Friday, November 30, 2007

Ran over Superman

So I come home from school today, and Mom tells me to go to the garage.

I walk in and I see this:

Ok, Mom, it's just Lex Luthor (the name we gave her car)... what about it?

Look closer.Holy Macaroni! What happened?!

Oh my God! What did you do?!

Lexxxxx!! Man... I can't look anymore... it hurts.
Who was at fault? Mom, of course.
Lex ran over some 19-year-old girl's car.
It was "tricked" out aka had tiny little tires that made it almost invisible to see in Lex the Hoss. Lex just rolled over the car and smashed it, very "à la Monster truck," leaving the poor girl carless.
Mom couldn't see it, girl wasn't paying attention to the road/was eating and texting and now you have a dead white tricked out car, a smashed up Lex Luthor who's probably going to end his days back at the Denver dealer we got him from (Nooo! I wanted him!! I was going to trade Bambi and keep Lex, but now I can't have him because the Dos Santos don't roll in crashed cars... although... Bambi's a smashed car... why the F don't I get a new ride??), and a Mom who will now get the uglier, bigger version of the Lex SUV.

What was the first thing I said to Mom upon seeing it?

And you had the nerve to "ground" me, a 22-year-old, for coming home late last night because "one of these days you're going to get into an accident!!"
What the helllllllll?!

Yes, I was chastising Mom and giving her a hard time.
I still do it when I think about it.

Me: So, Dad, I hear Mom nearly killed you coming home from work today (Dad was in the car with her).
Dad: Yeah, I know... here I am, thinking cancer's going to kill me, but no... it's your mom who's gonna do that!
Mom pouts and goes out of the room.

And I'm gonna keep doing it until Mom lifts this ban, so I can go to the Dollyrots concert with Chase on Sunday.
She already prevented me from going over to Leky's house to play some Guitar Hero with the homies and the cute ass puppies... I'm not about to let this other thing happen.

They keep multiplying

(I'm sitting at a table at a bowling alley, ready to change into some socks, but first I must get the socks from my friend's, AnoMALIE05, boyfriend. Her boyfriend is staring into an endless abyss, I guess, not saying a word)
What are you doing?
AnoMALIE05's Boyfriend: Hold on... I'm trying to take it all in.
Me: What?
A05'sBF: That there can be more than one AnoMALIE in this world and that I'm hanging out with three of them at the same time.
Me: Oh... that.
A05'sBF: I had never heard that name before, until I met my girlfriend. And now you're telling me I'm in the presence of 3? Wow. My head's spinning.
(I sat still, patiently waiting for the pair of socks he was so kindly going to donate to me... for a good three minutes)

That now ranks in my top 5 of "weirdest responses to my name."

Last night I hung out with not one, but two other AnoMALIEs, and our group of friends took full advantage.

We were refered to as "AnoMALIE05," "AnoMALIE04," and "AnoMALIE03" the entire night.
Oddly enough, our high school graduation years go in order like that.

The guys would take turns yelling "AnoMALIE!!" only to have all three of us turn around in unison, completely confused.
How infantile.
I loved it.
Plus, our nicknames weren't as bad as one boy of the group.
When he showed up to the bowling alley, all the guys pointed and said:
"Hey look!! It's Merman!!"
And all of us chicks turned around and wondered out loud,
"WTF is a merman?"
About an hour or two later it hit me.
Oh!! Merman!
He really did look like Mermaid Man, only in a twenty-year-old version.

I blame all these distractions for my all-time low score I've ever bowled in AnoMALIE history.
What was my all-time low score that I've never bowled before, not even when I was 10?
I bowled a 41!

Now, I can't take all the credit, since A05'sBF was partly responsible.
I let him bowl three different frames for me.
The first time he got me a one.
The second time he got me a 5.
The last time he got me a 3.
It didn't help that my first frame I bowled a 0.
And I kept getting one or threes... a couple of fives, and my highest was an 8 at one time.
It was a disgrace.
i let A05'sBF bowl for me because 1) He loves to bowl, and 2) each time he bowled for other people he'd get them a strike.

I'm keeping your socks, motherfucker!!

I screamed at him the third time he bowled me a zero on the first attempt.
I did it in front of a handicapped bowling league (they were all in wheelchairs, some accompanied by their young families) that was having some sort of tournament... and it did make me feel a little bad, but my level of pissed-off-ness far outweighed my level of consideration.

But... aside from all that... I did have fun.
And the day ended with us going out to the boondocks (not the same ones I live in, but in the complete opposite side of the valley) to drop off one of the AnoMALIEs, and seeing a pair of really cute, escaped bunnies running towards us on AnoMALIE05's street.
I would have grabbed one of them (one was albino, the other was half and half black and white--the black being his entire upper side of the body, and the white being his hind quarters) but AnoMALIE05 and her sister convinced me they were evil bunnies who loved biting the shit out of people.

Yes, I'm one of the most gullible humans in the universe.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Why, that's shocking!

For the last couple of weeks, I've been suffering from a very annoying problem.

The problem?

I can't get in/out of a car without getting the shit shocked out of me.
I also constantly feel that gross... tingly feeling... you know... when you know you're charged with electricity... and your hair's about to stand on end.

Well... I originally wasn't going to do anything about it... because this whole electrostatic shock crap never lasts too long with me.

However, the shocks are so damn painful, and so frequent now, that yesterday I decided to investigate what the culprit behind my pain could be (I mainly did it because on my way to school that day, as I was about to get in my car, this huge shock snapped the hell out of my index finger. It made me scream, which then led to my neighbor's dog barking at me quite viciously, then my dog barked right back... and it was just so annoying and loud).

I traced over my steps...
What do I do?
I touch a metallic surface... after coming out of my house...
Where do I go?
School... gym... church... casinos...
What do I wear?
A ton of shi... hold on... what do I wear?

Things started making sense.

1) I'm always wearing these two particular sweaters whenever I get shocked... maybe that has something to do with it?
2) But... when I wear those sweaters to the gym I never get shocked.

What's the difference between me wearing the sweaters to go out to sweat my ass off and me going out to interact with normal people?


Ding, ding, ding!

I never get shocked going to the gym because I have a cotton sports bra on...
But when I have to go out, I'm not about to wear something that smashes my boobs together.
As comfortable as it is to walk around in a sports bra... it doesn't look nearly as neat-o as when I wear my favorite bras (my chest defies gravity, I tell ya!).

Over the summer I bumped into the coolest bras ever.
VS Secret has this awesome collection, Secret Embrace (more like Fantastic Embrace!), so awesome that chicks somehow refuse to tell each other about them until you accidentally/out of curosity buy one for $30+... then you become part of the fan club and can't stop talking about how awesome they make your boobs look.
It holds so fucking well, better than any other cups I've come across, the wire I rarely feel (a feat worthy of worship, since wearing under-wire bras typically hurt/bother like a motherfucker), I can change the straps to be regular or racerback, and best of all, when worn, they don't make me look like some lactating mother (problem I'm sure I've mentioned here before, since I often complain about my chest), they make my boobs look fantastic!

So I went crazy and bought myself... too many.

I had no problems with the bra from July up until I started wearing these two sweaters that I really like and wear often (because they're black and warm) a couple of weeks back when the weather turned chilly.
That has to be it!
I checked out the components of the bras and sweaters.

80% Nylon, 20% Lycra Spandex

55% Cotton, 45% Polyester

Nylon + Polyester + movement + cold, dry weather (I looked this part up. Our weather isn't helping the situation out) = One very aggravated, electrically charged AnoMALIE.

No wonder I felt the tingly thing mainly on my chest area! I always thought it was just in my head.

So, now I know what I must do in order to stop yelping and sticking my injured fingers in my mouth in pain each time I step in or out of a car.
I must choose between the following:

1) Don't wear those freaking amazing bras.
2) Don't wear those cozy black sweaters.
3) Remember to breathe into my hands before opening a car door... or just dip my hands in water before touching anything metallic.

You know what my answer's going to be here, right?

AnoMALIE's going to be walking around with a water bottle!

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

No thanks

I will touch this subject as infrequently as possible (because I do mention how this blog isn't supposed to be a downer, I have another place for those thoughts):
Dad is driving me insane!!
I've told him time and time again that what he has is not as terrible as others have it.
I tell him he'll be fine.
And he still freaks out on me!

I could stand the freaks outs if it weren't for two things:
1) He tries to convert me out of Catholicism and into his more rambunctious religion.
2) He tries to convince me to go back to medical school.

My answers?

1) Dad, I'm glad you found a place for yourself... but I enjoy my quiet time with the Catholics. I'm boring and I enjoy sitting in silent reverence to God. It's meditation to me. Plus, I'm sort of a traditionalist deep down inside.
2) No. No. No. Never. No. No. No.
I'd rather do something I love, and I don't love the idea of being a doctor.
Plus, the stress of it all is going to kill me. Don't you remember my vomiting/fainting episodes prior to exams? Do you want me to die?

Yesterday not only did he wake me up early so I could dive him around from doctor's office to doctor's office, but he also kept me up.
He had a freak-out episode in his room, asked Mom to bring me to the room, and then I sat from 8:30 PM until 11:30 PM convincing him he was OK health-wise.
In those 3 hours, I:
1) Brought all my biology books to him to show him various pictures of the colon.
2) Read portions of my bio books to him.
3) Cracked jokes.
4) Watched the Biggest Loser with him and tried to guess how much weight the contestants had lost.
5) Convinced him to eat, since all he had eaten throughout the day was a Pop-Tart and 4 cookies (?!?!?).
6) Convinced Dad he had been feeling "sick" because he hadn't eaten all day.
7) Put up with an hour-long "evangelizing" from Dad. One of the most... uncomfortable things ever... because I hate talking religion, especially with him since we clash in so many points... and because I had to bite my tongue each time he put down another religion, mainly because he's sick and I don't want to aggravate him some more.
8) Learned Dad isn't fond of Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons... or Buddhists/Hindus/Muslims.
9) Became frightened with Dad's Fundamentalist Christian ideology... I'm still terrified of it... I'm fucking horrified.
10) Kept Dad from breaking down into tears by being kind of... brash each time he said something absolutely wrong. E.g.
Dad: I'm such a bad man!!
Me: No, you're not! People have taken advantage of you more times than anyone I know!! People don't take advantage of bad people!
Dad: But I do so many bad things!
Me: What?? Do you have another family? Do you do drugs? Do you sell drugs? Do you beat my mom?
Dad: No...
Me: Well, don't say that!!
11) Didn't break into tears. Not even one.
12) Learned Daddy's kind of a bad reader.
13) Learned Daddy's kind of bad with words.

So... final time I say this:
I'm tired.
I'm sort of mad...
and if I ever hear my Dad cry and say "I'm such a bad man! God is testing us" in the same sentence again, I'm going to fucking lose it!
Don't blame God.
It's not so bad.
You're going to live.

Now, onto other, more pleasant news:
I'm jealous of my friend.
She met Diego Luna recently and... ah, what a lucky chick to actually chit-chat with that guy.
I'd be furious if she had met Gael Garcia Bernal. J/k

I'll have my chance come March... but it'll be Cristiano Ronaldo!

Oh yeah, I'm going to Europe sometime in February... coming back... ??
I'm scared... but stoked beyond compare.
More on this later...

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

No borracheras for you!

7 AM on the dot, I answer the phone, cranky at being awoken from my slumber:
Me: Hello??... (this better be good, person!)
Dad: Mija, I'm in the emergency room, but I need you to go to work.
Me: Huh?? (Why work??)
Dad: Right now I'm in the emergency room, but I'm just going to go back to work. I need you to be there so you can take me to my doctor's appointment later. I need you there.
Me: OK..... (I scoff)

I hang up the phone.
Wait, did he just tell me he's in the emergency room?! Fuck, I'm a monster!
So I get up and get dressed as fast as possible, i.e. I take off my basketball sweater, throw on my UNLV one, grab the first pair of pants I feel, and step into some flats.
I then grabbed my backpack, and my cell phone with the charger still attached.
I grab two hair ties, and I'm out.

Outside I see Little Sister is parked behind me, so I wake her up and she's pissed.
Does she not think it's weird that I'm up at 7:05 in the morning on a day that I head to school almost at 2 in the afternoon? What a jerk!
I get to work, put my hair in two pigtails, and get the story.
I guess Daddy suffered some sort of panic attack, had one of the customer take him to the emergency room, then that same customer coaxed him into coming back to work so he could make his scheduled appointment with a surgeon on time.

Originally Dad was going to go to this thing alone, but I guess nerves got the best of him.
That makes me :(

I kept beating myself up over scoffing at him before hanging up the phone earlier.
And the way he said "I need you there" made me feel horrible.

It's strange to see a guy freak out... especially a guy who I've always viewed as... somewhat devoid of feelings.
Don't get me wrong, I love my Dad and I know he loves us, but he was raised in this strange... macho way where "men" aren't supposed to show any sort of emotion that isn't... rage.
My Daddy's a lamb though... so he just didn't show any emotion as we grew up.

Anyway... at the doctor's office Dad kept telling everyone I was "studying medicine" and that I was going to be a doctor (and in that situation, how can you be an asshole and tell your scared father that "NO!! I'M NOT GOING TO BE A DOCTOR! DOCTORS ARE FUCKING DICKS!"?).
Everyone kept asking what medical school I went to.
I'm wearing a UNLV sweater, does that not tell you anything?
I'd have to politely say "Umm... I'm... not sure if I still want to..." and then cower into the corner without saying anything else.

Well, once the surgeon got there (he too asked what med school I went to) he explained everything that's going on and instead of getting upset or anything, I found myself feeling relieved and kind of happy.
I guess I made it out worse than it actually is (and now that I know they're going to fix him, I'm glad).
Kind of.
And Dad had also been hyping it up (and getting it wrong. I proved it when I made him re-tell me what the surgeon told him so I could check how well he understood what was being said to him.
Dad: There's going to be two operations!!
Me: No, Dad! He's going to cut you in two places... not operate you twice. Relax).

Everything's going to be cool... after the surgery. It doesn't even seem like chemo will be necessary.

However... we did find out that the people who work at the endoscopy/colonoscopy place are a bunch of fucking inept retards who fuck shit up (thanks to that, I had to be driving up and down the Las Vegas valley from 7 to 10:30 AM).
They fucked my Dad's file (lost it, to be exact), so now he has to endure another colonoscopy tomorrow so the doctor can target/mark the area that the surgeon will have to excise.

Poor Pops.

At least we have a surgery date... and then Daddy will be cool.

However... the date's close to the time my bro will be taking Finals (for me it's a couple of days before my finals) so I have no clue if we're going to tell him about it or not.

This also means no Mexico for Christmas.

I guess I'll leave getting trashed in the rancho for next year...
And I had been practicing my dance moves and everything... man.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

I'd buy that

I don't know if I've mentioned it on here before, but my all-time favorite store is Home Depot.

Put your hand down, fool, I won't choose anything over Home Depot.

No, I'm not fond of this store because I'm a crafty gal. I wish that were the case. I actually break anything that comes within a five meter radius of me. I'm quite destructive.

I love Home Depot because it brings back some very good memories and it smells like new home (plus, I'm Mexican... it seems it runs in my blood to love this sort of thing).
I'll play around with almost anything, and I'll start getting all these awesome home-make-over ideas (which of course, I never undertake because I'm also very... very much a procrastinator).

Anyway, whenever a parent needs an extra hand at this store, I'm the offspring who will be called on for help (most often it's Mom since she hates going there by herself. Dad will take me when he needs someone to act like a Colombian mule for a couple of minutes).

Well, last Tuesday (I'm only telling this story because of something I saw on Family Guy this evening) Mom invited me to go with her to Home Depot in search for some closet-building stuff (yeah, my closet is STILL broken... for a second time! Damn closet!).

So we get there, and we're looking.
I was entertained by door knobs (... yeah... I know... why??) while mom looked for screws.
Once I saw, touched, and played with all the door knobs, I went back to Mom, who still hadn't found what she was looking for.
We had a talk about nails and screws (why is this so... euphemisms abound in my head right now) and we got to talking about why my closet collapsed in the first place (and let the euphemisms continue, I say!! I swear I'm not doing this on purpose) and I realized Mom had just nailed/screwed the wall wherever she pleased (dear God, get this out of my head!).
So I began to search for a Stud Finder.

Mom thought I was lying; how can such a thing exist?!
I was unsuccessful (as I always am) in my search, and I guess us two Mexicans looked very lost in this huge Home Depot (that's a first), because this really nice-looking (as in: kind, humble, sweet, etc. While he didn't look bad, per se, he had that "happily married man who'll be nice to you because he doesn't care about chicks anymore" look) man probably in his mid-thirties approached us.

Guy: Can I help you ladies in anything?
Me: Yeah... Where can I find the Stud Finders?
(Guy smiles)
Guy: You don't seem to have a problem with that.
(I stare blankly)
Guy: (laughs a little) Aisle...
(I don't hear the last part because my brain goes "OOO!! I get what you said! You called yourself a stud... right?")

We didn't buy a Stud Finder, my closet's still broken, and I feel bad for the poor guy who tried to crack a joke but ended up feeling dumb because I was too dumb to catch his joke.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

JAMMF strikes again!

Today the jerks at church screamed at a nun (they went as far as yanking her by the arm to sit her down!).


I thought they had been cruel to me... but man... they totally crossed the line by screaming at a poor nun.
I have my sins.
I have a potty mouth... I'm somewhat cynical... I talk back... I do shit out of spite... I gossip like a motherfucker... and the list can go on.
So I can see where I might have it coming (karma and all that stuff).

But a poor little nun who's only here to ask for help for her convent (that takes care of sick, abandoned older nuns) that's ready to go buh-bye because of a lack of funds?
How can you scream at her in front of an entire congregation?

Her sin?
She sat on the wrong fucking side of the bench.

WTF? I don't even think an atheist would do such a thing.


The C word

I feel like I've been run over by a bus.

These last couple of days have been (fun, but) exhausting.
However, I feel a little liberated, since I can now talk freely about the thing that's been bugging me for a week now (plus, I'm not upset anymore, or so I claim since I haven't had a nightmare about it in two/three days).

Ok, so it's Thanksgiving and we're invited over to Mooney's (I wanted to link you, but I'm not sure you're be cool with the idea) parent's house.
We hadn't spent Thanksgiving with family for... maybe three years?
We're detached like that (no, I lie. We're not all detached like that. Just my dad's side, since he only has 3 sibling--two of them females who stick together and leave out my Pops all the time, and one male who is insanely jealous of my dad and is always talking trash about him to anyone who will listen).
Last time we had Dad's side of the family over, there was a huge argument... people were called horrible names... and we didn't visit each other for almost a year (we were left out of any Christmas celebrations).

Arguments at family gatherings always occur. They may not be huge, they may not even be arguments, but something always kills the mood (and no, it's never a drunken relative because that's not how we do. My family has an unusually high tolerance for alcohol and they sort of know their limits. If anyone ever crosses the limit, they tend to become really nice and funny).

What/who was the mood killer this year?
Dad and his news.

While my table's mood wasn't ruined (we called it the "80's Babies Table"), the adult table was silenced for a while (well, it was made awkward).
The exact words I'm not sure of, since stories conflict (Mom says one thing, Dad says another, my aunt says another) but the gist of it was:
Dad dropped the C word at the table.
Bloody hell! Your dad said "cunt" at the Thanksgiving dinner table?
God, I wish. The lucky word was: cancer.
Me: How'd the table react?!?
Mom: They were stunned. Just... quiet... like "O...K... where'd that come from?"
Me: Oh!! So that's what was going on during that awkward silence you guys had. Did anyone say anything??
Mom: Just your aunt's co-worker. She asked him if it hurt.
Me: What'd he say?
Mom: "I feel no pain because I have our Lord Jesus Christ in my heart!"
Me: Oh man... what a way to kill it.

So yes, ladies and gentlemen, I can now freely blog about my dad's health problem because he's going around announcing it to the world in various ways:
1) I have cancer!
2) I have a tumor in my intestine.
3) They say it's colon cancer.
etc. etc.

Last Friday, when I found out, Pops walked into the kitchen (I now loathe the kitchen because it seems I get all the horrible news while in that fucking room) and announced to Little Sister and I:
Girls... I have cancer.

How the fuck do you react to that?
Little Sister: (covers mouth) Oh my God...
Me: No you don't!!

I'm rational like that (pshhh. Why must I be the family idiot who's always in denial?? Who the hell gave me that trait?).

So as you can see, I was a little distraught when Dad told me, mainly because I had been the one taking him back and forth to the doctor for the two weeks before the news, and each time I'd comfort him and tell him he'd be A-OK.
And you know, since I'm the science kid in the family, once Dad was given the news, I was the one in charge of... well... making him feel better.
The first few days after receiving the news were the toughest... we cried a lot... and I mean A LOT.
Mainly out of uncertainty.

However... now we're cool.
Cool enough that we can joke about it...
Cool enough that we can freely ruin THANKSGIVING by handing out such news to poor, innocent, unsuspecting relatives who were originally in a cheery mood.

Aunt: Shit... he just wants to upset my sister!
Mooney's Grandma: You think??
Aunt: That's how all men are. My husband wanted to kill himself when they told him he had diabetes!
Mooney's Grandma: (gasps) Oh no! That's terrible!
Aunt: Men are wimps!
(rolls eyes)

But yes, things appear to be... as fine as they can be when you have colon cancer (but yes, my head still wanders into the clouds sometimes. I find it hard to concentrate or pay attention to anything. Except yesterday, I did pay some attention to the concert yesterday... and that dude that kept looking in our direction I couldn't ignore as much as I freaking hoped. Weirdo).
Early detection and all that shit.
However, we're hoping (mainly my mother) that my bro doesn't find out until he's done with finals (hence why I was quiet. Also, Dad doesn't want his dad to find out because he thinks it'll negatively affect him since Grandpa's in a fragile state).

At the rate Pops is giving the news, it looks like Bro should know by now.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

When all else fails, complain

I've been trying.
I clear my mind once in a while... sometimes it lasts for hours.
I try to stay out of the house, because I noticed that's when I don't think about what's going on.
When I'm stuck at home, I either study Molecular, read Blogs, or complain to keep my head out of the situation.
I'm stuck at home right now, so I'm going to 1)Blog, and 2) complain.

I managed to concentrate on a movie yesterday.
Love in the Time of Cholera.
I came out of the theater kind of aggravated.
Aggravation was a welcomed emotion.

I absolutely DESPISE when something in Spanish is done in English.
Translations rarely work. Books that turn into movies rarely do the book justice.

The fact that the movie was in English bothered me from the very beginning (why not make the film in the original language of the book, then add subtitles?).
There was a variety of Spanish accents (and even an Italian one from the lead female character. When she supposedly spoke Spanish, I said out loud "WHAT?!" Same happened with the mother of the lead character Florentino--she's a Brazilian actress)... and that to me is a giant no-no.

My annoyance may not be evident to non-(native) Spanish speakers, but let me explain why the accents bothered me:
To me, watching this movie and listening to the accents was like sitting through a movie with Irish, Scottish, Swedish, British, American, Australian, and South African accented English... all the time the actors trying to convince you they were speaking Jamaican English.
Just imagine these actors not even trying to sound Jamaican.
I most nearly walked out of the movie in the first 10 minutes.
This is bullshit, dude, I'm Mexican and even I know that shit isn't a Colombian-trying-to-speak-English accent!
The only persons I believed were Benjamin Bratt (I may have been biased... since I've had the hots for this man for quite some time and he can do no wrong in my eyes) and Catalina Sandino Moreno (this girl's Colombian, so she better have a Colombian accent. But I wasn't angry with her, she's a fantastic actress). Everyone else had me upset.

And the make-up some of these people had.
If I'm not mistaken, when a person who has been smoking since their 20's reaches their 70's, they rarely have any lips left. They just have these disgusting, deep crevices perpendicular to their lips. Their exact name escapes my already-filled-with-nonsense mind.
Why did the lady still have luscious lips?
Bad make-up artist, BADDD!

I am glad I watched this film, though... it had me (has me?) worked up for a while.

Anything to get back to a little bit of normalcy.

Friday, November 16, 2007

The knot in my throat won't let me talk

Today, Life bitch-slapped me across the face.
It shook me around...
It dug my nose into the dirt...

and like a little kid, I can't stop crying.

My life will never be the same.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Ok, this MAY be an addiction

Sushi Factory on Trop and Jones:

Best sushi

(and it's cheap, too!)

Bee Movie:
Eh... cute, I suppose.
Would I spend ten dollars on it again?
Yeah, but just one more time... ok... maybe three more times just for that one scene where the girl crashes into the mountain and bursts into flames.

Trust me... it may not sound funny... but I was laughing for a good five minutes.

A little louder next time!

The five minutes leading up to the time I leave my house to the gym have to be the worst.

That's when the devil on my shoulder starts saying
"No... don't go. Look! America's Next Top Model is about to get AWESOME!"
"Hey, Little Sister wanted to go out for that one bacon melt at... was it Wendy's? Why don't you go... she says it's good."

Most often, I don't listen (I'll only listen if my body says "one more sudden move and this knee goes buh-bye!") and force myself out of the house.

Once at the gym... I'm actually a happy camper.
The things I overhear sometimes are just so damn good, no Survivor: China episode would make up for it.

Here's a small list of my favorite things overheard at the gym:
1) But my vagina isn't as flexible as... (I was yawning at the time, but that woke me up PDQ)
2) So I told him "Boy, I am NOT going to be doing this shit with you. You go and be a little slut. Just come back to me when you want to get married and have babies!"
"So did he come back?"
"No... he's still being a little slut. I don't care. I just want to get married and have babies"
(I wish I could imitate the accent this guy was talking in... but I'm very bad at imitating the "Gay Latino" accent)
3) They only had 'shrooms at the party... so I left.
4) Coolest Instructor EVER: Look, class! Tom got his very first tattoo!!

(late 40's-early 50's, pale white guy flexes his left bicep to the class. A new, kind of greenish arm-band tattoo decorates his sort of flabby bicep)
Early-30's Girl Beside Me: What a pussy.
5) (woman on her phone, setting up right next to me and talking loudly)
Did you check the pantry?
What do you mean, "Why the pantry?"! That's where she was last time!

And my all-time favorite comment:
That ghetto hood-rat bitch stole my water!!!

I know! I too am shocked it didn't come out of my own mouth! It was actually this very funny gay guy who could have so taken on the girl who stole his water bottle. Instead, he stood there in front of maybe 15 of us and screamed while pointing at the leper who was giggling out of the gym with his water bottle.
You're a muscular male Body Pumper, and you're telling me you can't take on an out-of-shape female Street Jammer?! Why do you even show up?

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Note to a douche

To the guy smacking his gum next to my ear drum during my 10 AM geology exam:

-Fuck you, dick, learn how to chew gum like a normal human (you remind me of a cat licking peanut butter off the roof of his mouth. That, or a cow chewing on curd. Take your pick, menso) so you can quit spitting on my scantron/hair/ear each time you open your pie hole.

- Breathe through your fucking nose once in a while, it's healthy.

-I hope you failed that exam, douche. Don't think I didn't see you peeking over at my exam... hopefully you were doing that and not what you've done before, Merve the Perve.

-Quit sitting next to me.

-No, you're not funny, you're actually annoying... especially when you laugh at your own so-not-witty-jokes.

-QUIT SITTING NEXT TO ME!!! You see my friend sits there every lecture... so quit taking his seat! He may be too cool to kick your ass, but I'm not adverse to getting up and slapping you upside the head.

Love... no, let's make that: Very truly yours,

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

How Spanish music makes me sad

Why must I like Spanish artists/bands?

I really, really wanted to go see Alejandro Sanz (no, I didn't start liking him after that one popular song, La Tortura, he sings with Shakira. I've liked this short Spaniard since back in the day when we were the same height... you know, when I was around 8th grade) next Tuesday, but of course... since I'm an idiot and only like foreign groups/singers, tickets to their concerts cost a motherfucking eye out of the face.
I wouldn't mind paying a total of 75 bucks for two tickets... but 75 dollars for one ticket? Get the fuck out of here.
It's just like what happened to me back in April with Chayanne tickets.

Oh well... guess I'll have to settle for listening to Alejandro lisp my favorite Spanish songs via iTunes.

Talking about music, last week I purchased a CD for Mom... and while she was super excited for the thing, I kept wondering "OK, what's the big deal?"
I popped it into my car, and this is what I found:

A mis dieciséis
anhelaba tanto
un amor que no llegó.
Siempre lo esperé.
Todas mis amigas
se encontraban en la misma situación.

Y después yo vi
como iban cambiando su manera de vivir.
Todas con su amor.
Cada una de ellas
muy sonrientes, muy felices menos yo.

Ay, la soledad!
Cada vez más triste y
más obscura yo viví.
Y a esa edad
todos preguntaban los motivos,

yo solía siempre decir:
Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mí.
Tan sólo he sido una soñadora más.
Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mí.
Mis sueños nunca se volvieron realidad.

Siempre te busqué,
pero nunca pude encontrar ese amor.
Siempre lo esperé,
y en todas partes que esperaba
ese amor nunca llegó.

Ay, mi soledad!
Cada vez más triste, más obscura,
pueden ver.
Hoy en esta edad
aún me preguntan mis amigas,
y es tan triste responder:

Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mí.
Tan solo he sido una soñadora más.
Yo no nací para amar, nadie nació para mí.
Mis sueños nunca se volvieron realidad.
Tan solo he sido una soñadora más.

Yo no nací... para amar.

O...k... how the hell am I supposed to cheer up with shit like that being purchased per Mom's request (this song was written by a gay guy... which makes me so sad for that poor guy if that's how he truly feels)?
The funny thing is, the following song on the CD is so upbeat... it made me feel a little bipolar (how the hell do people do that? You have possibly one of the saddest songs I've heard play first, then the following song is a yipee-skipee song about "Does he know? I think he knows... he should know... that I like him!" WTF? Mexicans, I tell you).

And to end this, and since we all know I'm random as hell:
It is a fact...
I get along with the fellas a lot better than with the females.
Geology lab proved it today.
Who adopted me after I was left alone? The guys, of course.
Who ignores me like I'm part of the wall? The bitches... of course (why don't they ever help a sister out?).

God bless the men.

Oh! And now that I remember:
It's crazy to see the total 180 "Napoleona" (my Geology Lab TA) has done in lab.
I'm sure the bald, old man sitting in the back of the class furiously taking notes while observing her have nothing to do with this (almost as much as smoking crack during a pregnancy has nothing to do with a baby's low birthweight and constant crying, right?).
Me: Ok, quick question... is this gabbro or....
Napoleona: Yes! You guys are getting so good at this! I'm so proud of you!

She skips away to another group in need, leaving me and my partners alone in the back (gaping), closest to the bald man.
GuyWithFantasticHair: I know... I heard it too.
BoyWhoLooksLikePeteWentz: Proud of us? What the hell is her problem?

She's still getting one scathing evaluation from my behalf.
Boy... am I ready!

Monday, November 12, 2007

Veteran's Day

I know Veteran's day is actually 11/11, but I decided to make the entry today, because it's the day I got off from school.

While growing up, if anyone would have told me my brother was going to serve in the military straight out of high school, I would have laughed in their face.

My brother never showed signs of wanting to serve in the military... ever.
He never owned a toy gun in his life, we never really played anything relating to war, he was sort of chubby, he was a brainiac, and we kind of thought the army wasn't a good idea because "look how grandpa turned out..."
I was shocked when in the month of November of my Brother's senior year (2000-2001) he informed us all that "You guys, Sergeant White's coming over today at 5 in the afternoon... I'm going to enlist in the army."

Mom and Dad didn't put up as much of a fight as I thought they were... however, I started ignoring my brother after that day in November.

I'll admit it, I was pissed.
He was the older one in the family... he was the one who was supposed to experience college first, and then help me along the way.
He was ditching me for the army.
Whatever, dude, good luck with that shit. I can't wait 'til you leave.

I remember before he left for basic I'd constantly tell him mean shit, like "I'm not going to miss you, anyway!" "I can't wait until I don't see your stupid face in this house again, bitch!" and stuff like that.

He was scheduled to leave July 2nd... and the closer that date approached, the more upset I'd become. When we finally said goodbye at a Mexican airport, I hugged him one last time and kissed him on the cheek.
Good luck.
I stayed at the airport until I could no longer see his plane.

The time he was in basic flew by... although I would constantly think about him. Each time he called us, he'd ask us to write to him... and above all, to pray.
"It's so strange... but I can actually feel the prayers. They get me through the tough times."
Then September 11th happened... and I've never been so terrified.
I was 16, come on now.

When we arrived at Fort Sill for his graduation on the 13th, I cried. A lot.
I cried out of nervousness.
I cried from happiness.
I cried from guilt.
I cried from uncertainty.

I saw a skinnier Brother, a more serious Brother, a more... responsible Brother.
Holy cow, my brother's a man!
When we were finally allowed to touch him, this is what we did:He was making a face, obviously, making fun of us for being so sentimental. My sister and I were saying things like "What the fuck happened to you? You're like 90 pounds and you're as dark as an Aztec!"
So then Mom continued snapping shots of us. Were we happy about that? No.
It was annoying. We just wanted to spend time with Older Brother and keep him informed on what had occurred in Mexico over the summer, while he was gone, and here you had Mom and her annoying 1980's camera shooting away as we talked to Older Brother.
However, once it was time to go, she did capture one real shot (as overexposed as it might have been): It was hard to get back in the truck and watch his body get smaller as we drove away.
I took with me a very long blade of grass Older Brother had been cutting with his hands (we do the same thing while we talk: we start messing with whatever's close, much to the annoyance of others) as he talked with us prior to our departure.
I save stupid shit like that.

Those four years Older Brother was active duty were some of the most distressing ever.
While Mom had been aging well, those four years really took a toll on her. She started going grey and wrinkles started forming (Mommy looks old now ::frown::).
Each time we'd say goodbye to Older Brother, we'd wonder if it'd be the last time we'd get to tell him we loved him.
Sad to say, but true.

But it was thanks to those four years that I really started to know and appreciate the soldiers.
They're amazing men and women.
Sure, many have very... ummm... interesting love lives... but when it comes to character, I love and admire every single one.
It breaks my heart to know that so many men and women of my generation have been killed or wounded in this stupid, stupid war.

God bless the veterans (and not one should be homeless. Not a single one).

And in loving memory of the first soldier I ever knew,
My Grandfather, the Korean War veteran: (He's the guy in center. While I did not inherit his lovely blue eyes, I did get that crooked smile. Badass!) Such a handsome man... too bad he was... just a little... messed up (and look, this photo serves as a prime example of how having someone in the military affects people differently. This picture was almost torn to pieces by one of his daughters who hates the fact Grandpa served in the army. She says it's thank to that Grandpa made his family go through so much turmoil. She blames it for stealing her father away... when it was my mom who didn't know her father until she was 11 years old, but whatever, at least she failed at ripping the picture).
It's crazy to think this is the first year he's not here to boast about Veteran's Day, and then go on and on about the Korean War until the phone card runs out of minutes.
:' )

Descanse en Paz, Abuelo.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

La Señora Que Enseña

(Phone rings while I'm trying to watch my recorded episode of Wednesday's America's Next Top Model)
Me: Hello? (Damn... No! Right when Enrique's coming on... hurry up!!)
Unidentified Female: Hello?
Me: Umm... who is this?
UF: (utters monosyllabic word I can't pick up on)
Me: Excuse me?
UF: (utters the word again...)
Me: ??!!??
(15 seconds of silence)
Me: O...k...
Unidentified Female IDIOT: ...
Me: (internally) Fucking moron... I hate you (spoken) How may I help you?
UFI: Umm... is there a... lady... that.... she... the lady...
Me: (internally) If you were in my face right now, I'd fucking punch you right about now.
UFI: The lady teaches... she teaches... umm...
Me: She teaches catechism at St. Anne?!? (internally) fuck, was it that difficult, imbecile?!
UFI: Yes... she teaches.
Me: No, she's not here right now. (internally) now STFU and call later.
UFI: Oh... when can I... like... call again?
Me: (internally) Never. Ever. In your lifetime, moron. (spoken) After 2.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I no longer teach catechism.
Some people should just... never reproduce. Seriously.

What pissed me off worse was that we were speaking Spanish and she still couldn't communicate properly. My mom's been teaching her beast of a child since September and she still doesn't get my mom's name down.
My mom's name is the same as the little Hispanic explorer girl on Nickelodeon. How can you not remember that?!

When Mom came home I told her the story:
Me: Y luego me dice (then she tell me),
Está la señora que enseña... que enseña... (is the lady that teaches... that teaches...)
Mom: Well, did you tell her I'm not an exhibitionist??

Funny how Spanish words have double meanings that make no sense in English ("enseña" can be "teach" or "shows" as in "the lady that shows" and you know how that Mexican double entendre works. "Ladies that show..." are what the older crowd use to refer to strippers. Niiice).
I get my double entendre prowess from Mom...

Friday, November 9, 2007


Just-Turned-20-Year-Old-Little-Sister: So... today I found out my tattoo artist has a mad crush on me.
Me: ...
Little Sister: He told Papita* he thought I was the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
Me: ...
Little Sister: And he asked her for my phone number and I told her it was cool to give it to him.
Me: ...
Little Sister: I got a picture of him as he worked on Papita. Wanna see?

(Shows me picture of a very attractive, short, but super built Filipino with a pretty cool sleeve going up his right arm)

Little Sister:
Imagine... how am I going to introduce him to our parents?
Me: You have a tattoo artist??
Little Sister: Yeah, remember?

There are days when I just want to punch myself unconscious.

*I stuttered one day as I was saying this girl's name, and the end product was "Papita" aka "potato chip" or "little potato" in Spanish. I still don't know if the poor girl's forgiven me for that embarrassing mess up (embarrassing because she's kind of... chunky, so being chunky with the nickname of "potato chip" doesn't seem very nice to me).

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Sweet, sweet music

Holy moly.

I'm so sore.
So freaking... sore.
And deaf.
And tired.

Was it all worth it?

Hell fucking yeah!

However, if I were asked
Yo, AnoMALIE, who would you rather hang out with, a bunch of fresas or nacos?

I will hands down scream back "Nacosssss!!"

I hate snobs... and Mexican snobs take it to a whole new level.
They're downright intolerable.
Their fake ass accent, their constant, purposely-made spelling errors (I swear, I see another bastard write with a K in place of a Q, I'm gonna shank a bitch!), their putting down of people from other MEXICAN STATES.
Motherfuckers... you're still Mexican, understand, anyone who makes fun of Mexicans is still making fun of YOU. You're included in that put down... even if you are from Mexico City... it's still in Mexico... and it's probably dirtier than any place in Durango because so much fucking criminality rules the g.damn streets there.
Shut the fuck up already and quit ruining my concert experience.

The worst part came when on the screens where people can text in their messages, someone put:
"Y arriba Durango!"
And the crowd booed.
I really wanted to spit in people's faces when I saw that.

While I adore the music I listen to... a lot of the people who supposedly "listen" are a bunch of fucks.
I hate them.
I don't know if people in the states will ever experience anything similar... because I don't really see such a pronounced "class" system in play here.

Anyway, on with the concert.
So, there were a ton of people... but we were in our group of seventeen 19-24 year olds... all from Durango (much to the dismay of the bastard fresas from Mexico city).
We befriended a couple of Chilangos while we made line (that went all throughout the casino... it was a nasty mess).
The dudes asked where we were from.
We said Vegas.
They said "No, I mean, your roots."
Oh... we're all from Durango.

What was their response?
Really? Damn, you guys are so light-skinned. Parecen Gringas.

Us: Umm... well, we were born in Vegas... all of us... our parents are from Durango... we just visit the place every summer... so technically, we are gringas.

So here we had a group of "fresas" surprised that we came from such a... "hick" state in Mexico... as if people from Durango are still running around with bows and arrows, warpaint on their faces, dark as hell from being in the sun all day. They act like people outside of Mexico City can't go out and get an education (I say that because it surprised the hell out of these guys when all the females in my group informed them we were all in college. Three of us in a science field. Were any of their "high class" asses in college? Nope. Not one. Hence why I think the class system with Mexicans is a bunch of bullshit).

Anyway, one guy in particular from this group I couldn't shake off all night.
I thought I was safe when he left my side to go get a drink... but no... he came back and stood directly in front of me, in front of the railing I was standing against.
He kept asking question... so many fucking questions.
It got to the point where I started giving him my family's genealogy... and we took it way back to when my family was still Spanish (three generations ago).

He constantly brought up the fact that he was surprised so many pretty girls came from the state of Durango, how he was surprised that we had light complexions (racism? I think so. He doesn't know I'm light because I don't see the sun), and how great it was to see we didn't all have the "naco accent people from that part have, no offense."

You know what was more frustrating?? How he'd constantly hold my hand throughout the night.
People from Durango are nacos? Give me a break, fool! Can I have my hand back??

I'd be too into the musical act to get too rude on him... I'd just pull my hands back, without making any sort of eye contact, and I'd kick once in a while (I'd be damned if he was going to touch any other part of my body).
I ended up sneaking out during one of my favorite songs from the last band (Enanitos Verdes) without saying a word to him (after promising I'd give him my cell number--I made the fatal mistake of whipping out my cell phone during an interlude while in his presence-- after Enanitos were done).

However, I wasn't the one who had it worst out of the chicks... nope, not by a long shot.
Eveyone else got harassed worse than I did... except for the one girl who went with her boyfriend.
My little sister, for instance, had this one weirdo that was about 38 push his crotch into her butt as she was bent over on the railing trying to rest her feet.
That even pissed me off, making me scream "What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?!" while pushing on him (he was a few inches shorter than me, so I wasn't scared about pushing the jerk away).

Many more things along those lines occured from 7-1:30 AM, so it's unnecessary to get in to all the details.
There were also a lot of people we bumped into that we're semi-related to... but we tried our hardest to ignore (because really, do you want some person talking to you about "We don't see each other enough! We should really get together and do something!" while you're trying to scream your heart out to the first time Hombres G sings "Te Quiero" in Las Vegas in their 25 year career? Hell no. Hell fucking no! Shut the fuck up, and let me enjoy this!).

Anyway... I'd definitely do this again.
For sure.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007


My cousin, while not one of the brightest pregnant girls in the universe (after about the seventh baby outfit she opened up during her baby shower, she exasperatedly said "Why do all these clothes come with a bib?!!?" Not only that, but she's also having the kid with a deadbeat lame ass, and I think that's one of the dumbest things a girl can do), is probably one of the prettiest.

Awww... I'm so nice today. No rants or anything.

I'm in a fantastic mood because today I get to go to one of the best concerts ever!
Enanitos Verdes, Aleks Syntek, La Quinta Estacion, and Hombres G!

All in one place... playing the same concert.
Man... I type that and I can already feel myself screaming.

What's best about this?
I don't have a crush on a single one of the band members in any of the bands, so I'm really in it this time for the music.
God, I'm such an adult now.

What does suck (ok, so I do have to rant just a little) is that they chose The Joint as the venue.
I despise that place.
I lose five days of my life just standing in all that damn cigarette smoke.
I also come out of there traumatized for a couple of days because people are so damn touchy-feely there.
I'll never forget that damn breast "massage." Maybe if the masseuse would have been just that one dude... but when a chick also rubs up on my chest... well... that's just a little too much.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Shrinking Circle

I lost another one.

Another one of my friends is getting married and my circle of Mexican friends/relatives is shrinking drastically.

Aren't I supposed to deal with this crap in my early thirties?
You know, that little melt-down every single-chick has when she realizes she's the only one not getting married and she goes through that whole "Goodness, gracious, I'm going to die alone!!" phase.

Who has premature single-girl-meltdowns?
A Mexican!! Only a freaking Mexican!
Woe is my freakin' Mexican-ass.

I got an extra dose of "Goodness, gracious, I'm going to die alone!!" syndrome yesterday as I went to my cousin's baby shower (you know, the poor girl whose gift I wrapped all shitty with the free Babies R Us gift wrap a couple of days back. I just figured the damn 30 pound gift would make up for the crap job I did on the wrapping, and guess what, it did!).
Aside from a 23-year-old girl that was sitting with her married sister and mother (and who looked quite desperate, I might add. I saw her eyes glimmer with hope as I walked through the door late at 8:30 PM), I was the only other single 20-something year old there.
There were twenty-something year-old girls there, don't get me wrong, but they were all married or had babies.
I had a cell phone.
God bless Bubble Breaker.

Instead of sitting with the ladies to gossip about... changing diapers... or God knows what they were talking about, I sat in the kitchen with the pregnant cousin, her two sisters, and three older women.

Pregnant Cousin: God, I'm oooooooold!!
Me: How old are you?
Pregnant Cousin: Twenty-Six!!
Me: Oh my God... you're not old... man... you're not old!
Pregnant Cousin shook her head violently as if I were a horrible liar.
Me: Shoot... I don't see myself... I don't think I'll have kids... and if I do... by accident... it'll be after I'm 28. Trust me... you're not old.

The old Ladies present stared at me as if I had just said something blasphemous.

Old Lady 1:
And what does your boyfriend think of that?
Me: What boyfriend?
Old Lady 2: You're always missing at parties... we assumed you had a boyfriend and would prefer to spend time with him than attend family gatherings.
Me: (internally) AHAHAHAHAH... ahahahaha... ahahahaha! (spoken, trying my hardest not to crack a smile) Oh, no... it's just... school. It keeps me busy. People seem to enjoy throwing parties on days I can't attend because of a huge exam or because I'm still on campus.
Old Lady 3: How old are you?
Me: 22.

Old ladies make this "Ayyy" sound... not good.

Old Lady 2:
And you don't have a boyfriend?
Old Lady 1: And you spend all your time in school?
Me: Kinda...
Pregnant Cousin: Old Lady 1, AnoMALIE's the good, studious girl in the family...
Old Lady 3: And we all know how they end up. Pregnant Cousin, esta muchacha (this girl) is old.

I couldn't get up and leave... I'd have nowhere to go... so I sat quietly... sort of... munching loudly on possibly the worlds saltiest nachos.

I always wondered why they don't serve tequila at Mexican baby showers...

P.S. (you know how random I am) Did you know that only in America have there been people to get HURT during yoga? Guess what... I'm one of them (what the fuck, man... why do my shoulder blades hurt?! Fucking yoga).

Friday, November 2, 2007

Ladybugs, cops, and pirates

Didn't understand when I said "sexy ladybug?"
Ok, then you guess what the hell she was trying to be:
Ladybug, right?
Her boyfriend didn't go dressed as anything to the party, and I guess he had a point... he's a fucking douchebag every single day of the year... that probably gets tiring (or not. He always brings his A game whenever Chase and I are involved. Asshole).

And as for the cop... this is the best I could find of "bad cop":I hate that bitch. She's... well.. a bitch. I've been tempted a couple of times to tell her something similar to, if not exactly:
"Relax, Petunia, nobody here wants to fucking steal your fellas... or your damn limelight. No one can upstage that snout of yours."
I love how she refuses to acknowledge the presence of two human beings in a room. She has that down to a science.
And here's the "Good Cop" I said looked better last year as cop, while remaining less trampy than Petunia (you can't tell in Petunia's photo... but her uniform was sort of like a blue bra holding her DD's and boy shorts trying to cover her apple bottom... and some black fishnet stockings):

Maybe I just think that because Good Cop's a cool girl who doesn't give a shit how many girls are present at an event, she'll try and befriend all of them... even if it means letting the girls pinch her ass to make sure it's real (no joke. We've all spanked her at some point).

And last, but not least, I'm driving the point home:
There were pirates everywhere!!
That was only a small sample. I didn't even notice the guy pirate when I was there.

People, be a little more creative next time, shit (although I wanted Lucky Soprano's pirate hat... it was fantastic).

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Oh, that means "I love you"

Older Brother and I have an awesome relationship.

I answered Older Brother via Myspace on a personal question he had about... his nasty ass toes (as usual) because, you know, since I'm a Biology major who is about to get her Bachelors on the subject, I am now qualified to answer any and all family health questions. Yes, that's how we roll in the Dos Santos-M. family. Anyway, I also added the following (because he also joked about me only having one class this semester):

P.S. It's two classes with one lab. I do go to school 3 times a week, you know.
P.P.S. Que te traes? Are you feeling ok? 'Cause your facebook behavior worries me.

(I added a second comment three minutes later)

and another thing: Me corte el pelo, cabron!! Thanks for noticing. >:(
(which means "I cut my hair, fucker, thanks for noticing")

He responded with something along the lines of "What the hell are you talking about?"
And I wrote back:

"Is just a dreamer dreaming his life away."
That's what I'm talking about, fool.

You're turning emo or some shit on us.
Just checking up on you... to make sure you weren't about to slit your wrists or anything... j/k

P.S. Your visa came in today.
I'm so jealous.

His response, and reason why I love my brother:
(probably the longest comment he's ever written me on Myspace)

Emo? Emo? Me, an Emo? Are you kidding me?! I was just writing a paper the other day for my War, Law, and Ethics class and I just so happened to be listening to that song by Ozzy. It's the shit!

Besides, so what if I actually "dream" that this world can someday be more peaceful? It may never be, but at least its worth it to have hope instead of living life thinking the glass is half-empty most of the time (ahem, remind you of anyone?). Hatin-ass closet Republican! Why don't you and my dad just go and kiss Pat Buchanan's fascist ass while you listen to Rush Limbaugh! haha, j/k. But nah, I was just in a very "dreamy" mood that day, I had to get in a flow to write that damn paper that was due the day I went on Fall Break.

I have too many long-term plans to be thinking about slitting my wrists, besides, slashing the wrists almost never works (although it was you, I think, who told me how to more effectively do it, so if I ever do such a stupid thing, blame yourself when you see longitudinal cuts down my forearms). Ahhh, "longitudinal..." long time I haven't used THAT word. PEACE.
(minutes later)
And oh yeah... I dig the "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur." I like it so much, I just wanna go and bite your head and yank on your ear in my twisted way of showing affection! Damn, we're such social outcasts when it comes to that whole sibling-love shit. You know, the whole "I-show-my-love-by-just-standing-there-before-one-leaves-for-a-long-time-until-mom-forces-you-to-hug" strategy. I guess the fact that we're not all at each others throats should be enough, right?

My response?

Yeah, yeah, whatever you fucking hippie. Haaa ha.

Twisted way of showing affection? More like primitive way of showing affection. Haha. But there are times when I look in the mirror, think to myself "baby haaaaaaaaaaiuuuur," ruffle it, and then miss the bites to the head and all the violent shit.

Anyway, have a good day... (now I'm refering to the post below me) and yes... I'm a badass... I got *Little Sister* that nice chunk of change with my remarkable writing skills (and there was no music involved while I did the writing)... holler!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how my brother and I show each other affection.

Oh, and one last tidbit to end this post.
It may be off-subject and random, but whatever.

Today I learned that while I may have some artistic abilities, gift wrapping is definitely not one of them: (first two are from the right side, last 2 are from left side)