as some free-lance stuff), an ex-English teacher that was... well.. we had a thing a while back (he also read my very personal on-line diary by googling my name... and that had me upset for a while). Back in the day when I really had it bad for him, each time I'd see him my body would undergo all this weird shit: legs going wobbly, heart racing, dizzy spells, stuttering, shaky voice, watery eyes... basically my body shutting down on me.
Well... things ran their semi-normal course, I found out he was an alcoholic... he worked a ton... I liked math... I couldn't/didn't want to go to clubs... it was just... done.
I stopped seeing him... and it was this really difficult transition for me... especially since I still read his shit from time to time.
Anyway, I hadn't seen him for a while... I just knew he had been in Brazil from February till the last weekend of March thanks to Myspace. I felt safe then, knowing I wouldn't bump into him in any way. Of course, being that I'm AnoMALIE and all, something was bound to go wrong.
Guess who intercepted me today between the Chem and Physics buildings?
Why, Staff Writer, of course!
I was busy looking at the cracks of the sidewalk as I walked to class (because I'd rather look at the sidewalk than make any eye contact with anyone) when all of a sudden a hand grabs me (lightly) by the arm.
WTF? Who dares and touches me?!
I look up... and oh shit! I know those huge blue eyes!
He remembers my name?
Me: Oh hey! (I came off louder than expected)
We exchanged pleasantries... "How've you been?" "What are you up to?" "When the hell were you going to tell me you went to Brazil, you son of a bitch?!" (ok, I didn't say that last one... but I would have if I hadn't been so... mesmerized over the fact that I was talking to him again).
However, the entire time, I felt the whole... dizziness and related illness while talking to him. I just wanted it all to end as soon as possible.
SW: Well, it was nice bumping into you again.
Me: Yeah (smiling like an imbecile)!!
We parted ways... and he kept walking down towards the Chem building while I made a bee-line for the Physics building.
Where did I go? To vomit, of course.
I'm weak... yeah... and it crapped-up my otherwise nice day full of immaturity.
It's back to living my life in fear of bumping into Staff Writer once more...
I just love being a fourteen-year-old all over again. It makes me feel so alive!
(I fucking hate this, dude, I hate it!)
Sunday, April 15, 2007
I've been a fan since... hmm... I can remember. He was the first guy I can remember ever having a crush on.
Oh wow. Why am I glued to the television right now? I... want that guy.
My mom even tells me a story where I was around three and a half and I asked her to buy him for me.
Yeah. I have no idea why the hell I said that... but Mom always manages to embarrass me by bringing that up around others.
He's always been a good guy... a role model of not only an artist, but just a man in general. His smile makes me melt... his voice makes me smile... and... oh... just thinking about him makes me fan my blushing face.
He's one of the only artists I'll sing along to without a care in the world.
I'd always wanted to go to one of his concerts, but for some reason, he never made it out to Vegas in all of his 23-year-long career. I guess he didn't think enough Latinos lived in Las Vegas (ahahaha! oh man... that made me laugh) to make a decent profit. At one point I thought about going to Miami or LA to catch one of his shows (especially when he was on tour with Alejandro Fernandez and Marc Anthony... I would have promised my first born to anyone who could have gotten me in) out of fear of me dying or him retiring before I'd ever be able to see him live.
Then, this morning I saw a commercial announcing his upcoming concert on the 10th of June at the Aladdin. I freaked (of course) and hopped around the house a little (c'mon now, he's my freaking idol). Mom said she'd buy me the best tickets, so I went on-line in search for them before she finished talking.
Now, Chase has brought up the fact that I pay too much for concert tickets. I never believed her until recently. Each concert I've ever attended with her has been great... and never over 20 bucks a ticket. Shit, she got us tickets to go see The Gathering (I'm stoked for that thing! Shiny Toy Guns and They Might Be Giants.. HOLLER!) in May for a little under 11 dollars each ticket... and that to me is fucking amazing.
So when I got on ticket master and saw tickets for Chayanne were $128, $88, and $58, I was crushed.
What the hell?! Last time I paid that much for a ticket was back in 2000 when I was an idiot for the Backstreet Boys... HELL NO!
So my bubble was burst.
Mom said she'd still pay for my ticket, but that I'd have to go alone or find someone else who'd pay $128 to go with me.
"Well, shit... why would I want to do that? I love Chayanne... but this is disappointing. What the hell were his promoters thinking?!"
I would have accepted my Mom's offer if... no... never. I'm through with paying that much for a ticket. I'll dish about 75 bucks max for a good V.I.P. seat... even something around the 90's for certain artists... but almost $130? Hell no. It's not like he'll make out with me if I pay that much... I don't even think I'll get a few drops of his sweat splashed on me for that price.
I'll see his pretty face... hear his pretty Puerto Rican accent... see his pearly whites... and jam to the songs I grew up with (there's this one waltz he sings that I had to dance to in a total of 6 Quinceañeras. "Tiempo de valz... duh-ruh ruh-ruh... ruh-ruh"). Maybe I'll have the chance to scream "Te Ammmmmmmmmmo! Wooo!" a couple of times... but after that I'll just feel stupid.
Damn, Chayanne! Do you know how hard it'll be for me to sit at home on June 10th thinking:
Fuck... right now Chayanne's singing and dancing to a bunch of crazy ladies... and I'm not there!
I'll never get to meet my first love.
Fuck you, cheese company (one of the companies sponsoring the event)!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Who had the bright idea of running a mile, in a lightning storm, while wearing strappy sandals? Me (I've only seen mud that bloody this one time Mom killed a pig in Mexico)!
Who had the bright idea of hiking an abandoned CATTLE trail? Me, of course! (You can't tell, but everyone in that picture pretty much looked like the girl in the orange shorts... although my little sister was laughing for a huge part of it because she'd almost pee her pants each time one of us slipped. I kept the expression on the girl in the orange shorts because it's priceless to me. Also, it's not visible from the angle, but a little to the left of the picture is a huge drop from the mountain to a river with jagged rocks... that was fun)
Who went on a camping trip to the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range in Durango, Mexico (Ajua! I had to add that in there)... 2 hours on horseback... in a tank top and booty shorts? Me!! (NEVER again wearing booty shorts... I don't give a fuck how much money they pay me. The sun burn wasn't cool either)
Those are only a few bad examples (I say I was under the influence of Mexico, each of these scenarios took place there in the late 1990's-early 2000's), but today I managed to add another thing to my "Mistakes" list.
I didn't start cutting my hair short until 2003 (horrible breakup... went all crazy... cut my hair up in hopes of "putting everything in the past" yada yada yada). Somehow, it has become an addiction... especially recently after discovering the bob.
I had no problem with this addiction because my "hair-stylist" is also my childhood friend/second-cousin. She's always had a good eye when it comes to chopping off hair... so I trusted her with my head.
This cousin of mine, while I do love her and all that, tends to enjoy pushing my buttons (she's known how ever since we first met in 1987). She's kinda... sorta... rude, and she thinks it's the funniest thing since Carlos Mencia (eww... I hate that man) to be like that.
Well, today she pushed me a little too far, and she touched upon one of my "sensibilities" (that's what I get for making fun of BH yesterday on this damn blog. Stupid karma). It went down like this:
(Second-cousin's cutting my hair, little sister's sitting on the chair next to me, and no one else is in the building. It was something like 1:30 pm)
Little Sister: Hey, what did I get you for your birthday this year?
Me: Nothing... besides that cake you ate (she ate my favorite part--all of it-- then pulled the whole "Who bought this cake?!" deal and told me "I could eat as much of it as I want to!" when I bitched and said I wasn't going to touch the cake anymore. We have the coolest fights ever, don't we?)
Little Sister: Oh yeah... that was good. But hey... I can't get you a good, expensive present every year.
Who the hell ever complained? Is she about to brag?
Little Sister: Yeah... I can't go off buying you 300 dollar present every year, like this i-Pod from last year.
Yep... she sure did brag... douche.
Second-cousin: You bought her that?
Shit... why did I bring that fucking i-Pod?!
Little Sister: Yeah, then Older Brother got butt-hurt because I never got him anything for his birthday.
Second-cousin: has he ever gotten you anything?
LS: No. But I still felt guilty. So I got him a video i-Pod.
Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
LS: Then AnoMALIE got ass-hurt because I got her a Nano... and hers can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's.
Me: I did? When?!
You little bitch... when the hell did that happen?!
LS: You were like "My i-Pod can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's! I hate it!"
Me: I did?! I never said that! That his i-Pod holds more songs than mine, it does... by a long shot! But I NEVER complained!
LS: No, you did... to my Mom!
Me: No! She told me you felt bad about getting Older Brother a more expensive i-Pod than you did me... and that you thought I'd get all offended. Why the hell would I complain over a gift?! The most I ever gave you was a ceramic picture holder I did back in 11th grade Ceramics Class! I can't afford anything!
(By this time I've feeling woozy in the chair from all the built up frustration with my bragging little sister)
Second-cousin: What AnoMALIE needs to do is get a job!
Oh. Hell. No. You did not just go there.
I sat still... and tried to calm myself down. Keyword: Tried.
Me: No. AnoMALIE doesn't need to get a job.
SC: Yes. She does.
Me: No. Not with my school schedule. I can get a job when I graduate.
SC: You should have gotten a job two years ago!
(My head is buzzing by now... but I think twice about getting up and slapping her because no matter how discombobulated I become, I still remember she's holding some sharp scissors)
Me: No. If that would have happened, I would have been taking two extra years to graduate.
SC: Damn! You're fucking... slow!
Me: No. Not with my major.
SC: What, look at me, I've had a job the entire time I've been in college and I'm still graduating in time.
You go to fucking community college!
Me: Yeah. But I'm a bio major... and...
SC: So... I needed to take the same amount of classes as you... and I could still hold a job.
You fucking, stupid bitch... I'm going to kill you.
Me: Dude... I came into college with 15 credits to my name!
Oh.. I guess bragging runs in the family
SC: Daaaamn! And you're still this slow?!
Fuck. I'll quit that bragging shit right now
Me: Look... some people can handle working and school, I can't. You're an education major... I'm a bio major. It just didn't work out like that for me.
SC: Because you're spoiled and lazy.
Fuck this! She dropped the S word.
Me: No! I'm not! If I would have majored in Education I would have finished in two years! Community ain't shit to the University (and that's SAD)... Education is not anywhere near as difficult as Biology! Don't you compare my shit to yours.
SC: Oooo... AnoMALIE can get mad!
(She pushed my head down and started cutting at the back of my hair)
Me: I'm sick of hearing this shit! What are you going to be doing for the rest of your life? Cutting crack-addicts' hair and yawning all day long at SuperCuts? I'm going to Med School (no, I'm not, but I'll lie when angry)! If Biology is so easily done, why didn't YOU major in it?!
The haircut continued... people walked in... sister got her hair done... we paid and we left.
As Little Sister drove away (like a maniac, I must add), I was still fuming at the ears. Instead of heading straight home, we dropped by Mom and Dad's work place to let Mom take a break and buy some food for herself (poor lady... working amongst all those weirdo truckers for so long on an empty stomach). It had been a while since the haircut, so now my hair was air-dry.
Mom: You... cut your hair?
This little exchange made me worry. I walked over to the bathroom and saw my hair.
Never... ever, ever... anger your hair-stylist DURING a haircut.
I look like I belong in the made-for-TV-movie of The Great Gatsby.
Bitch made me look like a 1920's Flapper!
I'm not Christina Aguilera... I don't wanna be Back to Basics... I want to be AnoMALIE, girl with the longish-shortish hair! Shit, right now I'd even accept this hair I rocked back in 1987: Ladies and Gentlemen... my hair is f.u.c.k.e.d.
I'd post pictures... but I've tried so hard to fix it... re-cutting it and stuff... and crying a little bit... and visiting other, closer-related cousins to try and solve my problem... but I've mostly cried. I'm kind of a wreck.
That's the last time I ever lose my temper while submitted to someone who can fuck up my image.
Why don't I just try to piss off a chick that's holding a bottle of Nitric Acid next time...
Thursday, April 12, 2007
It'd be cool if we all shared the same type of humor... but sadly, that is not the case.
Some of us know how to push buttons... while others are just witty (I'm sort of a button pusher... and sometimes things slip out when I'm trying to be serious, so I'm not really witty on cue).
I've had my share of problems due to my "humor" (worst one ending in me being called "Betty la fea" aka "ugly Betty" before ugly Betty was popular in the states... that one ended ALL wrong). I've really tried checking that part of me (yeah, I'll try to be serious... really, I will) because I get the feeling no one takes me seriously (plus, when I'm feeling depressed no one tries cheering me up... and that gets frustrating).
Lately, I've gotten into a mini argument with a friend over humor. It started a while back... with one of those stupid surveys off Myspace. I believe the survey was all about pet-peeves. I answered the thing, seriously, and I got some responses from friends... most of them along the lines of:
I found this funny because my responses were all 100 percent real... those were all my pet peeves and those were really things that went through my head when I encountered them, but there were people out there thinking I was trying to make them laugh (I guess I can be funny when irritated).
I guess this irritated one of my good friends (who really has to try to make people laugh... and in the middle of a "joke" she'll bust out laughing. Always a deal breaker with me unless it's a fucking awesome joke, but it's usually not)... and she started this... comedy war. A war I wasn't willing to participate in.
Who the hell am I to claim myself funnier over another person? Annnnd, why the fuck would I subject myself to being critiqued in my humor? Who the fuck did this person think she was? Joe Rogan? Gimme a break! This wasn't the Laugh Factory... it was the damn computer lab at UNLV!
"Nice try... but I'm funnier than you, AnoMALIE," was what she told me upon seeing me at the computer lab.
Yippy-fucking-skippy. Does it look like I care?
"But it's OK, I like being the funny friend. Chase is the smart friend, and you can be the chill friend," she said.
Whaaaattt?How about something more along the lines of the drunken-party-girl friend for you?
I didn't tell my friend anything... but after that scenario, I've never really tried being humorous around others.Who the hell is subjected to a comedy-off?
Anyway... something similar to my comedy-off has sprung amongst my brother and his "best" friend. I really don't know who started it all (I do... I just like to claim I don't), but things turned ugly quick.
While I keep my trap closed when someone rubs me the wrong way, my brother just gets more aggravated and REALLY pushes people over the edge.
It all started with Big Brother's Best Friend (BBBF) posting new pictures up from his Florida trip. Now this guy, who is also my cousin (hence why he and my brother have known each other for so long), has a really bad drinking habit. I guess he thinks it's attractive and cool. After he finishes drinking/partying, he gets the urge to eat... regardless of what time this hunger might strike: 11 pm, 1 am, 3 am, 6 am. He'll go out of his way to drive to the nearest Roberto's Taco Shop... and he'll STUFF his face.
So... all this drinking and eating has gotten him on the chubbier side.
My brother, an ex-military guy and boxer, really bugs BBBF about this weight gain:
"damn, biggie heffer...your gut is huge..lose that gut!" -Older Brother on BBBF's (whose real name rhymes with heifer and is spelled similar to "heffer") Myspace pictures.
Apparently, this really enraged BH (I am now going to reffer to BBBF as BH for Biggie Heffer), so he then went on my bro's page and wrote some "mean" comments on my brother's page. BH made fun of my brother's ears (and that's something you just don't fuck with when it comes to Older Brother. No one jokes about his ears) and BH also referred to him as a "tool" (for reasons I am unclear about).
That's when things went super sour (I mean, when I saw it happen, even I winced in anticipation)
So now, OB (older brother) goes to his own Myspace and posts this picture of BH:
OB proceeded to make it his main picture (I just LOVE how Myspace ruins relationships with such stupid shit).
This in turn, made BH turn HELLA HEARTLESS and since he's a graphic designer (or something to the affect of), he Photo Shopped this picture of my brother: To this much more disgusting version: I woke up today, checked my Myspace (because that's how I do), and was greeted by that last picture.
AHH! What's that?! WTF happened to my brother?!
I saw what the whole deal was... and I couldn't bear looking at the picture because I'd get goose bumps (I still do... it grosses me out).
People were commenting things like:
"Oh shit! OB's a meth addict!"
"HAHA cabron ef, your a master of the photshop" (this guy's a total idiot... I can't even be offended with the shit this asshole says)
OB was livid for a while... not to mention the rest of our household (I wasn't LIVID, livid, just a little surprised... wanting to laugh but feeling it was wrong)
All I can really do is shake my head... boys cross the line pretty damn bad.
And imagine, all this because one poor (24-year-old) boy's insecurity was poked and now he went off and humiliated the (23-year-old) offender (better put, a guy with a beer gut couldn't stand the fact that "best friend" goes around not only telling him, but also telling mutual friends that chubby needs to hit the gym... and chubby then proceeds to turn all Stephen-King-Carrie-White on "best friend" and humiliates him in front of all the hot girls of Myspace. Damn... Hardcore! Riiight).
Who would have known boys have the same sensibilities as girls?!
(BH went so far as to tell me to "tell your brother to quit that shit or else..." man... gimme a P, gimme a U, gimme an S-S-Y!)
That's why I have more male friends than female friends (and proves why I'm still friends with the asshole guy that called me Betty la fea that one time).
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
I may not draw often... I kind of gave it up for a while thanks to DeviantArt. I see so many good artists out there (and they STILL don't make it), and the whole "Well, your shit looks nothing like this! Give it up, Lame-O!" mind-set invades me.
All this looking through people's art makes me become somewhat of a fan for certain artists.
Being that I'm sort of sarcastic... and caustic... and cynical... I like my art the same way (don't get me wrong, I almost faint over Edgar Degas' work as well).
I became a fan of Mr. Todd Goliath. Sure, his art isn't spectacular, but I liked the little sayings of his (I became a tool and bought a couple of backpacks and a binder with his "art" on it. I still carry around the binder that says "Please don't feed the boys," but now I just feel stupid walking around with it. Maybe I should just have a big bonfire and burn all my David and Goliath shit?).
Well, today, Best Bud Chase showed me an entry in the Something Awful forums... and it rocked my world. Turns out Mr. Goliath (Goldman) is a plagiarist. He not only copied worked from some guy that I can't think of his name right now (he/she posted something about it HERE ) but he went as far as to steal from DON HERTZFELDT. I love that man (D.H.). I freaking LOVE that man.
As said on one of my previous posts, I too had my art ripped (sure, it was a 5th grade thing, but it still affected me to the point where I no longer share my art work). Thanks to that, there's nothing I hate more than people's style/art/creation/writing being ripped. I have no problem when due credit is given, but when some ass tries to pass someone else's work as his/her own... that's when my blood boils.
I'm upset I ever liked this guy... I would have been more upset if I would have actually gone through with the purchase I was ever so close to committing (almost a grand for some stupid, lifted artwork. Fuck. that.). Stupid Venetian... making me feel like I actually wanted to buy one of stupid plagiarizing ass Goliath "creations."
People like him don't deserve the respect or space given to them by others.
Grrrrrrrrr. So. Angry. (and disappointed).
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
I'm sure that doesn't come as a surprise to anyone .
I've been told by most that they're pretty surprised when they get to know that side of me.
In creative writing, my teacher was fond of me but he'd always say that "this girl who in person is so shy and sweet has one of the dirtiest mouths I've come across in writing."
I've had a dude tell me "You know, I find a girl with a dirty mouth to be the ugliest thing ever."
To which I responded with "And... who gives a fuck?"
I've had the problem since... I can remember. The first English word I ever learned was at the age of three, and it was the lovely word: "Fuck." I even made a song about it ("Fuck fuck fuck fuck... fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck!")... what did they expect when my Dad watched HBO 24/7? My Mom and Grandma have a foul mouth as well (Mom always called us "Hijos de su chingada madre" which roughly translates to "Son of a bitch" or "mother fuckers" Yeah. Go figure)... I'm pretty sure that's where I get it.
I've tried getting rid of it, seriously, since eighth grade. I've tried to stop cussing when I met this really nice Jehovah's Witness (that worked for a month), I even mentioned it this year in THIS (click) post. Ever since 1999, I've tried giving up cussing for Lent. Has it worked? Hellllllll no. Not once.
I started off OK this year... only cussing while driving or writing. However, I quickly gave up... and went back to my cussing ways. Of course I felt guilty, very guilty, each time I dropped something like "Watch where you're going, you motherfucking asshole!" But I did it anyway... but I did feel like crap each time I said something "bad."
However, Lent has come and gone... and I'm back to my normal self again.
I did notice I haven't been so bad... just while driving. I quit cussing today because of what happened to me while driving to school yesterday:
I have to take the I-215 in order to get to school. It's never that packed (at 12pm)... but I do get idiot tourists from time to time (I get on at the LV BLVD entrance, so it's PACKED with California plates). Yesterday was like any other day.
Many dudes cut me off. Many dudes stopped abruptly. Many dudes drove 15 miles under the speed limit.
My response to everything was:
"Come on! Fucking cock suckers!"
It's just... a thing I say... since sixth grade.
I said it about six times... when on my final "CO!FCS!" I saw a female head pop up from... above the male driver's lap.
I was quiet... sort of laughed....
Well then... I hope she was recovering something she dropped...
I haven't called anyone a cock sucker in the last 36 hours... I'm feeling it's gonna stay that way for another 96 hours.
I may have just been traumatized.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
I've been in and out of church so often in these last 4 days, that I have no clue what's really going on in the world (I'm in my "Sister-AnoMALIE" mode).
Sure, it's bummed me out (hella. I was in a good mood all of last week... then all of a sudden I feel heavy-hearted and sort of sick. It doesn't help that this morning I woke up knowing AOL had erased all my "Favorites" AND saved e-mail. That shit had me crying for a while. It took me years to accumulate some of those favorites. And the saved mail... well... some shit had been there since 2001), but yesterday just made everything worth it.
So, I'm not fanatical about religion or anything (Mom wishes... she constantly accuses me of being a bad Catholic, but I give her more than a few examples on how I could be worse) but yesterday's mass is my favorite mass of the year. For one, it's done later in the evening... so there aren't as many children crying and running around (I don't hate kids... but I just like to worship quietly... sort of like a monk). Reason number two is that we start off in complete darkness... and that's just pretty rad. Three: we get to use candles! The priest blesses the fire, and we all light our candles one by one using the same flame. It's just awesome... and not because I'm a pyromaniac.
Anyway, lately, the church has really been going down the drain. They don't take much care of it, and the congregation doesn't give much dough for renovations. We don't have air conditioning (it's gonna get real ugly come summer time), the benches are coming apart (that's fun. I feel like a gymnast sometimes when I have to hold myself up using only my toes when kneeling down), and worst of all: there's this one Salvadorian lady who has set up a stand of Pupusas a couple of feet away from the main entrance to the church.
Being that we don't have air conditioning, people prop the doors open... and guess what we sniff in the air? Why, nice "fritanga" air, of course! You smell grease, pork, cheese... and often lard... and it all seeps into church.
Is that AWESOME or what?
HELL FUCKIN' NO.
I didn't have a problem with this lady at first. I am empathetic more often than not. She started selling her Pupusas out of the back of her car in the church parking lot, and that was fine by me 'cause I felt bad for the woman.
Then, all of a sudden, she had a carpeted stand with tables and everything right in front of church. The fucking gall of the woman.
So anyway... this has been going on for about 8 weeks now, and it has really annoyed me. The straw that broke the camel's back though, was when I saw her stand on Friday. According to tradition, we're supposed to fast on Good Friday... and I had been doing just that. Once I got a whiff of the grease though, I can say I felt rage. Ignorant ass woman. However, I don't know who I was angrier with, the woman or the stupid asses who were buying Pupusas. It was horrible to see the people that were fasting... and how their faces turned like those of a torture victim once the air became saturated with the smell of cooking pork.
Anyway! Off that tangent. I've been annoyed, and I just knew they were going to wreck my favorite mass somehow (Yeah, Fritanga lady was there). It was semi-ruined... but the live entertainment I received ended up making my day.
There was drama, suspense, comedy, horror, and even action up in there. Worthy of running against any good movie I've seen recently.
The priest's mic wasn't working... so for half of the mass (or the entirety of the darkness) most of us were absolutely lost. We had no clue what was going on... and little kids were freaking the hell out wondering why they were seeing fire at the entrance.
"What is he doing?!"
"I don't know... but something's gonna come out of that dark doorway!"
More in the drama category was this crush of mine... on the old married guy from the last entry. He looked so handsome... in his golden shirt (he had to wear it as part of the "uniform")... just like a trophy. He also read under the candle light... and his voice came out like thunder. H.O.T. Just awesome. Hot, deep voice.
I sat and wondered the whole time:
Could my crush get any worse? This is a married man! Skaaaaaaank!
Will this AnoMALIE drama continue? (Nah... it won't)
Another drama episode was a little girl behind me. She had a thing for crying:
Tennnnnnnnnnnnnngo Hammmmmmmmbreeeeee! Quierrooooooo Cooooooommmmidddddaaaaa!
Everyone heard... and I'm sure after a while, I wasn't the only one thinking:
Someone feed that little girl, already! She' hungry!
How long had this little girl gone without eating? Well, it was around 9:30 pm when her whimpering began, and she had been in church since 5:30 pm.
Poor child... being starved by her parents at such a tender age... and she cried out "I want food" until she fell asleep.
I don't really like fire. My siblings almost burned down our house not once, but twice back in the old neighborhood. Needless to say, I'm not too fond of flames. When we lit our candles, I did my best to keep it close to me, but not nearly close enough to catch myself on fire. However, there was this annoying bratty girl in front of me. The irresponsible mother let the girl stand on the bench, and while I frown upon kids ages 6+ standing on benches, I was more upset 'cause this 10 year old kid had very long, thick hair. Her hair was down past her butt... and she kept standing directly in front of my flame constantly swaying her hair from side to side like in the Herbal Essences commercials. Me, being the careful adult I am, tried my best to keep the flame away from the dumb kid's head... which ended up in me holding the candle at eye level.
So I basically played the Who's-gonna-catch-on-fire-first game. Would I accidentally ignite this dumb kid's mane or would I singe my eyelashes off first?
(I'm glad to announce no one caught on fire... but it gave the mass enough suspense for the rest of the year)
The bratty girl sitting in front of me had an equally annoying older sister. Whenever Herbal Essences Model wasn't too busy trying to annoy me, it was her older, teenaged sister picking at her elbow that would catch my attention. She picked at her elbow so often, I found myself wondering:
Well, WTF does she have back there?
And that's when I peeked.
She had, I counted, seven warts (jeez, I still get goose bumps just thinking about it) on the back of her left elbow.
It was one of those things... where like with a bad train wreck, you just can't keep your eyes away from the carnage.
Horrible. Just plain horrible (some warts were budding off another... oh man... it was BAD)!
Under the comedy category a ton of things could be listed... I see everything as comical. Maybe I can list the Pupusa air invading the church as something comical... only in a Catholic church would you have something like that happening.
And to finish it off, we have
Ushers help the priest hand out the communion. Most of these people are older ladies (the men are too busy protecting the doorways, I suppose). They go up into the altar in order to receive the communion straight from the priest, and then head back down to hand the communion to the rest of the congregation.
Well, the oldest lady up there (in her mid 70's) must have forgotten there were stairs in her way... because next thing you know, all you see is a golden little ball taking a sweet ass tumble down to the bottom of the stairs.
It was around 10:30 pm, and half of the people there were sleepy... but this tumble woke most of us up.
"Mommy... why did she fall?"
"I don't know... because she's old?"
Well... there goes her hip. That's what she gets for trying to do her own stunts.
I'm just glad this week is done with... now these people can go back to their usual behavior of forgetting the church even exists... and maybe Fritanga lady will move her place of business elsewhere.
Beware Fritanga Lady! She looks innocent at first... then she takes over like crabgrass.