Sunday, September 30, 2007


I tripped (not literally. I'm using slang here) earlier today while watching Univision.

While I do talk mad shit about beauty pageants... I always catch myself glued to the television whenever we're talking Miss Venezuela and Miss Mexico.
I'll watch the Venezuela one because a lot of those girls are ridiculously gorgeous.
I'll admire the beauty... but I'll mainly point out areas they got "fixed" (more than half of them have breast implants, and about a fourth have nose jobs. That to me is CHEATING because they don't have "natural" beauty). Nothing like pointing out the faults in some of the most beautiful chicks in the world, right (ok, I also watch because I really, really, really like the Ball Gown section. I secretly love ball gowns, there, I said it)?

Anyway, I'll watch the Mexico pageant for other reasons.
Since I feel so Mexican, I have this horrible attachment to my parent's home state, Durango.
Every single year I've watched this pageant, it seems to me that the Durango chick is always one of the ugliest chicks present!
Over in Mexico, most of the chicks that make it to the pageants are "socialites," "elites," "douchebags," you know, whatever you wanna call those jerks in the upper class who look down upon the more humble folks.
These elites, while rolling in the dough, tend to have very bad genetics because they produce some god-awful offspring most of the time.
That seems to be the case with Durango.
So I'll watch the Mexico pageant and scream at my television once I catch a glimpse of the Miss Durango chick and complain how 80 percent of the chicks from my part of the state (who aren't "elites") are forty times prettier and could hands-down take the Miss Universe title (ok, maybe just Miss World) if chosen.

Anyway, I was ready to do that again this year... but I was so stunned, that I shut my trap and watched the screen with a gaping mouth.

Who was representing my Mexican state?

She's my first cousin's first cousin (understand? She's cousins with my cousin because their Dad's are brothers, I'm cousins with my cousin because my dad and her mom are brothers).
I was shocked because when we were younger... we didn't get along too well.
She was quite annoying and really hyperactive. Whenever my cousin would be with her, my cousin would be hyperactive as well.
That in turn, would annoy the hell out of me (because I'm more of a relaxed, calm child), and we'd get into arguments/shoving wars.
When we'd argue, the first thing that would come out of my mouth would be "Horse face!!"
(However, once we reached our teen years, she calmed down a bit... we became better acquaintances... and I never called her "Horse Face" again)

So here I had Horse Face posing in the skimpiest bikini (now that I think about it, in 2005 I saw her in a similar bikini, but her photo was on a huge billboard in Mazatlan) out of all the contestants... and I found myself screaming.
Yes. I was screaming her name.

I'm now a fan... I suppose... and I find myself more into this pageant than I'd like to be.
I'm also baffled by the thought that this girl could get this far in the pageant world.
No, I don't think she's ugly... she has a very interesting look. She reminds me of that chick that was on America's Next Top Model a couple of seasons back who posed as a fish once.

Lesson learned: Don't ever call anyone a horse face.

Go Dulce!!!!!!

Saturday, September 29, 2007


Ok, so I finally caved to the pressure.

What pressure, you ask?
The eyebrow pressure.

Yes. The eyebrow debate has been in full swing since... all that time ago that I mentioned it in here.

I never knew they were such a damn big deal.
I kept getting it from Mom and Little Sister.
"Damn, AnoMALIE! Your eyebrows are like they were back in sixth grade! No lie!"

Little Sister got hers threaded a couple of days ago... and she kept mentioning it... and how cheap it was.
After about three days of the same shit, I finally said "Fuck it, let's do it. But I swear, if they shrink my eyebrows I'm killing somebody."

So we went today.

I had places to be, places to see starting at 7 PM.
Thinking we'd be home on time, we arrived at the eyebrow place at exactly 4 PM (Little Sister said they took about 5 minutes to do).

I signed up for "Eyebrows only" with "no one in particular," and waited my turn.
I must have missed something on the outside of the door... because the place looked like a damn daycare center... with all these brats running around and only one tiny, well-behaved little boy trying to wrangle them all up.

So I sit and wait in the main room. As if the screaming, ill-behaved spawns of Satan weren't enough to piss me off, there where some bitches that kept staring at me. They'd stare at my phone and then start speaking Spanish as if I wouldn't understand their shit talking (Pendejas. And here I thought I had "El Nopal en la frente" aka I looked hardcore Mexican).

Keep hating, bitches, just because you'd have to prostitute yourselves for three years to get my phone doesn't mean you have to hate on a chick who doesn't resort to that shit. Get the fuck out of my face before I rip your damn bus passes, Hood Rats.
I sat there and listened to the girls talk about phones for ten minutes, because at 4:10 the guy who signed me in called me into a smaller room where two other girls were sitting, waiting their turn.

Sit here.
Wait a minute... I've heard about what really happens in this type of situation...
The man left in a hurry and left us girls directly in front of a 24-inch plasma-screen T.V.

Ok... at least I'll be entertained and away from the brats.
Just as that thought crossed my mind... they started playing a video.
What video?
Stewart Little 3: Call of the Wild.

I should have fucking known.
There was no sound... just subtitles.
Before I knew it, I was reading along... kind of... liking the movie... and getting pissed whenever anyone got in front of me.

I'm watching Stewart Fucking Little... get the hell out of the way, beast!
I took a couple of (kick)balls to the back of the head as I watched the movie.
Who was throwing the balls? The spawns, of course... trying to find an excuse to run into my room to watch Stewart Little.
Their dumb ass mothers where nowhere to be found to control the little boars... or read the subtitles for them... so the kids would immediately get annoyed and leave with their havoc-wreaking balls.

After a while... I noticed the number of kids was dwindling... the movie was getting intense... and us three girls were still waiting our turn.

What the hell? What time is it?
I looked at my watch and saw it was 5 PM.

Dilemma! I won't make it home on time to get ready if I stay longer... but I really want to watch the end of the movie! What do I do?!
I looked over at Little Sister, who was mouthing off words to me that I couldn't understand.
I knew she was getting anxious, because she leaves for work at 6 PM and we were probably 45 minutes away from home.

FINALLY, the lady who was going to work on our eyebrows showed up... gave some lame-ass excuse for being gone for an hour, and went to work on the first girl.

As Irresponsible Eyebrow Artist finished up on the first girl, Stewart Little 3 came to an end... one that I really couldn't understand because the end of the DVD was all scratched and the scenes would black out and freeze.

Way to kill the movie about a hiking rat with human parents and a Rastafarian skunk friend.
Irresponsible Eyebrow Artist was quick. At 5:05 it was the second girl's turn.

However, this girl was a horrible, horrible bitch.
She was very cranky... bossy... and pleasing her was impossible.
She barked orders at poor IEA until 5:40.
The bitch got her entire face threaded!

Look, Cousin It, IEA can't work miracles... and if I would have known you were going to get a brand new face, I would have asked nicely to go first and get my shit done in two minutes... then I would have given you my seat, probably even paid for your damn eyebrow job (fuck paying EVERYTHING you got worked on...).

I was out by 5:45, and we drove home as fast as possible.

Little Sister ended up being late for work, I ended up being late for my appointments, and I rushed through everything (much to my cousin's disappointment because I rushed through his 21st birthday party like "Yo, gotta go! No time! No time!" Poor boy. I'm such a bitch).
Now my eyebrows itch.

I think they look like eyebrows you see on hardcore metrosexual men. I don't like the... super straight lines. They look so unnatural to me... like I have stenciled-in eyebrows... I feel like a mannequin!

So there you have it... the new and improved AnoMALIE with her stenciled eyebrows that itch/burn like a UTI (not speaking from experience)... and make her look like a metro-man.

And to kill it, my family's still not happy!
*They should have given you more curvature here.
*They threaded your eyebrows? What is that? Like, painting them?
*You mean you paid someone to leave your eyebrows looking the same way they looked when you walked in?

I'm damn near close to just taking a razor to my brows and ending this whole drama.

Thursday, September 27, 2007


(I have mentioned how he loves wrecking pictures by looking like an idiot, right? This was around the time he had the brilliant idea to do such a thing... and you can tell I wasn't a fan of his new little habit even then... and of course, Little Sister was off in her own little modeling world to care... cute little brat)

So... today my brother turns a year older... and here's the mandatory entry dedicated solely to him.

I don't mind writing only about him, because I love him dearly... as much as I fight with him.
He's probably the coolest brother anyone could have asked for.

First off, he taught me how to fight.
Most pictures I have with him in our earlier years consists of one pushing the other... or one putting rabbit ears on the other.... or we're straight up wrestling, with him grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and screaming in my face (I had it coming though, I would steal his toy cars and hide them... and that would exasperate him badly) all while I'm still laughing in his face (I'm not telling... Nia-nia-nia Nia-nia Niaaaa!). Even now, we'll push each other around a bit... we'll probably do this until one of us breaks a hip in old age. It's fun... ya'll should try it with your siblings.

Two: He taught me how to play sports... and enjoy watching other play video games.
While I did complain sometimes, overall... this little trick made it easier for me to befriend guys... and it made me less of a snobby "girly-girl," (plus, can you imagine how horrible I'd look if I wouldn't be into sports? God, I'd been a walrus!). We never had a second brother... so he had to use me, to oldest one of the girls, to act like a boy so he wouldn't get bored. I of course, had no other choice since he ruled with an iron fist (yeah, right. I just accepted because I would get sick and tired of him shooting at me with rubber bands all day... I hate rubber bands).
Thanks to those years of training, I can now throw a football better than a lot of dudes I know.... do you know how powerful that makes me feel?!
(j/k) I'll play a game of basketball once in a while... and I'll definitely participate in a game of baseball. Sure, this makes me sort of an outcast amongst the girls... but who gives a fuck when guys are so much cooler?
And yes, you read correctly... I like watching people play video games. It's a weird habit... but I really do get into the game like if it were the real deal. I'm not good at video games though... so maybe that's why I admire others who are.

Three: He'd take the fault for a ton of my mistakes.
Now, while this might not be considered such a big thing... it sure was huge in our case... with our Mom who's so fond of corporal punishment.
My brother could take a slap, a kick, and a whip to the ass better than any kid I knew. He'd see me panicking whenever I made a mistake... like when I broke something... or caught something on fire... and he'd tell me to relax because he'd say he did it (and then there's also the whole "Please eat all the shrimp on my plate so Mom won't hit me with the belt for not eating, Older Brother!!" He saved me from a whipping that way maybe... three times).
This got him the reputation of being one of the biggest troublemakers in the neighborhood... but we all knew he was responsible for maybe one third of the things he'd be accused of because he would take the fall for most of the girls he cared about (which in total, it was probably five of us. Five girls can get in a shitload of trouble).

Four: My bro was a little big man.
Older Brother learned to be an adult at a very young age. The level of responsibility he had at age five is a lot more than I have at 22.

Five: My bro is SUPER smart!
Sure, he has almost zero common sense... but we can't all be MacGyvers!
Academically, he's someone I've always looked up to. Yes... sometimes I'm insanely jealous... but proud is what I am most.
He has an incredibly bright future.... if he fucking quits boxing and drinking so much... shit.

Six: My brother's an individual... and incredibly brave.
He's always gone against what's popular but stupid... even if that meant standing alone. When he joined the army... we were all in shock and pretty pissed off. Every guy called him a dumb ass... and then September 11th happened right as he graduated basic training... and everyone was calling him a dead dumb ass.
While everyone was making plans for their sons to leave the country and avoid the "draft," (idiots) my brother was anxious to go and do his job.
When we saw him in Fort Sill, we were all scared... teary eyed and uncertain about the future. He told us not to worry, that he was ready for anything.... and that, my friends, takes a lot of fucking balls to say in front of a crying mother, father, and two sisters.

Seven: He's a sensitive guy...
I guess he thinks we'll freak out if he ever breaks down... and frankly, that's 100 percent true. Once he freaks, I know we're all fucked.
The times he does let his guard down... he thinks no one's around to see it.
I've only seen him cry twice with a movie: I am Sam and El Laberinto del Fauno. Both times... when the movie was over... he'd say something like "that was gay..." but as he would get up to leave, I could always see tears in his eyes.
He's been caught in pictures being pensive... those are always my favorite pictures:
Older brother has a heart!

I could continue forever... there's a ton of things that make my brother an amazing man (and this is why, without a care in the world, I've gotten into fights with his ex-girlfriends when they do him wrong)... I just don't have the time or space to say it all (ok, here's one more: He never held it against us whenever we'd say shit like "I can't wait until you fucking leave this house, asshole! We're not going to miss you!!" He believes us when we say we miss him... plus, we always treat him like a king when he's in town... I don't let anyone else pinch my nose to impede my breathing, just him).

There's nothing he could say or do to make me hate him (there was that one time I wanted to beat the shit out of him... and even then, my heart wouldn't let me).
He's my twin... separated by one and a half years... and it's thanks to him that I'm any sort of cool.

...Now if only we could hug without feeling stupid... ha.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The month that keeps on sucking

Me chingue muy bonito.

Last night I remembered a little fact that my Q had erased from my mind all week:
I fucking hate cell phones!

I caught a glimpse of my phone bill yesterday... and to say I freaked out would be an understatement.

I became so upset, I went to bed early (it wasn't even 12 AM yet).
I just... left the computer... didn't speak a word to anyone... I crawled into bed (in my gym clothes.... how sick) and passed out.

I mistakenly believed the guy at Verizon changed my texting plan to 500 non-IN texts... but he didn't... I have 50. Just fifty.
I passed those fifty a week ago.
Now I'm in the hundreds.

I'm so fucked.
So non-Verizon people... please umm... refrain from texting me until further notice (because if you do text me... you better believe you're getting an angry phone call from yours truly over here... but I don't even know why I mention it here, since the fucking idiot who texts me to say shit like "hey," five minutes later: "Heyyy!!!!!" five minutes later: "What's wrong with you?!" five minutes later: "What the hell, AnoMALIE? Text me back!!!" doesn't even read this. Maybe I should just send him a text saying "Fuck you, you owe me 50 bucks, mother fucker. Oh yeah, quit texting me! You're not IN!").

Man... I hate September.
I'm so dead.
It was nice knowing you, world.
(as morbid as this might be... I'm kind of looking forward to the punishment I'm going to get... I'm just hoping it's not some sort of "I'm so disappointed in you" speech with intermittent Spanish cuss words used in exchange for my name.
"Que te dije, Cabrona?! Que eran un chingo de mentiras y que nos iban a ver la cara! Pero tu de muy mamona te lo crees todo! Chinga'o, como eres pendeja, AnoMALIE!"
Man, those speeches make me cry... but not because they're moving like, say, Sojourner Truth's)

P.S. I also received my credit card statement yesterday... nottttttttttt cool. That also had a lot to do with me crawling into bed and falling asleep instantly.
I'm so dead.
Fuck you, September!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Like the song says:

Wake me up when September ends.

I've had enough (who the fuck can be happy all the damn time? Fuck this).

(Angst-o-Meter: smudged eyeliner and... is that black nail polish?!)

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Elephant in the room

I was met by my very upset mom today.
I was having a crappy day to begin with... this only topped it off.

Mom: Did you hear about your dad?
Is he sick? Did the tests show he has something seriously wrong with him? Did he get in a car wreck? Is my Dad dead?! Did he file for a divorce? Are we getting sued?! Is it the IRS?!?
Me: No...
Mom: He registered to vote.
Me: Good for him!
Ok... I can breathe now... I'll start feeling my head again in a couple of seconds...
Mom: He's a Republican!
Me: ...

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Coincidence in rock rhyming with sock


I think I now have a new "most disliked lab T.A."

It used to be this asshole jerk physics guy... who once rolled his eyes at me when I asked for help (I hardly ever raise my hand and ask for help in the first place. I usually fuck up because I'm too stubborn to ask for help, and here I had this dipshit acting like I was going to ask for one of his kidneys or some shit). He also mocked me a couple of times... and he also smirked this one time he noticed I was totally fucking up on my practical.
Whenever he gave me instructions... he'd finish with "Ok... so... you sure you can handle that, since you're a girl and all," (mother fucker, all I have to do is plug in this stupid light bulb and see the pretty colors... am I supposed to plug it in with a penis? No. So I think it'll be possible... asshole.") or he'd ask me shit like "You can add, right?" but in the most condescending tone.

I generally got along fine with my T.A.s (even crushing on a majority of them)... with only the female T.A.s being the ones I'd have a little friction with (I always got the very nitpicky girls), but I HATED this man (well, technically, I still do. When I bump into him I still get this enormous urge to kick him in the balls and then elbow him in the back as he doubles over in pain... but I'm a lady and ladies don't do that kind of stuff... unless they're provoked).

However, I didn't let this bad experience with the mean T.A. deter me from taking any more labs, and all other labs after this were generally pleasant experiences (and yeah, I grew fond of all other T.A.s)
Well, now that I'm graduating and whatnot... I decided to add Geology to my final semester because I'm sad to see my lab-taking days go (and plus, I hated the thought of taking only one class).
It was also an easy... kind of fun lab with 2 field trips, according to my sister.

Bull fucking shit.

Chase picked up on the nature of the T.A. before I did (remember, I tend to like T.A. and sort of empathize with them since I teach catechism and there are days when I just want to slap some of the kids in class).
What is her nature?

Never, ever, ever have I had a lab T.A. like her (omit physics lab T.A. for a second).
I understand the physics T.A. and his "douche bagginess" to a degree... since there's a ton of confusing parts to physics and not everyone can understand (therefore he can act like some sort of physics god who looks down on his minions).
But in geology?
We're studying fucking rocks.
Not g.damn rockets.
Get off your high horse and feel the earth beneath you for a second, your highness.

Yeah, there are some serious idiots in class... but that doesn't mean you have the right to talk down to people... especially not everyone.

I had never gotten into a fight with a teacher until today.

Who gets mad when a student reads ahead before lab and tries to advance so he/she wont run out of time when in lab (it happened last week, so how did we know it wasn't going to happen again? I'm very rude and cranky when time's running out on me during labs, so I prefer to avoid such situations)?
Apparently, she does because she went off on Chase and I out of all the other kids in lab... and she seemed to enjoy it (she had this triumphant look on her face while she screamed at us. I just wanted to chuck the [stupid ass] rocks [we were supposed to be studying] at her once I noticed that).

I'm not one to argue with people who are in charge of me (since I'm so submissive), but when they purposely try to make me feel bad... and treat me like a cheater, I don't care who the hell they are, I'm going to talk back.
Why does something have an angle of 180? Because the fucking shit is a straight line!

Fuck, dude, I had geometry back in 9th grade... and I didn't cheat off people to get my grade in there either... so why would I forget such simplistic shit?
You see this paper I'm writing my answers on? If I hold it flat like this, it can be considered 180 degrees vertically... or if I hold it this way, 180 degrees horizontally... OooOooo... magic!

I'm not a fucking retard, jerk. I've taken 20+ credits of upperdivision bio courses, not one more boring than this class, and to tell you the truth, I could give a flying fuck about your beloved rocks and their damn minerals. I'll take boring-ass plants any day... at least those mother fuckers breathe (line stolen from Chase's brother)!

Fuck you if you don't believe me when I say I understand how many degrees are in a circle.

It was so hard to bite my tongue and not tell her to shut the fuck up and watch the way she was speaking to me.
Shit... am I about to get expelled... 'cause I swear I'm feeling my fists ball up and my shoulders are ready to crossover... jab... hook... calm down, AnoMALIE!

I almost pushed the girl, I was so frustrated... I did scream at her... but I didn't touch a single hair on her head (nor will I ever. Nothing is worth getting in trouble at this point in my life).

Chase was five times angrier than I was... I'm surprised she didn't spit in anyone's face... or go Kickboxer Chase on them.

I'm just saying, this chick needs to relax and quit talking down to folks as if she's some sort of theoretical physicist being forced to teach a group of special Ed students (and even then, I'm sure the theoretical physicist would be kind and thoughful with the special ed kids).

P.S. Never scream at me in front of a class of 18-20 year old dumb asses who don't know what a rhombus is... unless, you know, you really want to see the ghetto-hood-rat in me.

Goodness, why am I so angry lately?

Monday, September 17, 2007

Mi Papi, el Gringo

Starting today, I now have two gringo parents.

First it was Mom... who became a U.S. citizens back in 1997, much to Dad's chagrin.
I have no idea what happened over the course of ten years (a lot), but this year he started getting interested in finally becoming a U.S. citizen (plus, he committed some frowned-upon things in his earlier years--nothing to do with drugs or anything along those line, just to clarify-- which required a presidential pardon that he recieved a while back... yeah, I know, My Dad required a Presidential Pardon... my Dad's a badass) .

Then today, Dad finally went and pledged his allegiance to this country.

All I can say is: Finally! Dad won't be able to use the line of "No officer, I'm the only wetback in this family..." when questioned by U.S. customs officers every summer.

That was growing to be unbearably embarrassing.
My Dad has the weirdest... sort of messed-up sense of humor in the family.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Q is for... quaint.

I am now the proud owner of this bad boy: (his name is Quinn... as in, the ex-Notre Dame QB...which by the way... what an embarrassment that team is this year... damn)

However... as happy and proud as I am of this little PDA (public display of affection??), it caused an uproar in the household.
It started with Little Sister screaming "You're SPOILED!" in the Verizon store, then her driving Mom and I home in a sea of tears (probably the scariest part of the day... since she was sobbing and screaming the entire time... and I'm sure she couldn't see half the time through those crocodile tears she was shedding), her coming home and screaming "Don't talk to me!!!" to me, Mom, and Dad, and then me leaving to the gym so that I wouldn't resort to punching her mouth to make her STFU.

While I was away, throwing a medicine ball at Chase, turns out Little Sister continued with her bitching and Mom and Dad trying to convince her why she was being unreasonably jealous (who's going on a $14K trip to Spain in the Spring? Her. Who got three 0-miles vehicles in a matter of a year? Her. Who has a laptop? Her. Who has $200 D&G sunglasses? Her. Who has a television in her room? Her. Who bought a sidekick behind her parent's back? Her. What does AnoMALIE have? A pitbull who doesn't even listen to her... car that was bought because Little Sister was bitching about not wanting to ride in an old car that stalled... umm... an iPod nano--iPod Little Sister bought AnoMALIE in the first place-- that sucks balls and holds less than 500 songs... a bed in her closet-less room. How the fuck am I spoiled?).
Did she finally cool down? No. She didn't even eat.
Oh well.
It was going to be such a pleasant Sunday, too.

Saturday, September 15, 2007


Alguien le prendió fuego a mi mundo de papel.

Ya nada tiene sentido... qué lástima...

While we're on the subject:
It cracks me up when guys are dumb enough to think I'll take sloppy seconds.

They first spit game at Little Sister, and when she rejects their ass, for some reason they think
"Hmm... AnoMALIE won't deny me... she never has a guy around... all girls need a guy around... she'll be desperate enough to accept."

Yeah. Right. Play on, playa. I have shit to do, and none of it involves amusing you on the weekends (plus, when I mention I'd rather stay with my aunt and console her on a Saturday night... take it as a hint that I.Don't.Like.You.That.Way).

Maybe I would have agreed... if you wouldn't have first come on to my sister, jackass.

What the hell do guys think? What kind of shit is that?
Do they not have the same unspoken rule as girls which goes something like "chicks before dicks?" ("bros before hoes"... so why would they think a girl would take a dude that already dated some other chick that's in her inner circle? Dumb bastards)
Yeah... there are girls that go against the rule... but it's easy to pick those chicks out (hOessssssssssss!).
I've never given that vibe... but I still don't know why I'm always the chick guys run to when they get denied by their first (second, third, fourth,... fifth??) pick.

I'm a Community College in the world of Ivy League schools... that sucks.

P.S. Viva Mexico!!! (Hooray for the weekend Mexicans get most plastered: Mexican independence day! And you thought we were annoying on Cinco de Mayo... no, no, no, no! We just do our best to get our caucasian friends plastered with tequila and Tecate/Dos Equis/Corona on that day. True Mexicans get trashed today... hardcore Mexicans get wasted the entire weekend. And that my friends, is the factoid of the day... night?)

Friday, September 14, 2007

Only Child

Say, AnoMALIE, what are you going to be up to come 2008?
-Umm... I'm going to... umm... I guess I'll take the GREs... umm... work on my portfolio... and umm... I think that's all
(I'd love to tell you about my Go-Go Dancing Master Plan... but that might freak you out a little... or just get me a lot of negative attention from your behalf).

That's all?
-I guess I can turn 23 if I want...

What will your brother be up to?
-The fucker's gonna live in London from January until around May or June.

What about your sister?
-The lucky biatch is gonna be living in Bilbao from around January until maybe May or June.

And you're going to be... taking exams... and working on a portfolio... in...???
-I'll be livin' the life in Vegas... waking up at noon and sometimes not even going to bed.

Yes. It's official.
Both of my siblings will spend the first half of 2008 living in Europe while I mope around the city of Las Vegas.

However... I can't be too sad just yet.
I might be able to catch up with my siblings around February... maybe I'll wait until March so I can spend my birthday with Mom.
I have to wait until October to make my final verdict.

Hmm... to be alone and sad in Vegas... or be alone and sad in Europe?

(If you would have asked me what I thought I'd be doing on my 23 birthday back in 1998, I would have never in a million year guessed I'd be pondering whether or not I was going to spend it in the U.S. or some European country alone. I think my response would have been something along the lines of "I'll be super in love with my fiance and he'll have this great night planned for me." Haha. Ah, yes, what it was like to be poor, young, naive AnoMALIE...)

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Mission Impossible: AnoMALIE Sleeps

Man... someone didn't want me to sleep last night.

I went to bed pretty early, expecting to sleep for as long as my back permitted.
However, once three in the morning rolled around, I knew getting a good night's rest was going to be impossible.

Problem number 1:
I was woken up by the hiccups.

Yeah. This is the second time in my life I have to wake up because I scare myself with my hiccuping.
The first time was in Mazatlan where I slept with three other roommates. That time I woke up to see my very scared cousin hovering over me as she clenched a rosary (if I were possessed, I wouldn't just be hiccuping).
She scared the hiccups right out of my system.

Last night it was around 3:30 in the morning when I woke up because I was so loud... and my chest hurt a lot.
I tried going back to sleep, but the hiccups kept surprising me.
I became so frustrated that I had to sit up and hold my breath about seven times.
I went back to bed at around 4.
Very freaking irritating.

Problem number 2:
At 8 in the morning, I received a call (just when I thought it was safe to leave my phone on all day).
Well, I didn't actually answer.
I didn't recognize the number, so I sent it straight to voicemail.
The phone then beeped because this person left a message.
"Hey, it's Tom," and he proceeded to recite his phone number very s-l-o-w-l-y... like a robot.
Now, I do know a Tom... but he doesn't live in the 801 area (this is the second time in three months I get someone calling me from an 801 number thinking I'm someone else. I'm starting to wonder if some jerk cousin wrote my number on a bathroom stall or something).
I immediately became cranky... cussed a little (fucking Tom... what the hell is his problem? Mother fucker)... and forced myself back to sleep (because while I was busy cussing at stupid Tom, I kept hearing this clicking sound that made me a little paranoid... but I decided to ignore).

Final problem:
It was 11 in the morning when a huge rumbling woke me up.
WTF?! Is Vegas having an Earthquake?!

No. It was my closet.
I've collected so much crap in my closet, that finally, after 8 years, it decided to collapse in on itself.
All my clothes, bags, and other junk in there spilled all over the floor.

That final problem finally made me get up.
Something definitely didn't want me taking a break and snoozing the day away.

Now I can't complain I have nothing to do today.

What a freaking hassle.
It's going to take forever to get rid of some of that crap.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Right foot, left foot, three feet, four.

Some days... I start the day off with the wrong foot.

Such was the case today.

Shit... I'm not a morning person... at all.
I'm mean (I've gotten into a fist-fight with my bro before, which started because he pinched my nose... and it ended in me flinging his text books at him after ripping pages from all of them)... I'm cranky (I'll pout if Little Sister's using the flat-iron)... I'm careless (I forget at least one item on my "to-do" list)... I'm even blind (although... I'm blind almost always... especially since I refuse to wear my glasses... unless a projector is involved for class, you won't see me rocking my specs).

Well, today, while I did sleep soundly... I woke up worried.
Because last night Mom let us in on a little drama that's going on down in Mexico.
Turns out one of the cooks at this popular taqueria (taco place) tested positive for AIDS.
Yes... and that place was super busy during the summer.
Everyone ate there.
So now people in Mexico are freaking out thinking they contracted HIV from this fellow... and while at first I was calm and collected (partly because I only ate there once and it was one tostada... one), after hearing all the idiots freak... I did as well.
Nooooo!! It'd be so fucked up if I contracted HIV because I was hungry one day at 12AM after a party... and the only place to eat was this damn taqueria! Fuck that! I didn't even sleep with a guy... what the fuck is this?!?

I tried thinking back to all my bio lectures... you know, to calm myself down... and the only way I managed to do that was by thinking "Chill... it's not like you slept with the guy or drank his blood after getting your teeth cleaned at the dentist... chill."

So I knew it'd be pathetic to freak out because I ate at the place that one time (Chase brought up the point that this story could well be some stupid gossip... since my town thrives on that shit. The gossip most likely started because the taqueria used to be a funeral home. We'd joke saying we were eating dead people flesh in our tacos... but it was just that, a joke--although it was uncomfortable at times to think we were sitting in a place that was once taken up by a wooden coffin with the image of Jesus carved into it).
But I guess this idea kept messing with my head... because as I was heading off to school, I almost crashed into my dirtbag-douchebag-stupid-ass-redneck-drug-addicted neighbor and his 1980's clunker.
Had I hit him, it would have been entirely my fault because I backed out of my house without looking behind me (stupid preoccupied mind).
DDSARDA Neighbor moved out of my way, and when the coast was clear that I wasn't going to hit him, he waved a very angry fist at me and yelled obscenities.
What did I do?
Ignored his ass... since I already do that to perfection.
Wow... Ford made trucks that drove themselves back in the 80's? Shit. They should teach them to drive a little more carefully next time. I do love how it honks "Fuck You! You Motherfucking Idiot!!!" though... Toyota should really pick that up as an add-on to your vehicle... I'd buy that.

Once I reached school... I realized Bambi (my car) was telling me something was wrong with her slutty ass (Bambi, I'm the one worried about STD's today. You STFU).
Turns out she was telling me the tire pressure was off.
I hate car trouble... I absolutely hate it (it sends me into a crying fit faster than anything else).
So I headed to work... since Dad owns one of those machines that puts air into tires and whatnot (sure, made for buses and all, but Daddy knows how to make it work for cars. He's the car genius, remember?).

Once there... all the bus drivers that would show up to work would either hit on me (which upsets me because these guys will hit on anything)... or be really nice to me only to be told by Dad "Yeah... this is my spoiled little brat," or "Yeah... doesn't it suck how young kids these days are so spoiled? They only come to you because they can't even put air in their car's tires..."
Dad yanks my chain like that all the damn time.
So I'd answer in the most annoying voice possible:
I'm not spoiled, Daddy!!! The car's just stupid...

So everything was fine and dandy and all fun and games until the conversation turned all serious (I hate hormones... I swear they fuck me up almost every week) and I got all sentimental and began crying.
Yes. I cried.
I had my chin quivering and everything.
I started crying over how they do all this shit to me as a way to try and make up for the cage they keep me in... and how all I want is freedom and that it breaks my heart to realize I have spent my youth trapped. Blah blah blah.
A total... cheap, sentimental, girly-sitcom moment that even bugged me but I couldn't control (AnoMALIE, what the hell are you doing?! You have no feelings, remember?!? Oh gawd! Is that a tear? Stop that right now! Is that your fucking chin quivering? Oh man... I can't!).

So I calmed down after a while (it's not like I was sobbing or anything... I was just letting the tears flow).
I quickly apologized for losing composure.
Crying's for chumps, yes, I know that, Mom.

All this, and my day isn't even half-way done.

Alright... so I finished my day at school and this bugged me a little:
I sat tentatively in my first class... so I didn't pay attention to what was going on around me.
Well, Chase informed me that the little douche bag idiot boy I allowed to sit next to me was staring down my shirt for most of the class period (with a fucking smirk on his face, to kill it).
I was nice enough to laugh at his ghetto, stupid, obvious remarks (because I hate being the one who lets others know they're imbeciles)... and I even moved my bag out of the way so he could take the only seat available in class (that I had been saving for a friend of mine).
I didn't know he was actually paying more attention to Betty and Veronica. Had I been informed of that in time... I would have definitely been a bitch and told him something along the lines of "Class is up there, you fucking little creep!"
Chase said that at one point, it looked like he was going to reach out and grab my nenas.

I kinda wish he had... I would have been able to put my kick boxing skills to the test... or you know, just resorted to my hoodrat-style asskicking: i.e. Knocked the fuck out of his teeth with my elbow.

What the fuck is that, seriously?
I understand guys can be... I don't know... they'll peak... and I guess that's normal, especially if you have your shit out there for everyone to see. But when you have a normal t-shirt on... and the other person is staring directly at your chest... probably even keeping track of the pace your chest goes up and down? Hell no.
Bitch, you better be dating me before you start doing that... if you want to keep you jaw intact, that is (which no... hell no... I don't want to date this fucker. Ugly doesn't even describe this fucking little troll son of a bitch. God, I'm so grossed out. He should stay put from under the bridge he emerged from...).

Heads up to all guys out there: If I ever find you staring at my chest for longer than ten seconds straight... I'm going to kick you/punch you so hard, you're going to be coughing up your balls. Proceed with caution, perverts... this girl carries a punch.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

The AnoMALIE Show

Me: Happy Birthday, Lady (I say this as a term of endearment, really)!! Now... what would you like for your birthday present?
Mom: What I ask for every year...
Me: ???
Mom: I just want you to keep being a good girl... please.
Me (internally): Shit... wouldn't you prefer... a big screen T.V.? Jewelry? A nice dinner?
Me: Laaaaaaame!

(So then I took her to P.F. Changs...)

Mom turned 48 today.
For some reason last week, I kept thinking she was going to turn 43.
Yeah... like I'm dying to repeat being 18 all over again... pffffffft!

It used to be easier to please Mom and her dumb request... it was like getting off scot-free. But as time goes by... it grows increasingly difficult to uphold her wishes.
It's like asking Mexico to win the next World Cup. Yeah, they try to win it.... but will they ever? No (as long as the poor guys keep averaging a 5 foot 6 in stature... I'm afraid they'll keep losing to the European goliaths). You just set more realistic hopes... like "Please... just please... make it to the top 16... and then you can lose and I'll just start rooting for Portugal... or Italy... or Brazil..."

Same goes for me.
Yeah, I try to be a good girl... but come on now! I live in Vegas! And taking that into consideration... someone better start building a statue of me or something... 'cause I'm pretty damn saintly when compared to many local chicks.

This doesn't mean I want to go all crazy or anything... but it'd help knowing I wouldn't be letting down my mom if I were to stay up just a little bit later than usual... or I wouldn't be giving my mom a heart attack when announcing my upcoming trip to the bay area... or any area for that matter.

it seems to me the only trip I'll be taking this year will be a fucking guilt trip.

In other news (man, I'm realizing this weekend was busy for me. That's a first... I shouldn't say that, especially since next week catechism classes resume. That just makes me want to shoot myself sometimes... but it's like a drug... I can't quit it no matter how determined I am when I enter the office to offer my resignation and thank them for the Umteen years they've been so good to me), yesterday I was really amused by a cousin-who's-like-a-sister's reaction to something I said.

She's been gone for a while, but she's back now... and since she has her own place, I visit and feel like an adult etc, etc (haha... me an adult... good one).
So we were catching up (because blogs don't even get half of the information going on in either one of our lives) and we got to the subject we've talked about since... well, practically since we had use of our brains: guys. She told me what went on while she was in Orlando (entertaining as hell), and so I thought it'd only be fair to tell her what went on in Vegas while she was gone (as boring as it was going to be).

Me: Hmmm... things were slow... but, while you were gone I found myself getting a crush on this one dude...
Mooney: Ok
Me: Yeah... but... not someone you'd expect...
Mooney: ...Ok...
(I'm sure she was expecting to hear me say something like "He was once a she," "He's a serial killer," or "He's my cousin")
Me: Yeah... he's 32...
Mooney: That's HOT!!!
Me:... and divorced...
Mooney: That is SO

It made me feel like I was on some reality T.V. show (amusing, in a good way, I swear Mooney)... very à la episode of the Hills.
AnoMALIE: Pueblerina in Vegas City Girl's clothing.

I really should walk around with a camera crew behind me.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

You down with FCC? (Yeah, you know me)

I like commercials.

Is that so wrong?

It's one of my many guilty pleasures (sometimes I do wonder why the hell I can't have normal guilty pleasures like... eating Ben & Jerry's while watching a sad movie and crying my eyes out. I've always heard of that being some sort of "girly" guilty pleasure, but I've never had Ben & Jerry's--at least not that I can recall-- and I don't really bawl my eyes out during a movie).

Now, I'm not talking late-night local commercials... no, those frustrate me and carry the potential of putting me to sleep.
I'm talking expensive, well thought out commercials.
Ones with the potential of making me think, making me angry, but mostly, just making me laugh.

I've never lived in any other country that isn't either Mexico or the U.S., but I'm sure regardless, I'd have Mexican television commercials on my top five list of commercials I enjoy sitting down to watch.

Mexican commercials beat out U.S. commercials when it comes to making me laugh.
No, it's not because Mexican commercials are better... because I really can't claim one being better than the other (although when it comes to wit, I have to say Mexico has a lot of it... especially when it comes to certain subjects. But then again, some view points held by Mexicans kind of bother me... like... sometimes they'll be hardcore stereotypical about certain ethnic groups and I find it to be slightly... racist... bigoted... you know, things along those lines... whereas in the U.S., the FCC will fine folks for not being PC).

No, I enjoy Mexican commercials because they always find something to write at the bottom of the screen concerning the product they're advertising.
Doesn't seem that funny at first thought... but damn, are they entertaining.

1)This really good chocolate bar commercial's running... and throughout the entire commercial you'll see medium sized writing in white that'll read "Chocolate gives energy."

2) Coca-Cola commercial is running, and in the same way as in the chocolate commercial, the letters will say "Haz deporte por lo menos 30 minutos al dia" which translates to "Exercise at least 30 minutes a day."

3) Shampoo commercial is running, and the bottom of the screen will read "Limpieza es salud" aka "Cleanliness is health."

Of this last one I have proof of its existence: There I was playing around with my camera in Mexico... and I was going to delete that picture (because, while it looks like I enjoy taking those sorts of pictures--I do have one on my Myspace-- the flash really does bother me), but then I cought a glimpse of the image in the background... and it was like finding gold!

Yes, I know all you can see are those two little boys in soccer uniforms, but the commercial was about some dude getting ready to hang out with his bitch childhood friend who was a little jerk to him back in the day... and now as adults, the kid that used to get picked on is super hot. Why? Because he uses *_Brand name here_* shampoo, that's why! (because I know I'm all over a guy whose hair smells nice... ??)

I just love to see what they come up with (if I hear it's a new commercial and I'm busy in the kitchen/bedroom/outside/etc, I will actually stop what I'm doing and run to go check out what's written below the commercial).

So far, my favorite one has been the one about the chocolate.
The first time I read that one I was laughing about it for weeks... I even went around chanting that each time I bought anything containing chocolate.

You know, I've read that Latinos are coming down with diabetes at an alarming rate recently... and I'm guessing that... maybe... just possibly... the thought of "chocolate giving you energy" might have something to do with that...
(I'm being sarcastic... obviously)

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Violence makes you, like... get wrinkles and stuff

I can't decide which is worse:
A) Having Little Sister--in a fit of rage-- throw a platter of freshly made deviled eggs at me,
B) Having Little Sister transform me into a Laguna Beach/The Hills addict.

The first one happened the other day... I think Monday.

In Mom's side of the family, we have this thing where we tend to lose our head when frustrated/mad/in a hurry/etc. and we get a little physical sometimes... even if it hurts an innocent person (I try to curb this, I swear... I'm saintly compared to Mom and Little Sister. Mom and Little Sister are just... off the wall when it comes to losing their tempers).
Little Sister was running late for work... had to take some food for a potluck at work... and had me wrap the food up in 1)Saran Wrap then 2) Aluminum foil.

Well... apparently I didn't do it well enough because just as I thought Little Sister was in her car and headed to work, BAM! there goes the platter in front of me. Little Sister was in the kitchen, chucking the platter at me, the platter then hit the kitchen table next to me, rolled off, and then I had to clean up the mess before it stained the marble floor (folks weren't home... so I had to do it alone. Cinderella Story... I know. Waa-waa-waa).
I kind of just stood there like "WTF, bitch? Want me to fucking knock you unconscious? What the hell is that, animal?" (I'm sure Cinderella answered like that to her stepsisters from time to time)

Then, yesterday... I guess Little Sister was in a reconciliatory mood, because she invited me to her room to watch season one of Laguna Beach which she had just received in the mail.
I, being a forgiving idiot, went in... stayed there... and watched it all.
I found myself choosing sides between girls and blah, blah, blah.
I think I enjoyed the damn thing.
It's horrible.

Chase pointed out that watching the show makes me lose 2 IQ points for every... I think she said hour.

So... while getting shit thrown at me only makes me angry... watching Laguna Beach and The Hills makes me stupider... and I'm sure much shallower than I'd like to be.

To be violent... or to be shallow... that is the question.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Sherlock Chuy

Oooo... another gem, but this one was found today:
"Open Arms" by Journey.

Yes... I know... I should be shot for not knowing that one... but see... once again... I was a damn baby when that song was popular.
Shoot, I wasn't even born when that bad boy came out.

I only knew the Mariah Carey version... and that's because some girl sang it in some talent show when I was... maybe a fifth grader... maybe a sixth grader.
What can I say? My folks are Mexican.
Ask me anything about Los Bukis, Vicente Fernandez (one of my all-time favorites because not only does he rock a stage, but as a person, he's pretty rad. Chente's a fucking MANNNNN. Ok, sorry for that tangent), Jose Jose, Camilo Sesto, Raphael, or any other popular 80's Spanish artist and I'll answer you before you even finish the question.

I'm enjoying this.

In other news: Dad really cracked me up today.
I'm known to exaggerate... just a little... sometimes... but no one's better at that than my mom.
That trait really bugs Dad.

Mom and Dad were sitting in the kitchen, having a nice little conversation when Dad called Little Sister and me over.

Dad: How many hard-boiled eggs did you guys collect that one Easter you guys went to the park? (this was back in like... '92... the only time we ever did anything that... WASP)
Me: Umm...
Little Sister: It was like...
Me: You were a baby, what do you know?
Mom: It was like 200 eggs wasn't it?
Dad: Quiet... you weren't supposed to do that. Now they won't guess correctly.
Me: It was like... I don't know... three basketful's.... just a lot... a huge waste.
Dad: And how many of those eggs did your brother eat?
Little Sister: Like 20...
Dad: That sounds more realistic than the number your Mom gave me...
Me: It was like... a lot. (I talk like a dumb shit... I just noticed that)
Mom: No... it was like 70!
Dad: Your Mom's trying to convince me you guys gathered 200 hard-boiled eggs and that your brother ate 70 of them in one sitting.
Little Sister: Ahahahaha! No!!! That's impossible! 70? Ha!
Mom: No! It was like 70... he ate so many I thought he was going to die on me. Don't you remember how sick he got?
Me: Well... I do remember all he did that day was pop hard-boiled eggs in his mouth... like pills. Even when we were hunting eggs at my uncles house... he was still getting the hard-boiled eggs there.
Mom: Yeah... the only difference there was that *Mooney's Dad* gave OlderBrother salt. So OlderBrother started eating the eggs with salt.

We couldn't get Daddy and Mom to agree... so Dad whipped out his cell phone and called OlderBrother in Indiana.

When my bro got the call, he was scared... being that it was almost 10 PM and the first thing Dad said to him was "Me and your Mom have a serious problem..."
Bro's immediate response is always: it's the fucking IRS, isn't it?!
??? No... moron.

Dad followed the greeting by asking him how many eggs he ate that one Easter he got really sick.
Bro: It was like... 40.
Dad: 40?!? How did you do that?! You were 7!
(brother's laughing hysterically)
Bro: I don't know... I almost died... that's for sure... and I fucking hate eggs now...
Dad: Thanks, son, now go back to studying.

We had to sit at the kitchen table for a good two minutes before any of us stood up.
I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one there almost pissing my pants from laughing so hard.

What kind of shit is that?
"Me and your Mom are having a serious problem here..."
I would have thought: "Don't tell me you're getting divorced!!!"

I wish I were as... tenacious as Daddy. He doesn't let shit go... and he goes all out when it comes to proving a point (He'd be a helluva reporter... move over George Knapp).

Monday, September 3, 2007

Hocus-Pocus, fool

This summer really made me feel old.
I know I'm not... but I'm no teenager, either.

And Mexico's a different world... any chick above 16 is old news. So I'm like... a relic over there.

It was strange when this 17 year old girl I hung out with my last week there (forcefully, I might add. She's totally my polar opposite) told me
"Oh wow... you're 22? You don't look 22... you look... 18."
18? Shit... not even she believed it when it came out her mouth.

Anyway... point is: I came back feeling like an old lady.

However... being that I'm on break... I tend to get bored... and my iPod comes to the rescue.

I had forgotten 19-year-old Casanova had given me songs from his music library to put on my iPod.
It was this late-night thing where I dropped by his house the night before he left to California so I could take as much of his music as I pleased (he had a ton... too bad I only knew about 1/5 of the bands in there).
Time was short, there was too much music to choose from, so I just told him:
"Pick out your favorite music... just save them onto OlderBrother's
Flash Drive by putting them in my folder. Who cares if I haven't heard the
group/song... if you think I need to know it, just add it in there and I promise
I'll learn the songs by the next time I see you"
(remember, this kid had a thing for singing to me whenever we were alone... and since I rarely knew the lyrics... I could never join in... so I usually sat there... listening in silence and trying to avoid any sort of... body contact. Way to make shit creepy, right?)

So that kept 19-year-old Casanova busy while I went to his younger brother (the blooming 18-year-old that was... so cute) because the younger brother had iTunes on his computer, and it would be easier for me to just upload them straight to my iPod.

Now... I hand picked every song I got from the 18-year-old (I liked his music library better... I knew 98% of the artists there), so whenever I bump into them while listening to my iPod, I'll think
"Oh yeah, this is from 18-year-old-cutie-kid... God... where has this song been
all my life?!"
(it was thanks to him that I found one of my all-time favorite songs: Bryan Adam's "Have you ever really loved a woman"--damn, could that title be any longer?-- after searching... and forgetting it existed... then finding it in Spanish... and then finally finding it through 18-year-old boy. I almost kissed him when I found he had it. I did let "Oh my God, *18-year-old-boy* I fucking love you right now! You're my all-time favorite guy now. I fucking love you man," slip. And then we danced to some techno real quick, and I got back to downloading music).
But recently, I've been bumping into the songs 19-year-old Cassanova gave me... and I seriously have to sit back and say:
"What the hell... is this??.... Why... hey... I've heard this in a lot of 80's movies..."
and especially this:
"Is this... another love song...?? Kid... WTF?"

I bumped into this hidden gem of his yesterday:
More Than Words by Extreme.

Holy... Mary... Mother of God...

Sure... the lyrics are... sort of... hmmm, when you think about it... but I had that thing on repeat.
Extreme? Who the hell are they? Doesn't Frankie J sing this?

So then I googled Extreme... and found out they were the original singers... and guess what:
I felt young again!!

Yes. My youth was returned once I got to thinking:
Yo... I was 5-6 when this song first came out... and while I don't remember this song... thinking about 1991
takes me wayyyy back... to the ghettoooo
(in a good way).

I've never felt so good about being ignorant to a song's origin.
I'm not so old... 'cause I can't even remember an 80's-90's rock band (but this kid born in 1988 could? Whatever).

So I guess something good came out of hanging out with the boy who had a thing for older women...

But I do feel like a witch... like I secretly stole some of his youth...
Whatever. It's mine now.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

More reasons to be quiet:

As incredible as this may sound, I'm a rather private person (you areeeee?? Wow. Would have never guessed with your BLOG and all).
Part of it is due to my extreme shyness (something I was born with, I suppose... because I can never remember being outgoing... except for this little stint in first grade where teachers had me parading around dancing to salsa music dressed like Chiquita Banana--I have video footage of that shit-- but that wasn't just me. There were about 7 other little girls and 8 little boys... and we'd dance for white people... yeah... inner city Latino kids dancing at important meeting to make hoighty-toighty businessmen look... tolerant of others... while us poor inner city kids felt like monkeys on a string. How horrible.), but I also keep to myself because others just love putting your shit on blast once they find something out.

Talking shit about others is like... a second job for some people in my Mexican town.
Knowing this, I opt not to let these people know jack about me.

If I went out and surveyed the people from my town about things they knew about me, this would pretty much be the list:
1) She has a younger sister that is very pretty, and an older brother that's very tall (we're talking about Mexicans here. Any guy above 5'9" is considered "tall." Eduardo Najera's a fucking anomaly there... a freaking circus freak).
2) Her brother went to Iraq and Afghanistan (which he did not but I can't get that through their heads. He went to Korea and Guam... two countries most people--where I'm from at least-- don't even know are countries).
3) She's really shy and quiet.
4) She doesn't like parties (yeah... because 98% of them are fucking Laaaaaaaaame).
She doesn't dance (one of my favorite misconceptions... especially when they think I don't dance because I don't know how... or I don't have rhythm... I LOVE that! Especially since they don't care to know I'm a violinist).
6) She's never had a boyfriend (They say this because I've never been involved with a boy from my part of Mexico. As rude as this may sound, with the boys from Mexico, I wouldn't even hold hands--in a romantic sense. Why get involved with a drunk/drug addict/womanizer? Fuck that. I'll die alone before I ever start taking care of a waste of a human like that).
7) Her parents are strict (Gee, I wonder what ever gave them that idea?).
She's a really good girl.
9) She's really studious (I suppose...).
10) She looks sad all the time (if in my shoes, wouldn't you be as well?).
11) She lives in a mansion (ha-ha-ha)
12) She's loaded (ha-ha-ha)
13) She never misses mass... although she never takes communion...
14) She likes animals (::sheepishly:: yeahhh... I do).
15) She mean-mugs people (yeahhh... I do).
16) She hates smokers and drunks (yeahhh... I do).
17) Don't ever piss her off (they've seen me get into a verbal/physical altercation with Sister/Brother/Girl-ten-years-my-senior at the park).
18) She wears dresses/skirts only to church.
19) She's tall with big tits that she tries to hide by wearing sports bras and layered shirts or sweaters.
20) She has big lips--that I bet are fake-- and big eyelashes--which I know aren't fake because I've pulled them before.

Anyway, sometimes I'm so caught up with covering my tracks and being as secretive as possible, that even my own family gets mystified by my existence.

Last night was a great example of that.

Mom and I visited her sister (my aunt's live-in daughter-in-law was there too) since we hadn't seen her since July, and the night turned into this weird... The View thing.
The hot topic of the night was marriage (yey... hooray...).

Auntie started talking about how she felt that if she had another chance at life, she would have done many things differently... especially romance-wise. Auntie began talking about her married life and how she sort of regretted some aspects of it. Her husband was her first boyfriend... first kiss. etc, etc (etc's that I'd rather not know about but she always manages to give me TMI... she's the same lady I had the condom conversation with a while back). The conversation went a little like this:

Aunt: I don't know... I mean... if I could do it all over again... I'd definitely do things a lot differently.
Mom: Why?
Aunt: I don't know... I just... now that I'm old, I wish I could have known what it's like to kiss another man... you know... taste another man.
Me (internally): Ay tia! Don't get that freaking mental image in my head!
Mom: Hmm... I don't doubt you now wish that more than ever... considering the new rules of dating!
Auntie: Especially
now, knowing the new rules of dating.
Mom: Like how now people are no longer "novios de manita sudada" (literally "boyfriend/girlfriend of sweaty hand" you know... because back then all they ever did was hold hands) and they now go all the way...
Auntie: Yes!!!
Mom: (grossed out face... kind of in disbelief, too) I was kidding! Look at you! OMG!
Me (internally): Thank God my uncle's asleep right now...
Auntie: Well, you don't know what it's like! You had more than one boyfriend before you married your husband, didn't you?
Mom: ...yes...
Auntie: And you kissed more than just one guy... right?
Mom:... yes... I... had a couple of "little kisses"
Me: Ewwwwww... don't you go around talking about that.
Auntie: You had... *Guy We Still See Around And Who Is Bald As Fuck Now*, you had... *Guy Mom Traumatized By Lying To Him And Agreeing To Marry Him Once He Came Back From The States And When He Did She Was Already Married To Dad So Now This Guy Has Refused To Marry Another Woman And He Now Leads A Sad Lonely Life Caring For His Aging Mother*, you had...
Me: Yaaaaaaaaaa! No more... don't you mention those men in my presence!!
Mom: What? They were good guys!
Me: Lalalalala...
Auntie: Why?
Me: Moving onnnnnn....
Me (internally): I fucking damn the moment I sat at this table...
Auntie: I didn't have anyone! I just... held hands... held hands!!
Mom: So... at least your husband can feel proud knowing you only had eyes for him...
Auntie: But I'm not wrong in wishing I could have kissed... tasted... other men, right AnoMALIE?

(Quiet... everyone seems to wait for my answer as if I hold some PhD on this subject)

Well... um... at least you never knew the pain of getting heartbroken... ???
Mom: Yeah... and then feel stupid about having kissed So-and-so.
Me: Yeah... and you never got your heart broken (AnoMALIE's a broken record, in case you've never noticed).
Cousin-in-Law: And there won't be any room for comparisons...
No, no. AnoMALIE... imagine (I loved how she said "imagine" as if I've had 50 men in my life and it'd now be too difficult to remember "innocent days." Fantastic. Ok, Auntie, I'll try my hardest to "imagine" being innocent) how would you feel if you had to go around for the rest of your life knowing you were only going to kiss... hug... feel... this one guy... ever. No other guys in your life... ever. Just this one guy... the first guy you ever dated. The only guy who ever had the guts to ask you out on a date. After a while, wouldn't it make you wonder what other guys are like?
Me (internally): Holy cow... what the hell? Auntie... you've been hanging out with the Salvadorean ladies at work for too long.
Me: Umm... I guess... not really. I'm kind of jealous of what you and my uncle have.
Auntie: But try and imgaine you've never kissed anybody before!!!
Me (internally): Shit... my kisses are worth fucking gold! I don't just give those shits out for free in the first place.
Me: Yeah, I'm trying (I almost got the hiccups right here from holding in my laughter for so long)... I say it because... umm... well, that'd mean I was lucky enough to find my husband on my first try... so... I wouldn't be bothered knowing I never had to kiss any toads to find prince chanrming... and... he'd never be able to... recriminate me for my behavior with previous guys... so I guess it's a win-win situation...
Mom: How are you giving advice... when have you had a boyfriend or kissed a guy??
Me (internally): Fuck. This. Table.
Me: ::shrug:: uhhh... when... I... was 6... ???
Mom: Whennnnnnnnn?
Me (internally): Think fast... think fast...
Me: ::smile:: Who... said... I... I'm... only... "imagining."
Auntie: The girl's 22 years old, Comadre, you'd be a fool to think she's never kissed guys before.
Mom: She's never brought anyone home... so she's never had a boyfriend... so where'd she kiss these people?
Me: No, no, no, no... Mom... I'm...
Me (internally): Fucked...
Cousin-in-law: You've never had a boyfriend?!?!
Me (internally): Fuck. This.Table.

*Note to self*: Sometimes it's best to keep your shit to yourself. Also, watch out for Mom and Auntie... you'll end up the loser in that tag-team grilling.