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.
Why?
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.
Everyone.
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.
Yeyyyyyyyy!!

*****Update*****
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.