Where the hell are you going?

Talk about addictions: Geeze!! 19 year-olds these days!
My cousin, the one with the weirdo tattoo of the letter "A," and also the one who tYpEZ Nd tALks LyKe diSS OMG! hAHa! Yey! YipPEe sKipEe! She's gotten yet another tat:I must say... I'm starting to get VERY envious... and I'm a push away from telling her to start picking nicer tattoos! Who the hell does she think she is? Popeye?!

One thing's for sure: If this kid gets another one... I'm gonna have to say "Fuck it" and just get mine... at least mine has a damn meaning... unlike Mademoiselle Popeye over there.

P.S. I'm so freakin' addicted to that stupid commercial about the Springs Preserve! That song is so, SO catchy. I find myself bouncing to the song... and a huge smile crosses my face... and that dumb little turtle is so fucking cute! But I can't find it on-line!! I want that fucking song! (The entire commercial wouldn't be too bad either. Stupid adorable commercials. How come I can easily find the Orbit commercial with the Lint Licker line, but not this one? Yeah, the Orbit commercial is awesome, but I also want cute!)

I meant the candy, damn it!

In true AnoMALIE fashion, let's stick to yesterday's topic:

Mexicans are gifted when it comes to double entendre... aka being perverted.It's a freakin' gift most of us are born with, and if we work it, we can become experts in the area.

Well, I'm not an expert, and most of the time, my double entendre is one hundred percent accidental.
Like with what happened to me a couple of minutes ago.
This is what happens when a Latin-American candy (similar to taffy, but healthier, believe it or not) has the same name as the Spanish slang term for vagina:

Mom: Que es eso en tu boca? (What's that in your mouth?)
Me: Panocha! (Pussy, or you know, the candy's name)
(Mom slaps my mouth, not hard, but it was a little jarring)
Mom: Malcriada! (ummm, I guess it could be "bad girl")
Me: What?! (I stick out my tongue to show the candy)

Stupid ass candy... I never liked it until recently when Mom came back from Mexico and all of a sudden I found myself addicted to the damn thing. If only I didn't feel so dirty saying the name... or you know, they changed it to some sort of Willy Wonka-like name.

No one ever feels bad saying "Damn, I love Laffy-Taffy!"
Hold on, wait... I take that back.

Thank you very much, D4L and Mexican-American-ness, for making me sound like a dirty, bi-sexual whore while talking about candy.

Victoria para el cojo.

It's a trip to see the drastic change in a chick I once believed to have "corrupted."

In high school, she transferred over to the public school I attended for X reason during our Junior year of H.S. She was coming from this Lutheran school she'd been going to since pre-school or something like that.
Being that my group was the "multi-cultural, quiet, good girl" group... sort of... she started sitting with us during lunch (she had to choose between that, the hoe table, the jock table, the anarchist table, the Mormon table, the "I want to grow up to be a lawyer" table, or the underclassmen tables).

Well, it's no secret I have quite the dirty mouth. I drop the F bomb almost as often as I inhale. It's just how I've been since elementary (seriously, I've had this mouth since then, that's what happens when your dad watches so much HBO around the young'uns). However, since I really wanted this girl to feel comfortable in her first public school, and see that we weren't all... I dunno... sinning hood rats, I decided to give my potty mouth a break.
She's probably the only person I've stopped cussing for (besides that one Jehovah's Witness boy, who called off his wedding BTW). It was difficult, but anything to make her happier.

However, since she did sit at the lunch table, she'd be subjected to our "grown up" conversations, i.e. shit talking about who was doing what to whom (and sometimes, for how much). We weren't about to stop talking about the sleazy hoes that went to our school (and I don't use the term "sleazy" lightly. These girls deserve their own show on HBO/Spice Channel<-- Does that even exist anymore?), so Wholesome Girl was going to have to listen.

Well, one day, I made the fatal flaw (unbeknownst to me) of using the term "head" in its non-conventional meaning.

Fellow Potty Mouth: I don't see why so many guys think she's hot.
Me: Yeah, but you know why...
Other Potty Mouth: Because she's a hoe.
Me: That's what you get when you mention in class how much you like giving head.
(table laughs, except for Wholesome Girl. She just looks at me.)
Wholesome Girl: What's that?
Me: What do you mean?
Wholesome Girl: To give head.
Me: (Fuuuuck! She's a Christian! How am I gonna do this?) Oh well, you know...
Wholesome Girl: No...
(She smiles and turns her entire body in my direction, super curious. I look around at the other chicks for help, but they're too busy trying to get the milk out of their nose)
Me: Well... you sure you want to hear this? (You're fucking 17! How do you not know this?!)
Wholesome Girl: Yes!!
Me: You won't like... get offended... or mad at me?
Wholesome Girl: No! Tell me!
Me: Well... OK. It's when... you know... you can use... you use your... mouth...
Other Potty Mouth: Or your hand...
Me: That's a hand Job, head is with your mouth!
Wholesome Girl (smiling): OK...
Me: And you know...
(Wholesome Girl smiles, thinking she's going to hear the punch line to my awesome joke and she will eventually be ejecting milk from her nose like everyone else. Little does she know they're all laughing at her... naivete, and my lame definition of "Head")
Wholesome Girl: OK...
Me: Well, you do it with a guy...
(Wholesome Girl's face shows she doesn't like where this is headed<--- no pun intended, seriously)
Me: You kind of... ummm... you put your mouth on his.... and you just... ummm... well, you give him a blow.
Wholesome Girl: You blow on him?
Me: No... it's also known as a Blow Job... shit, ooops! I mean, I just gave you another word for it. Ok, well, don't hate me for this, but a girl puts a guy's... penis (man, I almost said dick) in her mouth and she kind of just.... treats it like a... popsicle... because it feels good to him...

Wholesome Girl's face turned beet red (and she's SUPER white... almost albino), her eyes got watery, and she laughed nervously, covering her face.
I felt like a horrible person... especially since everyone else was laughing so hard... I think I may have gotten watery eyed as well... it's not every day I take someone's innocence away.

Well, yes, I then became the girl who gave explanations to sexual terms to this girl.
A year went by, Wholesome Girl became a little more corrupted by other girls/boys, and we were now Seniors.

Senior year was the year she tried converting us all to her faith. She was cool with fellow Christians, regardless of the denomination, but she seemed to have beef with non-believers or non-Chrisitians.
One day, we were having a conversation about salvation (only with this girl would we have heated debates about salvation... with regular girls, we'd be talking about breast implants, hoes, and other Vegas attractions) and there was a good friend of ours there, who's Muslim, and another who was Jewish. My best friend, who's Agnostic, mentioned how all that really mattered was not harming others, and being an all-around good person, to be considered... well, worthy of going to "heaven," if there was one. My Muslim friend agreed, and said it'd be cool to believe in someone like Muhammad or Jesus, but as long as you weren't out hurting others, you could consider yourself worthy of not going to hell.

Well, Wholesome Girl chimed in: Not Me! I think you have to believe in Jesus in order to go to heaven. It won't help if you're just a "good person." You need to believe in Jesus so you won't go to hell.
Rest of us: Well, then...

We were frozen... like we had just received a bucket of ice-cold water to our back... and we looked at each other. Wholesome Girl was saying this to possibly the four most goody-goody chicks in the school. While in her eyes, I would still be going to heaven, I was so pissed that she had just damned my other friends to hell. Not cool. So I stopped talking to her after that... at least in a nice, homegirl way.

Anyway, this leads me to what I learned today: She's now married... to a Jewish boy.
Primero cae un hablador que un cojo!

It's lovely how things flip with time.
I hope they did, at least. It'd suck balls to live thinking your husband was going to hell... while you were going to heaven.
It'd be like being Darwin's wife... and I didn't think there'd be a relationship like that ever again.

Globetrotter Terrier.

Man... I'm bummed out again.

Yesterday my kids (i.e. students, since I'm barren and all) did their First Communion. While, yes, I'm ecstatic that my Saturdays are once again free until September... I'm bummed the hell out. I do believe this is my final year doing this.
I looked forward to quitting when I was 14, but now that I'm seriously thinking about it, I get a little sad... because I do like the ghetto kids that ask me really silly questions. I'll miss (I was gonna say "corrupting their minds" but that might be considered blasphemous under that context) getting worked up when they don't turn in their homework of "Who died on the cross?" or when I get one kid in particular that'll ask me twenty questions a day, or that one little know-it-all girl that I have to avoid each time I ask a question to the class (why is it always a girl?). I'll miss their nervousness at church the day of their first communion (I lie to them and tell them they better know their shit, because the priest is going to divide each class and ask them questions, where the kid he points at has to answer or they'll be sent home without participating in the first communion. Cruel... but you wouldn't believe how well this works! haha-- one of the reasons I'm quitting... I'm an asshole sometimes).

It's a trip to see a kid you thought hated you, and the class, come up to you at the end and ask to take a picture with you... then say something like "You were cool, I'll miss ya man."

I'll miss ya too, gangstahs.
:(

Today my bro also left to Milan. I fought with him yesterday over... I think it may have been my i-Pod charger. I was originally going to stay up with him until 5 AM, when he was going to leave to the airport, but that little spat took place at 3 AM and I got so mad I went to bed and let him hang out by himself (I do that a lot. Like one time, while driving back from Mexico, the 101 in Phoenix was under construction and we had to find an alternate route... my bro screamed at me, and since I was his co-pilot, I decided to go to sleep and let him try to stay awake on his own. Dangerous... but I didn't care, he screamed at me! Fuck him, who cared if we died). I did feel guilty for a while, but then I just got over it and went to sleep.

By the time I woke up, he was gone.
:(
And I don't even think he's bringing me anything from over there... he only buys AC Milan shit... and if I have to chose an Italian team (because my true love is England's Manchester United), I'd have to say Roma, because they have Francesco Totti. Boooooooooooo.

I'm also bummed because, since Thursday, I've been taking care of a homie's 5 dogs. No, I'm not bummed because of that, I just get sad when I have to leave the little things. They're so damn cute and lovable... and attention whore-ish... I leave the place feeling a little sad because... well, I'm leaving them. If only they didn't bark when I closed the door. Even my little sister's fallen in love with them (she likes the ONE dog that doesn't like her... while she's scared of the one that likes her a lot).
I didn't know dog sitting was such a sad task.
:(
...
...
...
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! My brother's a fucking globe trotter while I sit at home! Damn it! That's what has me bummed out.
Asia. Europe (he just called and we found out they gypped him with the exchange rate). Africa...

Once he visits South America, I'm kicking his ass.

My Secret Vocation

According to a certain astrology website out there (or you know, Walter Mercado for those of you out there that watch Univision), my sign is really into feet (aside from really diggin' the bottle-o-liquor).
I don't generally believe astrology (I'll entertain myself with it, no doubt)... and when that subject of feet comes into play... I definitely don't agree.
I really, really, REALLY don't like feet. My dislike for feet has been one of the key factors behind me no longer staring at the ground when I walk (I now keep my gaze slightly above the ground... say, torso-level).
I don't go to extremes and tell people not to expose their toes in my presence, or outright scream something like "Oh shit! Those are some tore-up toes you got there!"
I just ignore feet.

Well, at least I try to ignore feet as often as possible... that is, until my brother comes back from wherever the hell he's been.
Something about the poor guy just makes me want to give him pedicures (maybe it's when he'll come up to me and say something like "Yo, my feets iz all fucked up. You needa fix 'em," No, he's not retarded, he just likes talking like... Biggie Smalls. He better not talk like that at Notre Dame... better not). His toes are fucked up!

(Bruises like a M.F.er!)
They've been like that since... I don't know... but I didn't get the urge to help out until 2001, when he first got out of basic training. His toes were JACKED, I suppose from all the difficult b.s. he had to do in Basic. I thought maybe those messed up toenails would bug him, so I gave him a nice pedicure (plus, I was all sentimental and sad because the whole 9/11 thing had just happened and I thought I was going to lose my brother to Afghanistan. I thought "Oh God! I spent 16 years of my life pulling his hair, kicking his shins, and screaming at him... I don't want him to think of that when he's out there in the desert fearing for his life!").

Since then, I've been giving him pedicures each time he returns home (it used to be whenever he came home from Huachuca or that one time he came back from Guam/Korea. Now it's just South Bend).
Sure, I do a lot of gagging and I'd kill for someone to give me some latex gloves, but I get the job done: (they look a lot better whenever I have a nice, new Emory board with a brand new buffing side)
Bro: Yo, you're gonna have to do this again when I come back from Milan and we head out to El Chillo, ya know whadda mean?
Me: Fool, if your toes are fucked up by July, I'm kicking your ass. What the hell are you doing with your feet?
Bro: Ya know... going t'clubs, pimpin' some ladies...
Me: And getting your toes stepped on? Shit, those ladies need to learn how to dance... look at them bruises!

Maybe Walter Mercado does have a point (I might give a pedi to a homie... might)... or my brother and I just have a unique bond... one which neither of us admit to willingly.
(Bro to friends: Nah, bitch, I was born with these nails! I got good genes!
Me to friends: Nah, man, my bro gets his shit done at nail salons... I would NEVER touch those shits!)

This is hunger? Well I'll be damned!

Mannnnnn!
What a waste of a day!

I woke up at 7:15 AM to get ready for this damn day, I show up, I'm starved for a couple of hours (something I now realize I do often... but I just never knew it was starving. I think it was starving... I didn't eat anything today, and yesterday I only had a homemade quesadilla... then I crashed. Yes, I have issues like that), I listen to some really dumb people not be able to follow proper directions, and then I get excused.
Thanks, dudes.

At least I can now live two years without worrying about being called up by the Regional Justice Center. I'll make sure and commit some sort of felony before the two years are up, and then I can no longer get called up as a juror.
Of course, this is just me bitching about the whole experience because that's what I do.
The thing was alright. I'd do it again, if I had to... just not wake up early to show up to the 7:30 AM call.

I almost was a juror on a criminal case... damn!
Although... the case stirred up a lot of memories I had from back in the middle school days.

"Does any one here know anyone, in person, who has been a victim of rape?"
Umm... no... not that... I can recall... oh wait... I did. Oh yeah! I did! In 7th grade! Does that count?

It's also crazy to see how many people know a person that's been molested/raped... it was around half the room (some of the people I doubted... because a good few wanted to do whatever it took to get excused).

Damn you, court, you bum me the fuck out... you and your criminal cases with creepy Latinos in the Defense that stare at me whenever my name's called because AnoMALIE Dos Santos is a Latin name and they think "Oh! A compatriot! You'll have my back!"

Creeeeeeeeeeepy!
Bone chilling, to tell you the truth... I kinda wanted to ask the judge to ask the dude not to make eye contact with me because I felt a strike of fear in my young, impressionable heart.
I also felt pity... which I don't think was proper... but I guess I may be like that because of my grandpa's recent death. I'm a big softy all of a sudden... crying and "awing" at anything and everything like some sissy.

Anyway, I'm just babbling now... I'm sort of incoherent because I'm tired... and staved... and a little angry... and I'm still feeling sorry for the dude (he's representing himself... no lawyer... and that just made me sad... especially when he spoke with his soft, accented voice. It made me just... ugh... think: Shit, this guy totally fits the profile of a child molester/rapist... but why am I feeling so bad for him? Why is he making me sad?)... and I'm still scared of the dude... sort of.

P.S. The D.A. I was totally eyeing yesterday: Married! (but still so, SO hot! I figured out who he looked like: a cross between Tobey Maguire and David Beckham. Hot, even if I don't like that nerd, Tobey)
The Salt n' Pepper guy from yesterday: Married! (and father of a ten-year-old boy)
I tell you, man, I'm going to be a homewrecker, I just know it!

Am I the only one, or what?!

Fuck, man.
I didn't get out of it.
Curse you, once again, Latino blood!

I must go back to the court room tomorrow... and I can't talk about this. It sucks balls.

I will say this, though: Best dressed motherfucker out there? Me!

Screw tomorrow, I'ma be normal AnoMALIE in my chucks, jeans, and... not "tee-shirt" but not a dress shirt either (I went with a dress shirt today... and it was a semi-bad idea because I looked like I was ready to take off my blazer and start salsa dancing or something). Everyone else was doing it, so why can't I? Screw looking decent, I'm AnoMALIE, damn it! I only dress up for weddings!

P.S. I have a serious problem with the older crowd! Out of everyone there, I found myself checking out the one dude with salt n' pepper hair who was checking out my Barak Obama book (yes, I started reading it before I was informed of this jury B.S. so I wasn't just trying to look smart. I would have brought in my Molecular Biology textbook in that case)... it was him I was checking out and one of the D.A.'s... who was so unbelievably hot, in all his smugness.
Judge: Do any of the here present know, or are acquainted to *Name of D.A.*?
Me: No (but damn, would I fucking love to!! Yeah, I'm talking about your cocky ass over there smirking)

P.S.S. A dumber crowd I believe I've never met in my life... ever, ever, ever.
What grown adult doesn't know how to form a line in chronological order? OMG!

Décolletage (Look AWAY from the Mexican!)

Man, being a girl's tough!
You have to do things like... make sure your shirt and shoes match... and also make sure you're not trashy, but classy when picking out a serious outfit.

I had an outfit picked out for tomorrow... but it seems my bust has grown just a little since the last time I wore the shirt (ok, ok, it was the summer of 2005 when I wore it last... sue me) and it is now a little too... décolleté: "All right, already! I'm a stripper! What else am I supposed to do with these things? I paid a lot of dough for 'em, I'm a Vegas native, so I'm going to parade them!"

If only I had the balls to say something (slanderous?) like that in case someone confronted me about my choice in shirt.
Nah, instead, I'm going with a plain black tank, a khaki blazer, and dark jeans with black wedges.

Oh well, my stripper story will have to wait.
But hey, yey, hooray! Court room story for tomorrow!

AnoMALIE: Bad Luck Charm

Yep, I spoke too soon.

Looks like I'm the bad-luck charm for any sport's team/person.

Go Spurs!!
(please work!)

Ruff ruff.

Sheeseh... it has been a rough start to the weekend for the Dos Santos* girls.

First off... well, let's erase Thursday from memory... I don't want to cling on to such bad memories.
Yesterday was rough. I hate The Joint... I detest smoking... and I think smokers should be forced to inhale their own smoke by putting some sort of helmet on.
Motherfuckers ruined my concert experience... as did that one horrible third band.
I was also uneasy at the concert because at one point, they started playing the Suns-Spurs game on all the screens due to some sort of... technical error. That only made me wonder what was going on with the stupid game even after having made the decision to not watch basketball for the rest of the season.
Bad idea... especially since the Suns got booted out of the playoffs... by a team with some bastard fiance to Eva Longoria that has that placed on all his stats (tell me the assists, tell me the points... tell me his marital status? Ah, no thanks).
Then today Manchester United lost the FA Cup to damn Chelsea. Fucking Drogba... why must you be so good?
At least Rafael Nadal's still doing all right in tennis (don't fail me now, Mallorcan boy!)

However, I didn't have it that bad. Sure, my right hand is covered in green ink from the stamps provided by TAO and The Joint (it's so hard to wash off!), but at least my car isn't covered in sticky glue.
Why do I say that? Check out what two of my sister's co-workers did to her vehicle yesterday:
The post-its say "Friday!!!" and "Viernes!!" since the co-workers have that day off, and Little Sister doesn't.
I wish I encountered this type of banter with my co-workers... sort of.

*I have found my new last name!

What's sparkly, drunk, and more annoying than a Scene Kid?

Geeeeeeeeeeeze!

I used to be a clubber... from 8th grade till Senior year of high school (Rave scene... I was in my annoying stage... and senior year it was maybe twice... and only because there was one other idiot who would encourage me to go). Am I a clubber now? HELL NAW!

I'm un-cool, we all know that. I like things like... I don't know... the outdoors maybe? I guess you could say I like the free-maybe-a-couple-of-dollars type of entertainment (although there are a numbered few activities that aren't so cheap that I do enjoy).
Nightclubs never really tempted me. If you would have asked me at 16 if I wanted to go to a nightclub though, I probably would have ran over to the nightclub itself.
But now... I don't really care for them.

"Is it because you can't dance?"
I get that all the time.
Bitch, I'm Mexican, rhythm runs through my blood. I'm born knowing how to dance!
"What are you? A Jehovah's Witness?"
Nah... but I could be if I wanted.
"Are you embarrassed?"
Eh, kinda. I'm anti-social... so... clubs... with pricks that only really want to fuck you doesn't make me that comfortable.

My reluctance to go to night clubs seems to baffle my clubber friends, Lucky Soprano in particular.
Their desire to go to nightclubs baffles me.

I had promised Lucky that I'd go to her party at Tao.
Then my grandpa died... and I felt a little awkward about the whole thing (I mean, tradition calls for a year of being chill and not really partying. I think spending only 3 weeks in mourning may be a little on the jacked up side).
However, Lucky Soprano didn't understand why I'd wait so long to party (she doesn't understand the concept of guilt. Although she sent me on a bad guilt trip by informing me that "If you only knew how much this party cost me! You'd understand why I wanted you to come to this thing so bad")... so in order to not flake on her ONCE AGAIN, I decided to go to her party.

***

As I was getting ready for this clubbing experience... a couple of my aunts and cousins came over to the house to give Mom their condolences. Where was I? In my bedroom... getting ready... feeling like an ass and praying to God that Mom wouldn't call me over to say hi to them because who knows what they would have said if they saw me getting ready to party so shortly after my grandfather died (and we know these people love to talk).
I thought I was going to get caught by the family before I left the house... but they happened to leave about 5 minutes before my ride got in.

So yes, we had originally been told that this partying would start around 8:30 PM at a pub... then we'd move it on over to TAO.
Well, when we called Lucky to see where this pub was at, she informed us that "Um, yeah, about that... there isn't going to be a pub. We're at *Prettybutrudegirl*'s house. We're getting ready there and we're all gonna leave at around 10:15 to get to TAO no later than 10:45."
Ok... nice. I'm glad you called us to inform us of this change in plans, wait, you didn't? Oh... so how did you expect us to know about this had we not been too ADD to pay attention to where this pub was and then call you to confirm in the first place? Oh, that's right, you weren't.

This had me and Chase pretty pissed... so we chilled at Chase's house by watching some George Clooney movie as I straightened her hair (one of the only girly tasks I actually enjoy).

Once 10:20 rolled around (You know, we did that as an act of rebellion to try and piss off these people), we decided to leave Chase's place and head out to the Venetian.
Once we got there at about 10:45, we called Lucky Soprano to see where the gaggle was, and lo-and-behold, they were yet to get there.
Niiice.
They finally arrived at 11 PM.
Lucky had failed to inform us that the party wasn't just going to be about her, but also Prettybutrudegirl.
Niiice.
I have no real issue with Prettybutrudegirl... aside from how much I've disliked her since I met her back in ninth grade when she was a hardcore bitch to me in PE (So what? I hold grudges. Don't ever piss me off and we'll be cool). I still remember her trying to "teach" me how to hold a bat during softball. I had to fight the urge of telling her:
Bitch, I was raised in the ghetto... you think I don't know how to hold a bat? Come here, let me just give you a nice tap upside your head and you tell me if my batting stance is acceptable to your softball gods.
Anyway, this news made me even more uncomfortable/irritated.

The group was of about 12 people... actually, about 12 girls and 3 guys. All the guys were douche bags... big time... so I don't originally consider them "people" in my story.
The girls were all trying to participate in small talk. Chase and I participated in "God, this is so stupid" conversation.

These people had tried their hardest at making it appear like they were super VIP at night clubs (at least, that's what they claim in their Myspace profiles and pictures). Well, guess what... their super VIP status was put to the test when they had us waiting outside for an hour. Super VIP status... made me feel like Jennifer Lopez, for real.
It sucked balls to realize one of the girls responsible for ringing us in/shooting us up/whatever the fuck the slang is for "letting us in to use the fucking elevator to our VIP area," turned out to be some bitch we knew in high school.
Now, the girl never really had beef with me... I wrote her Huckleberry Finn book report Junior year of high school... so she was OK with me... but apparently, she didn't like many of the girls in our group. So, according to the people in the group, it was all thanks to her that we waited outside for so long (maybe next time, you shouldn't be such a dick to other people... you know, we all remember, and given the opportunity to exercise any sort of power over you, believe me honey, you're gonna be paying for those bad moments you made us pass).

Once we got to our area... it was all so weird. It made me feel like I was in some sort of bad dream.
It's so fucking retarded.
And they call me a nerd!
AHAHAHAHA. AHAHAHA. AHAHAHA.
Good stuff.
Dancing while walking to your seat? Dancing while serving yourself a screw driver? Dancing while walking with a bucket of ice?
AHAHAHA. AHAHAHA!!!! AHAHAHA!
Alright dude... I'm a nerd... but at least I'm not a douche.
For a while, I just stood around.
WTF, dude, am I supposed to stand here with my bag over my shoulder... and just start dancing? Right here? You mean... there's no dance floor? OMG... and I thought Mexican night clubs were ghetto/retarded. No wonder you guys have no rhythm... you dance in a living room setting.
It didn't help that all they were playing was ghetto music.
I don't do ghetto (I can, but I don't).
I was surprised to see they had no techno... or house... or even jungle.
Dr. Dre?
Cypress Hill?
What the hell is this? 1992?
What's funnier than watching a bunch of spoiled, drunk, white kids dance to, and sing along to, Tupac's California Love? NOTHING. Absolutely nothing.
Want me to pour one for the homies, while we're at it? Where the hell's my 40?

When I finally got a seat, Chase and I sat around... and counted how many people we had superior dancing skills to... and it was more than half the room... but I guess sober people have an advantage over drunks.
I also sat directly in front of the go-go dancers that dance on top of the sofa... that was interesting.
Mom... when I grow up... I want to be a Go-Go dancer! (seriously... now I understand why God made me the way I am. Had I been given the body type that easily forms a six pack, I'd be dancing my ass off in tiny little skirts and a bra the whole time. It's just fucking amazing)

It was even more entertaining to see the drunken girls trying to imitate the Go-Go dancers. It wasn't so fun when the drunken girls started climbing the sofa to get to the top of it to start dancing... not fun at all.
Particularly, it was not fun when the chubbier girl of the group decided she wanted to do just that. Now, there wouldn't have been a problem had she been wearing, say, pants. No, but she was wearing a flowy black dress... that resembled a shirt... and under that... a black G-string. How do I know? Well, she had to flash me before she got on the sofa (remember, I was sitting in front of it, where people had to climb on). It was cool for the hard-bodied Go-Go dancers to do (I'm sure men and women alike wouldn't mind that)... but her? Man, why would you ever be so inconsiderate and wear so little?
It wasn't just me who she flashed, but everyone else seated on the sofa... and we all made the same, distraught, AH!-Now-I-must-cleanse-these-eyes-with-acid face.
Not a cool thing to do... and I must say, brave soul whoever decides to ride that.

Then one of the chicks in the group decided she wanted to talk to both Chase and I... mainly because during one of her drunken dancing marathons, she stepped on Chase's foot.

DrunkenFootStomper: Hey, I know you...
Chase: Yeah, we went to Durango together.
DFS: Oh yeah! I remember you! You used to have really long hair! That was up to like... here (she touches Chase's arm to where her hair used to be)
Chase: Yeah... (how the hell does she know me?)
DFS: Well, nice to meet you, I'm *DFS*!
Chase: Hey, she went to Durango too.
(Great... now she's focusing on me. Quick... lift your feet off the floor and place them on sofa!)
DSF: Hey! I'm *DSF*! What's your name?
Me: Hey, I'm *AnoMALIE*
DSF: AnoMALIE? AnoMELIE?... Like the model? Campbell?
Me: Yeah, I guess (If my parents were native English speakers... and I don't really like being associated to that phone-flinging criminal of a runway model)
DSF: Cool! Do you know *Name of model who I really don't know*?
Me: ...No.
DSF: Ah, well, she used to be this famous model back in the day. My Mom named me after her!
Me: Cool?
DSF: Model! Model! Model! Model! Cool!
(She was pointing at herself... then me... her, then me. Then she high-fived me. She walked away to dance and stomp on some other people's feet. Chase leaned in and screamed)
Chase: Drunk, sober, drunk, sober!

Ahh... lovely drunk people conversations.

So yes... Chase and I sat there... saw and heard thing that made us gag or laugh... and finally decided to leave once 1 o'clock came around. We just couldn't take it anymore.

***

I don't understand... I see nothing that attracts me to that scene. I tend to enjoy the scene in Mexico a lot more, even if it is packed with cocaine usage and everything (from others, never me). At least they play better music... and people are convulsing because of the cocaine high... not because they think it's "dancing."

Silly U.S. kids... silly, silly, silly.

What got me through the night, you may ask? Well, aside from my rosary that's in the shape of a bracelet (I had to take off my little virgin around my neck because it would have looked "tacky" to mix silver with gold), knowing that I had a concert to go to today made it all better.

Scene kids... I'll never complain about you guys... at least you jump to the beat of the music... and you're much more attractive than the clubbers with caked-on make-up... and you're nicer and don't talk so much shit.
My apologies, gentle, misunderstood people (I'm still making fun of you if you have a tie wrapped around your head, sorry).

Army Boys.

I have a ton of loves in my life. I love drawing... I love taking pictures (of others!)... I love horses... and I love military boys.
I love giving my brother a hard time about the last one any chance I get.

Bro: Hey, is Mom there?
Me: Yeah, of course, it's 10 PM.
Bro: Can I talk to her?
Me: Give her a minute, she's just finishing up in the laundry room.
(Mom takes longer than expected)
Me: So... when you comin' home?
Bro: Well, I was going to leave today, but I decided to go see one of my friends who just had a kid.
Me: Oh... so where are you right now?
Bro: Fort Huachuca.
Me: Ah...
(Mom's still doing something in the laundry room)
Bro: Yeah... so I think I'll be home tomorrow night.
Me: Where are you staying for now?
Bro: Hanley's place.
Me: Oh... is he there?
Bro: ... yeah.
Me: Like... next to you, right there?
Bro: Yes.
Me: Tell him I say hello.
Bro: Why? He's my friend.
Me: You tell him I say hello, damn it. He's mine too.
Bro: (to Hanley) My sister says hi.
Hanley: Hey *AnoMALIE*
Bro: There... now put Mom on the line!
(Mom's coming towards me now)
Me: Tell him I say he looks good.
Bro: Put Mom on!
Me: Nope... not till you tell Hanley he looks good.
Bro: (to Hanley) She says you look nice.
Me: No... I said looks good.
Bro: When I get home, you better watch your back.
Me: Huh? What? You don't wanna talk to Mom?
Bro: (to Hanley) She said you look good.
Me: Thank you. Here's Mom.

Why anger an army guy by hitting on his army friends? Because I can... and knowing he's a couple hundred miles away from me also helps.

You mean that's not cool?

Call me crazy... but getting advice (and taking it) from my underage baby sister and her equally underage best friend on proper nightclub etiquette/attire just seems wrong.

How the... you know what, AnoMALIE... who cares how they know. Shut up, listen, and I guess it'll work. I'm a nerd, what do I know?

On another note: I hate Bambi (the car, not the movie).
Today, a day Chase needed a ride, guess where my whore of a car was? Not in my driveway, and that's what matters.
Stupid ass car... I can't wait till they sell that bitch and my parents finally stop whoring out my damn vehicle.

I'm pissed.
(and yesterday's game, while the Suns did win, is reposible for a great deal of my anger. I'm not watching basketball anymore... I'm done. I hate jackasses that are jealous of Nash's greatness. Cocksuckers)

OMG! IP! TY,SJ!

It's official: this semester has gone down as the "Oh, my God! I passed?! Thank you, Sweet Jesus!" semester.

I first heard it last week, upon checking my Biochemistry grade and proclaiming "Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" and then crying for a good ten minutes and finally getting the shakes from all the excitement (yeah, I overdo it when I'm happy).

I heard the same thing yesterday, as my little sister checked her grade on-line alongside her best buddy, Twiggy.
(Little Sister and Twiggy in the computer room)
Little Sister: Oh my God!! Oh my God!!
Twiggy: What? What?!
(Me, in the living room: WTF? What are they doing in there?)
Little Sister: I passed! I passed! I got a C PLUS in stats! Thank you, Diosito! AnoMALIE! I got a C plus in stats!
Me: Well, shit, how'd you pull that off?
Little Sister: I don't know! Thank you, Jesus!
Twiggy: Check mine, check mine!
(they check)
Little Sister and Twiggy together: Oh my God! A C plus!
(screaming, jumping up and down proceed right next to me)
Twiggy: Oh man! There is a God!
(silence)
Little Sister: What?! You were thinking there wasn't a God because you're too much of a dumb fuck to pass a stats exam?
Twiggy: Relax, man, I was joking.
Little Sister: No, Twiggy. You're a dumb ass. There is a God. You're an idiot! Don't talk to me.
(Me: Well, then... way to make things awkward. Note to self: Don't ever make a joke about a higher power while in the presence of Little Sister)

I then read a similar expression when I got on-line this morning:
Lucky Soprano Bulletin:
Subject: yea!!!
Body: I passed art history with mccrazie!!! thank you Jesus! : D
I wrote back to her, congratulating her and agreeing on her professor's craziness.

I went about my daily business, but when I came back from running, I saw Chase had sent me two texts while I was away, and had called me... I think twice?
Text #1: Dude
Text #2: OMG!
Umm... ok? You OK there, buddy?
I called, she told me to check my Mam Phys grade... and she sounded super excited (were you crying, dude? J/K).
I had originally checked that class as FAILED in my book (for a second time around) even before taking the final exam (that class really sucked balls) but lo and behold... a beautiful C came up on the screen.
Me: Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Thank you, sweet Jesus!
Chase: I know, right?
Me: Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I passed!
Chase: I know, right?
(this could go on for ever... we can be valley girls when we try. I know, right?)

So... that is what Spring 2007 is going to be known as: OMG! IP! TY, SJ!

My sweet ass Summer has just begun!
(Now fucking gas prices better go down so I don't feel so bad about visiting the Grand Canyon's Skywalk!)

OMG! IP! TY, SJ!

I am here to pump (handclap) you up!

Today I realized I accidentally became the owner of a pair of leggings.

I forget how long they've been popular... but I'm sure it's not more than two years... I mean, they're already losing their popularity.
I sort of wanted to own a pair not too long ago... they seemed like a good idea.
However, when it came to actually purchasing a pair, I'd back out... mainly because I've never been too keen on them (elementary school memories I'd rather forget).

Well, I guess since I was in such a rush to get out of the store yesterday (where that one guy was being rude to his wife), I never really checked out the pair of "running pants" I bought.
I went to the sportswear section, grabbed a black pair of pants, and then headed to the swimsuit section where I was turned off from shopping any further. I then didn't pay any attention to the pants the rest of the day.

As I was getting ready to run this morning, I felt that the pants fit a little too snuggly around my calves.
What the hell is this? Is my sister right?
My Little Sister was the first to come to mind because she bitched at me the other day when I was stretching in her room.

Little Sister: Ew, man... that's sick.
Me: What?
(I reach over to the back of my pants... I'm a firm believer that crack kills)
Little Sister: Your calves...
Me: What about them? They look good!
(I flex my calves to piss off my overreacting sister some more)
Little Sister: They look all... manly... that's fucking sick.
Me: Oh man... this is nothing... just wait till I'm done with my calves! I'll be able to lift cars with these babies!

So that conversation came back to my head when I felt the tight fit of the pants.
Freakin' A... I'll go easy on the calves... WTF! Pants shouldn't fit this way!
I stepped to my room and checked my legs out in the mirror... and that's where I saw my pants were actually leggings.
What a relief... my monstrous calves aren't turning me into a man!

But hey, Chase! Now I have some leggings to wear to the concert! I might just suck it up and wear a skirt after all!
I did run in the leggings though... so I might have to go buy some new ones... then again, do I really want to go to this thing looking like a 16-year-old scene kid?
Hellllllll no.
Also... I learned leggings are pretty freakin' hot... and not in the sexy way... just in the thermoregulating way were all I really wanted to do was rip them off my body before I burst into flames.

Ohp... yeah... I'm wearing pants... with a Plain White T (Hahaha. I'm such a poser!).

Hoe a Housewife?

I know I said I'd make this heartwarming, but what better way for me to celebrate Mother's Day than by talking about my favorite subject, and area of expertise: hoes!

You know... most hoes do turn into mommies... and if you don't believe me, just tune to Maury on any given day of the week, and you'll see plenty of proof ("You are not the father!").

Let's start off with what occurred yesterday:

OK... so my family's quite conservative. I guess it goes back to my grandpa (Mom's Dad). He was terrified that one of his daughters would turn out to be a hoe because supposedly there's strong selection towards that in our gene pool (I guess that makes sense... I mean, how else would there be so many of us?). He knew he suffered from it (he had 3, possibly 4, other families) so he was like "I'll be fucking damned if any of my kids turn out like me!"
Well, he raised his daughters with one of the strictest hands I've known, and all 3 of his daughters turned out right (in comparison to my grandpa's siblings who had children that were, and some still are... hoes).
Mom then learned from that, put it to practice, and now, well, I've been known to call Mom "Hitler" once or twice.

So, the people from my folk's town (tiny, where everyone knows each other's name, and if they don't, the person in question will respond with "I'm *fill in the blank*, daughter/son of *paren'ts name*, the son/daughter of *[possibly deceased] person's name*") know of this little problem in our family.
They themselves are pretty fucked up (and who isn't? It's little towns where the most fucked up individuals are bred), yet they try their damn best to point out the flaws in everyone.

Our family, luckily, has turned out to be pretty tame. My siblings and I are known as "the good, studious kids" in town, and we are... big time.
This, however, pisses some people off... and they make it their mission to try and catch us in a mistake (do you know how much stress that causes us? I feel like fucking Tweek whenever I'm out and about with the homies, for crying out loud!).

There have been rumors spread about us in hopes of ruining our "reputation":
1) That Little Sister was getting married... when she was 16 (this made my sister almost box the lady that asked Mom in Little Sister's presence).
2) That Older Brother joined the army because he knocked a girl up and my folks kicked him out of the house (this made my brother confront many guys at a wedding, while intoxicated, and threaten to hang the guilty people from telephone wires. It embarrassed the shit out of us).
3) That I was a lesbian (this one made me cry).
4) That I was pregnant (this one made me... I don't know... I was sort of offended. How the hell is a lesbian going to get pregnant? j/k).
5) That I was banging an older, married man from the same town (this one made me sick. The guy wasn't even hot--SARCASM!-- and I never talked to him!).
6) That I was being shipped off to a convent because I was not interested in boys and also because Mom was scared I was going to convert to my dad's religion (this one made me laugh. Silly people, if I ever convert to anything outside Catholic-Christianity, it'll be Islam. Hello!).

I mean, there's a ton of that kind of shit out there. I hear most about myself... since... well... I'm right there to get it. They usually find it "suspicious" that I haven't had a serious boyfriend (to their stupid knowledge), that I don't enjoy dances (they don't stop and think "Wait, she probably doesn't like the music... or getting felt-up by the dipshit-boys present. Ah... smart girl!" Or maybe, you know, I just expect respect from others by first respecting myself), that I'm still in school (because who the hell wants to learn anything that isn't kitchen oriented?), and all I ever do whenever in Mexico is play volleyball/visit the park or go on hiking trips (what the hell is wrong with this girl?!). Why don't I just get pregnant and quit being weird, right?
No... I'm weird because I'm not a "regular" girl who puts on war paint and looks like a whore at dances.

Well, anyway, thanks to my desire to be... normal, quiet, and shy, I get this response from bitches that ARE skanks:
Es una mosquita muerta.

Literal translation being "She's a dead, little fly." Symbolically, it means... umm... well, that I'm a sneaky, hypocritical, two-faced bitch.

Mosquita Muerta? I have no idea where the hell they've seen me getting felt-up, fucked, or even making out with anyone. They must have super powers... or maybe they've just confused me with my Doppelganger.

I always say people judge according to the way they live... and well... now I know why one of my harshest critics was the way she was (besides the fact that she once caught me calling her Pinocchio AND Michael Jackson. But you know, you can only take so much before you resort to name-calling):
She has now ran away with the town priest!

Yes Siree, Bob!

Who the hell needs television when shit like this is happening in your hometown (well, not my hometown... well, it is my Mexican hometown)?
I guess the bitch really wanted to catch one of my siblings, or me, in a bad situation so that she could comfortably say we were all... hoes. Or maybe so she could feel better about liking a priest that much.
Sure, I've thought one or two priests were attractive... but I immediately retracted. There are SO many men out there... why try and get with a dude who's "married" to God (I've said I have a homewrecker theory... but I wouldn't even think about wrecking that home!)?
No, homie, I'll go for a dude that... well... doesn't have me competing with God.

This happened the other day... and I still keep mulling the idea over in my head.
How the... why would... oh man. That's jacked...

I'm not really "happy" about the news. I haven't even told a soul (well... I'm blogging about it, but I'm not mentioning names). Only me, Mom, and Little Sister know about it... and that's because Pinocchio's Worst Enemy told us (and Pinnochio's Worst Enemy's engaged to a guy that lives in Mexico).
I'm feeling pretty bad... and sad.
I didn't know she was that lonely/desperate.
A priest?
DAMN!
That priest always made Little Sister and me uncomfortable.
Little Sister: God, forgive me for what I'm going to say... but I feel like that man's undressing me with his eyes!
Me: I know! Why do you think I'm pinning anything that's V-necked?

The man was alright... but not anything out of this world (he did have some amazing hands though... I mean, physically. They were very pretty... to the point where I could be like "Screw the face... will you look at those hands?! I could marry those hands...").
Running away with the town priest.... not even I could invent such a story... such an ending to Pinocchio's love story.
:(

Another skank story, with which I'll end this post because it's getting too long and no one wants to read so much:

This weekend a good amount of my relatives were in town for graduation. My cousin (let's call him Eric), who's like a brother to me, graduated this weekend so we were all hanging out and in full celebratory mode.
Well... I tend to be a little loud/obnoxious when happy (If I'm not already when upset).

Today, Little Sister and I decided to take out Eric's sister, Ariel. Ariel's living in Florida for now... and it's the first time she's out of the state/house. We've been missing her a lot, so what better way of catching up than by visiting the mall?
We were giggling a lot (she was telling us some crazy stories about Florida girls. She says they put Rebel chicks to shame in the Hoe Department)... and we reached the bathing suit section of the store.

Me: Man, for some reason, I'm really wanting to visit the beach this summer!
Little Sister: Well, why don't we check out the bathing suits then?

We three chicks begin checking out the suits. I pull out an orange bathing suit that looked like this:

And comment to my sister: Wow... look at this whore-y one! Maybe, I should get this one!

We laugh, I put away the suit, and we continue rummaging.
There's a Colombian/Venezuelan lady with her husband checking out the suits to Ariel's right (it was Little Sister, me, then Ariel).

Wife: (giggles) Oh! Look at this one!
Husband: Ew, for what? For your ass, gut, and love handles to be hanging out of it?
Ariel: (to Little Sister and Me) Man... the guy next to me's brutal.
Me: Poor lady...

We continue looking at the swim suits, a little quieter, and Ariel gets increasingly uncomfortable. The husband and wife continue looking... and the guy's getting meaner.
We reach the area where the husband and wife were initially, and I pull out a swimsuit identical to the orange one, but this one's blue.

Me: Hey, look, Little Sister! Another skankalicious swim suit!

The wife is standing next to Ariel, and looks over. Little Sister, Ariel, and I laugh and make fun of the suit. The wife leans in on us and smiles shyly.

Wife: Excuse me, can I see that?
Me: Oh... yeah, sorry... no problem...

I give the lady the swim suit, and Ariel gasps.
We walk away as the lady heads off to the dresser to try on the suit.

Me: (whisper) I said "Scandalicious!"
Ariel: (loud) No, you said Skankalicious!
The Venezuelan/Colombian wife lady looks over to us.
Me: Ariel... only to me... this shit only happens to me!

To say I felt horrible at that moment would be an understatement.

When I put my foot in my mouth... I really shove it.

Yeah, Baby, I like it RA!

For the last... hmmm... maybe 20 years, Mom's tried making me eat fish.


It used to work when I was a toddler.
I still remember she'd force me to eat shrimp with ketchup back when I was around 2 (yeah, I have weird memories in my head. I can go back to being one and a half and having an unfortunate incident in the cradle. I told my Mom the story, and she stared at me, "How do you remember that? You were one and a half?" I dunno... I guess I have a gift for remembering traumatic events).

I remember not liking shrimp back then, either.
I'd sit next to my brother, Mom would bring in little plates for both of us, then she'd sit behind us (with that fucking leather belt--with burros, Charros, and cacti printed on it-- hanging around her neck) and tell us we weren't going anywhere until we finished our 10 little shrimps.
My bro would guzzle them down without any effort.
I remember sitting back staring at him eat each one with amazement.
I on the other hand, would hold one shrimp in my hand... and just stare at it (stupid pink and white headless little animal).
"You're not going anywhere until you're done with that," Mom would tell me.
She'd excuse my brother and he'd leave to the bedroom to play some Nintendo.

After about an hour of sitting at the kitchen table, and me crying and dipping the same shrimp in the ketchup, Mom would leave to the living room to watch her Novela.
"Y tu te me quedas sentada ahi hasta que te los acabes!" (You stay seated there until you finish them!)

Since our "house" was a ghetto, tiny square, any movement to the kitchen would be noticed from the living room:

However, older brother would be sneaky... and he'd wait behind the wall and then crawl on over to the kitchen whenever the Novela played its "suspense" music (I guess this made him feel cool... he had a thing for Rambo around this time).

Once there, he'd eat nine of the ten shrimp on my plate. I remember smiling and giggling because he'd make a game out of it (aww...right now I'm feeling warm and fuzzy inside remembering all this). I guess he did it to make me stop crying. I'd try feeding him my tenth shrimp, but he'd shove it back in my hand.

"Eat the last one in front of my Mom," he'd tell me.
"But they're nasty!"
"She won't believe you ate them all if you call her to show her your empty plate. She'll think you threw them in the trash," (something I had been guilty of in the past) he'd say.

Brother would sneak back out of the kitchen, the Novela would go on a commercial break, and Mom would walk back in to the kitchen to check up on me.

First, she'd inspect the trash can, the surrounding area, the sink, then my plate.
"I'm almost done," I'd tell Mom.
Older Brother would then walk out of the bedroom, head over to the kitchen, and stare at me as I shoved the last shrimp in my mouth.
I chewed that thing as if it were a cyanide capsule.
"Crybaby," he'd say and walk away (to this day, we still have this sort of relationship. Why? I don't know).
"There, that wasn't so bad," Mom would pat my head and leave.

Stupid ass shrimp... getting me in trouble since then.
I've tried to like them, really, but they're just so nasty... yet tasteless. It's gross.
I've also tried liking fish since apparently they're good for you.
It's something about their smell... their texture... I don't know... it's just so... not appealing to me.
To this day, I can't wash the dishes after someone's eaten fish on them because I end up fainting before I finish scrubbing (ehh... I've also had to dissect crayfish--or something similar-- in labs since eight grade... one of the most brutal things you could ever do to me).

Is it because I'm a Pisces?
I am a fish... therefore I do not eat fish?

Yesterday's discovery proved that to be sort of... wrong.
I'm a cannibal... of the worst kind:
I like 'em raw!
Turns out I've just been eating my seafood the wrong way.

Eww, eww, eww... yet... OMG... so damn good.

Thanks to my Sushi-addicted little sister, last Saturday I decided to try... I think it's some sort of Uramaki. Previous to that, I had given a California roll a try, and was absolutely appalled by it.
However, this one roll... it was so tasty.

Me: Yumm... what's this sweet sauce thingy on the roll?
Little Sister: It's... (inaudible)
Me: What?
I eat another one.
Little Sister: It's... eel sauce.
Me: Like... the ugly little bastards that live in the sea?
Little Sister: Yeah...
Fuck... I should probably be throwing up by now... but... it's so good...

So, over the week... that's all I could think about.
God, I could really use some Sushi right now... Screw it, come the weekend, I'm having some of that.
It's what got me through Finals and the study time.

So yesterday, since Fridays have now unofficially turned into "I Love My Sister" day, I went to a movie (The Ex... which bummed me out because I like Zach Braff, and to see the theater so empty made me sad for him) then to RA to take care of my Sushi craving (it's like I'm pregnant or something).

I do like that Uramaki... but I quickly learned that I STILL don't like other types of fish. I think I may just like crab. I tried salmon... and although I had to force myself to swallow that thing (I tried 4 of the little... tiny roll things), I'll probably still eat that kind of Sushi roll. I also tried one calamari (fucking nasty and never, ever, ever will I eat that again. Never.) that made me swear never to put anything like that in my mouth again.
It was still a good way to end my excursion out with Little Sister.

It took twenty years of "You better eat that!" and 21 years of support from the siblings to finally get me to open up to fish. Sure, I haven't fully embraced it... but it beats getting screamed at by Mom and having to dip shrimp into ketchup for hours before finally getting a sibling to eat it for me.

Fuck you, shrimp!

This fish... is OK with RA fish.

The unthinkable has happened:

I, AnoMALIE M., have tasted-and liked- Sushi.

Yes. First it was Boba. Now it's Sushi.
I'm definitely Asian.

More on this later, when I come back from my Fantastic Friday.

I'm enjoying this week so damn much... it should be illegal.

Thank God for Casein!

(Grocery store, 8:45 PM. I wanna get home ASAP to watch Survivor, but Mom's hanging out at the dairy section)

Me: What are you doing?
Mom: Your Dad wants me to buy him this really good milk he tried at his friend's house the other day.
Me: Really? What was it?
Mom: It's this special milk made with Soy Sauce...
Me: You mean... Soy Milk?
(Mom makes a grossed out face)
Mom: Yeah... that.
(Mom looks at a carton of Silk)
Mom: Look! It's white!

Yep. My Mom's a cutie.
I love having Mexican parents!
XD

Día de las Mamis Mexicanas

Querida Madrecita:
Feliz Día de Las Madres!


Con mucho cariño,
Su Niña Peleonera.

Mexican mothers have it real nice here in the U.S. of A. They get their day celebrated twice whenever the 10th of May doesn't fall on a Sunday.

We've never done anything out of the ordinary... we usually just hug Mom, excuse ourselves for not having anything to give her ("We're broke... if not, you'd have some bomb ass car waiting in the driveway..."), then we let her choose the day's activities.

She usually chooses to go to a buffet... and there's nothing in this world I dislike more than going to a buffet.
To kill it, Mom absolutely adores sea-food. There's this one particular buffet she digs, one that makes only sea-food. She loves that place... and she always wants to pick it, however, since yours truly over here would rather pierce her tongue with a rusty nail than eat at a sea-food joint... Mom usually picks something she thinks I'll like (i.e. The Olive Garden... which I'm fucking sick of).
I (always) turn the place down and let Mom know that, since it's her day, she can go out and stuff her face with crab legs, oysters, calamari, etc. (don't you just love how gently I put it? "Stuff her face," I'm an awesome daughter. However, I kid you not, Mom was raised to be quite the frugal person, so she takes full on advantage of a buffet and literally stuffs her face)

That's exactly what Mom's up to right now. She's out with Daddy at their favorite buffet, while Little Sister's working. What am I doing? I'm trying to chill the hell down!
I saw my Final grade for biochem... and I almost passed out.
I also almost hyperventilated, and then I started screaming "Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my God, am I dreaming?!"
Yeah, I'm overly dramatic... but I'm so glad this class is done with and that I passed very nicely... now I can most definitely graduate in the Winter (if only I hadn't been such a fucking slacker and actually done everything on time... I would have been walking on Saturday. Oh well. I think it's me subconsciously refusing to grow up).

Anyway! This was supposed to be about my Mom... but I then had to ruin it all by checking my grades and getting all hyped up about that instead.

Sorry Ma, I really do try to be sentimental... but it's just so hard!
Just know you're my lovely Mommy that I love because you gave me life, you taught me to love school and how to be crafty (although I suck at it), how to be disciplined (how can I forget the spankings with that leather belt that had burros, cacti, and Charros printed on it?!)... you played Nintendo with me... got me to love Super Mario Brothers... Punch-Out!!... and Rambo... and... knives? (better post on US Mother's Day, promise!... you know... unless I see I aced histology... then I'll freak the hell out again. Sorry, Mamacita!)

My tormentor: Biology.

I've thoroughly enjoyed this first day of break.

My Suns won game two yesterday, I went to bed late (sort of. Not as late as this past weekend, but I lasted past 2 AM), woke up later, and I've finished all my chores (eh... sort of. I have finished my daily workout though, and that always makes me feel better).

I can't say this semester was horrible, but I can't say it was great either.
It blew last year out of the water (fuck 2006... really... I fucking hated it and I still make myself sick thinking about it), but it came nowhere near 2004.

Here's my ode to all 3 classes of this semester:

Histology:
Oh, Histology... how you will be missed.
I'll miss the professor falling asleep mid-sentence.
I'll miss the weirdos that sat behind me and cracked jokes about anything and everything.

I'll miss the many ways in which this class traumatized me: (Yeah, that's a 70-something-year-old lady's LEG! Supernumary breasts freak me the FUCK OUT)(Dude behind me said "Oh my God! That's Awesome!" when he saw this in class. I, on the other hand, touched my thigh and wanted to vomit)
I'll miss the lab that drove me insane because I had to sit around for 3 hours Mondays and Wednesdays.
I'll miss the lab TA who'd get so nervous he'd stutter the wrong words ("Rolex formation" rather than "Rouleaux formation," "Penal gland" instead of "Pineal gland"), and who I also made uncomfortable with my comments (i.e. Quit bending over so much, this isn't a strip club! or just calling him "Kyle").
If I would have bumped into this class a year ago, I would probably still be interested in pursuing something in the Bio field.
It just didn't happen for us, Biology... let's move on, ok? You'll find better, smarter people (that don't cheat. Motherfuckers...), and I'll quit vomiting and passing out prior to exams. I was too much of a dreamer for you, anyway (need proof? Scope this out, my Biology 190 notes: Need I say more?).

Biochemistry:
Fuck you man... you ruined my life last year (and you ruined all hope/desire to join the medical field. You made me hate Biology. Not even O-chem got that distinction).
But... Carper was a riot... a little weird... but he made me laugh.
Nice final... very nice final.
Never again do I want to stumble upon anything Biochemistry related, you hear me?
Man, I freakin' hate you.

Mammalian Physiology:
F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.
Hate does not describe my feelings toward you. Not even close.
I thought maybe I just sucked ass at physiology... but cell phys in Fall '06 proved that theory to be quite wrong (I count acing that third exam as one of the biggest victories in my life... even above leaving the ghetto!).
No, no... I just don't like mammalian physiology.
I used to blame the professors... and while I'm not fond of two of the three, they weren't really the ones to blame (or... maybe they were... because I didn't suck at histology and they'd sometimes be covering the same thing in both classes. Maybe I just connected a lot better with W than G,Y, and R).
I'm ecstatic that I leave you behind... as a very, very awful chapter in my life.
YUCK... just... fucking EWW.
Fuck you, burn in hell, Mammalian physiology.
I hate you. So, SO, bad.
A ton.
Just in case I didn't get my point across clearly,
Fuck you.

With Love,
AnoMALIE

Ah... well, that felt great.
Now, if you don't mind, I got some books to burn and a Bloody Mary to sip on as I watch with tears of joy in my eyes.

Thank you, Diosito, it's over!

Lovely Baby Sis:

On the real, dude:
I love you and all...
But PLEASE... por favor, si vous plait,
NO MORE READING.

Imagine this thing never existed.
Cool, monkeyface?
Cool.

I have an entry devoted to school (I'm FREE!!), but that will wait 'til tomorrow. I'm so tired.

This just couldn't wait, thought... it was important to set the younger sibling straight (there are some things siblings just should never know about) before I go on with my blogging life.

Must... get... away.

So... so freakin' tired.

My eyes hurt.

My brain hurts.

I've barfed.

I'm in a shitty mood.

I'm practically barking at people.

I'm tiiiiiredddddd, damn it!

(and now, I must stop typing like this, because I'm starting to feel like I'm writing Rosie O'Donnell's blog)

I can't wait 'till finals are done.

Till then (and I'm still fucking doing it!), I'll have to entertain myself by looking at funny pictures of "celebrities":

Oh, Nash, I had just told everyone how badass you are...
And, shit, I couldn't be any more right (that loss to damn San Antonio probably added to my bad mood today)!
Look at that dance move right there...
Hollaaa! Cool cat right thurrrrr! (granted, this is a couple of years old, but still)

Get up, you son of a bitch 'cuz AnoMALIE loves ya!

What a way to ruin an otherwise placid Cinco de Mayo.

Why couldn't my family like something like... NASCAR (ahaha... ok, ok... I kid there)? But, no, I really do wish my family would find entertainment in something less barbaric than boxing... and I wish I hadn't given my heart to Oscar de la Hoya. Curse you, Barcelona Olympics of 1992!

Yep. I participated in the typical Cinco de Mayo festivities... I studied, I ran, I cried, I had breakfast at 4 in the afternoon, I went to church, and I finished it all off with a Scotch on the rocks alongside my grieving uncle, aunt, Mom, and two male cousins while watching the De la Hoya- Mayweather fight (we probably should have been praying a rosary or something).

We're so hardcore.

However, I did turn down a Cuban cigar... so I guess that would make me a pu... wimp (or, you know, a girl).
Yes, no matter how hard I try, this Monarrez will always be the wussiest of all.
It didn't help that for most of the fight, I was reading a magazine, looking away, or shielding my eyes.

"Why... ahh... why in the hell... oh my God! Why would he do that?!"
That's all that was coming out of me. That or:
"Oh man... I can't watch! You can do it, Oscar!"

And like all the good Mexicans, I screamed:
"Oh, what the fuck?! That's bullshit!"
When the final decision was mentioned.

I could easily be complaining right now... or pointing out the good parts of Oscar's boxing... but I won't.
Whatever, we all know who the good guy is in this case.

I'll just go to bed, fuming a little... and hopefully it'll only give me more strength to study for these damn finals.

Eeeek. I'm scared (and a fucking spider just crawled all over my left arm... I fucking hate the boonies!)

Ready, like Oscar de la Hoya!

Cinco de Mayo!
Ajuaaaaaaaa! ::shoots up in the air while holding down imaginary mustache (ahaha...imaginary...that's good, J/K!)::
Viva la raza, homes!

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Cinco de Mayo is SO a gringo celebration. An excuse to get drunk with a Mexican while singing something like "Ay, ay, ay, ayyyyy! Cantaaa y no lloressssss!" And then taking body-shots off some "Mexican."

Ask "normal Mexicans" (i.e. Mexican-Americans) when Mexico's independence is, and I can assure you more than two thirds will get it wrong. I can almost bet on it.

Anyway!!
Mami's back!!!
(Yes, I'm 22.)

I was attempting to go to bed at 2:30 AM, but the rumbling of a loud ass diesel truck "woke" me up (i.e. interrupted my slow Chayanne jam, "La Playa").
I looked out my window (I hate it... because it juts out of the house... and while I was scared of a drive-by getting me back in the old neighborhood, I now fear some douchebag speed racer busting through my wall and killing me in my sleep) and saw it was my tiny little mom getting out of my dad's huge truck.

I ran outside in my pajamas (mistake, cause it was freaking freezing) and greeted her.
I helped her un-load a ton of things she brought for us (candy, "Takis" chips... the BEST chips on this planet! Some Mexican Fresca-- the BEST and ONLY soda I'll drink. She even brought some contraband black berries from my grandpa's tree).

It was crazy to see how happy she was.
Then we got to the story telling... and she made me cry.
If I think about it, I'll still get bummed out.
She also told me my aunt took pictures of my grandpa... and I'm definitely not going to be looking at those.
She told me all these weird things my grandpa did pre and post death. It's kind of creepy.

Ex: She said that the night before he died, he fixed everything in his room... and laid out a new pair of dress pants and dress shirt.
He always had a thing for telling us
"When I die, you better dress me up nice. New clothes, new shoes, nicely combed, neatly shaven. I don't want to get buried looking like some homeless beggar."
That night before he died, he also shaved...
Weird stuff.

So, as Mom unpacked, I cried a little... we laughed a little... and then we got a tad bit angry thinking about the drama my aunt brought to the whole thing because she was trying to get as much stuff as she could. We stayed up talking till 4 in the morning, then I finally went to bed at 4:30.
All in all... I'm glad she's back.

HOWEVER, not all can be fine and dandy.
Last night I got this text message from my little sister:
Hey, Jessica's staying over, so I'm gonna go pick her up, take her to *Twiggy's* house, then we're coming home. Clean up my room and do my bed.

Ok, anything else, Master?

See, my little sister loses control. I can see when you invite people over to your own house... but when you live with your folks, you can't just make arrangements like that without letting the people in charge know. She sees Mom isn't home, and she goes all wild child on me and does as she damn well pleases.

So here I am, 11 PM cleaning her stupid, dirty ass room... I finish that and then check out her bathroom.
Fucking atrocious. That's all I can say.
So then I start cleaning her bathroom (well, this girl's gonna have to use it at some point, right? Imagine the horror when she walks in there and sees five different types of bacterial colonies living in the sink!)... and then I move on to cleaning the mirrors... and then I start sweeping the floor.
I felt like maybe I should have just changed my name to Maria and done my hair up in two braids.
Si, Señora. Have any children you want me to raise?

Little sister strolled in the house at 2 in the morning with her loud buddy Jessica.
Loud Buddy Jessica's our cousin, but still... I don't really get along because our personalities clash and she's only 16.
I almost had a heart attack because for the last 3 hours I had been trying to play a convincing role for Dad, to make him believe Little Sister was already in the house, and here you have these girls practically ringing bells as they walked in the house.

When Mom came, it was a total shock for both girls... and they tried to act as if they were already asleep.
But Mom was pissed.
Mom became hurt when Little Sister didn't go outside to greet her. She wouldn't have been so upset had she not heard Little Sister and Loud Buddy Jessica giggling and gossiping in Little Sister's room.
"Mira que cabrona..."

Then today, as I was having a dream of a giant nephron being stuck in my eye (yeah... it was a STUPID dream), I was woken up by Little Sister and Loud Buddy Jessica talking about, what else, boys.
If they talked like normal people, I wouldn't have heard them... but here they were squealing and "Oh! I know!!"ing loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
Sure, I got to listen to some good gossip about Little Sister... but it was gossip I could have lived without ever knowing (seriously).
She also committed the huge mistake of waking me up (and I had only had 4 of my mandatory 7 hours of sleep!).
No house was on fire... no person was dead... just... some stupid ass boy had pissed Little Sister off and she was boasting about the way she broke up with him with Loud Buddy Jessica cheering and admiring Little Sister (sometimes, I feel like I'm living a movie).

I'm not a happy AnoMALIE right now... but my Mom's home!
And SPIDERMAN 3 tonight!!

Freaking mornings, I hate you.

It's the little things.

Silly little things make me smile...

I don't like this guy in the romantic sense (no, no, this guy is totally Chase's dude. I'm trying my damn hardest to make them get together... all grade school over here... haha, but first I gotta get them talking!).
He's cool, funny, and really smart.
Since I was bored last night (one of my worst insomniac nights ever. It was 4:30 AM and I was still sitting in my room doodling, listening to music, and wondering when in the hell I was going to get sleepy), I wrote back to one of his questionnaires:

YOU'RE ON MY FRIENDS LIST, I WANNA KNOW YOU...I want to know 33 things about you. I don't care if we never talk, never liked each other, or if we already know everything about each other. Short and sweet is fine...You're on my list, so I wanna know you better! =)
JUST HIT REPLY TO SEND THE ANSWERS DIRECTLY TO ME IN A MESSAGE THEN, GO BACK TO MY BULLETIN COPY PASTE AND REPOST THE EMPTY QUESTIONS AS YOUR OWN BULLETIN.
=============================================
1.)Q. Can you cook?
1.)A. Not really. Kind of sad for a Mexican.

2.)Q. What was your dream growing up?
2.)A. Umm... I think I wanted to be a fashion designer... or an artist.

3.)Q. What talent do you wish you had?
3.)A. I wish I could sing.

4.)Q. Favorite place?
4.)A. Here? Umm... I gravitate towards the ghetto actually. Bruce and Bonanza... Why? I don't know...

5.)Q. Favorite vegetable?
5.)A. Is cucumber a vegetable? If so, that. If not... then I like broccoli.

6.)Q. What was the last book you read?
6.)A. For entertainment purposes? It might have been... A Million Little Pieces?

7.)Q. What zodiac sign are you ?
7.)A. the oh-so-sentimental Pisces.

8.)Q. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?
8.)A. Just piercings.

9.)Q. Worst Habit?
9.)A. Umm... I'm a huge procrastinator.

10.)Q. If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride?
10.)A. Sure, but you'd have to put up with my Spanish music... and erratic driving... and onslaught of verbal assault I throw at other drivers.

11.)Q. What is your favorite sport?
11.)A. Tie between soccer (Cristiano Ronaldo) and tennis (Rafael Nadal)... definitely. Although to actually play, it'd be Volleyball.

12.)Q. Negative or Optimistic attitude?
12.)A. I start off pessimistic, but deep down inside, I'm always hoping for the best.

13.)Q. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
13.)A. Hey, there were so many chances of that occurring in that creepy elevator in the FDH... I probably should have a better answer for this one...

14.)Q. Worst thing to ever happen to you?
14.)A. 4th grade... and Mammalian Physiology.

15.)Q. Tell me one weird fact about you:
15.)A. Weird? Umm... I can make a three-leaf clover with my tongue? Although I don't think it's weird, it's just fucking rad!

16.)Q. Do have any pets?
16.)A. one pitbull by the name of Tyson... named after chicken nuggets... actually, no, it's in homage of ear-biting Mike Tyson.

17.)Q. Do you know how to do the macerana?
17.)A. I can sing it, too.

18.)Q. What time is it where you are now?
18.)A. 11 something

19.)Q. Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
19.)A. Cute? CUTE? Are you kidding me?! Maybe if I were born in the late 90's when IT was no longer an issue.

20.)Q. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be???
20.)A. Oh so many things! I can't pick just one.

21.)Q. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
21.)A. I'm a goody-goody... so conscience.

22.)Q. What color eyes do you have?
22.)A. Stupid brown.

23.)Q. Ever been arrested?
23.)A. Only when I played Cops and Robbers.

24.)Q. Bottle or Draft?
24.)A. I'm sorry... I'm a ditz... what?

25.)Q. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it?
25.)A. Travel to Europe and then whatever's left I'd spoil my friends rotten with... or just pay for grad school.

26.)Q. What kind of bubble gum do you prefer to chew?
26.)A. I LOVE the new raspberry Orbitz! It's fan-fucking-tastic!

27.)Q. What's your favorite bar to hang at?
27.)A. Well... I'm not much of a drinker... but I like Buffalo Wild Wings... I'm such a wuss.

28.)Q. Do you believe in ghosts?
28.)A. I say I don't... but I must admit to being scared once in a while.

29.)Q. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
29.)A. Sleep... if not, draw.

30.)Q. Do you swear a lot?
30.)A. Hahaha... this is a joke, right? I don't "swear" as in "I swear on my mother's grave" because I never got into that... but I can out-cuss a sailor.

31.)Q. Biggest pet peeve?
31.)A. I have a ton, but hearing someone say "conversate" is one of the bigger ones. It kind of makes me violent...

32.)Q. In one word, how would you describe yourself?
32.)A. Introvert

33.)Q. Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you ?
33.)A. I'm an introvert, remember?

Don't you just love the capitalized parts? It really gives me the sensation that I'm getting screamed at as he's poking me in the clavicle with his index finger... like a drill sergeant.

Anyway, he replied to my reply today... and after a long, tiresome, never-ending day, it made me smile:
Three-leaf clover, huh...

See, Chase! If you guys were friends... he wouldda said something like that (if not better) to you!
xD
(that's probably my favorite smiley)

Spiderman 3 tomorrow!!
(I'm telling you, my ADD acts up on me whenever I have crappy sleep accompanied by very bad eating habits... I haven't really eaten in a week. I'd keep it up, but adult ADD's not cool)