Just ain't cuttin' it!

I'm still shopping around... like a madwoman.
I'm having the toughest time finding dress clothes.
Why? Well, I've noticed a trend.
Check it:

They either do this to me:
(That's how it looks if you're looking straight at me)(and there's no point trying to look down my dress...)

Or:

This.

Can't there be a happy middle? You know, one that doesn't make me look like a psychedelic potato sack... but also keeps me from looking like a Spearmint Rhino "librarian"...
(supposedly, you can button up that shirt... but the fucking holes are sown together!)
An unhappy Spearmint Rhino librarian, at that.
(all this complaining, AND I STILL buy the damn thing!!! God!)

Right around the corner: Mexico time!

While I leave to Mexico on the 16th, Mom and my brother are leaving Sunday night... possibly Saturday night.
That means I must have my luggage and toiletries ready by tomorrow... which is a huge fucking burden because I haven't purchased shit. Well, ok, I have... I just haven't purchased vital things, like shampoo (Head & Shoulders citrus smell... as dangerous as it may be. One of my friends told me she wanted to lick me after hugging me the other day, which freaked me out because it came out of nowhere... and I don't really appreciate people licking me), body wash (that one made out of marshmallows), and all that stuff.
I also don't have the dresses I'll need for the weddings that are going to be taking place over there during the summer... those famed weddings.
Don't get me wrong... I've been going in and out of stores since Monday... or was it Tuesday? of last week, but I just don't find anything I like.

Anyway, I need to hand those off to Mom because I don't plan on taking any luggage with me to the airport... because that's just a damn hassle... and since Mom and bro are going in the truck, I can give them as much junk as I please.

I can't wait until Monday... when it's all done... and all I have to worry about is that damn wedding on the 14th (God... if I only wrote about the shit that's going on with that thing. I've been fighting off the urge to just quit that shit already! But no, I love my friend and I'll stick it out with the poor girl... it's not her fault things are getting fucked up).

Guess what I'll be doing for two weeks...

Yes...

I will be...

Crying and missing my mom, brother, and dog.

... and paying my credit card bill (the total equalled $1,132... not what I had previously said. How the hell that happened? I HUNG OUT WITH "GIRLY" GIRLS! Never again... at least never again three times in a row like that. That shit's expensive! Not to mention embarrassing)...

... and fighting with my dad over yoga NOT being a sin (wtf? I had the stupidest argument last night with him over that. He straight up told me I was committing a sin by participating in yoga, and I got inflamed and started talking back. "I'm NOT worshipping Buddha, DAD!! They're just stretches!! And if there would be some sort of praying and whatnot, I could easily just think about Jesus and turn it into some... Christian thing. I'm not sinning!!" then we got into it about non-Christians and hell... it got NASTY I tell you... all over YOGA! I can't stand fundamentalism sometimes!)...

... and looking for my Passport (I lost it... in my room somewhere...).

Fun times are ahead!

Taking the memory out of Memorial Day weekend

Rough weekend/week.

God... what day of the week is it?

I'm not quite sure what's happened since I last wrote... but what I can remember:
1) Slutty shirts= Loaded drinks... I mean, why don't you just bring me the fucking rum bottle already, instead of my 13 dollar so-called "Mai Tai"?
2) I'll eat any kind of seafood when buzzed... and it actually tastes good to me.
3) I'm a flirt... an annoying flirt, when intoxicated.
4) I will never again wear a white top when going out to drink... I spill all over the place and it turns into a wet t-shirt contest we ALL DO NOT need to watch... Jesus...
5) I go a little crazy with the "tip" when drunk... I somehow owe $1,136 bucks on my credit card, all from this weekend... FUCK ME... I'm DEAD!
6) I fought the urge to drunk-text Mr. Darcy this entire weekend. I almost confessed to him on... Friday night? I'm not sure what day it was... but I'm just glad I somehow held that back.
7) I went to a beauty pageant... it was the worst 6 hours of my life... WORST.
8) I learned beauty pageants are rigged. Where the fuck has integrity gone in this country if we can't even trust beauty pageants?
9) I somehow went to mass twice this weekend... both times thinking about, and looking forward to, the great sins I was going to commit later on those nights... I'm horrible.
10) A close friend of mine told me about their recent attempted suicide. I didn't know how to react to the news. I just sort of sat there... with a glazed-over look, debating whether to empathize and lend my shoulder for them to cry on, or go ape shit and start knocking things over while screaming at my friend what a bonehead, selfish move that was. I went for the "bob and smile as I grab for my right foot to place over my left knee with my left hand" look. I hate being passive-aggressive... that shit's going to kill me some day.
11) I saw a lot of Jason Bourne this weekend.
12) Oh my God... what did I do yesterday?
13) I've been fighting off a pinched nerve near my left ass cheek... it REALLY annoys me and paralyzes me at the most inconvenient times... but I don't feel it at all after a couple of drinks.
14) I'm tired... so fucking tired... and it's noticeable... I keep hearing it from everyone.

I need a break from this break.
Please... no more drinking.

Orders are orders.

[Last night, in the parking lot of a Japanese restaurant, after a couple of martinis and sake]

Sunny: Ladies, remember, we're going out tomorrow night!
TravelinDin: Hell yeah!
Sunny: You know what that means: wear the sluttiest thing possible!
AnoMALIE04: Yup!
Random guy standing outside the restaurant: YEAAAAAAAAH!
Sunny: I'm serious... you hear that, AnoMALIE?

When singled out like that... you know you have to take action.

Needless to say, I'm not looking forward to this thing.

Mornings

I've been waking up at an ungodly hour ever since my siblings came back from Europe.

Those punks wake up at 7-8 in the morning, so by 9 in the morning, they're loud as hell.
They're either showering... or eating... or having an argument of some sort.

So... by 9 o'clock, I'm usually rolling out of bed, since I'm obviously not going to get any more sleep.

Why can't they be more like me?
Wake up early? Well... sit there and ponder shit.
Like... electric cars... the U.S.-Mexico border... drug lords... what would you do if you could fly?
Things like that.

Don't fight... hold off on showering until... at least 11 AM... and please, PLEASE, if you're going to cook... make it as un-aromatic as possible. Once jalapeño permeates the air... it's kind of mandatory to get up.



My eyes are tired.

Soccer stuff, yet again

WOOOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Someone's getting fucked up tonight!!

For a second there, I almost vomited when Ronaldo missed his damn spot kick... but thank God for slippery grass.

I did KIND OF feel sorry for Chelsea... first they lose Drogba because he has a bad temper and bitch slaps people when he's upset, then their team captain misses his shot that would have defeated Manchester... and finally, well, that poor guy gets his shot blocked by Manchester's badass goalie.

I'm in fucking heaven right now.

:DDDDDDDDDDD

Single child no longer

Today marks my last day as an "only child."

Older Bro comes in tomorrow night, and TravelinDin, while already in the U.S., will come to Vegas on Monday.

How have I spent this last day?
Listening to loud music... playing Guitar Hero (expert level... and let me tell you, that shit is HARD!)... and driving TravelinDin's car.

I'm going to miss being an only child.
Back to screaming and fighting... arguing and kicking/slapping/punching/getting in each other's face.

How lovely.
[Time goes by wayyyy too fucking fast]

Little Blue!

At risk of getting my ass kicked by TravelinDin (ok, so she wouldn't kick my ass... or at least, CAN'T. Her talent is screaming. She would definitely scream the hell out of me until I'd threaten physical violence), I'll confess something:

I'm in love...
with her car.

Yes... I said it... I love that damned little blue diesel engine Volkswagen.

I've been driving it around from time to time.
It's comfortable... fast... the mileage is AWESOME... and gas is free.
Sure... it pollutes the Earth and Leonardo DiCaprio would give me an earful on how I should be driving a hybrid.... but you don't understand: I DON'T HAVE TO PAY FOR DIESEL!
...and the little car sounds like a little jet.

I. LOVE. IT.

Now that TravelinDin is coming home on Monday... I'm starting to see these last few days with the Jetta as... well... sad.
I'll miss you, little guy!

It's back to Bambi for me... the whore that only gives me 17 miles to the gallon (on a good day!)... and it definitely doesn't use diesel.
Bitch!

Nice try, but no

Recently, Dad's been giving me... compliments.
Not your typical compliments... they're sort of... backhanded.

[Mom and Dad are eating in the kitchen, while I stand at the counter reading some mail]
Dad: You know... after all... AnoMALIE looks so much prettier thin than fat.
Me: What?
Dad: Like... you can actually see your face now.
Me: ... Thanks....

[We're driving around, headed to the restaurant Mom picked for Mother's Day. I'm looking out my window because I get sort of car sick when I'm in the back of the Jetta and face forward]
Dad: You know... AnoMALIE has really huge, dark eyes...
Mom: You just noticed that?
Dad: They're really big... and really dark... really dark features... her eyebrows and eyelashes... and eyes.
Me: [internally] What the fuck did I do? Keep your eyes on the road, "dad!"
Dad: She could totally pass for an Arab... [looking at me through the rear view] you should wear those... what are they? Veils? The ones where they cover their entire face and all you can see are their huge dark eyes... you'd totally pass for an Arab.
Me: Thanks, Dad... thanks...

[I'm cleaning an old school "professional" camera that I haven't used since my High School days. I remembered I hadn't finished the roll of film that had been in it since 2003, so I was getting it ready for a "photoshoot" with Tyson]
Dad: Whatever happened to that phase where you wanted to be a photographer?
Me: I wanted to be a photographer?
Dad: No money in it, or what?
Me: No... it was more like a hobby. I had to drop it once... more important things came into the picture, like COLLEGE and Biology.
Dad: Do they get paid well?
Me: If you're good at it... and have a good camera... Why? Wanna buy me a new camera so I can give it a shot? Maybe I'll be more motivated to take pictures if I had a new camera... ::smile big and fake::
Dad: With that money, I'll just buy you a [said some sort of caliber, but I was off dreaming about my camera and how fucking awesome it would be to finally have it in my eager hands] for when you get in the DEA... it'll serve as motivation for you to get that six pack you've been talking about.
[I made the mistake of mentioning it... JOKINGLY after the job fair in February, and he took that shit very seriously. He swears I'm going to join the DEA and the idea just elates him! He must love the idea of his quiet, good girl busting drug lords while holding a gun and yelling obscenities... probably as I stand there in a rolled-up wifebeater... showing my ripped stomach... very a la Lara Croft or some shit. All so he can claim giving life to me... along the way, giving me these "Arab" features he talks so damn much about. Not going to happen, Dad. Not. Gonna. Happen.]

My dad... what a charmer!

Oh no she di'nt!

What the hell do you do when an ex-high school teacher of yours requests to be your friend on Facebook?

I'm at a loss for words right now...
Confused... dude... understatement... [Why does she want to be my friend? WHY does she have a Facebook account? What genius told her about Facebook???]
I added her anyway... you know... to be nice... she did give me 8's out of 9 on my practice AP exams (which gave me a false sense of security... since in the end, I only scored a 3 in both English AP exams that I took... too low to be accepted by cheap ass UNLV).

What is it with me and teachers?

MY Mom

I've never been as attached to Mom as, say, TravelinDin.
Yes, I love Mom dearly, but our personalities tend to clash... especially in my teen years... and once in a while now.
She's more on the strict side... she's umm... controlling and hardheaded to say the least.
There's no way in hell you'll be able to change my mother's mind once she's made it.

Of course, as a kid, I hated everyone BUT Mom.
I'd cry whenever anyone would approach me. I'm sure I've mentioned how the first word I learned to utter was "NO!!" only because I'd say that whenever anyone would try and approach me as I sat in Mom's arms (and I'd bury my head into her shoulder and continue to whisper "No... no... no!" until the person went away).
I had this freak attachment to her probably up until I was 6.
It was such a freak attachment, that I'd take to crying so hard that I'd pass out whenever I'd be out of Mom's sight.
I remember two instances of this happening:

When Mom's brother died, the Perfect Dad, I remember a ton of things... even if I was only 4 years old at the time.
I remember Mom receiving the news and how she reacted... how we all reacted.
I remember the truck ride to Oakland and how mom would periodically burst into tears and sobs.
I remember when we got off the truck and entered my aunt's home late at night.
I remember my cousin (the one who was in the plane with me in that one "Strap Yourself" entry) letting me play with her white Barbie Horse on the front lawn as the adults stayed inside and went through the whole mourning process.
I also remember what it was like inside that house.
Crowded... everyone crying... the kids all in my boy cousin's (the one in the same plane as my bro in Strap Yourself) room playing "Punch Out" while that boy cousin just sat there... with the saddest eyes I've ever seen... drawing "Duck Tales"... often with tears streaking down his face and wetting the paper he was using.
This scene, from all of them, would captivate me most.
I'd walk into the room and see what was going on... then walk over to my cousin as he drew... until Mom would come to check in and I'd leave with her.
Well, one time, she didn't come in... and the boys were getting rowdy ("Ooooooo!! I'm kicking your ass!!!" "No you're not!!" "You're cheating!!!" etc), which scared me, so I walked out of the room alone.
Next thing I know, I'm confused... I have no clue where I am... and all these adults are doing the whole "Aww!! Come here, cutie in the booties!!" "What big eyes you have!!" "And who are you, little one?" then trying to grab me.
Of course, this bewildered the shit out of me, so I broke into loud "Where's MY Mom?!" sobs and bawled.
Then everything's black.
I wake up slung over my Godfather's (Mom's little bro) left shoulder, and he's petting my back.
He cheers me up by playing around with me, then he hands me to Mom... from whom I don't ever part... for that day, of course.

The second instance of me crying until I pass out came up in kindergarten, and I told Mom about this one, since she wasn't aware.
It was a Friday, and we were waiting to be dismissed for the day. I don't know which day exactly was going to be mother's day, just that it was that weekend.
We each had our little hand-made gift we were going to give our Mom's:
A rose made of tissue paper and pipe cleaners, with the "vase" being a cardboard circle rolled into a cone.
I clearly remember my "vase" being very decorative... with a white and red motif... and the rose, of course, was red.
I have no clue why I did this, but, I guess I got a little nostalgic... or I just wanted to leave right then... but point is, I started missing my mom like crazy, so I started to cry.
I remember the teacher asking the kids around me what was wrong, and them just shrugging.
"She just started to cry... I think she misses her mom...?"
I remember this embarrassed me... so I cried some more (lame, I know).
"I want my Mommmmmmmmm!!!"
I cried... and cried... and cried...
Until, once again, everything went pitch black.
I woke up lying on the floor, with the kids making a circle around me and staring.
I remember thinking "What's their problem??" grabbing my fake flower and vase, dusting myself off... and looking around, asking "What???"
I made line at the classroom door, and waited patiently for Mom.

Yep.
So, here's my entry dedicated to
MY Mom on American Mother's Day (You see, Mexican Mother's Day was yesterday)
The lady that unknowingly turned me into a narcoleptic as a child...
The lady whose kids seem to be so possessive of... they constantly confuse their friends when they refer to her as "MY Mom"
(TravelinDin made me laugh when she told the story of how the kids in her study abroad program were confused when they heard her and Older Brother talk about our parents.
Bro: How's my dad doing?
TravelinDin: I haven't talked to my dad, but AnoMALIE said he's doing OK.
Bro: How about my mom?
TravelinDin: I talked to my mom yesterday, and she said she's doing alright.
Some chick: Wait, wait, wait! You guys have the same parent's, right?
TravelinDin: Yeah...
Some other chick: Ok... we just thought it was confusing how you guys each referred to your folks as "MY Mom" and "MY Dad." We first thought you guys had different dads... but then you did the same thing with your mom... so we were confused.
I never noticed we did that until Chase brought it up a couple years back)

"Why you cryin'?!"

Myspace looks more like Facebook with the passing of days.

It was a couple of weeks ago that I noticed Myspace had added "Apps" to their site.
Of course, the reason I learned this, was because so many people added the "Truth Box" application to their site.

From my list of friends, it appeared that guys were the most eager to get people to sign it.
"Wanna let me know how you really feel?! Then use my damn Truth Box!!! It's Anonymous!"
And so on.

Alright, want me to be honest? You don't have to ask me twice (although a couple of friends posted about 5 bulletins letting us know that we better sign the damn thing, so I signed in order to get my damn page from showing me *Bassist buddy* had posted five bulletins, each two minutes apart, about his fucking Truth Box).

So I go off on a truth-telling binge with these dudes.
The most mention-worthy is *Bassist Buddy*. I told him how I think he's awesome, how I'm so glad he's happy with his new girl, how I appreciate his friendship since 7th grade, and since we were already talking about 7th grade, yeah, I had a mad crush on him back then and that's why I'd leave the area each time he came near me.

He responded all chirpy and happy, typical man after being told he's attractive. We caught up on each other's lives... then he invited me to some concert for a band I don't really care about.

I was so high from making someone's day with my truth-telling, that I went ahead and did another one yesterday... another Truth Box comment, that is.
This time, I went all out.
I seriously dug deep and let the kid have it.
Which kid was it?
Artistic Boy.
I told him exactly what I thought.
Yes... especially how STUPID I felt when he came out... and no, not because he was gay or anything, but because he allowed me and a couple of other friends to go on fighting with BigMouth over Artistic Boy writing that note to HotColorBlindMormon Boy. That I felt bad knowing he had opted to go through that kind of ostracism alone, rather than have us all with him, showing him support.
So someone's gay... SO WHAT?! Don't suffer alone thinking we're going to banish you from the group... maybe if you were a pedophile we'd drop you like a sack of potatoes... but... nah man, sexual orientation has nothing to do with who we choose to associate.

Well... that response led to Artistic Boy crying... and us having one of the most heartfelt conversations ever... to the point where I was semi-uncomfortable.

I guess... he didn't know that we ALL knew about the letter he had written... he thought HotColorBlindMormon Boy had only shown BigMouth and some female friend of Artistic Boy.
I told him, only after he asked, that in fact, we ALL knew... well... all us Senior AP kids. If you had an AP class, then... you... probably knew what was going on... sorry, dude... but it's true... it spread like wild fire.
However, I did let him know that most of us were supportive of him and we just turned against HotColorBlindMormon Boy [and his homophobic, quick-to-damn-others crew] and BigMouth.

Then I ended it all by telling him to "Quit crying, already!"

I'm tough, I know... it's the Mexican in me.

And as for the Truth Box... well... fuck that [I'll keep filling them out because I'm a masochist].

More Proof I'm Unlikable (at least not despicable, yet)

Just when you think you don't (or at least, didn't) have enemies, you read something like this on a friend's Myspace:

"now i like her, [AnoMALIE] that is

the only responsable one =]

thank god for her..cuz u and [Sunny] and [TravelinDin]..van de mal a peor..oh dios mio :o"

Sure, she likes me now... but when the fuck didn't she like me? I was never aware... I'd always greet her like a moron!

I noticed this comment as I saw some photos (extremely unflattering, by the way) on my friend's Myspace (AnoMALIE04).
I saw she had a new main picture, I clicked, saw her new albums... and then I saw that comment that Sunny's little sister left (on a picture of just Sunny and me... where I looked like a fucking horse!).

Shit, I tell you guys... I'm not paranoid... people really don't like me.
Why?
The world may never know.

I'm pissed now.
(Add that to uninspired and depressed. AnoMALIE's world has been getting darker and darker as the days progress. WTF?)

8th grade all over again

I'm so screwed.

This weekend, one of my buddies since middle school is throwing a... I guess "8th grade class of 1998" reunion in conjunction with her own going away party.

This of course, originally made me ecstatic.
I haven't seen most of these people (including her) since graduating and moving on to the hell that was high school.
8th grade was amazing... and the last year I was ever "officially" ghetto. And not even that ghetto considering I was in "Algebra Club" (how fucking retarded... it was a class... not a club... I have no clue why they considered us a club, when not everyone could join the class, especially if you couldn't get a proper grasp on mathematical concepts, but whatever... "Math Club" it will forever be known as) AND orchestra [God, I loved these kids... and it's so sad to know that some of them are even dead now... like that big guy in the middle... all thanks to Iraq]
(although, my school was a prime example of all those stupid movies they make of inner-city kids having mad skills and overcoming adversity by playing the shit out of their instruments--or I guess dancing, as is the case recently-- and positioning themselves in the top spot of the city's middle school orchestra group, even beating out rich kids in their private schools with their private lessons and all that bull I never believed in... and I still scoff at whenever I notice it in movies. I can't believe I took a part in such a thing, unknowingly).

But anyway, I was stoked to see these people all over again because I love seeing how they are doing after so many years (most of the time, it's bad news I hear in regards to these kids... like the girl sitting next to me, last thing I heard about her is that she's a prostitute now... ?!?).

However, I'm no longer excited because I have the most vile thing going on right now.
I have an enormous horn growing out of the middle of my forehead. Ok, it's not "enormous" but it is freaking noticeable.
Such a tragedy, considering I'm supposed to be over this phase of my life...
Come on now, I'm 23!!
Blemishes are for angsty teenagers! Not me! Not anymore, at least.

So...
I'm going to go to this thing...
See the people...
and prove to them that I have, indeed, never changed... just like so many asked me in my year book... not even when it comes to my skin.
Ewww.

(it's a little extra humiliating since back in 8th grade I had a problem sort of similar to this, but it happened on picture day. A friend of mine from back then saw me for the first time since middle school four years ago and the first thing out of his mouth was "Wanna know how I remember you? I remember how you had that band aide across your face for so long because..." then I shut his fucking mouth up because I was a college student... no need to be reminded of that kind of shit as an "adult," really. He was saying this to me while he was sporting a bright blue Cookie Monster band aide under his left eye because a facial piercing of his went awry and fucked up his own face... yet he had the balls to remind me of my humiliating 8th grade episode. Now it's going to happen all over again... I guess I'll change it up and place a Sponge Bob band aide across my forehead this time... just for laughs)

Parrrrrrrrty!

Here's to very long titles in almost everything you do

I think I listened to too much Panic! at the Disco and
Fall Out Boy in my time away from home (I think that had a lot to do with the TINY amount of home-sickness I felt over there towards the end of my stay)...
Why? Because I made the title to this (Made-in-Spain, after I looked through a Bridal magazine and found a dress I liked better than the one I'm supposed to wear in June) sketch Not SO Stupid dress I COULD be excited about... :)

... Yeah... I'll quit doing that shit from now on.

(Totally off-topic: I'm so sad it's May!!)