Monday, May 31, 2010

My kind of anniversary

Today marks my three year anniversary with the local gym.
It wasn't an easy task to accomplish-- joining the gym, that is-- and it took a fucking village to convince me (the "Goddamn, I HATE Mammalian Physiology!" crew).
It's not that I thought I looked good... God, no! Anyone who knows me knows how low my self-esteem really is. I just couldn't build enough nerve to actually get my ass in a gym.
I mean, have you seen how much spandex is in there?!
But of course, like with anything in my life, tell me a hot guy is involved, and I'll be game.

I joined the gym, sat in the back of class, and damn near keeled over each time the hot instructors came anywhere near me.
I took classes that made me barf half-way through them, others that made me bruise up like I survived a severe drop off a cliff (oh, you silly hoola-hoop class!), and others that gave me horrible views up the shorts of dudes who decided to free-ball it to the gym (yeah, it's yoga... but you can't possibly expect me to be cool with the spectacularly shameless view you're giving me of your scrotum. Do us all a favor, and give your testicles some support, dude!).

Three years later, I still sit in the back of class (bitches know better than to take my spot, ha!), and I still almost pass out each time the hot instructors make eye-contact (not the smartest thing when my ankles are at risk), but hey! I'm part of the spandex crew now!
I'm friends with a good number of trainers, even having that one experience with the Hot Hot Trainer befriending me because I could make him laugh... that was interesting.
I lift heavier than the majority of girls, which makes me smile... but even creepier is when I'm lifting heavier than dudes... which makes me laugh.
I am by no means close to what I want to look like, I mean, I still have cheeks like those of a chipmunk preparing for a long winter:
but at least I no longer have the chins of a bear preparing for winter:

(Jesus... I see that and I still want to cry)

So, thank you very much, gym, you make me happy.
(and so help me God if I go back to looking like I'm ready for some hardcore hibernation... I'm ok with looking like I have a couple of nuts in my mouth--wah! wah!-- but NOT the double chin)

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Hey, Miss Satanist

Sitting with Mom and Dad, having a pleasant Sunday afternoon at the kitchen table.
My phone rings:
Heyyyy miss murder can IIIIII, hey miss murder can IIII, make beauty stay if IIIII take myyyy liiiiife??

I excuse myself from the table, and speak to my friend who only called to give me details about her flight that comes in on Thursday.
I hang up and return to see an upset dad.

Dad: What does your phone say?!
Me: My ring tone?
Dad: Yes, when people call you.
Me: Well, it depends. Usually it's this one song by a guy named Pitbull... but the song that came on right now is for certain people. It brings back memories. Should I sing it with my mom? She knows it too.
Dad: What kind of garbage do you guys listen to?!
Me: It's a song dad... the guy sounds good. And like I said, the song brings back memories.
Dad: You'll probably start listening to satanic shit and continue to listen because it "sounds" good.

... I guess I won't clue him in on that one song I refer to as "the sexy rape song" ("Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades." Sorry Mr. Lacey, but whispering "This is so messed up" the way you do will only make me WANT to rape you).
... and he'll never know about me listening to Megadeth... or singing along to Tool's "Vicarious" (dear God, I'm sure he'd have some sort of exorcism performed on me).

Saturday, May 29, 2010


It's a beautiful, warm Las Vegas evening. Saturday night of Memorial Day weekend. Banda El Recodo is in town, and my sister is attending the concert with a group of twenty 22-30 year-old Mexican-Americans...
and what am I doing?
Studying. Yep. Fun stuff (seriously, if I ever use a word like "pellucid," I give you permission to punch my pretentious ass).
My bookmark can attest to this:
Yeah... definitely have ADD

Friday, May 28, 2010

I'll pass

I was supposed to be in San Francisco by now.
This weekend was going to be epic: six girls, three boys in the city, club hopping with a local DJ who knows the Golden State Warriors, a suite in the city... and getting trashed.
And damn MGH was finally going to be legal to party with the crew.
Then he went off and fucked it all up, getting serious with a girl (that wasn't me. Because we all know I'm fucking awesome and I don't make pussies out of my boyfriends as is custom).

I've tried, so damn hard, to remain friends with MGH, but it's too difficult.
Often times, I have to fight the urge to talk to him. Skype, MSN messenger, AIM, and FBchat are off-limits, because I don't want to bump into him.
This lead me to decide against San Francisco for this weekend, even if I did promise to go, back in February.

I don't want to stay at MGH's house and make nice with his new girl. I don't want to hear him talk about her, and I don't want to hear his family talk about her either.
She's so sweet! She's so funny!
Umm.. no... no she's not. She's an idiot. She might be "sweet" but she borderlines on imbecilic. And as for her sense of humor... it's obnoxious.
"You guys are jerks!"
You consider that the next Tina Fey?

However, nothing bugs me more, than her pea-sized brain. My eyes bleed each time I see her fuck up the words "your" and "you're," and don't get me started on the "there, their, and they're" (My favorite, no, more like, the thing I hate most, is when she comments on his page: "your amazing!" Bitch... come on! YOU + ARE, make it a contraction, you get YOU'RE. P.S. That's the best you can do? Really? You say that to a friend after they sign up for a marathon, when your mom cooks you your favorite meal... when your puppy learns to sit... when a kindergartener learns to color inside the lines... etc).

I could sit here and hate on the girl for days, but where will that get me?
She won, I lost. I wasted 3 years of my life trying to get what she acquired in a matter of a week: MGH. It's easy for me to hate.

So, I'd like to take this moment to thank MGH, for getting himself an illiterate, obnoxious girlfriend with the figure of an uncooked Chinese noodle, the brain of a goldfish, flowing "strawberry blond" Cocker Spaniel locks, and the gums of a 90-year-old chain smoking grandma (he could have at least chosen a pretty girl. I'd probably high five him if his new chick had some sort of killer attribute... but this, man, it makes it difficult not to be bitter. My only guess is that she gives some amazing head).
Thanks for fucking up my weekend, prick.

three percent

This shit is getting difficult.
I promised I'd write everyday back in March... and I didn't really follow through with it until this month (sort of).
I'm sick of looking at this screen, although it's a very lovely screen.
I sit at home, typing away... and studying (quite poorly. I've been revising the same 6 group of words for the last 2 weeks. 6 groups! I'm so frustrated with myself. Someone get me some fucking Ritalin!)... while my little sister goes out and enjoys her little latin nights with the girls.

I'm totally her wingman... well, in the sense that I tame the beast back at home while she lives a semi-normal young-adulthood. It's not like she should be mistrusted in the first place, since she's commanding officer of the V Club... and sheriff of the Virginity Police.
The girl takes issue with any one of her friends that informs her of their virginity loss. Sis will blurt out her discontent at the most random times to me.

I'll be sitting in the living room, catching up on my Wii Fit bullshit, trying not to wobble as I run a test:
Sis: So-and-so is not a virgin anymore. She told me she did so-and-so last month. She just barely got the nerve to tell me now.
Me: That's nice. ??

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, reading the cereal box as I eat some afternoon Honey Bunches of Oats:
Sis: Bitchass Girl#2! She let her boyfriend screw her!
Me: So?

I'm sitting on my bench at the gym, quietly waiting for class to start:
Sis: So... Girl#3 is no longer part of the club.
Me: What?
Sis: G#3 fucked a guy.
Me: Who the hell are you? Chill, Gestapo!

It's a lonely club... to date, there are 7 lonely members... and one of them is close to getting her membership revoked due to her lax definition of virginity ("as long as a real penis doesn't penetrate your vagina, you are still a virgin." Take that as you may). The group only counts Hometown girls 17 years and older.

Sis is part of the club because she's of the "Wait Until Marriage" kind. She freaks out when her fellow Catholic V's lose their membership, and only grows disappointed in the Non-Cath members who were members... out of sheer bad luck?

Five of the seven members are of the WUM kind. They may be a little wild and party like rock stars, but they'll be damned if any boy touches their no-no place without putting a ring on their finger (besides the aforementioned girl with the rocky membership, because God knows what has been placed in her mouth, backdoor, and cookie box).

The sixth girl is a member because she has never had a boyfriend in the first place. Puberty hit her hard, let's just put it that way. That, and she's also very demanding... she grew up with no interaction with boys her age, so she's very squeamish and rather irrational when it comes to expected male behavior (and their bodily functions). I can't ever imagine her getting laid... because she would never allow a penis anywhere near her... too gross. Mark my words.

Me? I'm of the "Fuck that shit... are you kidding me? Have you seen how that shit turns out?!" kind. Frankly, I could give a shit if my future husband (not probable, but let's just run with it) appreciates this membership or not. My willingness to settle down and leave my comfortable lifestyle should be enough to say "Fuck, I LOVE YOU!"
He shouldn't take ANY credit for my chaste cookie box.
The truth is: I refuse to get that emotionally attached to anyone (hello, have you met me? I get upset when I have to throw away old Play-Doh. I imagine parting ways with a guy I screw will cause major irreparable damage to my already-cynical point of view).

Until the moment I find a guy I find to be absolutely legit (won't make me lament ever taking the chance of possibly reproducing with that retard), and all sorts of awesome (or at least one I can intimidate the shit out of so he won't say a word of what goes on), I'll continue being an anomaly in this city... at least the V Police won't be on my case.

(I'd like to thank today's episode of The Doctor's. Way to get into my head)

Thursday, May 27, 2010


I'm a good girl. Everybody knows this.
I don't really like this title, and often times, I purposely say incredibly vulgar things in hopes of removing people's blinders when it comes to me.
I'm not saying I'm a huge jerk, or even that people are wrong in their assumption in regards to me, I just don't want them to get alarmed when they see me at the next family function taking a shot at the bar.

Yes, I go to church every Sunday (Saturday, actually, since there's less people there to make me angry with their barbaric behavior), I visited Hometown ever year to take care of my little grandma, I play with kids, I always have a stupid shy smile on my face when spoken to, and more importantly, I don't fuck around with guys (I mean... when's the last time you heard of me dating a boy from Hometown? NEVER. And if I don't date a Hometown boy, then I don't date anyone... right?). I'm fucking saintly! But like every human, I mess up sometimes.
I drink... I get drunk... and I say STUPID things.
I'm also imperfect in the sense that I'm so naive, I always believe other's integrity will be equal to mine.
I rarely sense when people are lying to me, I always think others will keep their word, and I give people the benefit of the doubt.
This naiveté often times gets me in trouble because I'll use my reputation for the benefit of others, and they'll just fuck up... and then I look bad and lose credibility.

Reason I say this: last summer I let two 17 year old girls and one 15 year old boy join my circle of friends in Mexico. They were lonely, and their parents would only let them be out until the sun went down.
Since days seem to go a lot slower and the nights are clear, cool, and balmy, my group chills outside. We dance, sing, play games, and drink under the stars until the wee hours of the night. Typical lazy, fun summer nights.
So I ask their parents for permission to let them hang out with my group, and promise to be responsible and bring them back home in one piece.
Everything's fine and dandy... up until they start getting drunk and start breaking bottles behind the abandoned house we use as home base. We spend a couple of hours trying to sober the morons up, then drive them home.
Word spreads around town about the broken beer bottles and used condoms found behind the old abandoned house.
"What kind of person fucks near broken bottles?"
My group is tight lipped, but super curious about the used condoms. However, we accept that in order to not be accused of the used condoms, we'll have to leave that as one of life's greater mysteries.

Now we move on to last night.
A boy from our Mexico clan posts a music video on FB (of course); it's a song that was crazy popular last summer, a song we sang during our lazy summer nights, a song solely about getting trashed.
He comments: This one goes out to mah boys! Those nights we spent drinking by the house... gettin' twizted!
Stupid, now-18 year old girl comments:
"Hey!!! Dedicate this song to AnoMALIE, 17YOGirl2, Sister, and me too! We were right there with you guys!"

Next time, why don't you fucking announce it through a bullhorn, idiot?!
And just like that, the jig is up.

I just want to know who the fuck was using the condoms.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Lindo y Querido

Deportation... that would have sucked... had I not been born in the US (segue-way master, huh?).
Still, I love my beautiful Mexico.

This will be my first year in ten years not spending my summer (or part of it) in Mexico, the 5th time of my entire life.
I've had my moments of weakness when I think I can go out there for at least two weeks... but then the more reasonable part of my brain jumps in and slaps me back to reality- it's horribly dangerous out there (Why, DGO? WHY?! Once BBC talks about it, you know it's no joke), no one is going, and I no longer have much of a reason to be out there.
Plus, my diversion for boring days/afternoons while out there is now out of the question. Playing Guitar Hero (as has been the case for the last 2 Mexico summers) is a bad idea because, to this day, I can't play without crying. No, not out of desperation. We all know I kick major ass at the guitar (gold-starring on expert. Get on my level, sucka!), I could also be part of a Nirvana/Coldplay cover band if need be (notice I didn't mention a chick band. My voice is a sad, sad situation... I perfect Kurt Cobain's range by just using my talking voice... it makes me laugh but feel sad at the same time), but I cry 'cause I can't stop thinking about how much the damn game irritated my grandma.

So no... NO Mexico.

However, my heart will be 100% Mexican this summer... because of that magical time in one's life that comes up ever four years, better known as: The World Cup!
I'm stoked for the games, even if they'll be at a freakishly early hour (for me, 5-7AM is ungodly considering I usually go to bed at 3AM), and yes, like any good Mexican, my hopes are high.

But I must admit: my hopes might be a little TOO high.
I realized this fault of mine after the recent Mexico - England game.
A week ago, I completed my fantasy bracket and placed Mexico... in the semi-finals (after defeating England in the quarter final match)!
I know... I know... what the fuck was I thinking... but like I said, I had high hopes. They have a tremendous squad... and that might have been the culprit behind this example of momentary insanity. Mexico's U-17 world championship back in '05 makes me trust these young kids like crazy... however, it's just... man, when playing with the big dogs... it becomes a wreck!

So I'm a realist: Spain's my rooster.

Honorable mention goes to Portugal... because they're the reason I'll be getting up early... because they have the most beautiful, albeit sluttiest, man in the universe... that I liked before he was so popular... you know, back in '04 when he cried more than a new born child.
Biggest disappointment? Brazil... for not calling on Ronaldinho.
Team I hate? FRANCE. Fuck those cheating mother fuckers (all this considering I'm not Irish).

I promise never to make any more brackets again... well, at least brackets that contain the Mexican soccer team, we all know I think with my heart when those guys are involved... and like in real life, those boys ALWAYS break my heart!

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Feis Buk

I was a hard sell on Facebook.
A Canadian friend of mine bugged me to join back in... '06? I don't remember quite well, I just remember I joined as a means to appease the girl. I did not add a photo, or friends, but would only drop by when someone would add me and I would have to confirm the friendship.
I slowly merged into Facebook once I noticed my siblings would use it more often than Myspace. The last nail in the coffin for Myspace came in '08 when both my siblings moved to Europe and the only way to stay in touch was through FB... that, and MGH was super active on FB, and oh! the things we did on FB.
I welcomed the change then, since Myspace had been bringing nothing but drama. Too many family members, not enough privacy. At the time, FB was great because you needed a college e-mail address to join. Not too many family members went to college... it was my fucking heaven!

Now, in 2010... it has changed. Aunts, Uncles, middle schoolers... pickles... they all have a goddamn FB. I can't post a photo without someone having an issue with it... or at least talking about it the next time I see them. If my status update is deemed too vulgar, I'll hear about that as well.
And when guys write on my wall, my God!
"So I've seen *so and so* writes to you often... he's funny... what's going on there?"
Umm... I have intelligent, hilarious friends that have quick wits... and I like keeping it that way?

Initially, I promised myself I'd only add family members I spoke to frequently... and were drama free...  and wouldn't gossip about potentially compromising photos I'd be tagged in, but that soon changed once I refused to add one extremely communicative cousin, and she quickly confronted me about it.
You know, now that I think about it, my story is quite similar to the South Park episode.
"Why don't you poke grandma?" Because I don't want to! Who the fuck pokes people?!

After all this, I now even have people from Hometown on there.
Pain in the fucking ass. A place I once used to chit chat with school friends, has now become a place of entertainment for the gossip-loving family I was so unlucky to be born into.

Over the weekend, I finally had a melt-down/confrontation.
I'd go off and talk about it in detail, but who wants to hear it? Point is, I was being sarcastic and people took me too seriously (story of my life). I was then sent a scathing message... and I was "deleted" from certain people's page.
I DON'T like conflict, but I also tell people when I think they're being irrational fucks. I try my damn hardest NOT to be the irrational fuck in an argument.
Since these idiots are part of my family, I found myself APOLOGIZING for any hurt feelings I may have caused... and promising never to do it again.
They "accepted" my apology and I was re-added.
Nothing else. Not a "Oh, I'm sorry for making such a big issue, for not understanding, and for butting into something that was none of my business."

And people wonder why the fuck I don't talk in person.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Que hombre?

Ok, so I was talking about boys getting girlfriends and becoming lame afterward, right? Ok... I'll... talk about boyfriends (and then work it into a weird tangent, check it).

I first learned the beauty of relationships with the opposite sex in... kindergarten.
No lie, I was crushing on boys since before kinder (I once asked Mom to "buy" me this one Latin singer when, at the age of 4, I saw him on television. To this day, when his decrepit little body appears on Univision, my mom refers to him as "your purchase." ew), however, once it was kinder time, I was flirting with bowl-hair-cutted boys in no time.
First crush's name? Amadeus.
No fucking lie (might explain my future love with the violin ??).
He never dug me, though, since he was of the "girls have cooties" type (lame ass).
I had to wait until first grade to get a "real" boyfriend. This kid I'm still in contact with, and also doesn't let me live my mistake down.
1stBF: Yo, AnoMALIE, I told *dude* about us kissing in 1st grade and all that. I told him I was cool with you two dating."
Me: WTF dude? WHY? That was AGES ago! I was 6! Cool to date me... get the fuck out of here!

Then came second grade. 1stBF went to English class, I remained in Spanish class. I wasn't going to sit in class and NOT accept my male classmates' signs of affection.
There was another issue: I showed up to class two months after school had started. I had moved to Mexico with plans to stay there for good, but Mom was like "Fuck me if I keep my kids in this shithole!" and she brought us back to Vegas and signed us back up in the same school.
I had the problem of having to make friends (and we all know how successful I was at that task during my elementary school days)... and guess who I resorted to? Yes... the boys.
The cutest boy in class was the first to ask me out... and apparently, dumped his girlfriend a minute prior to asking me out during recess.
This girl, his now-ex-girl, held on to the grudge for the rest of the year... then the rest of elementary school... then the rest of middle school.
She'd sing songs to me... mean ones. "Ese homre es mio!" etc. I'd just stare at her.
Girl... it's 1997, get over it!

Fast forward to today:
I get a weirdo friend request on Facebook. I check out who it is...
lo and behold... it's Jilted Ex Girlfriend of 2nd Grade Boyfriend.
First thing she asks: "So, are you married?" Homie... whaaat? Hell no! Is that the vibe I gave that last day of 8th grade when I last saw you?
For a minute I was scared she'd want to find me and come sing more vicious love songs in my face, but lucky for me, she now lives in Mexico and has no passport... so I'm good.

Facebook... that shit... boy do I have a future story on that subject.

Oh for fucks sake!!!! JiltedExGFof2ndGradeBF came on to me. What. The. Fuck. ? I'm just going to write "I love cock" all over my Facebook. Enough is enough, man.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Boys rock! Until...

Let's just run with this jotted, continuous train of though of mine.
(Is that even what it is? Whatever, I don't want to look up the actual definition for what it is that I am doing)

Ok, so I've established that I have a ton of guy friends.
I love this, yes. I agree with those people who say guy friends are "SO much less drama!" and they're a ton of fun... I mean this in the least sexual way, obviously (that's a totally different can of worms I refuse to open just yet... possibly EVER). But seriously, guys are genuinely fun. I can talk about the nastiest shit, or see the nastiest shit, and they'll be right there with me, laughing and gagging alongside yours truly. I can get dirty, sweaty, and/or injured with them and, oddly enough, not seem to mind (ok, maybe if I get injured a little too seriously I'll cry a little) I'll probably even look forward to the next time I get to repeat it.
There's just ONE little problem:
My guy friends get girlfriends and immediately lose their balls.

Well, it's not really like that, but sort of.
Nine out of ten times, my guy friends become weird zombie-esque, chameleons whose sole purpose in life becomes emulating their girl (just cut your fucking balls off and carve yourself a vagina, dick!) and making her happy .
Apparently, NOT chillin' with me is part of "making her happy."
Ridiculous stipulation... as if I sleep around... or even touch their private parts.

What hurts the most is that the guys I tend to be closest to are the ones who cut me off cold turkey.
Clear example, this one dude I went as far as call my "brother." He befriended me because he was BFFs with my sister. He has the quickest with EVER, that even people who didn't know him but were MY friends on facebook would look forward to his comments on my page. He was becoming a damn celebrity on my page.
Come November, he finds himself a girlfriend.
Suddenly, neither my sister nor I exist to him. I comment him, I write him... my sister calls him and texts him... and NOTHING. As if we're non-existent.
This HURTS me. I understand ignoring me when I DO something, but out of the blue? Because you finally have a girl willing to blow you at a stop light and a little girl you've now adopted as your own? Man up and treat me like the goddamn sister you once claimed me to be, asshole.

So I say:
DUDES, WHAT THE FUCK?! I'm now invisible because I have a vagina?! Get fucking real! You were my friend... I never touched your face (if I touch your face, let it be known, I have it BAAAD for you. AnoMALIE + intentional, somewhat-intimate physical contact = SPRUUUUNG!), I never stared into your eyes "lovingly," and I watched that infamous video of two females and one cup with you in the wee hours of the night... in AnoMALIE terms, that means you had NO CHANCE in hell to get in my pants in the first place. Why does that change once you get a girl? It should strengthen the bond, if anything, because now I can talk you up to this new chick of yours.

I can see the poor treatment going towards a "friend" you used to sleep with, even make out with...
but DUDE! We're talking about me... I apologize when my hand accidentally bumps yours... come the fuck on!

Rant over.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

She's hella cool

Sticking to my previous post's theme of homosexuality, here's another story:

I don't have many female friends. While Facebook might beg to differ, it's a fact that I have a tendency to chill with more guys than girls.
The girls I do hang out with are incredible ladies, and rarely get caught up in the typical girly drama.
Now, I wouldn't say I don't ever get caught up in shit-talking. I'm quite snarky when it comes to gossiping about others, however, this part of my personality seems to be amplified whenever I hang out with girls who love to go out to dinner or nightclubs and just tear other girls to shreds with their wicked words.
So, I make conscious efforts to stay away from chicks who seem to thrive on gossip... and end up hanging out with dudes or my trustee 3 female friends.

About a year ago, I met a chick who struck me as awesome after two minutes of conversation. She was at a family party, and she's BFF with two of my really cool cousins. The girl approached my sister and I, and her conversation consisted of hilarious anecdotes and asking interesting questions.

Me: Dude, Aria's hilarious!
Sis: I guess.
Me: She's hella cool, what are you talking about?! No wonder C and M chill with her!

Fast forward to this weekend.
M graduated and threw a party, where I ultimately stumbled upon Aria* (not actual name) once again.
Aria, once again, was the life of the party. She got M a boa (actual snake) for her grad gift, and everyone at the party was intrigued, but fearful. Aria was the only one holding the snake and encouraging others to pet it.
This reminded me that I had yet to add her to my FB, so I did.

Lo and behold... I see what's up.
She likes girls.

Come on guys! Take note!

Thursday, May 6, 2010


I grew up in one of Vegas' many ghettos. My particular ghetto was the one found behind the Stratosphere casino... aka Naked City.

I'm a nice girl... always have been, but I do have a mean streak in me thanks to the 14 years I had to spend in the aforementioned ghetto.
I can punch, I can kick, I can strangle... and hair pulling, bitch, please, I don't even play in that department. I know an elbow to the face does incredible damage, and better yet, face-to-the-knee is MAGIC when brawling.

I've grown up... my fighting years are behind me. However, recently I bumped into a FB group dedicated to my middle school. Thanks to the group, I've found a couple of friends... and foes.
The craziest is this one chick with whom I had a nasty pool fight. Yes, POOL fight.

Our school had a pool, and we were forced to swim for PE at the beginning and end of the school year. We were swimming, I -- being the shy, chubby, prepubescent 13-year-old who would have killed to NOT have boobs-- wore a shirt over my bathing suit... a two-piece... which I only owned because it was cheaper than a one piece.
I avoided swimming for the entire hour by walking 10 laps around the shallow end. Anything to avoid being in the pool for too long.
One day I heard this girl, a 7th grader, talking shit.

"Why does that fucking fat bitch wear a two piece? Does she think that white shirt is covering anything?"
I turned to her and made eye-contact.
"Yes, I'm talking about you!"
I was walking laps in the pool, she was walking directly behind me.
"Listen, you stupid dyke, I don't give a fuck what you think. I'm a girl. I'm growing... at least I don't look like a boy! You fucking wanna-be Leonardo DiCaprio look-alike!"
"At least I'm not a fat bitch!"
She then splashed water at my face.

It. Was. On.

I grabbed her neck and held her head underwater.
For a long time.
And I didn't let go.
She splashed and writhed under me, and eventually one of her friends and one of mine had to pry me off.
The teachers never did a thing about it. We were just pulled out of the pool and forced to sit out for the remainder of class. As we sat against a wall, shivering and wrapped in our towels, she apologized. I apologized immediately after. We made peace by the end of the year, I moved to a nicer part of town, and that was that.

I hadn't heard from this girl since then, and all of a sudden, yesterday I went to her facebook.
What is she?
A Leonardo DiCaprio look-alike.
I was right the whole time!

She was the first, and is the only chick on which I ever used that derogatory term.
Kids can be cruel.
(But I was right.... bahahaha)

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

wah, wah, wah. Sad again.

El problema no fue hallarte,
El problema es olvidarte.

El problema no es tu ausencia,
El problema es que te espero.

El problema no es problema,
El problema es que me duele.
El problema no es que mientas,
El problema es que te creo.
(the problem wasn't finding you, the problem is forgetting you. The problem isn't your absence, the problem is that I wait for you. The problem isn't the problem, the problem is that it hurts me. The problem isn't that you lie, the problem is that I believe you)

El problema no es que juegues,
El problema es que es conmigo.
Si me gustaste por ser libre,
Quién soy yo para cambiarte?
Si me quedé queriendo solo,
Cómo hacer para obligarte?
El problema no es quererte,
Es que tú no sientas lo mismo.
(The problem isn't that you play, the problem is that it's with me. If I liked you for being free, who am I to change you? If I was left loving alone, how can I make attempts to force you? The problem is not liking you, it's that you don't feel the same)

Y cómo deshacerme de ti si no te tengo?
Cómo alejarme de ti si estás tan lejos?
Cómo encontrarle una pestaña
A lo que nunca tuvo ojos?
Cómo encontrarle plataformas
A lo que siempre fue un barranco?
Cómo encontrar en la alacena
Los besos que no me diste?

(And how can I get rid of you if I don't have you? How can I distance myself if you're so far? How can I find an eyelash on something that never had eyes? How can I find platforms on something that was always a ravine? How can I look in the cupboard for the kisses you never gave me?)

Y cómo deshacerme de ti si no te tengo?
Cómo alejarme de ti si estas tan lejos?
Y es que el problema no es cambiarte,
El problema es que no quiero.
(And how can I get rid of you if I don't have you? How can I distance myself if you're so far? And the problem isn't changing you, the problem is that I don't want to)

El problema no es que duela,
El problema es que me gusta.
El problema no es el daño,
El problema son las huellas.
El problema no es lo que haces,
El problema es que lo olvido.
El problema no es que digas,
El problema es lo que callas
(The issue isn't that it hurts, the problem's that I like it. The issue isn't the damage, the problem is the trace it leaves behind. The issue isn't what you do, the problem is that I forget it. The issue isn't what you say, the problem is what you hold back)

This is mighty therapeutic. And so true in my case.

Jesus... I need to get back to school. It helps me get a life where I don't give a flying fuck about the bullshit that is "romantic" relationships. 
Romance... ha. Petty shit that only gets in the way of living a productive life. At least, it seems to hold true in my case.

you DON'T?

(Dad  introduced me to his friend Sunday night, as I played Wii with MGH)
Dad: This is my daughter, AnoMALIE.
Me: Nice to meet you.
Dad: And this is MGH, a friend of the family... but he's more like a son.

(At the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign. I'm directing MGH as I attempt to snap a decent photo of him)
Stranger: Go stand over there with him. I'll take a photo of you two together.
Me: No, just him.
Stranger: What, you don't like him?

MGH hung out with me this Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
I had him to myself.
He did not get drunk.
He did not flirt with girls.
He did not stay out all night long.
He had family dinner with me.
He played hours of Wii with me.

I wanted to jump off the highway overpass a couple of times. Yes, he was driving me insane, but not in his usual way (immaturity, instability, etc).
I wanted to die because he was so damn perfect, and I couldn't... he wasn't... he ISN'T mine.
I loved the time spent with him... I was in heaven after any word he spoke. I listened to him lecture me on roulette, for fucks sake!
And I maintained eye-contact with him as often as possible... not the creepy kind... but the "my... you have big pupils!" kind.

We both had sad eyes.
I was sad because I knew it was impossible... he looked sad because he felt sorry for me.

This weekend felt so good... but cut me so deeply.

Someone please tear out my heart already... I want to be funny!