What about the peg leg?

So I had a conversation with my (I'm finally getting use to saying, and accepting) gay friend last week over a bulletin he posted concerning Halloween costumes.

Him: A word to the wise...
ladies- please don't be a cat! that is such a cop out!
so is a vampire

I asked him what was up with that (since you know, I've never "celebrated" Halloween or anything).
He just said I'd understand come Halloween time.

But being a cat would be so cute...

Ok... so last night I figured out why it was said.

What the fuck is wrong with us girls?
Out of all the chicks at the party, four were pirates. Four!!!
Their costumes were freakishly similar (but never the same one).

-There was a slutty nurse (who I felt compelled to ask if she knew what a defibrillator was... as well as what "inoculation" meant, but alas, I bit my tongue and smiled at her when she publicly explained "I'm a nurse! hehe..." Gee, you don't say? I thought those red crosses stood for radioactive material).
-There was a hardcore SKANKY cop (oh believe me, there will be pictures, once I find them... and I'll compare them to the cop costume one of my best friends wore last year. So much better).
-There was a playboy bunny (not so skanky... but... maybe that was because she wasn't as "voluptuous" as the other chicks i.e. she was a twig with no breast implants)
-There was one cheerleader (which baffled me... because... I thought more chicks dressed up as cheerleaders).
-There was a... sexy ladybug? (I still kind of am confused as to what this girl was... but there was a ton of skin, stiletto heels, knee-high stockings... and what appeared to be the wings of a lady bug??)
-There were TWO cats.

"I'm a sexy kitty!" (said with the world's most annoying Ghetto NewYoRican accent. I'm talking more annoying than Rosie Perez. Yeah, well, can the sexy kitty please just... meow or something, fuck!)

There were more... but those are the most memorable.
What was I? That's for me to know and you to never find out.

When the girls arrived... I started wondering where the hell I was.

When in the hell... did I become acquainted with (to?) Playboy Playmates, and why am I invited to their parties?

Somehow... over the last... 4 years since I graduated high school, my female acquaintances have become... scandalously... stereotypical Vegas chicks.
That'd be great if I were a dude... (I guess my guy friends luck out... when it comes to eye candy of course, because none of these girls have much going on en la cabeza... and they're poster girls for the derogatory use of the word "bitch," to tell you the truth. Plus, the dudes invited to these parties cockblock like a motherfucker, and give you shit if you bring a dude that isn't part of the group... kind of like lions do when new male come near their pride. Primitive bastards)
Or maybe if the guy acquaintances from high school would have done such a thing... wait, no... 'cause if they were stereotypical Vegas guys, they'd be douche bags... which my high school male acquaintances sure fucking are.
(To sum it up, yesterday's party was... wow... just wow.)

Happy Halloween...
yada fucking yada.

Give me that cable!!

This transpired last night, when Sister came home from work at around 12 AM and I was still working on my lab report.

Little Sister: Did you tell AnoMALIE what AlcoholicCoolNeighbor said?
Mom: No, I haven't talked to her all day (very true).
(from the office)
Me: No!!!! What? What did he say??
Little Sister: Shut up, I'm talking to Mom.
(I run to the kitchen where Mom and Little Sister are talking while making quesadillas)
Me: What did AlcoholicCoolNeighbor say?
Mom and Little Sister: That he has cable.
Little Sister: He's had cable for over a year now...

Whaaaaaaaaat?!
Mother fucker.

Eau de Gummi Bear

Don't ever let Little Sister go to the store to buy you body wash with the only instruction being "Just get me some of that Tone body wash... the one with sugar in it."

Yes, they make some body wash that has sugar in it... it serves as some sort of exfoliate (exfoliant?).
I actually love the stuff... it smells good... and it actually kind of scrubs without hurting you (unless you have an open wound... I found that out the hard way one time, and I actually screamed while in the shower... not a girly scream... but a pain scream as if a bear were gnawing off my leg).

Well, since I had no time to go to the store, Little Sister asked me what I needed, and I reminded her of the body wash.

She came home a couple of hours later and showed me her find.

Little Sister: Ok, so I know you use the green one... but this orange one smelled so good to me! and the name's pretty cool... I wanna see if it works. Tell me if it works.
Me: Cool... whatever... thanks.

Well, I ran out of the green body wash the other day and decided to use the orange one today.

Everything was fine and dandy until I began to apply the body wash.

What the fuck is that? Shit... it's... so... strong... but... must... continue... or... I'll be late...

Point being: I now smell like a gummy bear thanks to hopping in the shower last minute and not having any back up REAGULAR soap to wash up with.

Why do I smell like a gummy bear?
I checked out the bottle... and here's the 411:

Name of the product:
Tahitian Vanilla and Orchid (with 7 moisturizing botanicals)

Ok... 7 moisturizing botanicals... let's check those out:
The 7 moisturizing botanicals include: (they only list of 3 out of 7 with a short description of the 3)

Soybean: Nutrient rich and soothing.
Jojoba: Conditions and Moisturizes.
Marshmallow: Softens and soothes.

Marshmallow! Why do I feel like a s'more all of a sudden?

Had you ever heard of such a thing? Marshmallow in body wash? And it softens and soothes?
Well I'll be damned.
I'm sure it attracts an assload of mosquitoes, too.

Now when I turn to look over my shoulder, I'm confused by the sudden smell of candy... I swear it's the scent of fresh gummies (I imagine this is what the Gummiberry Juice smelled liked on that one Disney show, Gummi Bears, to tell you the truth).

Why hello there, bare... wonderful... sweet shoulder... I'm sure... it's ok if I... just lick you... a little... real quick... I'll stop... I swear... soon...

Man, who the hell invented this, and why doesn't it come with a warning?

Three movies and a test

Hey, AnoMALIE, why was it that you have to re-take molecular again?

Well... because when it came to note taking, I liked fucking around and doodled all over my notes/had side conversations with my buddy Chase:
But also because instead of studying, I spent my important weekends bullshitting around...
and by the looks of it, things haven't changed.

I have a molecular exam in less than 24 hours... and what did I do this weekend?
This:

(Not bad, but it did bum me out for the night... it also didn't help that I felt super out of place because I decided to dress like a preppy golfer to the East side of Vegas... where "my people" aka latin gangsta's stared me down like nobody's business... which, of course, was only met by my "You want a Driver to your 'intimidating' little face, motherfucker?" attitude. Why is it that I can only be a bitch to my latinos? Also!! They fucking charged me 10 dollars for this movie! Ten fucking dollars!! What does my ticket say? Thank you! Bitch ass ticket agent. Perrrrrra.)
(So I kept it safe and stayed in my side of town on Saturday. By far, the best, cutest movie I saw over the weekend. Not that the other two were bad, by no means... I just liked this one better)

(I told myself I was going to study all day today. Did I? Hell no. It didn't take much convincing from Little Sister and Mom to go to this movie... followed by some P.F. Changs.... which tasted like shit, by the way)

And now... I swear, seriously, that I am going to study.... seriously.

Family Trait?

17-year-old Second Cousin: What happens when my boyfriend turns 18?
Little Sister: Umm... I guess... hopefully he becomes more mature?
17YOSC: No, I mean... I'll be 17, and he'll be 18.
LS: I'm not sure...
17YOSC: Ask your sister.

LS (to me): Hey... what happens when 17YOSC's boyfriend turns 18?
Me: He'll be registered in the Selective Service System??

LS (to 17YOSC): He'll be registered for the Selective Service System.
17YOSC: No, no! I mean... legally...
LS (to me): She means legally..
Me: (internally) Fuck, I hate kids. (spoken) What the hell do you mean, "legally?"
LS (to 17YOSC): What the hell do you mean "legally?"
17YOSC: Like... will he get in trouble for having... you know... if we do anything... you know... because I'll still be a minor...
LS: Ohhh!! Hey, AnoMALIE, she means will he get in trouble for having sex with a "minor" since she'll still be underage.
Me: (internally) 17YOSC, you're an idiot. (spoken) Oh... well... I don't know much law... but I bet if her parents wanted to be assholes, they'd get him in trouble.
LS (to 17YOSC): Only if your parents were really angry and wanted to get him in trouble...
17YOSC: Ah... ok... we were thinking we were going to have to break up. Good to know I won't have to now... I love him.
Me: (internally)... because he hasn't made you cry in the last 36 hours?
LS: I guess...
17YOSC: Like the other day... he said the sweetest thing to **group of his friends**
LS: Really?
17YOSC: Yeah... he went around saying I gave the best brain he's ever had.
LS and Me: Oh...

...like she graduated from a good school...

Her mom must be so proud.

Hassle with tassels

So I finally know what it is I'm supposed to be doing for graduation.
Well... to the extent which UNLV deemed fit.
We all know UNLV loves to fuck around.

Anyway, the more and more I think about it, the more I just want to fucking flee the city... the country... and skip the graduation (so unlikely to happen. I'm sure Mom would chain me to the bed if she had to, just so she can live vicariously through me and imagine herself being the one picking up the fake diploma on December 21st. I'm so jaded to that shit thanks to high school... I could really give two shits if I go on stage to shake people's hand while dressed in a very unflattering black bag they so humorously like to call a "gown").
Maybe... I'll just buy a tassel as a keepsake:

My four and a half miserable years at UNLV as a biology major.

(I lie... my first year as a bio major, while stressful to a point [you know, thanks to professors constantly reminding you how difficult the subject is and how unlikely it is for you to graduate... and how things come up, yada yada yada], was actually pretty fucking awesome.
Sophomore year would have been equally awesome had it not been for my vomiting issues being magnified thanks to good ol' organic chemistry pre-exam anxiety [vomiting once or twice before an exam had always been normal throughout high school... but 20+ times in one day? Some days I wonder why I refused to go to a doctor and get that checked. That's probably one of the only stereotypes I seem to (seriously) perpetuate for my Latinos])


With all my heart, I just want it all to be over.

Dear God, make me a bird... so I can fly far... far, far away from here...

Damn, Forrest Gump has always been so relevant in my life (and I get Taking Back Sunday's "Twenty-twenty surgery" stuck in my head immediately after. Particularly this part: You're so sensitive, I am, I am a machine [repeat, repeat, repeat]. What my immersion into English music has done to me... ).

20/4

Field trips in the middle of class really discombobulate me.

In yesterday's news:

I know where I get my gift of exaggeration... Dad.
This went down yesterday.

(I walk into the kitchen and Dad's on the phone, destroying everything in his path... i.e. he's tearing shit up looking for a damn platter that's located right in front of the sink)

Dad: What the hell do you mean "right next to the sink?" I'm looking and I can't find anything!Where am I supposed to cook these lobsters?!
(I walk to the cabinet where his dumb platter is. I then hold it up for him to see.)
Dad: (to the phone) Your daughter over here found it. That wasn't "right next to the sink," by the way.
(silence)
Dad: (to the phone) It was IN FRONT of the sink! (click)

(Dad starts kicking plastic cups and kickable shit into the cabinets. I stand and stare at him exasperated. Why? Guess who's going to have to sort that shit out later on... yeah, me)

Dad: See, this is why I get so infuriated! All this garbage! All this shit!

(picks up a Styrofoam box from Buffalo Wild Wings)

Dad: Like this shit... what do we need it for?!

(crushes Styrofoam box with one hand)

Me: ... well... I wouldn't touch it... I mean... Mom'll get really mad if she comes home and finds things missing.
Dad: She's a pack rat!! Just like her mother!!
Me: (internally) Should I laugh?? Should I tell him to hold his horses and not offend my grandmommy? Fuck... he's mad... ok, I'll laugh.

(I laugh)

Me: Yeah... but what can you do?
Dad: 20 bags!! I threw away 20 bags of trash when you guys were in Mexico this summer!
Me: (internally) Well I'll be fucking damned... you serious?

(I raise my eyebrows in amazement)

Dad: And your sister threw away 5!! And look! Look! It still looks the same!!

(Throws a stack of mail against the wall)

Me: Yeah... it kind of does. (internally) Fuck, my dad is mad... I'll be leaving right... now.

When I walk away, I go to Little Sister's room and close the door.

Me: Dude... you guys threw shit away while we were in Mexico??
(Sister grins mischievously)
Sister: Yeah...
Me: Dude... so my dad threw 20 bags of garbage?!
Sister: (raises eyebrows) No!! God no! He threw away 4!
Me: How the hell did you throw away 5?!
Sister: I threw away one!!

At least Dad's consistent in his exaggerating. He multiplies by 5.
(Screw the exaggeration part, I get my fits of rage from good ol' Dad)

25 Years

Ever since Grandpa died, I've entered this "I love Mexican candy, gimme, gimme, gimme!" phase.

Well, on Saturday we visited my aunt who had just returned from her three week stay in Mexico (which reminds me... I have to write an affidavit. That blows).
What did Auntie bring back for us?
JAMONCILLO!

Now, I'm not a huge fan.
When it comes to goat's milk... eh... I kind of... not avoid it... but I prefer cow milk, to tell you the truth.

Whenever I'm in Mexico, I'll probably have a tiny one inch cube of the candy, and then forget it exists.
I don't blame the goat's milk... just the overall consistency of the candy. It's brittle but gooey in a strange way... it makes my palate go "What the fuck is this?"

But oddly enough, I was ecstatic Auntie had brought us some Jamoncillo.
However, when we were going to bring some home, Mom told Auntie we just wanted an eighth of the block, since at the household, only Dad and I eat Jamoncillo when the feeling strikes.

So I ate my half of the eight of Jamoncillo that Saturday (I shared with Little Sister).
Mom set Dad's Jamoncillo in a cupboard... since dad bulldozes through candy like it's his job, Mom wanted to make sure he didn't eat the candy until Sunday afternoon when he wouldn't keep her up at night complaining "Woman, I don't feel too good... my stomach hurts..."

Well, things went down Sunday morning.
Mom wanted to go eat at a restaurant, Dad said:

I don't want to spend money at *restaurant A* or money at *restaurant B* and especially no money at *restaurant C* What's so wrong with a home cooked meal?

This sent Mom over the edge.
Mom hates cooking (something she acquired in her youth, since her Dad thought girls were only good for cooking and cleaning and yada yada yada and because of that, didn't let her go to school like she had originally wanted. I've explained this before, I think).
So what did Mom do?
She went into Little Sister's room where I was studying while watching some extreme sport's show, and handed me the remaining eighth of Jamoncillo.

I ate a little... then put it aside.
Mom was still standing in the room... eventually lying next to me... so I asked:

Me: Umm... is this for me?
Mom: Yes. Eat it all.
Me: I thought it was for Dad...
Mom: No. It's not.
Me: That's not what you said yesterday...

(she's not looking at me... just BMXer Dave Mirra.)

Me: (internally) I knew she liked Bicycles... but damn. (spoken) Are you mad at Dad?
Mom: Yes. (still looking at the television)
Me: Because he didn't take you out to dinner?
Mom: Yes. He wants me to cook! To cook!! I bet he doesn't remember tomorrow's our anniversary.
Me: Oh... ok... should I tell him?
Mom: No!! If he remembers, good for him. If he doesn't... pshhh.

Mom left to the living room to watch her Univision... and she left me the jamoncillo.
I didn't touch it for the rest of the day... because I don't love the damn thing.

Then comes today.
I swore Pops was going to forget the anniversary thing... but as soon as I stepped in the house from school, here came dad with a load of groceries.

Me: Dad! You remembered!
Dad: What?
Me: Your 25th wedding anniversary!
Dad: Huh?
Me: (internally) Fuck! You mean you just went grocery shopping after Mom and I did it yesterday?? Tell me you're joking!
Dad: Oh! Yeah... I'm cooking your mom a lobster dinner tonight. It's better than getting ripped off at some restaurant.
Me: (internally) sick. (spoken) That's cool. 25 years!! (internally) You better let that shit stick in your head!! 25 years today, got it? Say it!!

So I left the kitchen area and ran to Little Sister's room where I left the jamoncillo yesterday.

Fuck... Mom's gonna cheer up and give the jamoncillo to Dad!!

What did I do?
I ate that bitch!

Now my stomach hurts.
Lesson learned: Don't be a greedy bastard!

Burro Bites

So, something always goes wrong when I get a haircut. It's inevitable.
I've come to accept it... and I try to get over my disappointment ASAP.

What's wrong with it this time?

Well, this time I didn't fight with my cousin who's also my hairdresser.
I also didn't spill any secrets or force her to spill any of her own.

No... this time I went over to her house on a Sunday afternoon... right after the Liga Soccer match, but in the middle of "Republica Deportiva."

How is this bad?
Well... you see... I kind of like soccer.
Why do I like soccer? (rookie... and you say you know me...)
Cristiano Ronaldo.
Duh.

Well... as she was working on my hair, I heard "Manchester United."
I knew Manchester won their game yesterday 4-1, but I was still anxious to see the goals.
So what did I do?
I looked up at the television... just as she was working on the right side of my head.
What did this provoke?
This: Doesn't look so bad? Let's look a little closer:This is how it looked two weeks ago:Now, it's not so bad (it's just short... but I'm used to that length since it's been like that for two years on and off)... but when I look at the other side... it just doesn't look right.

It's sort of... straight. With no... umm... shall we say "Burro Bites?" It sort of looks like I went up to Mount Charleston and got attacked by a pack of hungry, wild burros that decided to only chew away at the right side of my hair.

I now look like Baby Suri (I'm not hating on the child... but she's a freaking child with the haircut! C'mon now!)... and I didn't even get to see Cristiano Ronaldo... just damn Wayne Rooney's Nordic-looking ass.

Yey... hooray.

It goes something like this...

It really sucks when I can't get a song out of my head.
It sucks worse when I don't know the title of the song.
It sucks most when the song I've been humming for the past 5 weeks is a classical song whose origin I have no fucking clue about.

Person 1: What's the name of the song?
Me: I don't know!!!
Person 2: Well, where'd you hear it?
Me: I know it was in a movie... and they played it 5 weeks ago during relaxation time in Yoga... and that's where I got this damn thing stuck in my head.
Person 1: So why don't you ask the instructor to tell you.
Me: What do I say?
Person 2: You can start by saying some of the lyrics. Didn't you try googling any lyrics you remember?
Me: It doesn't work when it's classical music. What, should I go up to the instructor and go "Hey, what's the song title for the song that goes 'Taa-rara.... ta-rara'... that's all I know." I'll look like a crazy idiot.

I'm ten seconds away from driving my ass to a music store, buying a new bow and E-string, and just playing the damn song by ear on my violin.

It's driving me insane!

Carrito Bonito

My parents have been hard at work trying to bribe me to go to medical school since the moment I told them I was no longer interested in becoming a physician back in... April?

Money? No.
Trips to Europe/Asia/South America? ... umm... man, I pass.
Manchester United sideline tickets? .... oh man... why does my chest hurt? No.
Mercedes-Benz S550? Oh man... why... do my ovaries hurt? N... o.

I've turned everything down... I managed to convince myself to say no to the car because I supposedly don't like driving cars.

I say supposedly because I had never driven a car (notice I said "had").
I've ridden in cars multiple times... obviously... but driving one has never really interested me.

Well, today I had to drive my sister's Jetta (due to Mom taking my 4Runner to work and leaving me car-less for my gym time... and AnoMALIE goes through hell to get her gym time).
I thought I was going to hate it. I told myself I was going to.
But no.
No.
Not at all.
Lord, I loved driving the thing!

Fuck... this is going to be hard.
Maybe... I can go to medical school for six months... get the Mercedes... and then disappear?

The Gun Show

I had "the nightmare that wouldn't end" last night.

What's one of my greatest fears?
Aliens.
What was the subject of my dream?
Aliens.
Was I scared?
I thought I was going to suffer a heart attack!

I kept waking up... sort of sweating (terrified, I tell you), and each time I'd go back to sleep, the dream would just keep going.
How come that never happens when I'm dreaming about holding long conversations with Cristiano Ronaldo? Or when I dream that I'm watching him stretch and flex prior to his soccer match?

Talking about flexing and stretching, I have a new horrible habit I'm trying to eliminate.

I've never really suffered from that whole, narcissistic syndrome where you just have to catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror whenever you walk by it... or even your reflection from a shiny surface.
I actually do the opposite, where I look away... because I hate seeing myself. Really.
However, recently I've caught myself flexing and stretching when in front of a mirror or any reflective surface. The good thing is that I do this when at home... so the issue hasn't gotten out of hand just yet.

When I catch myself doing this embarrassing thing... I think

What the hell am I doing?
Who the hell do I think I am?
Relax, Madonna, put the gun show away!
Do you have a band-aide? Because I'm ::flex:: cuttttttttt!!

Ok, I don't say the last one... well... only as a joke to my little sister.

I'm trying my best to kick the habit... but how can you not check out your squat form when you see a full-length mirror? I only do it to better my stance... that's it.

I can already hear the neighbors:

God, first she goes out in her mismatching pajamas to feed her noisy ass dog... and now you have her doing squats in front of her sliding door... what the fuck? They didn't warn us about this before we rented this house!

To which I'd retort:

Get the fuck out my neighborhood, you fucking trashy ass Californians (not that all Californians are trashy. Just... when a Californian goes trashy, he/she goes trashy)! And take your four trailer homes with you (there's like, seven different men living with this one woman! and they're not even related)! Oh... and one more thing, NO! We don't rent this house like Mom made you believe! No one in this neighborhood does! There's a reason they're called "custom homes," pricks... and just be glad I comb my hair before I come outside... and quit smoking by my fig tree! You're polluting the tree's and Tyson's air!

Man, I hate my neighbors. Sorry about that tangent.

I forget the important ones

Ey, yo, monkeyface!
You're the best!

Thanks to your birth, mom stopped doing this kind of shit to Older Bro and me:(but then she started dressing us like tiwns, although I'm two and a half years older than you. Those ten years sucked)

Sure, we fight... a lot... and make each other cry both in private and public (screaming war? Sure, why not, I got time for that today) but we also share many "I love my sister" moments... like when we get stalked by weirdo Mexicans in Mexico and one of us has to give the very nasty mean mug (which always ends up being me)... or when we do stupid things like blow kisses to strangers while on road trips with our parents which only leads to us getting in trouble after one asshole follows us for miles and scares the shit out of us... or when you tell me some guy breaks your heart and I go out looking for blood, like that one time in fourth grade when I kicked that one boy's ass for you during lunch-time (thanks, it gave me quite the reputation).
We might not see eye-to-eye on many issues, but you keep me sane... very sane... and you teach me how to be "normal" i.e. how to do my hair/make-up (how weird is it when your younger sister has to teach you all this shit?). You hear me out late at night and cry with me when I have my very seriously sad episodes... and you give me that hug when I need it most.
Thank you.
Happy belated Birthday.
(is it weird that I still remember what that cake tasted like?)
I'll tell you a secret: Whenever I get pissed off at you, all I have to do to calm down is think of you when you were that old and remember what a bright little brat you were back then. Also, I secretly wish that if I ever have a daughter, I want her to look/be a smart ass like you.
:)

Also:
Chase,
Happy Belated Birthday!
(you too were going to get a separate entry all to yourself)
You're the best friend I don't deserve! I can be so horrible sometimes, but you still just ignore me on my off-days and move on. Thank you.

I'm sorry to both you Libra girls... it's unfair and stupid... but this week has just been brutal for my brain! I've been absent minded... but you all know this.

Me: Dude, I can just get a total of 67 percent, plus my 6 extra credit points, and get a 70 in the class.
Sister: Dude, that's 73.
Me: I mean, I can get a 63 in class... and the 6 extra points would bump it to a 70.
Sister: ...that's 69.

Need I say more?
Y'all still love me, right?

I'll go back to normal (you know, to the point where I just say some random word in the middle of a sentence because that word popped into my head... or when my conversation will trail off and I'll forget what I was talking about) soon.

Undercover: Girly-girl

Now I know why I don't have many female friends:
They're fucking DRAMA!

Geeze, Louise!
Something about hanging out with a bunch of girls just tires me the fuck out.

Is it the constant bickering? Can you be quiet for a fucking second?!
Is it the constant female-on-female hating? Who gives a fuck what she did to you five years ago? Let. It. Go!
Is it the constant primping? Look, it's not like we're outside in the middle of a sandstorm... your hair is FIIIINE!! Quit acting like damn chimps!
Is it the constant eye-rolling you get from rival gaggles of girls? Where's a fork when you need one? I'm gonna pop those eyes right out of their sockets if you keep putting them to bad use like that!
Is it the constant trips to the bathroom? You'd think they were giving away free diamonds at this place with the frequency, and hoards that these chicks go.

Mannnn!
It's horrible.

And I had to do all this in a pair of wedges... and I alternated between skirts and pants. I had a wardrobe change in my sister's car (while in the passenger's seat and as we were headed to the various locations) a total of three times.

First, it was some sort of... stuck-up restaurant/bar thing.
Sister was told to go and ask for the table Twiggy (her bitch "friend" from high school) had RSVP'd for her a couple of days back.

Oh, I got a table for 15 because ::goes on to list a shitload of Little Sister and Twiggy's mutual friends:: are going to go... and so is your sister, right? But don't worry, I got everything set for you. I even got ::guy who allows Little Sister and Twiggy to drink although both are under 21:: to hook you guys up. Hope you have fun... I won't be able to go, though, because my parents need me in Pahrump this weekend. Have funnn!

So we get to the place... and how many folks are there? Five. Five! In a table for 15.
With my Little Sister and me, we made it seven... but still.
Then, as we were sitting there, we found out Twiggy had informed the people that Little Sister was turning 20 (and I guess this place is a 21+ bar)... so the waiters never asked us what type of drinks we'd like (and this made sister worried because she picked up on something being terribly wrong since she goes to this place often), they just automatically brought us water... and the manager kept checking our table, making sure none of us had a drink (and they looked ready to pounce on us and ask for ID once one of us asked for an alcoholic beverage).
I'm twenty-fucking-two! What the fuck?? I need to quit hanging out with twenty-year-olds.

So, seeing as how this place was... fucked up and little Miss Twiggy had decided to fuck us over, we left the place at 10:30PM.
Five minutes later Twiggy text'd my sister and asked her how everything was going... the fucking bitch.
She had been texting back and forth with the waiter... how fucked up is that (and this is why I avoid hanging out with too many chicks)?

From there we decided to go back to my friend's wedding.
This is where I had wardrobe change one (well, for the day it was wardrobe change number four, but in a car, it was change number one).
I went from pants to a skirt as Little Sister drove down I-215 to almost the fucking middle of nowhere (Santa Fe Station. That shit is... man, we might as well have just gone out to Mt. Charleston).
So we got to the wedding... it was loud, people were dancing... but we sat at the table of the lonesome-super-depressed twenty-something-year-olds-who-realize-their-lives-are-drastically-changing-and-aren't-too-happy-about-it that was far, far away from the dance floor.
That's where the whole rival girls did their shit, my Sister and her friends did the whole "Let's go to the bathroom!" every five minutes (what the fuck, girls? Are you guys snorting cocaine in there?), and I opted to hang out with the boys.

I felt good knowing I wasn't the only one feeling bummed out. We were all acting like zebras when they see one of their herd members is about to be taken down by a pride of lions... we were kind of relieved it wasn't us... we were sad to see one of our group members go... but we still keep running the fuck away (although there was one girl there who also looks like she's about to take the plunge next... please, please let it be my imagination!).
The look on the faces of all of us people that participated in the bride's Quinceañera seven years ago was the same:
Upset disbelief.

Guy Friend 1: Fuck, man... we're getting old.
Me: I know... this makes me sad.
Guy Friend 2: I didn't think she'd be the first one to get married out of all of us.
Guy Friend 1: I didn't think she'd get married at all!
Me: No, that's me.
Guy Friend 2: Hey, wanna look at my dog?
Guy Friend 1: His dumb little dog is so cute!
Me: (what the fuck is this? I thought only girls talked like that) You know, I once had a friend who dumped a guy because he had a picture of his dog in his wallet.

Guy Friend 2 had a cell phone out showing me his dumb little one-month-old dog doing suicide jumps off his couch.

Me: Oh my God... you have your dog on your cell phone?
Guy Friend 1: It's my cell phone.
Me: That's so gay.
Guy Friend 2: Why??
Me: I thought my brother had issues for putting a picture of Tyson (my dog) on his Myspace... but... on your phone?
Guy Friend 2: I love my dog.
Guy Friend 1: Yeah... that damn dog is cute! Not like your dog... all ugly and mean!
Me: Fuck you, my dog's a beautiful bastard!

Next thing you know, I'm whipping out my cell phone to get on Myspace and show everyone how awesome my dog is... and how much better he is than a one-month-old, suicidal Husky who jumps off tall furniture (which in the end, I agreed the Husky was a damn adorable, idiot dog).
I ended up doing this until 12:30AM... when the wedding was over, all us twenty-something year-olds were depressed (and amused by the actions of dumb puppies), and it was time to say goodbye to all the company.

Since we were so upset, we twenty-something year-olds decided to go to Guy Friend 1 and 2's friend's house and smoke hookah (and on our way to these dudes' home was where I had wardrobe change two).

Now, I'm not a fan of smoking... in any way... so I took the seat furthest away from the damn machine... but that place also ended up being the place where all the bastards smoking would blow.
I was pretty irritated... but the guys sitting closest to me were cracking me up... mainly because one of them was so messed up by NyQuil, he'd be talking crazy shit (like how he thought Boxer breeds of dogs "have the best balls because they just... hang all nice"). He was also drinking chicken soup out of a thermos... and that was just... it kind of made me hungry (but I wanted to keep my distance because getting sick isn't one of my top priorities right now).

All in all, I got home pretty late... I had to make wardrobe change 3 on my way home so Mom wouldn't smell smoke on me... I went to bed irritated and sad... and I woke up tired and confused.

I'm a very bad girly-girl.

Little piece of me died

I just got back from one of my closest friend's wedding... well, the church part.

Yes... I was the sappy friend in the back row crying during the whole "I take you... blah blah blah" part of the ceremony (I guess they're called vows... I wouldn't know anything about them).
So lame... but it's heartbreaking to see the chick you hung out with during the teen years and sort of fought with (over the stupiest, ugliest motherfucker ever) is now moving on while you're still at home having problems making decisions like "Should I leave to school thirty minutes early today... or make it forty this time?"

To see a friend dressed in white is so freaking... weird... it's a strange kind of sadness.

You're 21!! Don't do itttttttttt!!

But alas, people have to grow up.

Later on today I'll have to juggle my sister's 20th birthday hoigthy-toighty dinner (that her friends are throwing her... friends I'm not fond of, but I must go to accompany the Little Sister), church, and my friend's Wedding reception.

God, help us all.
(and I'll also be writing my post dedicated to Little Sister... I can't straight up neglect her little entry just because I'm busy being a girl)

And my closet says: I'm a girl!

What I thought to be a rather lame Friday night turned out to be quite productive.

My closet was finally fixed, so I had to go through the hassle of putting everything back.
While I'm not done just yet... I'm more than half way through.
I have managed to put all my acceptable clothes up on hangers, but there's also clothes piled up all over the floor with destinations like "donations" and "trash!!"
If all goes well, I'll be back in my room by Sunday night.

Anyway, all of this I did very grudgingly...

-Whaddaya mean I can't go to the mall today?! I have a wedding to go to tomorrow!
-Whaaat? I can't even go to the dealer with you guys because I have to sit here and fix my room?! (My Dad bought the most badass '08 Dodge Laramie 2500 today! While it is white--eww-- everything else about it screams "Motha'fuckin' piiiiimp!" Sweet-ass truck, I say, even if it is stick shift and I won't be able to drive it because of that... but still... the fact that it's a stick shift just screams "Badass." Anyone that can drive a stick shift--correctly-- is a badass in my book)

Etc. etc.

As I wallowed in my self-pity, home-alone, at around 8PM, I realized:

Shit, I have so much shit I no longer use... and shit I never used!

It's so horrific to notice how my shoe collection has grown (I had 38 pairs. A bit excessive, no?)... and yet I still feel the need to buy more (so I guess I am a girl!).

All in all, this little activity helped me:
1) Realize I'm kind of picky and have a shopping problem.
2) Not feel too bad about skipping gym time today. This shit had me sweating buckets after half an hour.
3) Find more options for my Halloween costume.

The latter is important... because while Halloween is a couple of weeks away... I have yet to find anything I'm 100 percent comfortable with.
So far, my options are:
1) That one Latina doctor on Grey's Anatomy (a show I don't watch... but scrubs are so damn comfortable to wear! And all I'd really have to do would be stand there... since my parents already made me a Latina)
2) A fairy Godmother (the idea of being called a "fairy" has never really... enticed me to dress up as one... but I have some wings, a wand, and huge poofy dresses from the countless Quinceañeras/weddings I've been in)
3) Sleeping Beauty (once again, I have the dress... and I'd wear a blonde wig that'd be all fucked up because my version would have a bad case of bed-head)
4) A massuse (I have the hair... the dress... the hands... hahaha... yeah... ok, whatever).
5) A go-go dancer (Oddly enough... I found everything I would need to be a go-go dancer in my closet. That scared me. A lot)

Now, there are a few more options out there... but it tires me out to come up with more.

So far... I'm really leaning toward go-go dancer and the fairy Godmother... but since I really have the urge to whore-up my make-up, I do believe I'll be a go-go dancer.

Podophilia

Did you know there are eight colleges of podiatric medicine (in the U.S. I think... it can't be worldwide)?
Yeah, I didn't know that either... that is, not until I started getting mail from a couple of those damn eight schools.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I HATE feet.

It's not like I go around telling people I detest feet... I won't get in people's face for exposing their feet in my presence, either... I just act like feet don't exist. I don't acknowledge that part of the human body (foot fetishists boggle my mind).

Getting contacted by podiatric schools creeps me out in the first place... but the fact that it peaked my interest a little, freaks me the fuck out.
However, my folks become ecstatic each time I receive any sort of mail regarding medical schools (just not when it's the military contacting me... which tends to be the only thing I'll ever read over twice, once in a while, because I wouldn't mind working on people who deserve it: the military men and women of this country. That's my patriotic comment of the week, and most likely, month)... and they think podiatric medicine is fantastic.

Mom: Imagine! You can work on the feet of soccer players!
Me: Yeah... that'd be hot... I'd be touching all these guy's busted up feet... sometimes have their future in my hands, literally. Sexy...
Mom: Oh, like you wouldn't want to work on Cristiano Ronaldo's feet?
Me: I would eat off his feet!! That beautiful creature...
Mom: And Rafa Marquez... and Lionel Messi... and...
Me: Ehhh... they're great footballers... but no... I'd only compliment CR's feet.

This exchange has given my parents hope that I'll return to medicine after a semester--at most, a year-- off from school (not. going. to happen.).

I'll have crazy moments where I'll think:

Damn... it would be fucking awesome to travel with a soccer team and be the one checking out their feet... that'd be fucking great!

But all I have to do is stare at this for a little longer than ten seconds:
...aaaaand I'm good (fuck.that.).

Trash digger

While I'm graduating this December, I have yet to tell people (at least in real life I haven't told anyone).

I've been receiving those letters you get from advertising companies where you buy graduation announcements since last year, but each time, they go straight to the trash.

I don't care to let people know I'm graduating... I kind of want it to be a surprise. You know, so when I'm talking to relatives and they ask me when I am finally graduating college, I'll say "Oh, I did that in '07, didn't you hear?"
So they can feel bad for not noticing... because I'm a bitch like that.

Well, last night when I returned from the gym, I saw this on the countertop:

Me: What the hell is this?
Mom: So...
Me: I thought I threw this out... like six months ago...
Mom: So.
Me: So, I don't want any.
Mom: I'm the one buying them...
Me: So? I'm the one graduating.
Mom: So? I want to spend my money on this...
Me: Well... why don't you spend it on something useful... you know... like that one camera I wanted (Just for reference, I want this one:
Mom: I want to spend it on this.
Me: To boast to people that I'm graduating? No thanks. I don't care about letting other people know I'm graduating.
Mom: So why did you go to school all these years?
Me: Oh!! That's riiiiight! I went to college so that at the end of all the vomiting, stressing, and crying I could send out hundreds of little white and red cards to people who don't give a shit about me when free food or drinks aren't in the picture. I had forgotten... I was dumb enough to think I went to school so I could get a biology degree. Oops, my bad.

Mom still bought the damn announcements.

P.S. and totally off-subject: Today, I have fallen in love... with ensaymada. Can you say delicious?! Fucking delicious! Yes... I feel unbelieveably guilty afterwards... but man... oh man... where has it been all my life? (kind of sad that I had to taste it after a funeral of my sister's Filipino friend... but... wow)

The ALMOST-excommunication of AnoMALIE

Goodness, it had been a while I didn't hang out with my Dad's side of the family.
Yesterday I realized why:
No other large group of people ignores me so well.

Shit… not even when I'm at a concert do I get ignored by masses of people like I do when I make the huge mistake of attending a Dos Santos* family gathering.

Maybe the fact that I was already upset by the time I reached the party had a lot to do with it.
This is why:

I thought that maybe after getting church over with by going to Saturday evening's mass, I'd be able to enjoy my cousin's twentieth birthday party a lot better... instead of having to leave early because I'd have to get up early Sunday morning for church.

I asked Dad to give me a lift to church, and told him that if he did that, I'd let him take my car to the party as a thank you.
Dad's more anal about being on time to things than I am, so he dropped me off at church at 6:20 PM.
Mass begins at 7 PM.

I had 40 minutes to kill… so I went inside the church, took a seat, and began to check my e-mail on my phone.
There were maybe, at most, fifteen other people in the building (the lights weren't even turned on in there!)… when this jackass (who I could tell was part of the orderlies because of the stupid little blue suit and tie he was wearing) approached me from behind.
I moved my legs to the right, since I was sitting at the left-most part of the bench and I thought he was trying to come in through my side to take a seat.
Next thing I know, the bitch gets in my face and says:

You can't talk in here.
Me: I'm talking? (I always knew I secretly suffered from Tourette's Syndrome!)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: No cell phone use is allowed in here.
(points at my phone while looking me menacingly, dead in the eye)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off.
(begins to walk away)
Me: But mass hasn't even started yet!

The idiot leaves out the front doors like he owns the place.

The bastard was probably five foot three (and he was wearing so much cologne that I even "ate" some when I spoke to him. Fucking gross)… yet here he was getting in my face while I sat quietly on the church's shoddy bench reading my e-mail… trying to kill 40 freaking minutes before mass. I was being silent the entire time… the bench made more noise than I did… yet this motherfucker had the balls to give me shit (no wonder people are leaving St. Anne in hoards... they have pricks like this motherfucker getting in your face as you sit quietly on a bench checking some e-mail).

So what did I do?
I switched over to the games on my phone and began playing Bounce Out (but I still kept my phone on silent).

Fuck you, asshole, if you think you're going to boss me around and chastise me like I'm some fucking little child. Bitch, I have more seniority in this parish than your dumb ass does. Fuck you, you little trick. This is what I think about you bossing me around, motherfucker.

It was 6:30 when the asshole comes again, and this time he raises his voice at me.

Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: I told you to turn that off!
Me: (Biiiiiiiiiiiiitch! What the fuck is your problem?!) Am I bothering anyone?
(I look around and see the four people sitting in other benches far, far away from me)
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: You can't talk to people while you're in here.
Me: I'm talking to people?? Has mass started?
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: What?
Me: Has mass even started?
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: No, but this is the house of the lord! You need to respect it!
Me: (moron, is this how you treat girls? Maybe that's why you're fucking 40 and still single, you fucking plug of a man) I know that… I'm a catechism teacher. I'm not disrespecting anything!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off.
(He reaches for my phone)
Me: ( Oh helllllllllllllll no, bitch! Touch my phone and I'll rip your balls off right here, right now!) Am I making any noise? Am I interfering with anyone's meditation? AM I MAKING ANY NOISE?!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: What are you doing???
(He starts covering the screen on my phone)
Me: Passing the time! It's 6:30, I'm alone, and this place is empty! It's still dark in here for crying out loud!
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: If you think it's so necessary to do that, take it outside!
(He grabs my elbow and pulls. I pull back my elbow as hard as possible--boy, did I thank Body Pump for this-- and I glare at him while holding back the urge to spit in his face like a camel. People are now staring at us... some still kneeling with rosaries in their hand, but none come to my aid)
Me: (Are you kicking me out?! Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck. You!) No! It's cold outside, and I want to sit Right. Here.
Jackassmidgetmotherfucker: Turn. That. Off!!
(He sort of smirks... which kind of irks me... Why do you smirk in the middle of an argument when a chick almost twice your size is ready to wring your neck?)
Me: I’LL DO THAT WHEN I WANT TO!
(I glare until he looks away. I then go back to playing the game on my phone)

At this point, my eyes are watery and my voice is shaking because I'm so livid (come on now, I'm not that much of a badass. I do get pretty upset when I argue with people. I'm a Pisces, I cry!).
He once again makes a grab for my phone, I pull it away, glare at him again (did this guy just want to make eye contact with me?), and scream "Later!"

I was throwing a bona fide tantrum... but I was also kind of fearing for my safety.
It worked for me though, because the asshole walked away… smiling.

The whole time I was wondering if the shit was a joke… or if he though this was a great way to pick up chicks… because he made this attack on me as I sat alone on my bench with the nearest person to me being three benches away!
No way would he have done this to me had I been sitting with at least one other person near me.
Anyway… this little exchange had me furious throughout mass. Various times I found myself biting my bottom lip because it'd quiver each time I thought about this asshole screaming at me (but also I'd get all sentimental thinking about how the other jerks in church didn't do shit when they saw this jackass trying to boss me around. One lady in particular made me sad, because she knows me, yet she sat there and just watched as this bitch screamed at me).

I hate getting scolded, and especially when it's unwarranted.
I'm twenty-two freaking years old. 22!! Why are people still screaming at me like I'm 3? What gives anyone the right to scream at another person as if they're the damn rulers of the universe?

So this had me angry for the rest of the day.
I told Mom the story. She said:

You and your sister have a vocabulary... it sends chills down people's spine, it's so scary! You just look like a trouble maker…

And here I thought I always looked like a scared idiot.

I ask myself:
Why did he pick on me?
Was it my hotpink, kick ass, nailpolish?
Was it my low-cut shirt (don't stare, the Virgin of Guadalupe will not be too happy)?
Was it my magnificent pair of earrings?
Yes... had to be the earrings.

Anyway, I'll just end this by saying the bastard better watch his back next time he sees me... boy, does he have a nasty lecture/punch to the face pending.



*Obviously not my real last name.

Just because I have to:

I'm the ninth highest grade in Molecular.
Boo-ya, bitches!!

(shit, being that it's my second time around taking this class, I probably should have been somewhere in the top 5. But no, AnoMALIE will never be that awesome because she's a dummy)

AnoMALIE 101

So I realized the post dedicated to my brother marked my one-hundred and fiftieth entry.
I had originally prepared a "special" post to occupy that space (I've had this saved on my flash drive since 2005 when I did it as an exercise to come up with short-story plot lines--uh-oh, I just gave up one of my strategies-- I just tweaked it up for 2007) but I guess it'll have to settle for post number one-hundred fifty... third?

It's the first day of October... the nightmare month of September is over... and now I probably won't have to write anything for the next week! (Yey! Hooray!)
This shit should keep you busy. Enjoy!
(This should also eliminate the need for you to ask me any more questions... ever. J/k)

An entry level course (ok, maybe it's just 101 factoids) on the subject that is AnoMALIE:

1. I was born on a Friday night… March 1st. For Catholics, that day is known as "El día del Señor de los Guerreros," aka the day of the patron saint of the warriors. That explains a lot.

2. During my earlier years of life, there was a bit of confusion when it came to my actual birth date. Some family members swore up and down that I was born February 29th-- no matter how much I explained to them that leap year had occurred the year PRIOR to my birth.

3. I'm a born and raised Las Vegan. I've lived my entire life here.

4. Well, except for 6 months which I lived in Mexico… some very unfortunate events led me there i.e. Dad was fired, parents were broke, I was 7, so we left to my folk's Mexican hometown. I ended up going to school there for a while. Worst 6 months of my life… I got slapped with a ruler one day because I had dirty hands after recess. Crappy rule I wasn't aware of until that day.

5. Some very fortunate events led Dad to become a very blessed entrepreneur… and so… we're no longer broke, to say the least… and if given the opportunity, I'd study in Mexico again (UNAM!!).

6. Oh yeah, I'm Mexican. Well... not 100% since I was born in Vegas, but I always find that I refer to myself as "a Mexican" rather than a "Mexican-American" or "Chicana" (forever a gangster term in my head) or even "American." I really have to TRY in order to say I'm an American.

7. I didn't sleep in a bed-- much less have my own room-- until I was 14. From the moment Mom removed me from the crib (once Little Sister was born) I was forced to sleep in the living room on this very uncomfortable sofa bed. This grew to be a problem once I entered middle school and I’d have assignments where I had to describe my room. I was always embarrassed to admit I didn’t have a room to call my own… or to even share, for that matter.

8. I need to hug something as I sleep due to the fact that I always had my little sister up on me as we slept while growing up. She was scared of the sounds of the ghetto (and who am I kidding, so was I. I'm not too fond of gun shots and shouting) so she'd hug on to me and I was too nice to tell her to get the fuck off me.

9. The thing I usually hug on to at night is a Pound Puppy (named Coby) Dad brought me when I was 2 (my brother got one too). The dogs came in these boxes that made it look like they were in the pound. My bro and I didn't like that, so we got Mom's wooden meat tenderizer and smashed the shit out of the boxes. That left Coby homeless, so I had to carry him everywhere. He now travels with me everywhere. I can't sleep without him near.

10. I also used to require the sound of the television to sleep. This goes back to my ghetto days, when Mom would have to sit in the love seat next to my sofa bed each night before I went to bed… and the television sound would help drown out the sirens... screams… car alarms… you know, sounds of the hood. It took a while to get accustomed to sleep in silence.

11. My first language was Spanish, but my first English word was spoken at the age of three. The lucky word was "Fuck" and I even made a song about it. I bet that didn't come as a shock to you.

12. Mom's a Catholic and Dad's Pentecostal. This has made me very tolerant of other people's beliefs (or lack thereof)… but I will make fun sometimes. In regards to my views, I'm Catholic... kind of a bad one, but still a Catholic… and I don't enjoy people's attempts to convert me to anything else.

13. I rarely take communion, and it's even rarer when I go to confessionals. Why? Because this ex-priest of mine loved chastising me... he was mean. The man once told me I was going to prison during one of my confessions. I felt horrible... I was speechless... and confused. What the hell was his problem? I only said I sometimes wished bad things to happen to bad people... like for them to lose their hair!

14. I have this… weird habit… where I suck my bottom lip while caressing my earlobe (I also can't help but touch other people's earlobes sometimes. I see some that have this… look to them and I have to touch. And no, this doesn't mean I like others touching MY earlobes). I've been doing that since I can remember. For this little habit of mine, I blame the fact that Mom never gave me a pacifier as a toddler.

15. I was petrified by the thought of the end of the world and/or aliens as a kid. I still get terrified by movies with those two subjects. I'll have nightmares and I'll probably cry if I put much thought into it. I have Dad and his brother to thank for this phobia. They talked about it 24/7, 365 in the early 90's. Dad still loves mentioning the end of the world whenever he sees something on TV about tsunamis, earthquakes, incurable diseases, gay rights, etc.

16. The men I'm typically attracted to tend to be shorter than me. I blame Freud for that (you see, while my dad is almost six feet tall, the man who raised me when I was a kid is my mom's bro, who's a shorty like Mommy).

17. I'm ONLY 5'8"... so you see where my problem lies (the guys will be hardcore shorties!).

18. I asked a sophomore to Senior Prom. God… the trauma that ensued. It took me around three years to recover from all the drama that really stupid decision led to… but now I can really laugh about it.

19. For a painfully shy girl, I’m pretty gutsy when it comes to approaching guys I like. I have no clue why that is, but man, do I wish I could get rid of this trait.

20. I failed my driving permit exam the day of my Senior Prom (it was the second time I took the exam. The first time I passed it—to get my permit—but I just let my permit sit for a year, so I had to renew my permit and that's when I failed).

21. Upset does not do justice to how I felt that day (May 10th, 2003)… Hell. No. I spent the day crying in a bathtub while listening to Christina Aguilera as the rest of my family was at a Sweet 16 party and my friends were at Prom. Shitty day. Shit, shit, shitty!

22. I got my first kiss at age 6, by a 6-year-old boy who was a first cousin to my first cousin, but he was not related to me (he went on to become a drug addict, went to rehab, got engaged, became a drug addict again, broke his engagement, then became a drug dealer).

23. One of my ex-boyfriends went to jail for murder (so I guess I have a thing for bad boys). I loved the kid… he was awesome… but he tried too hard to get others to like him. He got me out of trouble with many female gangsters that hated my guts because I was a "nerd," and he was never, ever, ever mean to me.

24. I'm terrified of commitment because I don't enjoy getting hurt. I'll do anything to avoid it, so I prefer to stay alone. How long I'll keep that up I have no clue… but I'm getting used to solitude.

25. My heart was broken the most severely back when I was in tenth grade by a guy I had loved since fourth grade.

26. I left him because he impregnated a whore... no, not an actual one, just a sleazy ass bitch, on Valentine's day 2001. Prior to that event, I would have married him, really, at the drop of a dime... but betrayal like that is unforgivable.

27. The pain of losing this imbecile lasted from 2001 until 2005… I would crush on guys… but sadly, they were never on the same level of attraction as this retard.

28. When I first saw him holding his baby, with his baby's momma at his side, I passed out. That's what I do when I'm very upset/angry, I pass out… like a narcoleptic.

29. My last "boyfriend" was a Greek dude who supposedly had it bad for me. I detest the phone, but for those couple of months I was with him, I couldn't drop it (I would even willingly listen to him rap to me. What the fuck was wrong with me?).

30. The Greek dude was sweet at times. He even made me a mix CD of hip/hop songs (ewwww). He ruined the relationship once he threatened me over the phone ("Give me one reason not to hurt you…" was all he said. I immediately changed my mailbox to say "Fuck you, mother fucker!" never to answer his calls again) because I was too busy to answer him ASAP. I guess he didn't know that I have ZERO tolerance for any sort of violence in a relationship. ZERO.

31. I'm a Manchester United (mainly), UNAM Pumas, Barcelona, Mexico squad, and Portugal squad soccer fan. Holler!! I follow most sports… just not hockey or rugby (I tried getting into rugby, but that shit's brutal! Hockey just bores me).

32. I have an older brother. He's the reason I like sports, play sports, and get along with guys. But we fight a lot... I guess that's only because he's 17 months older than me… it's like an unwritten law that you have to fight with someone that close to your age.

33. Older Brother graduated basic training from the Army on September 13, 2001. We drove to Fort Sill for his graduation on September 11, 2001 (and the entire trip I spent it reading George Orwell's 1984 as a school assignment). I felt like I was on valium the entire time I was there. I think back to those days and they still feel so… hazy… in slow motion... and unreal. I've never been so scared, sad, proud, excited, and happy at the same time.

34. George Orwell's 1984 hold a special place in my heart… a book has never had such a profound effect on me, and I doubt another one ever will.

35. I hate politics. I love history. Does that make me boring?

36. I have a younger sister who is two and a half years younger than me and she's your typical younger sibling: pretty, spunky, and attention calling… which makes me your typical moody middle child.

37. I've never been too comfortable around my little sis because family has always gushed over her, while they just ignore me as if I were made out of wood. That used to hurt at first… now it's just annoying. It also makes it very hard for me to take compliments well. I always think people are being ironic, cynical, fake... or just assholes. Oh well.

38. I've taught catechism at a well-known Catholic school on Saturday nights since I was 14.

39. My Saturday nights are eternal and lonely... I wonder why I haven't tried drugs yet.

40. I used to be a Raver from 8th grade till... 12th... but hard core in 10th grade. I was annoying... wore big pants... weird hair... lots of bracelets… the works. In the summer of 2000, I found a really hot, very smart, and very sweet DJ called Victor... to whom I lied to by telling him I was a year older because he was 5 years older than me. I was best friends with him until he became engaged to a Low Rider Magazine model.

41. I strongly believe in karma.

42. For some reason I am unaware of, many a female waitress/server/fast food worker has hit on me. They've paid for my meals, given me 75% off on meals, or just extra free desert out of nowhere... while winking at me. I have nothing against homosexuals or bisexuals... but I don't swing that way.

43. I have been accused of being gay/bi because I don't make a big deal when it comes to meeting guys/dating guys/being with guys and I also don't really like hanging out with "girly girls." I don't even try to defend myself anymore. Think what you like, assholes.

44. My first pets were three bunnies when I was in 7th grade. One was straight, one was bi, the third was hardcore gay. They were the noisiest creatures ever.

45. Talking about gay (I kid)... I've gone to 3 Backstreet Boys concerts. Last one being the summer of '05 (so sue me, bitch).

46. I used to be madly in love with AJ McLean. Now I'm just madly in love with Cristiano Ronaldo. I'd do him anytime, anywhere… he's… MmMmm.

47. I have never met a celebrity. My sister has met Ludacris, Nas, Keifer Sutherland, O-town... and various Spanish bands (even Ricardo Arjona!). Me: none. What I do takes skill in this city.

48. My first concert was the New York Philharmonic back in eight grade.

49. I was a latchkey kid. My siblings and I never messed with the stove or opened the door to strangers… or relatives for that matter. I blame my inability to cook on this whole "You can't touch the stove while I'm away" rule of my childhood days. I still don't open the door, even if they ring the doorbell. Old habits die hard.

50. I peed my pants in 1st grade during reading time... I was wearing shiny, purple SPANDEX at the time. I took that incident like a man and didn't cry. I just acted as if my classmates were the ones with the problem and waited for Mom to come to school with a fresh pair of pants. I never wore Spandex again.

51. I was beat up in 4th grade on a daily basis.... the bullies were supposedly my friends and I was taught to never swing at a friend. Someone should beat me up now for being such a dickhead back then. But thanks to this, I'm distrusting of everyone… and I swing back if anyone ever touches me.

52. For some reason, short girls and Latinas always pick fights with me. No idea why that is... I'm a damn gentle giant!

53. Two people got killed in front of my old house... on different occasions. There were many more killed around the neighborhood, I'd see them on my way to/from the bus stop. I'd just walk around the dead bodies in the morning on my way to school like all the other kids. This only happened because I lived in an area known as Meadows Village aka "Naked City" since birth until I was 14.

54. I saw a pimp slap his hoe while screaming "Bitch, where's my money?!" when I was in 4th grade and waiting for the school bus... very, very funny... very, very sad, and nothing like how it's depicted on T.V.

55. I was obsessed with gangsters from age 9-14.

56. I can no longer keep track of how many of my elementary school/middle school friends have had babies... or gotten married… it makes me sad each time one of them succumbs to adulthood. A little piece of me dies.

57. I'm very random (I've been told I make weird correlations) and my mind wanders often.

58. I donate my hair every two years or so. I grow it out and then snip it off. This usually causes a stir in my extended family because (they're Mexican, and...) they hate short hair and I get comments like "Why'd you do that?! I loved your hair before, it was so pretty!" Pisses me off just a little... why the hell wasn't I informed my hair had fans PRIOR to cutting it all off?

59. I think saving yourself for marriage is a waste. Men don't do it… so the double standard really pisses me off… plus… most guys don't even appreciate/deserve such a thing.

60. That being said, I'll confess a deep, dark secret (relax, it's not that serious): I'm a virgin (so I guess this makes me a better Catholic than I thought), but no, not because I'm saving myself for marriage (maybe not such a great Catholic after all). Someone call Ripley's… a virgin in Vegas! Actually, no, don't do that… there are people out there who'd try to sacrifice me to volcano gods.

61. And ta-da!! AnoMALIE is yet to become pregnant or contract an STD (one of the reasons I've held off for so long… I hate the damn "promiscuous Mexican girl who gets knocked up at a young age" stereotype. No one's calling me a hoe!)... not even a cold sore. However, don't get it twisted. Just because I don't participate in the game doesn't mean I don't know how it's played (remember, I have an older brother and a ton of male cousins. I've heard/seen some shit I wish I hadn't). I've done my homework... not much can make me blush.

62. I always said that if I hit the age of 30, and was still unmarried, I'd have a kid. I no longer think that'll happen. I don't want to be responsible for messing up a kid like that.

63. I am sarcastic... very... to the point where I can annoy... and I try to refrain from doing so... but it's so hard!

64. I registered as a democrat even though I am very conservative. However, I see myself as a moderate… and I vote every chance I get (my polling station's at a fire station… it's a damn treat each time I vote).

65. The treadmill and I have a love/hate relationship. I love it for a while... but then I forget it exists... hence why I'm a yo-yo dieter... or... is it... exerciser?

66. I have some sort of social anxiety. I hate being in social events for too long, even church.

67. I wring my hands, tear my lip, and tear up my fingers when nervous… oh, and let's not forget vomiting.

68. I stopped eating like a normal person back in seventh grade… and I entered the realm of anorexia my freshman year of high school (but not to the extent that these runway models have taken it! God, no!). Nowadays, you cannot tell for shit that I was anorexic.

69. I'm just barely getting used to knowing how it feels like when I'm hungry. That probably sounds really weird, but I never really knew when my body was telling me I was hungry… and I'd ignore it thinking it was a stomach ache (I had a ton of "stomach aches" throughout middle school and high school… and college).

70. I have very strange eating habits. I didn't participate in breakfast until I was a freshman in college… there's a lot of food I don't like… I need to take vitamins because of my lack of a balanced diet (I'd faint a lot before I was put on these bad boys)… and eating in front of others is something I strongly dislike. So to sum this all up: I don't really like food… I don't enjoy eating… and food's a pretty sore subject for me.

71. I've gained 30 pounds in one summer… and lost 20 pounds in 2 weeks. Damn eating disorders.

72. My throwing up record is 20 times in 6 hours. I get nervous and anxious prior to huge exams and just... vomit until my pancreas spills out more bile than I'd like to taste and my body gets too tired to lift my head out of the toilet.

73. I thought about committing suicide in 9th grade... pretty often... because I was clinically depressed my first two years of high school; and while I'm better now, I still have some very bad days sometimes.

74. While I've lived a somewhat sad life… I still do my best to make others laugh and make it look like I'm a regular, happy-go-lucky girl… and I really wouldn't change anything in my past. Why? Because I have more street-cred than any rapper in the industry today… well, besides 50 cent.

75. I can't say "physician," "decision," "position," and many other words ending with that sound... I get tongue tied thanks to my Mexican accent that decides to peak its ugly head at the most inappropriate times.

76. In high school I took as many AP exams as were available to me... all but government. I hated the subject and saw it as a waste of time. In total, I took seven exams: two my junior year (U.S. History, English Language), and five my senior year (Calculus, English Lit, Spanish, French, and Chemistry). This made me the chick who took the most AP exams in my high school (the school was 2 years old, so it wasn't a huge feat), and it also made me "the crazy girl taking all those AP exams" amongst the school teachers.

77. Je parle un peut de francaise. (4 years of it in high school and that's the most of it)

78. Hablo muchisimo Español. But you'll never hear me call a boyfriend "Papi." That's so dirty to me. Just the thought bothers me like crazy!

79. I'm very much computer illiterate... yet I own a PDA.

80. I go through phases where I become addicted to certain things… more like, obsessive. Then I catch myself and feel stupid/embarrassed about it for a year.

81. My 6th grade science teacher was sent to jail for possession of child pornography.

82. I have served only one detention in my life... it was for that man... and I was scared shitless (but I didn't even know about his illegal "hobbies" at the time).

83. I can't stand people who smoke. It's an absolutely disgusting habit that makes me very angry.

84. I enjoy hard liquor, but hate beer with a passion… and still… I don't really drink because a little bit of tequila turns me into a horribly mean, dancing hoe… or a very chill Einstein… both personalities bug me and make me feel stupid the next day.

85. I love most that is art related (I draw, photograph, and write)… but please, no Picasso!! He may be from my ancestor's hometown, but I fucking hate his art. I also don't like people who lift other people's work and try to pass it off as their own.

86. I cried with Bambi, Lion King, Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Mulan... but not with Lilo and Stitch... horrible, horrible movie.

87. I've yet to hold a paying job. My folks never let me get one as a teenager… and now they fear I might fall in love with some co-worker, get knocked up, and ruin my life. So… I'm… destined to be forever unemployed.

88. I will some day travel to Italy, France, Spain, Australia, the Philippines, Greece, Great Britain, and Japan. Those are musts... but I'll try to cover as much land as possible.

89. I received only one C in my grade school career... that was algebra 1 honors, in 8th grade, second semester. I spent my time in class writing stories with my best friend at the time. That grade haunted me all throughout high school.

90. I sing in the shower… I sing in the car… I sing when I'm drunk… but I never said I was good.

91. I visited a zoo for the first time in May of 2006. It was the San Diego Zoo, during that one holiday that occurs that month, and I was ecstatic! Long live huge birds of prey!! (and polar bears!)

92. I visited the Ocean, for the first time in my life, the first week of July 2005. It was Mazatlan, Sinaloa, Mexico and I went with my godson, his little brother, and their mom. I wasn't as ecstatic then. I hate the smell... but not the sound or the view. I did think it was overrated. Big time.

93. I am super fond of cussing. I've tried cutting back for years now. I've made it my... lent resolution to quit cussing for the 40 days since I was in seventh grade, but I always break it within the first week. This love of cussing even cost me credit for my French AP exam… I cussed and spoke in English (fuck… find?? and I also muttered I’m such a fucking idiot) and that invalidated my score. Way to go, AnoMALIE!

94. I majored in Biology... mainly out of stubbornness (I'm pretty good at it when I try) and it being forced upon me by my folks. I love/hate it at the same time… and now I find myself in a mid-life (yes, because I'm only going to live to be 44 with the way I've treated my body) crisis thinking I'll never do biology again.

95. My folks only went up to sixth grade, that's why they're so stuck on me getting educated... although my folks didn't do too bad for only going so far.

96. I have failed 2 classes in college: Mammalian Physiology and Biochemistry II. It was the Spring of 2006... and the most miserable time of my life. I cried for 2 months. I recovered in about 6 months. I re-took the classes a year later and passed.

97. I also got a D in Molecular Biology Fall 2006, but it counted for some credit... so I wasn't too devastated over it… but I'm still re-taking it this semester.

98. I develop instant crushes on men once they make me laugh. Bad habit… since it's not too difficult to make me crack a smile. The weirdest crush I have? Tom Selleck (his porntastic 'stache has a lot to do with it, too).

99. I took my MCAT my eighth semester of college. I had made a promise when it came to going to med school… I didn't meet my own standards… so I decided I'm not going to go. The stress played a role in my decision as well. I get pretty messed up when it comes to prepping myself up for exams, but I explained this one previously.

100. I love writing... I've written over 100K words worth of short stories… and I've been told I do a decent job (when I try). I'm just scared of pursuing it because not too many people succeed.

101. I live to make people happy. It's my number one priority... and while it's sometimes bad for me (because I sometimes don't make myself happy) I'll do it anyways. I think that's why I was so fascinated by Amelie... my favorite movie of all time (second favorite is El Laberinto del Fauno… Ofelia broke my heart like no one else has).

Three pop quizzes will be given on the subject… final exams will only be administered on people AnoMALIE deems fit.