Wednesday, April 30, 2008


Me: I got a job offer today...
Dad: Really?!
Me: Yeah... and it's biology-related, too.
Dad: That's great!
Me: Yeah... and I didn't even apply for it... the guy just called me up and said he was giving me an "over-the-phone" interview because he got my information from... I think he said this one lady that came to the job fair two months ago... but I never gave her my number... they must really want me.
Dad: Oh, wow...
Me: But... the job's in Salt Lake City.
(Moment of silence)
Dad: Look... I'l pay you not to take the job.

My Dad's hatred for SLC amuses the shit out of me.
I mean, the job offer story is totally true (Chase gave them my info)... and while I'm not really interested (well, if this offer would have been made in September, I'd probably be game just to see what it's like, but not now, when I have a wedding to attend and my godkid's high school graduation in June... and of course, my Mexico trip as well. I'm not giving that up for anything in the world) I just told Dad the story because I knew he'd flip (I just didn't do it as he was eating, but rather, as he was peeling prickly pears).

Dad should really chill out.... it's not like it's FRANCE or anything.

Monday, April 28, 2008

As long as it's free...

Yesterday afternoon, as I stood around waiting for my friend to come by and meet me for the Tina Fey movie we both wanted to watch because "I love her writing!!", some woman approached me about a free movie screening coming up this Thursday.
I accepted... of course... especially since movies nowadays cost 10 bucks after 6 PM and this bitch is gonna be at 7... and I got four free tickets.

However, I almost didn't accept.
What made me accept?
Not knowing which movie I'm going to watch.

"I can't tell you which movie it's going to be, all I'm at liberty to say is that it's going to be one of the summer blockbusters this year. Still interested?"

Hell fucking yeah, I am, now that it's a coin toss!

I HATE blockbusters... like... hate with a passion.
It's usually one of the number one reasons I'm glad to be in Mexico for most of the summer.
(I AM guilty of watching Transformers last year, however... and War of the Worlds back in '05... but they all have reasonable explanations)

BUT! The other day, that I once again went to the movies (fuck, I'm picking up the habit again!), I saw something that made me feel, well, bad:

The new Hulk Movie... plus Edward Norton... equals Edward Norton as THE HULK.

Jigga wha.... how the... you're telling me... Edward Norton actually agreed to do this?
WTF? What happened to America while I was gone?
You know I gotta see this now, right?

So... when this lady approached me about "a summer blockbuster" I quickly weighed the pros and cons of the situation
Well... I AM going to Mexico an entire month earlier than last year... and... Edward Norton made THE HULK... and I'm NOT giving them any money... ok... let's do it.

Nothing about my agreement bothered me, because I kept thinking about other possibilities, and none bugged me too bad.
Hancock? Ok... Will Smith is cool.
That one movie Mooney wants to watch... something about Twilight or whatever? Whatever... if she digs it, I don't see a problem... as long as it's not J.K. Rowling related... cause I hate that pompous bitch.

Then last night it came to me like... a... really bad nightmare:
Iron Man.

I'm screwed.
It's gonna be Iron Man.... 'cause, with my luck, that kind of shit only happens to me.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Mushy stuff

Last night turned out to be a mushy love-fest.

Instead of going straight to the "Bridal Shower" (how decent) at 5 in the afternoon, I hung out with Chase for a while.
I then went to church...
Hung around in the church parking lot...
Anything to avoid going straight to the shower.

Well... once I ran out of excuses, I headed to the place.

That's when the love-fest began.
I was oddly... kind to everyone. I went through the trouble of greeting everyone (which weren't too many folks, they were in the process of leaving when I showed up at 8:30), and I even hugged a good percentage of them.
(Shocker!! I know!)

That's when the bride-to-be aka my childhood best friend came over to hug me... and it was one of those hugs where the people sway from side to side all excited... like they haven't seen each other in age (She actually said "I haven't seen you in ages!! Look at your hair!").
She then told me how glad she was to see me because:

I was upset thinking my best friend wasn't going to show up! But you did!!

Thanks for making me feel like a douche for avoiding your party for a second there...
Fuck, I'm a terrible person.

So, after that mushy exchange, she told me to grab some food and take a seat to watch her open the gifts.
I ate as fast as possible, then gave her my undivided attention.
She opened about 10, then she reached my gift.

She grabbed the card I had written:
(giggled) Oh! Listen to this!! Haha!
"It was just yesterday when you were the little girl who taught me how to cross the street. Now you're taking that giant step to becoming a bona fide adult."
(Her voice breaks)
"Wish you all the luck in the world, and the happiest marriage a woman can have..."
(Hard core crying now)
"Nadie se lo merece mas que tu!" (no one is more deserving than you)
(Now I'm crying... everyone else is looking at us with pity... "Awwing" all over the place)
"Love you! Tus Primas, TravelinDin y AnoMALIE"

This was all recorded... and it was terrible, because I guess Bride-to-Be thought it was going to be a funny card... because obviously I don't know how to write anything heart-warming and touching... then BAM! It backfired and I had her made into a river of tears and sobs... and she brought me down right along with her.

Damn AnoMALIE... not knowing the strength of your own writing... dumb ass.

However, I didn't think she was going to be saddened by what I wrote because I wrote it two minutes before running out my front door to meet up with Chase.

Anyway, the party ran until 9:30 PM... and everyone there was pretty freakin' nice. Not a single person asked me about my relationship status... I did get a couple "So, AnoMALIE, how've you been? Missing TravelinDin much?"
To which I'd retort
"Nah, I just came back from spending a month with her all over Europe... I'm cool."

Come on now, I have to be a snot to people sometimes.
(Why does everyone think I'll crumble when away from my siblings? Sheesh, people, I'm no wanker)

Then I headed on over to my aunt's house to do some serious "catching-up" about... so many topics... I laughed at her place until around 12 AM, when I started falling alseep on her floor (she has a new puppy I like playing around with... it's this sort of tea-cup labrador thing... I get on the floor to play with the little creature... and since I'm now an old lady after my return from Spain, my body gets tired around 10 PM, and 12 AM is really pushing it).

Ah, yes... family life... how mushy.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Cue: Nightmares

I found myself thrashing all over the place last night.
It's been one of the most uncomfortable nights as of recently (even more uncomfortable than the sleep I had in Bilbao... where I'd sleep on the floor on some sort-of-a-futon-but-not-really-a-futon thing... with mosquitos flying rampant and getting me real good on the arms... and that stupid kid always running upstairs at ungodly hours as his parents blast "oldies" starting at six in the morning on weekends).

I blame it on the fact that I spent most of last night wrapping my hairdresser/cousin/childhood bestfriend's gift for her bachelorette party that's going to be held later on today.
I procrastinate... we all know that... and this gift I've had in the office since Tuesday afternoon... but I decided to wrap it last night with gift wrap I first thought to be the most adorbale thing ever created because it had glittery wedding dresses, flowers, cakes, bells, and tuxedos drawn... only to find out how much glitter fucking sucks and gets in the most unexpected places.
I required the aid of my mother before the glitter got in my eye and blinded me.

Anyway, as I wrapped that ten pound (felt like 50) box of non-stick pans, I felt unbelievably sad.
It hit me: One of my best friends is getting married.... how sick.

Sure, the realization also hit me hard as Mom and I shopped for my buddy's wedding present. As I looked through the 19 pages of Sears products... I started feeling sad.

Fuck! She thought of everything! She even thought of a hamper! A hamper! Now I want a hamper...

(also... why do people need so many fucking trashcans? I counted a total of six for both places she's registered. Really? Four $16 trashcans and two $30 trashcans? Why? But I won't complain... one of my cousins not too long ago asked for a 90 dollar trashcan... which REALLY worked me up at the store, I still have that piece of paper somewhere, to show everyone "This motherfucker wanted a 90 dollar trashcan! Can you believe that? Who the hell does he think he is? Jay-Z?!")

But last night it was more pronounced...
Fuck! This is for real! She's really gonna do this!
So yeah, I wrapped the gift, tried getting the glitter off me... then went to bed.

Most of my nightmares consisted of me running away (although, one I clearly remember having to do with my brother getting a hold of my two hand-written diaries with the help of TravelinDin. I go off on both of them, demanding how far they read, almost maiming the shit out of them in my fit of rage. I woke up thinking "Oh man! I need to burn those diaries!"). One of the times I woke up, I was lying with my legs hanging off the side of the bed, since I'd made a 90 degree turn on the bed.
Another time I could almost swear I woke up saying "No!" and panting... I was definitely sweating, but I blame that on the weather.

I don't know if I just loathe the idea of getting married... or the idea of growing up... or the idea that I'm doing neither.

Here we go... I'm ready (no I'm not) for the fucking annoying questions older women are going to be throwing at me during this thing (I freaking KNOW Hairdresser/Cousin/Childhood Bestfriend is going to be on her A-game... she's always on when there's a crowd... fuck).
"So, AnoMALIE, when are you getting married?"
"Hey, AnoMALIE, why haven't we ever seen you with a boyfriend?"
"So, what do you do AnoMALIE?"

Never. I don't need one. Nothing!!!

It's moments like these where I hate being Mexican.

Friday, April 25, 2008

... and it continues!!

MORE weird shit just happened!!

Some dumb motherfucker almost knocked down the front door knocking like a fucking maniac!!
(Dad told me this as I stepped in the house from the gym. I saw the people leaving, saw some of the cement that surrounds the door freshly removed and on the floor, and asked what was up)

Dad answered the door with a knife in his hand (he was cooking at the time the pounding began, he didn't think to put it down).
It was this regular, middle-aged white dude, red with rage, huffing and puffing, as his Asian wife tried looking tough/mean behind him... scowling.
That changed to slight worry once they saw a white/sort of tall Mexican answer the door... holding a knife.

Dad: Which car?
Dad: When?
Dad: Who said this?
Man: MY WIFE!!!
Wife: Yes!! A young guy was dirving that car fast down the road and wanted to drive me off the road just now!!
Dad: Well... that's weird... because, one: No young man lives here. Two: I drive that white truck you see out there, three: No one else is home... so no one has driven that car in over a day...
(Man stares angrily at his retard for a wife)
Man: You said it was this car!
Wife: Well... a car that... looked like that...
Dad: And finally- NO ONE comes to MY HOUSE
and knocks like that.
Man: I'm sorry...
(Dad slams the door in his face)

I say, if you're going to be such a fucking macho man, you better make sure your cunt whore of an imbecile for a wife gets her shit straight.
How the fuck can you confuse my sister's Jetta for another one... when she has her Jetta decked out in Notre Dame stuff???
If you're going to bust down someone's front door with your bare hands, that's a pretty fucking big committment, so I assume you're ready to die, Leonidas.
That type of fucking shit gets you killed if you fuck with the wrong people...

Disrespect my dad at his house? Fuck you! Why don't you hop in your stupid car and REALLY get rammed off the road... near an icy ditch, dumb motherfuckers.

And teach your dumb cunt how to differentiate between cars next time, asshole... teach her how to get a licence plate number next time someone endangers her very "precious" life... you know... those little rectangles at the rear, often front, of an automobile.

People... WHAT. THE. FUCK?
Bajenle a sus huevos, pendejos.

This isn't (Eerie) Indiana

So, once again, something strange happened yesterday.

First off, the dead guy turned out to be from around Hometown, just not exactly Hometown. I don't know him, but my dad does. The guy's family was contacted, and that was the end of that bizarre incident.

On to strange incident number two:
Yesterday afternoon, we received a phone call asking for my brother (they said his full name).
Mom said he wasn't in the country, then the lady on the other end said
"Well, can I talk to Ivana Dos Santos*?"
Mom: I think you have the wrong number...
Lady: Is she not in?
Mom: No... no Ivana lives here...
Lady: But this is the number I was given...
Mom: No Ivana lives here... my son's name is Brother*, but there's no Ivana living here.
Lady: Well, this is the number I get for the address they left...

So the lady gets my mom to tell her our address (so dumb... well, at least, I think it's dumb to do so over the phone).
The lady agrees that it's not the address given to her.
She then tells Mom about Ivana and Brother's* three month old son that has undergone medical tests and how one of them came out suspicious, so they need to bring the boy back for further testing.
Mom: Well, that sucks... but I don't know who you're talking about... you have the wrong person.

So we leave it at that.
Later on in the afternoon, however, we get the mail.
One of the letters came from a doctor's office... psychiatry department, I think.
It was intended for:
The Parents of Baby Boy Dos Santos*
Ivana and Brother* Dos Santos*


While I know mistakes happen quite fucking often...
This is really pissing me off....
Brother better not have gone off and had some random ass kid without us knowing...
(I'm kidding, I'm not THAT paranoid... but shit, they need to quit calling... and what kind of fucking parents give the wrong personal information at a hospital?!? And what parent hasn't given their 3 month old child a name?!)

* Not actual name, obviously

P.S. In happier, more normal news: I'm now the very happy owner of the first season of Flight of the Conchords.
Meeeeeeeeeeemorieeeeeeeeeees! (Hey, since all I got myself from London was a stupid keychain--I take that back, it's not stupid, since it's Manchester United's crest-- I can at least remember those couple of hours I spent at my brother's flat, where I kept zoning in and out of consciousness only to laugh at some of those songs that Bret and Jemaine would bust in to)

Thursday, April 24, 2008


Fastest way to get over pink eye?

Get a phone call from the coroner's office.

This happened last night.
It was strange because the detective called my dad's cell phone, not the house phone.

We were terrified at first (All Dad said was "HEY!!! The morgue just called me!" which I immediately screamed "WHAT?!?!" then he said "Yeah, you know, the coronary's office." Coronary... ha!)... but upon hearing the name, we all just sat in my parent's room trying to come up with possible people this unknown guy could be.
We got the description of the man, his age, the name of his ex-wife, the cause of death, and his name.

After all this, we still couldn't come up with who the dude might be... but Dad said he'd ask around and see if he could find out... if not... he'd go see this dude at the morgue.

After hanging up, Dad wondered:
"Why the hell did they call my cell phone?? Why was I the first they called?? How'd they get my number?"

This is terrible.

However... my eye doesn't even bother me now.
Now it's just my conscious that's bugging the shit out of me.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008


ALWAYS remove any eye makeup before going to bed.
Failure to do so may result in unsightly redness (and sometimes excruciating pain) in the eye(s).

This Public Service Announcement was brought to you by:

Why the fuck is my eye burning at 7 in the morning... and why is my left eye so small?
Maybe it's Maybelline? Well, what else could it have been, Sherlock?!

Conjunctivitis, that shit don't play.

I feel stupid.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Hello, my name is:

Enough with me hiding behind a pseudonym, my real name is:
Oddly enough, I purchased this in Rome, of all places.

I have a feeling it really doesn't say what I think it does... although my name does have 3 syllables.
Close enough, I say.

Monday, April 21, 2008

I did what?!

Yesterday, while I was in the midst of one of my many Wiki-addiction episodes... I bumped into a word I knew I had heard before, but couldn't quite figure it out.

Ok... I knew I had heard that one before.
I clicked.
It mentioned Rome.
So I clicked...
Then it mentioned how Via Appia "along the part of the road closest to Rome, one can see many tombs and catacombs of Roman and early Christian origin".

Via Appia... Via Appia...

Then I remembered:

Of fucking course.
That was the road our Hotel was on... the one we had to cross in order to catch the bus into Rome... the one we walked a couple of times... where I even went to the grocery store.

Fuck, dude, I swear... we get so worked up and nervous, we tend to take our surroundings for granted.
I travelled Via Appia and didn't know its importance.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Ooops moment(s)

Shit... I just noticed one of my cousins is engaged... she's been engaged for 10 days now.


She commented a couple of my Europe pictures... and I just pressed the "comment back" option on one of them, answered one of her questions (now that I think about it, I suspect it was a ploy for me to visit her page and notice she's now engaged... but I'm too cynical to pay any mind to a main picture that contains a rose and diamond ring in close proximity--fuck, I'm a retard), and ended with
"What have you been up to?"
She wrote back:
"Awesome! Que bueno... "

Which made me think "Ok... you didn't answer my question..." and there's nothing in this world that irritates me more than someone not answering one of my fucking questions (motherfucker, I went through the trouble of inquiring about you... do you know how special that makes you? Come on now! I don't talk to everybody, I'm like the elusive... mid to late 1990's Macaulay Culkin... in a female version... without his slight creepiness). I don't make small talk... I'd rather make no talk.

I was going through... I think it was my comment, and I looked once again at her main picture.

No shit.... is that... a... that better be a "the store was having a 'Going-out-of-business' sale so I bought you this" ring

I went to her page, realized my error... apologized repeatedly... then feigned excitement... well, not entirely, since I am happy for her, but deep down inside I'm also screaming "FUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHCKKKKKKKKK! I'm gonna die a spinster!!!!"

God... another wedding...

Anyway, in order to forget this somewhat uncomfortable ordeal, I have a funny anecdote from my travels:

In Rome, while walking down a small, crowded street, a man was walking toward us.

Clemson: Look! A Mormon!!
Me: They're in Rome?!!? Where?!
Clemson: (pointing) Right there.
TravelinDin: That's no mormon...

What did this guy look like? (I would have probably forgotten about this had I not bumped into a group of Hasidic Jews last night)

Needless to say, TravelinDin and I laughed for a good five minutes... constantly pointing out people that would MORE likely be Mormon... i.e. anyone else.
Clemson didn't find it as funny.
(Turns out, Clemson's never met a Mormon... she'd just heard that "they're weird" and found this guy "weird enough." Alright then... someone doesn't watch South Park...)

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Inalcanzable? No mames!

Heard just a couple of minutes ago:

"No, p'os dice tu papi que ya dicen los muchachos de *Mexican Hometown* que con este viaje a Europa, ustedes ya son inalcanzables para ellos."

Right... ok... like they wanted anything to do with me in the first place (TravelinDin? Yes. Me? They'd rather drink battery acid while getting kicked in the balls by a wild burro. However, the feeling is mutual. Whereas my sister wouldn't mind dating a guy from those parts, I'd much rather get eviscerated by the slowest bull in Pamplona.).

Dipshits (Los Muchachos, not my parents).

One last gem I got out of the same conversation with Mom:

Me: Your mocosa's quite popular with the Spanish crowd. They claim her as one of their own.
Mom: Yes. I'm not just saying this because she's my daughter, but TravelinDin is a beautiful girl!
Me: Yeah, the Spanish love her. She fits right in. I pretty much don't... they straight up call me "Native American" over there. Whatever.
Mom: Yeah... I ruined you by giving you my nose.

Thanks Mom! Just lovely!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

When in Rome... Part I

Ok, Rome time:
We spent 3 days discovering Rome, so I'm spreading the stories over 3 days.
Here's what happened on day 1.

On the plane to Rome, we sat next to the hottest guy ever... sadly, he was accompanied by his very touchy-feely, incredibly ugly boyfriend.
We weren't sad over the fact that Handsome Boy was taken by a dude, but the fact that he was taken by an ugly person.
Anyway, our plane landed at somwhere around 12PM? I can no longer remember, it was so long ago (not really, I just have really bad memory as of lately). We were immediately helped by a really attractive taxi driver guy... who found us a guy who would take us to our hotel.
He was very... he... well, he tried flirting... but it was like flirting with a wall.
He dropped us off at our gorgeous hotel, that was about 3 minutes away from the airport, and charged us 30 Euros... the fuckhead. I know for next time: flirt with the motherfucker!

This is where I almost get a coronary:
Turns out, TravelinDin and Clemson made reservations at hotels... but only for 2 people... meaning one would have to sneak in here, and in Paris.

What the FUCK?! I follow rules, retards! I'm not about to sneak in to shit. How fucking old do you think I am?

I was so pissed over this piece of information, I told them they were going to have to fight it out between themselves to see who'd be the other person to check in... because in both occasions, I was definitely going to check in at the Hotels as a guest.

Clemson then said she was going to be the other person checking in at this hotel, since her credit card was the one being charged for our stay.
Once we were getting closer to the check-in desk, TravelinDin and I started feeling guilty.

Me: Dude, fuck this shit... we'll just ask them to add another person to our room... we'll pay them on the spot if we must.
TravelinDin: Yeah, let's do that... I don't feel good about sneaking in.
Clemson: You guys worry too much...everything will be fine.

So we go, check in... TravlinDin is about to ask to please get added to our room when Clemson interjects:
"Oh, she's not with us! She's just helping us carry our bags."

Well, FUCK YOU, you cheap cunt!

TravelinDin just stared at me and shrugged.
The guy at the front desk knew what was going on, but he was being nice and didn't say a word.
We were given our ONE key, and we headed to our room to freshen up for our first day in Rome (see, it was about 30 minutes away from ROME Rome, so we had to ride the bus, to the metro into the city... therefore we saw it best if we were clean for that lengthy ride).

As the girls freshened up, I took pictures of our pretty hotel:(That vineyard would look cooler if covered with leaves...)(HDT is sitting on top of my favorite treat: Nutella!! I was going to bring some, but it was one of the many things I forgot last-minute at my sister's apartment)

Anyway, once everyone was ready, we headed for the bus stop, which was situated in the middle of the freeway... and we waited.
Once we saw the bus, Clemson asked "Does this takes us to Rome?"
The cool bus driver looked a little confused... so she asked again... he was still confused... so TravelinDin said "Roma?" and he nodded and told us to hop on in.
The ride was smooth... we saw little towns... then we were dropped at the bus station.
Clemson then asked the bus driver what we were supposed to do from there.
"Metro's down there..."
So we go down into the metro... and become even more confused. However, Clemson remembers that the Metro is actually pretty good... so she goes to a window to ask for a ticket.
TravelinDin was smart, and read a flier that mentioned the 3-day Tourist Pass for 11 Euros.
So, we purchased 3 (not before Clemson thinking what a great idea it would have been if we would have only purchased ONE and used it amongst us three... which once again... made me fume at the ears... and made me want to kick her repeatedly in the uterus... to prevent any more cheap rats from being born into the world. Why the fuck do you travel if you don't have the fucking money for it?!? SHIT!!).
We rode the metro to the very aptly named stop: Colosseo.
This was the first thing I saw when we exited the metro: Saaaa-weet, right? Well, I wasn't as amazed, because I was still pretty pissed about the whole "I just realized I went on Spring Break with the world's biggest cheapskate! Jesus Christ, please help me and keep me from smothering this bitch in her sleep!" realization.

Anyway, as we explored the coliseum and the arc that's right next to it, our tempers cooled... and we headed for the forums:(You can't tell, but the damn sun fucked up my picture... although, I shouldn't complain... that sun made the weather be around a nice, toasty 80 degrees)

This was to my right: (TravelinDin.... I'm immitating that one artists that blots out people's faces using brightly colored circles... like what we saw at the Guggenheim and Tate's Modern. Haha, anyway, this was the entrance to the garden of a very old church that had some very pretty "stations of the cross" carvings.)

This was to my left:
(The actual forums... blocked off by giant gates... to prevent cheapskates from getting in without paying. This was actually the exit)

The only cheapskate that could get in without paying was HDT:

We then decided we were going to visit the Trevi Fountain, eat "the best gelato ever," and call it a day (plus, we had no idea when the last bus ran... so we wanted to play it safe and actually catch a bus before it was too late).
So we walk around the Forums:
And head toward the fountain (I would have taken pictures of more monuments... but for some reason, italy thinks it's a great idea to have every single thing under construction... and hence, it covers the building with a very stupid white plastic sheath... fucking up all pictures).
On our way, we note that Italians are very... tactile people. So friendly:

It made me a little sad to notice the distance between TravelinDin and me... and we're siblings... where's the love, right?
Almost everyone in Rome walked holding another person... weird... cute weird.
Anyway, we finally reached our goal of finding the fountain... We purchased some souvenirs... bought this famous gelato (I had three flavors: raspberry, lime, and mango)... sat in front of the fountain... ate our gelato... people-watched... avoided the gypsies... thought "Fuck... gelato's vastly overrated"... then headed home.

Day one in Rome over.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

London Town.

Alright... so now that I have time to chit-chat about my stay in Europe, I'll do just that.
What better way to talk about things than with visual aids, correct?
I'll have Henry David Thoreau to show you around.

Today's episode will consist of my England stay, since it was the first place I hit when TravelinDin's Spring Break began.
(Fuck, I just realized this one will be the shortest entry, since I only hung out in England for 3 days... well... more like 2... with only one of those days actually being fun)
Ok, so here we have arrived at Stansted Airport... a little too late to be driven in to London (well, at least too late for a reasonable rate), so we decided to sleep at the airport until 7 in the morning. We slept on the floor, below the departure flights sign, right next to the girl's bathroom.
All other locations at the airport had been claimed by other cheapskate students who were on break just like TravelinDin and Clemson (I don't include myself because I'm on break indefinitely), and reach the area quicker than our clumsy selves. We used our bags as pillows... and I must say... it was the most annoying/uncomfortable 8 hours of my life... in which I only slept for 2.

Well, at 7, we take the... Easy Bus? I can't remember the name, but it was the cheapest transport into London (aside from having a relative drive you there), and it was raining... surprise, surprise.
The bus driver lady informs us that Victoria Station was closed due to "some demonstration," and Clemson asked "What kind of demonstration?"
Bus Driver: I think... it's a... St. Patrick's Day demonstration...
Clemson: Oh my God... what do they have against St. Patrick's Day over here? What's so wrong with St. Patrick's day?
I guess "Demonstration" is a Brit term for "parade." Way to confuse us, Brits.
Anyway, we were dropped off at some bus stop that was a couple of blocks away from Victoria Station--where we were originally going to be dropped off-- so we had to call my Bro to pick us up.
The weather looked like this:A little worse, though, because it was raining a lot, it was fucking freezing, we were wet, and there was wind. We stood around waiting for Bro to come pick us up for about half an hour.
We were not diggin' London at this point.

Once we were picked up, we purchased an all day ticket for "The Underground" (how cute... Underground... what ever happened to the word "metro?") for... I think it was 5 pounds... aka 10 bucks.
We headed to my brother's flat, and by now, my pants would fall down due to both being too large and the bottom of my pants being so incredibly soaked.
We met the roommates (who were all hungover and had barely gone to sleep after participating in some huge Pub Crawl the entire night), I changed clothes, hung my very soaked pants (poorly) on their heating system thingie, then had breakfast.
Everyone we bumped into at the building were nice, mature people. Huge contrast between the people in my sister's program... probably has a lot to do with the fact that the only people in the entire building are Notre Dame students... so there's no reason for them to be posers... no point in trying to impress others.
Anyway, after getting fed and whatnot, we headed out to meet London.First was Tate's Modern Museum.
We walked over that bridge you see to the left... I think it was called "The Millenium Bridge."
In the photo, we were leaving the museum, my brother's in the brown sweater behind HDT, and we turned right, toward a bunch of bridges.

This is London Bridge... you can't really tell, but HDT's rather disappointed.
No wonder they made that song about the bridge.En suite, we noticed Tower bridge ahead... so much better (Can you see how wet the floor is? The rain was incessant!).
We crossed Tower Bridge and hung out at the Tower of London. No pictures of that because, really, who wants to see something so depressing?
From there, we went to some store, where I purchased some Manchester United keychain that I was very excited about... only to fucking lose it on my way back to Vegas. I'm such an idiot.

Anyway, after that, we somehow got to Parliament Square, and I took my favorite shot of HDT:Big Ben is awesome... astounding... just... I stood there in awe of that ginormous clock. I couldn't stop thinking about Peter Pan, either.
We took tons of pictures there, but I'm only posting this one, since all others have my face in them... including the ONE picture I took of Westminster Abbey.

From there, we walked on over to St. James Park, where I took tons of pictures because you could see the London Eye in the background, there were cute squirrels everywhere... well, it was just awesome. The rain had stopped... so I wasn't even cold.
Anyway, in the distance, I saw this little cottage thing... so I decided that it will forever be known as HDT's home: (white building to the right)We then walked a little further to see, of freaking course, Buckingham Palace.
(Clemson's the girl in the hat)That wasn't even a good shot. I'm actually standing on the cool monument that is in front of the Palace... the very pretty roundabout.
The Queen was in, because the flag was flying high... and as we walked and checked out the gates, some giant hummer limo strolled by, with some rapper, filming a music video.
We pretty much stood there, dumb-founded, at how the hell they ever thought of filming a video there.
As we stood, glaring at the limo, TravelinDin noticed some little kid inside the palace looking out the window closest to us.
"There's fucking little kid in there!!" she said.

I just love how she manages to add that great descriptor in there... when referring to a child.
Anyway, we walked some more... and reached this very pretty church:The exact name I can't remember... but it's a Catholic one.
They were celebrating mass, so Brother and I listened a bit... but not too long, since TravelinDin and Clemson were standing outside drinking their expensive ass Starbucks.
We then decided we were hungry as hell... so Bro took us to a Chinese buffet.
8 pounds... for... tame Chinese food.

We ate until the sight of food started making us queasy, and we headed for Trafalgar Square.
Before we reached the square, Brother took us to his school... which was lovely... the old French Embassy that Notre Dame purchased.
We got a very funny inside joke thanks to that... right, TravelinDin? haha.
I met some of Bro's classmates/friends, looked through their books... stared at their aquarium... just... stood in awe for a bit... then headed back out (my brother's such a lucky punk).

Upon reaching Trafalgar Sqaure, we realized we had forgotten something:
London was celebrating St. Patrick's Day...
They had closed Trafalgar Square to hold a "demonstration," i.e. a concert celebrating St. Patrick's Day.
They somehow knew we weren't Irish (call me crazy, but I think it was thanks to my bro's brown sweater that read "Hecho en Mexico"... and the fact that both Bro and I are pretty damn brown in comparison to white people), so they were like "keep walkin'" and pushed us away, as they let some drunken white kids walk in there without a problem.
Alright. Whatever. Fuck you.

Sooooooooo. It was some sort of concert only white people were allowed to attend... white people rocking green.

We then walked a bit more... it got dark... we saw Big Ben lit up, The Eye was also lit, as were other monuments.
We checked out some sort of stable before we called it a day and headed back to the flat.

At the flat, I watched Flight of the Concords... laughed... then fell asleep as if someone had hit me upside the head with a bat.
I only woke up once a group of Brother's friends were in the room, laughing, and making plans to go out.

Bro's Friend: So, what pubs are we hittin'?
Us (Clemson, TravelinDin, and Me): None.
Bro's Friend: Why?
Us: We're leaving...
Bro's Friend: Like... tonight?
TravelinDin: Like, right now.
Bro's Friend: Ah, well... that sucks... I thought you guys were doing the crawl with us tonight.

Yeah, life sucks like that... he was pretty decent looking, too.

So, at 10:15PM we head out to the bus stop... only to see on our ticket that our bus was supposed to arrive at 10:20 PM.
The bus never showed.
We had to buy a 16 pound train ride to the Stansted airport... and we were all pretty pissed.
We hugged Brother goodbye... got a little teary eyed... then left to the airport, where we slept until... 9 AM?
Our plane took off to Rome at 10 AM, and that's how we said goodbye to good ol' England.
(of course, at the airport a ton of stupid shit occured... like, the people working at the cafe began recognizing us, we reassorted our luggage contents, the cunt at the entrance of the security checkpoint worried me by telling me I could only have ONE piece... I had to somehow shove my purse into my carry-on... when everyone else was fucking walking around with a purse AND a carry-on... this in turn made me get in a nasty fit with Clemson... who was being a moron... but I bit my tongue because I think there's something wrong with going off on a girl 4 years my junior, etc, etc)

I'll end it all by saying:
I loved London... even if it's expensive as fuck... even if my problems with Clemson began to escalate from there... even if I only really saw it for a day... even if it was cold and rainy as fuck... even if the stupid cops were racist douche bags... even if the streets were taken over by drunken people of Irish ancestry.

I was in London to celebrate St. Patrick's Day... in the company of kids from a school that have "the fighting Irish" as a mascot.
Fuck. Yes.

Sunday, April 13, 2008


(Yesterday after church, waiting outside for Mom to come out, my mom's sister hugs me after seeing me for the first time in a month)

Aunt: AnoMALIE! You lost weight!
Me: Really?
(internally) It's only been a month... how the hell did that happen?
Aunt: Yeah... your face is like... your cheeks are caved in... your head's longer.
Me: Oh... well... thanks.

Sweet way to put it, I say. I now know where I get my (lack of) eloquence. Ha!

Anyway, at US customs at LAX, the immigration officer in charge of letting me back in the country asked me one question before stamping my stuff:
Officer: Italy... Spain... England... France... interesting places you visited. What did you learn?
Me: (internally) Fuck... think fast... tell the truth... don't... I was supposed to learn something? (spoken) That the French are RUDE.

The officer stoically goes about looking through my passport and reading my declaration of things I'm importing.

Shit... is he of French ancestry? Fuck! I must have pissed him off... way to go, AnoMALIE... way to put your fucking foot in your mouth... Now you're going to get checked and you only have an hour to get to your gate!

Officer: How about Italy?
(I read his badge. Officer Stewart. Great, what kind of fucking name is that? What are you, white man?!)
Me: Nicest people I've ever met.
Officer: Spain?
Me: ... well... they're my ancestors...
Officer Stewart: So they're good people by default.
Me: Isn't that the way it works?
Officer Stewart: And England?
Me: Loved it... absolutely amazing. My favorite place.
Officer Stewart: Thank you Ms. Dos Santos, welcome back.

As I waited for my flight time to come, and as I flew (and wasn't too busy cursing the day those fucking bachelor party guys' parents met), I kept wondering:
What did I learn?

Here's what I've come up with so far:
- I like the idea of a metro system (although, we all know if that existed here, people would fuck it up ASAP)
- I am a total nature freak... ok, that sounds harsh... more like, I enjoy nature way more than the average bear.
- Green fields relax me.
- I'm totally blessed... and not to sound conceited or anything, but God really, really likes me... like... he takes care of me more than I give him credit for (so many stories I have regarding the many ways I could have died, but didn't... because of something more than sheer "luck").
- European old people, especially Spanish old people, are freaking adorable and super nice! I love them!
- I'm popular with old men... and no, I'm not talking men 10-15 years older than me, I'm talking 35+ years... like... old people. They think I'm so freaking fantastic and amusing... they make me feel like a star. I was born in the wrong generation, damn it.
- Europeans cuss a lot. I love it.
- Given the choice between eating or cleanliness, I will ALWAYS choose cleanliness (ex. pay 8 Euros to eat somewhere, or 15 Euros for detergent, I will ALWAYS choose detergent. I'll just... eat... leaves or something for the next couple of days...)
- I never fully appreciated America's beauty. While I don't really care for architecture in America, nature here is awesome... and I miss it when I'm away (I'm talking ALL of America, not just the US).
- I never knew I liked sandstone so much...
- I take water for granted.
- American tourists are the fucking stupidest tourists ever. So fucking ethnocentric and retarded... they made me ashamed to be American most of the time. By "American" I mean "United States."
- US people are really disliked in Europe... like... really disliked. I've never been so glad to be "Mexican-American." Most of the time, I just said I was "Mexican."
- I really HATE drunks. I despise them... and the nastiest part of me comes out whenever I'm criticized for not drinking... I get MEAN.
- I don't drink (here I though I'd drink it up while away from the folks... but no... I just don't participate in that activity. What a relief).
- I get really offended by people who aren't willing to help. I get driven to tears. I'm such a pussy.
- I'm too emotional.
- It doesn't take much to make me happy.
- I can see the beauty in almost anything.
- A ton of my... well... customs... come from Spain... and it makes me very happy when I realize each one... even the bad ones.
- I love my siblings... love them a lot.

The list may go on... cause dude, did I learn things!

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Dirty Girl


That ride sucked.

Two of my 4 flights were delayed.
(Warning: Long post!)

My flights in Spain were all on time, however in Heathrow, it was a different story.
Let me start off with my flight in Barcelona.
Upon arriving in Barcelona from Bilbao, I only had 1 hour and 15 minutes before my connecting flight to LHR took off.
So I land with only a five minute delay. Lucky for me, I had been to BCN earlier this week after the Barcelona game. I knew where to go... but when I arrived... I was a little confused.
I had to exit the airport, come back in, check in at the British Airways counter... and when I walked to the counter, I saw a huge nightmare: a gaggle of Brit kids (about 30 of them between 12-14 years old) making line to check their luggage.
I started getting unnerved... even after reaching the counter, because the lady was so damn slow. She gave me my seats for both the BCN-LHR flight and the LHR-LAX flight.
Afterwards, I had to run through security checkpoint, where I stood behind 3 of the most senile 20-something year olds; slow as a motherfucker... and also this one lady that wouldn't remove her fucking jewelry. I wanted to slap that damn woman on the fourth time she walked by the metal detector and alarmed.

I was on my A game, I was wearing no metal... not even in my bra (I learned that fucking lesson.Wear a sports bra, genius!), and I just passed on by.
I ran to my gate, and reached it right as they began to board.
However, before getting into the actual plane, I had to pass by customs. I was asked about my trips, the officer was a little skeptical about my actual date of entry (people stamped my passport all jacked up when I traveled for spring break), but finally stamped my passport and let me on the plane.
I was middle seat. Booooo.

There was turbulence getting in to LHR, but I survived.
I made perfect timing for my LHR-LAX flight, boarded, took my seat, watched an episode of "Flight of the Concords" (I LOVE that show now. I watched it at my brother's flat back in London, and couldn't stop laughing), but noticed the plane wasn't going anywhere after the episode was over.

OK... what the fuck?

Turns out some pilot guy was lost... there was a huge storm going on somewhere near Greenland or something... and, well, point is, we sat in the plane for 2 whole hours. I watched all of "Brick Lane" while waiting for take-off, for crying out loud.
Once in air, I was pretty chill... if it weren't for the lady sitting in the window seat of my row. She took ownership of the seat next to me, and went as far as put her feet ON me as she slept (and she also took my complimentary pillow!!).
People would confuse her for my mom... which dumbfounded me, since she was Indian (from India), wearing a sari... and I think I look pretty damn Mexican, damn it! How do I look Indian? Is it my eyebrows again? Sorry, man, I couldn't find a threading place while in Spain... wait... people who thread eyebrows are Indian... my bad... ok, now I get it.

Anyway, I arrived at LAX an hour and a half later than expected, and by the time I passed customs, it was 8:45 PM... my plane to Vegas took off at 9:45PM.
So I get on this stupid ass shuttle, once in there, I realize it's taking people to lot C, not the terminals.
So I plead to get off at terminal 7, the terminal the was after the terminal I had originally exited from.
I stood around waiting for the damn airport terminal shuttle until 9 PM, once it didn't come, I just said "Fuck it," grabbed my two 44-pound suitcases and hauled ass... to terminal 1.... at LAX... with some very fucking stupid people who'd just stand there in my way.
I ran... a lot... and I mean a lot, by the time I reached terminal 1, I was covered in sweat, regardless of the 60-degree weather. My blue track jacket was looking black, with my all-encompassing sweat stain on the back.
My hair was greasy as shit, my eyes were blood shot from the lack of sleep (I once again watched movies until my eyes hurt. "The Savages" made me cry... I liked it even if I couldn't hear a good amount of the movie [maybe I'm biased to like Laura Linney. She's pretty rad]. "Walk Hard" just irritated me, sadly.), a white toothpaste stain on the right (boob) side of my blue shirt (why must I do that whenever I'm in a hurry?), and once again, I was pretty damn incoherent... oh, and I was panting, obviously... and my shoes squeaked a lot.
Once I reached the check-in counter, the stupid girl checking me in was taking her sweat ass time... talking with all her fucking stupid buddies... I was so fucking irritated.
They pretty much thought I was some crazy person (yeah, like that's some sort of fucking novelty in Los Angeles... stupid fucks) and I even got this bizarre stare from the guy at the security checkpoint (you know, the "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" look. What, you mean you don't get those?) because I hadn't shown him my boarding pass (suck it, old man. Fuck you, you'd be panting and greasy and fucked up if you had been running around, in-and-out of airports for 23 hours, give me a fucking break!).
I ran to my gate, saw they were boarding... showed the lady my ticket... she screamed at me
"This isn't your flight!"
which made me stand there in huge confusion.
Umm... it says Las Vegas... it's Southwest... it's 9:45 PM... it's gate 13... what the fuck? Don't tell me I missed my flight!
Turns out "my flight" had ben delayed until 10:30 PM.

So... I took a seat... scared the cholo sitting next to me (that's right, I scared him)... I don't know... maybe it was my newly-acquired European funk... and I whipped out my cell phone.
Ah yes... I'm in AMERICA! God bless you, American continent!
I sent text messages to my heart's content, and waited for the time to fly by.

In the plane, I sat next to some Rico Suave who was going to head straight to the club from LAS... and all around me, these stupid ass fucking retarded pricky white boys took up 6 seats... screaming, laughing, talking shit about everything, talking about how much money they have...
"Wooo hooo! VEGAS BABY!" "WE OWN THIS CITY!" "I've been there like, 3 fucking times, dude, I KNOW this city!" etc.
Turns out one of the guys (20 years old, mind you) is getting married in two weeks and the other guys decided to throw him his bachelor party in Vegas.
They were sort of friendly, I guess... maybe it was the beers in them.
But anyway, they talked... and talked... and shared so much fucking information (ex. "This guy, man, he's getting married in two weeks! To his sister [points to the ONE cute guy of the bunch] and you know what? He's probably the only fucking virgin on this flight! I can't believe I'm in the presence of a fucking virgin, man! A GUY virgin! This girl is REALLY going to be his first everything"... to which I thought "Holy shit, a GUY virgin!? OMG... I can't believe it either!"), I wanted to punch them in the back of the head after a while.

And, at 11:30 PM, I finally reached Las Vegas, saw my folks holding my luggage, hugged them and looked very uncool kissing them and whatnot, in front of the bachelor party, but whatever.
We got lost in the parking lot (my folks forgot where they had parked) where I became somewhat upset and muttered
"What the fuck?! How the fuck?! Shit man! What the fuck? You guys really ARE old!"

Then I felt bad because I think I hurt daddy's feelings (he walked away, and when he found the car, parked a floor below, he only called us to let us know, and stayed seated in the car).

Poor dad... I don't see him for 4 weeks... he's been through a lot with this whole hepatitis scare... and I call him "old" and drop the f-bomb like I'm getting paid for it right in his face.

I'm so bad... I'm giving the French people a run for their money.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Goodbye (hello?) Sunshine?

I was groped... and I mean GROPED on Tuesday when heading back to Bilbao from Barcelona.
I always forget my bra will alarm at checkpoint...
I hadn't gotten searched before at the airports... but this time the woman looked all pissed... motioned for me to spread my arms and legs... and bam... she got to work.
When she touched my chest, I was like "Whatever, man, like that's never happened..." (in Barcelona, the men were so fucking touchy-feely.... and they stared down my chest as if it were some sort of public property... like a park or something... shamelessly... weirdos), then she straight up groped my crotch... which made me "whoa, there!" out loud.
C'mon, lady, I wasn't being introduced to a jail or anything... why go that far?

ANyway, I leave tomorrow morning... back on to Vegas... from what I hear, it's pretty nice.
Mom wrote me (she uses the internet now!! how fucking cute!) to tell me about the weather... and how he front yard is covered in roses... how delicious it smells... and our backyard smells delicious as well, with our orange and lemon trees (citrus trees are fucking awesome).
So... I'm pretty glad to be heading back to my city... to America in general...

I'm not happy to be leaving my sister, though.
Poor girl... she's going to have it rough.
The kids she has to live with are fucking assholes...
Fucking 21 and 22 year olds that behave like goddamn 16 year olds...

They get shitfaced at least twice a week... and they think anyone who's not into drinking is a "loser."
I hope they keep thinking that way when they're on some street corner asking for change, holding a sign that says "Why lie? I need a beer."

Last night they threw a "dinner party" and invited everyone (from their school program) to the thing. Everyone but my sister.
I didn't really give a shit... but if that's what they're going to be doing to her after I'm gone, I'll make sure to give them a sweet asskicking today.
NO ONE mistreats my sister... and especially without reason.

I wish the poor kid didn't have to stay here alone...
I wish these punk ass stupid fucks would be upfront about their goddamn problems so they could actually resolve some shit...

Fuck... I hate drunks.

Monday, April 7, 2008

They stole my heart

So... it was my last full day in Barcelona today... and all I have to say is this:
I love it here...

I now know what my tattoo will look like... and I am excited to get it (I didn´t get it here because I don´t trust the needles...).

I´m sad to be leaving this place... but my heart will always belong to Barcelona.

P.S. Thing I don´t like? they treat Columbus like a God... and Native Americans like dogs... NOT cool.

Saturday, April 5, 2008



I love everything about it... even their confusing metro.
People and places are a little eccentric... but Jesus, do I love it here!

I never thought I would be someone to say this, but, ever been to a place and just felt like you belonged there? That is exactly how I felt upon arriving at the city... even if it was a drunken hippy who greeted little sister and me with an ¨Hola guapa!!¨ and then tried hugging sister like he knew her.

Gaudi... that man...
And yesterday I hung out at the Guggenheim (sp?) and checked out their art (US modern art and world wide surrealism) and found myself yearning for home. The US really is beautiful... I just grew jaded to it (why the fuck do I miss Utah and Arizona when I grew up in neither place?)
Anyway, tomorrow I watch Barcelona play at Camp Nou... living one of my sister´s biggest dreams.
Then I come home Tuesday morning ( Home being Bilbao) then to HOME home, Vegas, on Friday night.
Crazy 4 weeks I have lived so far...
I am so freaking stoked!

Thursday, April 3, 2008

How I spend my day

Eric Clapton- seriously, it takes you seven fucking minutes to sing about a damn girl called Layla? Fuck.

I've been listening to some music I would never have imagined... Eric Clapton being one of them (not something I enjoyed).

I've also had conversations like this one:

TravelinDin: Dude, I think *CuteItalianRoommate* is using my scrubber…
Me: Okay… ??
TravelinDin: No, not okay! Whatever I use to clean my genitals is not okay for you to use to clean your genitals!
Me: Eww… good point…

Little Sister cracks me up sometimes.

My time here is dwindling down, and I seem to be a lot more upset about it than I had originally planned (maybe I didn't "plan" on being sad, but I expected to be a bit sad once time to say goodbye came around).
Last night I sat around with TravelinDin for hours, lamenting my pending departure.
The weather probably has a lot to do with it as well. It had been raining for 3 days… cloudy ever since Sunday.
Saturday was amazing… warm, and sunny. We took that shit for granted.

I wish I could come back to this place as often as possible, but we all know that will never happen… this was all just… a lovely little dream I’ll never get to relive again.
I'm almost home... yucky.