Saturday, July 17, 2010


well! let's just ignore those lasts posts since clearly my phone sucks balls at posting blogs from text message.
Point of the posts was to express this lamentation:
I forgot my razor.
I realized this in Phoenix, when it was too late to solve the problem.
Reason to blog about it now? I'm killing time at the Golden Corral.
The bus ride sucks... the AC on the bus sucks... and I no longer care about the violence at the border. I just want to get home and sleep peacefully... shower... then rant some more about forgetting my razor.
I shall dub this summer: The Summer of Nicks and Bruises.
2 nd they're going to my part of DGO... Fun)

p.s. 3 of the 4 drivers in the bus are pervs.

2 s where we could square dance if we'd like... But let's not get off the subject: I hate this!
(and yeah, I already spotted underaged meat on the bus... A
2 Aaaaaaaand I forgot my razor... Of fucking course.
Yes, I had to blog this as I kill time outside the Golden Corral in Phoenix.
Bus ride from hell... My

Friday, July 16, 2010

Le Mexique

Ah yes, it appears it is now time for my annual (sometimes semi-annual) "If I die..." letter.

In past years, I've been very pessimistic... and I probably should remain that way for this one, but I'm a little too excited to care. I actually REALLY want to go to Mexico.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, not too long ago I said I was definitely not going...
but I CAN'T fight it.
I love Hometown.
I love my Mexican friends.
I love... Mexico.

Anyway, I leave at 6 AM tomorrow... on a 36 hour bus ride... that my bro and I can handle sometimes under 20 hours when we drive it.
Yep... that'll be fun.

Anyway, people have cooled it with the requests.
We even had someone call us and offer us their truck in Mexico to get around.
The most random, unexpected person to do so, I might add.

My aunt dropped by to give me a request:
When you come back, you better have found yourself a guy out there! I don't want you coming back single!

Umm... yeah... no, I won't be able to grant that wish, because I will be fucking DAMNED if I hook up with a dude from Hometown. No. Not EVER.

Things I will be doing over there:
drinking, laughing at bonfires, playing volleyball... with the occasional stampede in the middle of a thunderstorm, listening to music,staying up until the wee hours of the night playing poker with mi madre, drawing, writing, staying out late with the girls and giggling over boy stories... keeping up with V-club statuses (hahaha! That one will be a doozy) then coming home feeling bummed out because my stories never have a happy ending (wow, way to work that sentence. I meant it as in, the literal, Disney movie way... not... Asian massage way), and lastly, studying.
So fun. So inevitable.
... Ok, maybe I will check out a guy or two... but only if they're legal in age, because we all know of my cougar tendencies.

Have a nice couple of weeks sans moi.
If I remember, I'll take photos to later laugh at after the vacation, because we all know how I like ridiculing shit... because I'm vicious.
I kid.
But I will mock my photos, take my word for it.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

My Miss List

I was stupid and mentioned my trip to Mexico on FB.
So stupid.
Within an hour of posting the status update, we had five people calling the house and asking for favors.

Want to send shit to Mexico? Grow some balls and get on the motherfucking bus/plane/truck to get your ass over there.
I'm risking my neck for MY people, NOT yours.
The only trouble I might face is being at the wrong place at the wrong time... getting caught in one of those cartel battles.
I don't owe people money, I don't buy/sell drugs, therefore, I have nothing to fear.
Why can't people rationalize like that instead of getting carried away by stories (if you're rich, then yeah, I can understand you being a little scared about getting taken for ransom)?

Anyway, I was chewed out by my folks after being thrown under the bus by a stupid ass relative.


I'm struggling now with the packing.
I've been shopping, making lists, all that junk 'cause nothing sucks more than being in Mexico and realizing you forgot to bring your razor.
I love you Mexico, but I'll be damned if I buy toiletries in your country.
It's a fucking drag, especially in the 115 degree heat. 115 degrees... shit, I won't be missing that.

What I will miss?
- Sushi
Especially seaweed salad... damn it, that seaweed salad!
- The internet.
Oh, dear Facebook... how you've helped me through many a sleepless night.
- Tyson.
My poor baby's staying behind. My heart hurts each time I have to go outside and he greets me with a freakin' parade. I can't stand looking him in the eye... he breaks my heart. My BABYYYYY!! He knows he's staying behind. That little guy just makes this face. Reason I love pitbulls finally comes to bite me in the ass: when they're happy, that huge goofy smile can make a death-row inmate melt... but when they're sad... they might as well show me a World Vision commercial... or that damn abused animal commercial with the Sarah McLachlan "Angel" song.
Why are you so expressive?! You're a dog! (My 116-pound, 9 year old "little cow"... :( ok, I need to stop thinking about him before I object to this trip)
- The AC.
Sure, it's 60 degrees most of the time... but when it's hot... I might as well live in the refrigerator.
- Driving.
No car = no trips to the city. I hate asking for favors.
- Jimmy Gym.
Volleyball ain't gonna rescue my ass. Coming home is going to suck. I can already feel the immobility setting in once I return to weight lifting. Blah. Hopefully I don't barf this year.
And sure... why not... because we all knew this was coming:
- Darcy.
After a month of kind of hearing from him once a week or so (totally enough for me to smile at strangers throughout the day like a complete idiot and shit)... it's back to being invisible when it comes to that guy. Woe is me (curse you large soccer events, why can't you last longer than a goddamn month?! Ha).
Bummer, but what can a chick do, right? If there's one thing I've learned, it's that when a dude digs you, he'll let you know. I've seen it time, and time again with my guy friends (and guys I've liked. With me they're like "Eh... alright, I'll listen to you for now." Then they meet a girl that pulls the rug from right under them and it's "Well, thanks... but... gotta go. K, bye" for me)-- the moment they find a girl they like, they can't shut the fuck up about her.
Then the obnoxious animals they don't like will start to agitate them more than usual once they notice that these beasts won't shut the fuck up.
He doesn't bother too much with me, and I run at the mouth when he asks me the simplest question. "Hey, how are you?" "Hey man, I'm great! Dude, so I went to school the other day... because I like school and I needed to go..." blah blah blah. Even I take a second to step back and self-reflect "WTF are you doing, dude?! SHUT UP!" but I just keep going... like a fucking idiot cow into mud.
I do not want to be grouped in the "obnoxious animal" category, so I'll let him be (thing I've tried to learn in the last... almost six years of knowing him... Yikes! How pathetic of me... but what can I say? Everything about him makes me... mush. This trip can help me in the "quit being such an annoying dick, AnoMALIE, and shut the fuck up!" department. Thing I'm sure he will appreciate... shit, A LOT of people will appreciate).

Oh shit, talking about dudes: MGH is a fucking renegade. He "ran away" from home... at the age of 21. He just up and left (with his bitch) after an argument (regarding his cunt and the fact that he now dropped college) with his family, disconnected his phone, and now his family doesn't know where he is. His brother doesn't even know of the drama since he's in Mexico, and MGH still behaves "normally" on FB ("normal" being... responding to the "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" comments from his Mexico friends with "studying." That kid is... so fucked up).

It's really quite terrible. Upon hearing this, I sort of choked up.
'cause whether I like it or not, I still love the kid... not romantically, but... I just love him as a person... as jerky as he may be. 18 years is a long time to know a person and not love them.
I didn't think he was capable of hurting his family like that... especially not for a bitch... but shows how much I know.
I hate that he's fucking up like this.
(Well, what a chirpy way to end this entry. And yeah, I'll miss him in Mexico as well. We have too many memories out there)

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Scotchy, scotch, scotch

What girl gets drunk on a Tuesday night?
This girl.

Oh summer... you've finally arrived!

I wasn't planning on getting hammered.
I had done a great job turning down beer, then wine, tequila... I think they offered me Amaretto or something like that... but then martinis came into the picture. Who the hell turns down a martini?
Everyone had a normal looking sour apple martini, except me... of course. My shit barely had a hint of green in it. Vodka, vodka, vodka.
I hadn't had much food in the day... so, hello, sweet buzz.
As if that wasn't enough, they busted out the scotch.
I, like Ron Burgundy, CANNOT turn down scotch.
And that was it.
I handed over my keys.

I'm surprised I woke up without a care in the world. No headache, no vomiting.
Oh, how you try to trap me, refined gentleman's liquor (seriously, what kind of freakin' girl likes Scotch?! Even I'm surprised).

Anyway, at this shindig, they were trying to force me to do something that would convert me into the biggest tool imaginable.
See, in Hometown, they have a Patron Saint... since we were colonized by the Spaniards and all that junk. We throw a 3-day-long party in honor of the Patron Saint. Hometown celebrates it in September, so in my lifetime, I've only gone twice... considering I went to school for so long.
Still, I know what the deal is:

They choose 3 chicks: two dress up like princesses and one as a queen.
They spend the week doing all this bullshit... often times the chicks fight amongst themselves, because who the hell wants to be a princess when they can be the queen?
Anyway, the actual day of the mass is the most dramatic, since the chicks spend all day in huge, fluffy, white dresses (i.e. wedding dresses), they crown the patron saint, then they dance the night away.
Apparently, a ton of chicks have vied for these 3 coveted spots... since it's pretty much a beauty contest-- what chick doesn't like to feel pretty? I guess-- and dudes check you out like they would a rockstar, or whatever. Girls go to any extent to get chosen for the spots... even sabotaging another chick's "campaign" (I guess a couple of years there was a rigging of the ballots... back in the day when they needed ballots).
A countless number of chicks have ceased to speak to one another due to some of these fights.
(It's better than cock fights, I tell you. These girls come out swinging, and do some vile shit to each other)

Anyway! Hometown is now practically a ghost town... mass migration and this wack Drug War has driven folks out.
There are now only FOUR "native" girls in town old enough to even try out for the spots.
So they have to come to Vegas, Chicago, or LA to find chicks who are willing to be the Queen/Princesses.

This leads me to what happened last night.
Who did they ask to be the queen?
Imagine that shit! What the fuck is wrong with the world?!

I shook that off like I would a tarantula.
Fuck that.
I'm NOT queen material.
I'm a quiet, shy girl who would rather bite her tongue off than parade around town as the "Queen" (Shit, you'll see me participating in Bay to Breakers before being the Queen of Hometown).
My "beauty" should not be "showcased"... to say I'm the prettiest chick in town would be the worst fallacy EVER. I'm not even in the "pretty" ranks. Get the fuck outta here with that joke.

So I just drank, and drank, and drank, to avoid talking about the subject.
Nothing looks more assertive than a chick saying no, then quietly sipping on some scotch (Glen Taite. SO DAMN GOOD) while staring at paintings.

In better news, I'm officially going to Mexico on Saturday.
I believe I'm only staying three weeks. Originally, I wanted to stay for two, but Mom wanted four... so we compromised at three.
I'm going to sip on some Nyquil and pass the fuck out for the entire bus ride to Hometown.
Then it's off to 60 degree whether and green fields... rivers... fishing... dodging a couple of bullets... avoiding shady-looking cars... ah, the fuckin' life!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Cocaine is a helluva drug

I love random-ass e-mails.

This one came from a buddy.
Subject: Coke
Body: You were on to something.
Then a link.

The link? An article on CNN about Love being a drug.
Well, the title was lame... something along the lines of "You Might as Well Face it: You're Addicted to Love."
Content of the story was basically that I guess being in love, then being rejected, triggers the same part of the brain as that of cocaine users when they use the drug, then stop.

My withdrawals were legit!!

I laugh about it now, but fuck, it genuinely hurt back in March... as if someone were hacking away at my chest with a rusty butter knife.
Strange, since I hadn't felt that devastated since... high school.
I blame feeling stupid and angry over wasting nearly three years of my life... now I can add drug-withdrawals to the list.
I find solace in knowing I wasn't being a drama queen.

The article also suggests not remaining friends for a while.
Couldn't agree more.
I haven't spoken to MGH since he left back in May. The first three weeks sucked, and I was hating him so bad... but now, I just... don't care about him.
If the kid decides to talk to me for one reason or another, I'll talk. If he needs anything from me, I'll help. I think I can finally joke with him... as long as his dumb cunt doesn't come in the picture. I still hate the ugly bitch, especially now, knowing she mocks him for liking soccer.
("It's so gay," she claims... as if gridiron football were any less gay. Put a tutu on those motherfuckers and we got ourselves some ballerinas with their fucking leotard. Let's not forget all that ass-smaking.
Yes, I keep up with gridiron football, and I don't usually hate... up until I find them talking shit about soccer. In the battle for favorite sport, soccer wins, HANDS DOWN in my book)

Nice laugh.
And since I'm so anti-drugs, I guess I have to swear-off relationships from now on.

... As if my commitment issues needed any more backing.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Out-silence me?

Life is so much easier when you smile.
Of course, there's always one idiot out there who begs to differ.

This is the case with one of the two people who stayed over my house for the weekend.
She's... freakishly quiet. More so than I am.
In my case, I'm quiet when in a new environment, or when surrounded by new people. Once I see someone trying to start a conversation, I'll open up... after a few hours, I'm so fucking loud, even I become annoyed with myself.
I don't know why I'm quiet... it's just.... I've always been shy and it takes me a minute to warm up to someone. Because of this, I totally sympathize with quiet, shy people.

But this bitch...

I get TIRED of trying to make her smile... just crack a simple smile.
She'll be the only person in the room looking miserable.
I understand I can't win over every person I meet, I came to terms with that shit back in grade school...
but PLEASE don't make it your fucking mission to make my environment awkward with your silence.
She has zero reason to be miserable... she's a daddy's girl who has had everything in her life handed to her.
No one is ever mean to her... we fucking cater to her and we have to GUESS what she needs/wants by asking questions. She won't even go through the trouble of saying YES or NO... OR by nodding YES or shaking her head NO. We have to GUESS by the fucking glimmer in her eye!!
Are you retarded?? I KNOW you know how to talk... I've heard you! And I know you can communicate... you MYSPACE (hmmm, maybe I should have taken that as a sign of her dumbshit nature) like a motherfucker... and your stupid blackberry doesn't shut the fuck up all day.
And it's not like her quiet makes you want to hug her and reassure her everything will be ok... she's the quiet type that looks like she's judging everything, and clearly, nothing is worthy of her. She's the mean, haughty quiet that makes you want to slam the door in her face while screaming "We don't even want you here, you dumb, stupid BITCH!"
But we don't have the heart to do that...
The only time the faintest hint of a smile crosses her face is once everyone present is equally miserable and quiet.
To that, I say:
Bitch, I INVENTED the Quiet/Boring Girl game. You sure you wanna play?

She came home at 8 in the morning today... what did I do? I locked myself in my room.
When I finally had to go out to the kitchen for some OJ, I did the head-bob thing at her mom.
QuietCrazyGirl was hungry.
Bitch, there's the fridge... there's the stove. Onward with your agenda, I was just here for my juice... now I want to get another hour of sleep.
She left at like, 11, or so I'm told. I didn't see/speak to either of the two again.
No one intentionally makes shit awkward for me and mine, pendeja.

Anyway, totally off-topic, but in regards to yesterday's fantastic World Cup outcome... all I gotta say is... Maybe I wasn't so crazy after all... I'm a BEEEEEEAST! Bwahaha!

Sunday, July 11, 2010


Know what I really hate? Inconsiderate assholes.

We've had two people staying over our place since Thursday.
They have been fucking up our plans all weekend long.

Our REAL family from Mexico has been over since Wednesday, can we hang out with them? Oh No, we have to entertain the guests.
A cousin had a nasty accident that landed him in the hospital. Can we go visit him to check out if he's doing ok? No, we have guests! They would be so bummed out to see such a thing.
It's 1:30 in the morning, I want to go to sleep because I want to wake up rested to watch the final match of the World Cup, can I? No... our guests are still out and they haven't even sent a goddamn text message letting us know they're staying over at another family member's place... we're expected to be fucking psychic and just go to bed.
It's the day of the World Cup final, can I watch it in the living room with a couple of friends, drink all we want, scream all we want, cuss all we want?! No, our guest has diabetes, she hates sports, and she had a rough night... keep it down, please.

I'm so fucking irritated.
Way to kill the mood, (uninvited) "Guests."

I would have rather had my period.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Baby fever

Apparently, today was "Rag on AnoMALIE" day.

I started the day off by attending this damn baby shower I had been dreading for the last two weeks.
(No, I lie. I started it by watching the soccer match between Germany and Uruguay. For a second there, I thought Paul had gotten his shit wrong... but no, Germany pulled through. That little guy... the octopus, I need to find a live one in order to follow through with my word. If Spain wins tomorrow, at one point in my life, for at least a day, I will own a pet octopus)
On my way to this party, I went through a fucking rain storm. I kid you not. It was a freak show.
It was bright and sunny outside, and the only clouds I could see were cute white clouds (I'm so sad that the scientific name escapes me. I spent a good couple of days learning those stupid names back in college). At first a couple of drops hit my car, and suddenly, it was a fucking torrential downpour.
In my rush to get in the house without fucking up my gift (I had already fucked up the wrapping, of course. I thought I had been such a pro wrapping the damn thing only to be proven wrong. I ignored the top and bottom of the box. Stupid gift-wrap wasn't big enough. I "fixed" it by placing the bottom part on the floor, and the top I covered with a huge bow. My resourcefulness astonishes me sometimes... I'm so fucking ghetto) I managed to give myself a massive paper-cut on-- where else-- my middle finger.
I was an hour early to the shindig, because I had to be somewhere else at the time of the party.
The BabyMomma was quite excited to see me, and she paraded me around, in front of her family.
She then proceeded to call all her high school friends to inform them I had arrived...
I only know ONE of her friends, since I only went to her high school my first two years of HS, and I was her friend my sophomore year.
"Oh my God! Guess who's here! AnneOMELIE. You know! AnneOMELIE!!"
Umm... my name's AnoMALIE... and I don't know this chick you're talking to.
We then continued to talk, something I thought was one-on-one, but of course, her family would gasp or laugh whenever I said something... and it quickly turned into a grilling session.
Are you married?
Hell NO.
Have a boyfriend?
Are you dating?
Have any kids?
Too much going on right now... I LOVE my freedom.
WHEN then?
I don't know.
Umm, Because... ?
Girl, I don't know, and I DON'T CARE!!
When she finally left me alone for a minute (to eat some of the strangest Filipino food... I stood there wondering where the hell I could find the Pho), her baby nephew came to harass me.
Yes, a 16-month old was harassing me.
Ok, so he was just wanting me to feed him, hold him, play with him, and caress his little head... but still... I was eating. You don't do that to a bear, what makes you think you can do it to a human? (I KID!! I'm being sarcastic. Oh God, I hope people don't read this and think I'm a monster)
I could have been a cunt and ignored him, maybe even pushed him out of my way... but no, I fed him whatever he wanted off my plate... and I fought with him (freakishly strong baby. He ripped a paper plate right out of my hands)... and by the end of it, I was holding him and petting his little head.
Stupid babies.

After half an hour, I excused myself and headed home.
I took a quick hour-long nap, and continued with my day.

Round two of grilling-ragging on me continued then.
I visited my cousin C, whose wedding I agreed to be a bridesmaid in, and things got uncomfortable once my aunts arrived.
Sis: Oh! I heard D is looking for places to get married!
Aunt: Yes. Things are so confusing.
Sis: I'm going to cry once she gets married. We're practically twins!
Aunt2: It's just you two left now (sister and I).
Me: And it's gonna stay that way for a while... F that.
C: Well, you don't want to get married too old.
Sis: Well, as long as Mel doesn't get married any time soon... maybe in ten years.
Mel: Me at 29?
C: THAT'S TOO OLD! 27 is cutting it close. I'm glad I'm still going to be 24 when I get married.
Aunt: And you better step on it when it comes to having babies.
C: No, I'm waiting two more years for that.

I can only imagine how bad this shit is going to get come October... then April.
Too old... PSHHHHHHH!
Screw babies, screw marriage, screw responsibilities... you know what I LOVE?! Being able to go out for as long as I want, WHERE ever I want, with WHO ever I want... and as MANY TIMES as I want.

... try to make me feel bad... pshhhh.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Counsel wha... ?

I walked into the house today to find out Dad was nowhere in sight.
Ok... maybe he's at church.
At about 10 PM, dad walks into the house... in a weird Jesus shirt.
It was a cross with all these words scribbled over it:
Love. Peace. Joy. Follow the Lord. Summer 2010.

WTF, Dad?
Mom: Oh, we didn't tell you?
Me: What?
Mom: He's a camp counselor.
Mom: Shut up, he'll hear you.

I guess his church is running a summer camp for grade-school kids that are out of school.

I guess this would be the time to mention my dad's a preacher.
Yes, I, AnoMALIE, a born-and-raised Catholic, have a Pentecostal Preacher Dad.
... daughter of a preacher man... haha.. amuses me. Here, the man who would scare the shit out of me as a kid with his incessant talk of "the end" being near... and his constant haranguing of homosexuals and how they should go to hell for being "sick"... is considered capable of preaching to others. Jesus... I can't... OK, I'll shut up and quit shaking my head now.

Anyway, I guess this position makes him eligible to counsel these kids.
My dad.

I love my Daddy... but... come on... it's the man who tied seat-bealts around my brother's neck and my stomach (I'd add the photo just for shits and giggles again... but I think posting those shits twice is more than enough) while at Great America.
The man can't take care of a toaster, let alone children.

I still remember the one time Mom thought she'd be able to get a job as a waitress and quit being a housewife back when I was in second grade...

That was the most miserable month of my life.

I'd wake up to Mom getting ready to leave for her job at the Horseshoe. I'd cry and beg her not to leave.
Then Dad had to get me ready for school...
I was 7, but I KNEW I was mismatching.
He would never check my homework... and that month I had to eat school lunch, since Dad (still) didn't know how to pack lunches.
My hair? It was a wreck. It looked like two cats had humped on top of my head... and I'd opt for the "Ariel" look... my hair down past my butt and "free-flowing" aka I came home with a rat's nest for hair.

I love you Pops, but you know jack-shit about kids.

And yeah, I'm jealous Dad wants to spend time with these strange kids, when back in the day he'd leave my siblings and I to our own devices.

Fuck you, strange kids!! I hope my dad fucks up your hair!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Bad choice #86757326

I've possibly made the stupidest decision of my life:
I'm going to Mexico... for a month... starting next week.

I can't take it. I've been like a caged lion these last two months.
I've tried studying, and it's sort of working... but my attention wanes once I note the date and what I could have been doing in Hometown instead of sitting in my room re-learning words I'll probably use another three times in my lifetime.

I'm like those damn stupid salmon who swim upstream and continue to fight to get to their breeding ground, even when they see that fucking bear swatting away at its companions and eating them.
I'll keep swimming.

Why am I so retarded?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


So tired... so sleepy... but very happy.

A little Cephalopod by the name of Paul helped me start the festivities early.


(Man, I'd get murdered by my teacher if he knew I was going back to posting shit like this. But seriously, I'm tired, sleepy, and sick. I can't think straight)

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Another Santa

Back in my school days, I was often referred to as a teacher's pet.
I wasn't.
I've just always been well behaved, and whenever an adult has given me a command, I listen.
For that, you can thank my strict Mexican mother, quick to slap the taste out my mouth after the smallest sign of backtalk.

When it came to teachers, I was always the nice one who always did my homework and always played nice with the other kids.
I'd also get very attached to my teachers... in elementary... usually the outcome of me following their rules for so long.

Well, recently, I found my third grade teacher on Facebook. I have one friend in common with her, and it just so happened that I was on that friend's FB when I saw 3rdGradeTeacher appear on the 6 visible friends portion.
After 16 years, the lady has not changed.
I was stoked, of course, to have found her.
The lady taught me how to add. Weird, I know, considering I should have known how to do that by 3rd grade.
My dumbass 2nd grade teacher messed me up because all she would have us do in class was sleep, throw parties, and watch movies. So, come third grade, my new teacher caught on, told my mom to explain the concept of addition/subtraction to me, and hopefully I'd catch up within a couple of weeks. I caught up in the matter of two days.
With the mastering of addition/subtraction, this teacher proceeded to teach me the times-tables by singing. The woman would sing about ANYTHING.
To this day, I've been mindfucked into singing my 3s, 4s, and 5s (if you see me having a hard time multiplying anything by these numbers, let it be known that the fucking song hasn't ended in my head, hence my delay).

Anyway, I thought this lady loved me. I was always one of the 6 kids who would attend her "perfect homework" luncheons she'd throw the kids in class who turned in their homework every day for the quarter.
I even have a stupid story where I actually cried one day because I wasn't given homework.
(People don't understand I cried because everyone else had the homework sheet, and the asshole substitute teacher failed to give me mine. I went up to him at the end of class and asked him for mine. He wouldn't believe me [why the fuck would anyone lie about not getting a homework sheet?], and my bus wasn't going to wait for me. He had the extra sheet in his hand, and he would waive it around and laugh in my face as my chin would tremble and my eyes would water. He wouldn't stop his mocking and he wouldn't give me the sheet! Add to that, my bus had now left my ass at school... so I cried. I still remember that fuckface's name... Mr. Lockich [I won't protect this fuck's identity. If I ever, ever, ever bump into that man again, I swear to God I'll fucking beat the shit out of his now-probably-senile ass] aka Mister Stiffy, 'cause that sick bastard would show up to class in sweat pants... and guess what would happen to him in front of the boys...)
After this horror story (which my friend's mom corroborated when the teacher ask about it) 3rdGradeTeacher became endeared to me (Aww, AnoMALIE cried for her homework? What a sweet baby! HE WAS MOCKING ME AND I MISSED THE BUS! I WAS NINE! What's so hard to understand about that?!).

But last week, I learned this "teacherly" love was all an act.
Guess who rejected my friend request the other day... that bitch.
As if I've changed that much since 1994.

If I ever have kids, I hope they're dicks to their teachers and his/her fake interest in their well-being (not saying ALL teachers are fake asses. Oddly enough, the one k-12 teacher to be genuinely interested in my life has been my 10th grade English teacher, and I didn't even like her).

Yeah, I'm bitter... just like when I learned Santa Clause was fake. My gentle, gullible soul doesn't enjoy rude awakenings.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Boys will be Girls

(MGHsBro asks for directions while at the Paris)
Concierge: How old are you?
MGHsBro: 18.
Concierge: How about her? (me)
MGHsBro: 25.
Concierge: You guys are a couple, right?
MGHsBro: She's my mom.
Concierge: Oh... wow, really?
Me: Yeah, it was a hard delivery.
MGHsBro: I'm not really 18... I'm 22.
Me: I'm still 25.
Concierge: Wait... 25... 22...
Me: He's my brother.

I've had a good time with the boys... but yesterday, shit made a turn for the wack.
I don't know the entire story, I didn't ask. All I know is the nine boys had a nasty argument last night, which revolved around money.
I was in the other room as the boys had their awkward powwow, and I was desperately trying to keep myself occupied with my phone or the TV, so I wouldn't hear their shit (semi-successfully. I heard a couple of "Mira, guey... a mi me vale verga!" and "ENTIENDE, PENDEJO!" Which I was like... "Dude, someone turn up the fucking volume on this Jersey Shore!").
It killed the fun vibe... and while we all went gambling after the argument, the faction was made.

So sad.
I thought only chicks had this type of bickering drama.

Anyway, they decided to keep it sort of civil. From last night's argument, it appears it was three of the boys making trouble, so instead of beating each other's asses, they just agreed to go their own way.
While four of the "Bochitos" (the nickname the group of 6 boys who met in elementary go by. MGHsBro is part of the 6. They for some reason call themselves the Spanish slang term for a VW Bug. While MGHsBro tried explaining it to me, we all know I have a very short attention span) came over to my place for some Camarones Al Mojo De Ajo, the trouble makers took one of the Bochitos hostage and forced him to drive them around the Venetian area.
So, we all decided that Sister, the 4 Bochitos, and I would go about and enjoy some last minute touristy shit.
We were then supposed to drop off the blue-eyed Guatemalan Bochito at the bus station, but two things happened:
1) MGHsBro's car was crashed by a dickhead as we were parked on the curb. The swapping of info was such a mess. Example?
MGHsBro: Ok, so what's your name?
DickHeadCarCrasher: Fatz.
MGHsBro: No, I mean, your REAL name.
DHCC: Oh, Shawn.
WHO the FUCK answers like that? Only in Downtown.
2. The blue-eyed Guatemalan Bochito had three hours to kill. Instead of letting him stay at the bus station with all the shady looking people, we decided to hijack him ... and bring him home.
MGHsBro and his gang had to get on the road to head back to Mexico, so BEGB was pretty much forced to spend time with us.
My mom fell in love with him. Ha.

Yesterday may have been awkward, but over the course of the weekend, I really got attached to those kids. So funny, so adorable, and so nice.
Yeah, guy friends are definitely awesome.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Lady Shutyourassup

Last night was one of the best nights I've had in a while. These boys are pretty freakin' awesome...
It also helps that they think I'm pretty awesome.
Three of the nine boys are a little too touchy-feely with me...
It's weird to have three guys hanging all over me, since I usually can't even get three puppies to be all over me... even when I have food in my hands.
One kid in particular is pretty damn adorable. He did everything but sit on my lap last night to try to get me to talk to him. Weird shit, I say.

Anyway, I was in a good mood, even if I did go to bed at four in the morning. Then I woke up to this rant:

I'm tried of people saying that these fame whores are "amazing" singers and dancers. I have watched 5 Lady Gaga videos. She doesn't dance. She walks around and touches herself. Just because you do jerky moves (I'm talking to you Beyonce!) does not make you a real dancer (even if Mr. West thinks you are "the best dancer ever"). If back up dancers didn't exist, people wouldn't like these lame videos nearly as much. 

Oh yeah and just repeating names such as Alejandro or Roberto doesn't make a song any good. It's just repetitive like- " I say Hillshire, you say farm. Go meat!!!". Someone said Lady Gaga is our Freddy Mercury. Queen was and is one of the most important bands there ever was. Gaga is crap in a sewer drain compared to Queen. People I'm asking you to explain to me why, why do YOU think these people are any good? 

P.s. Oh and by the way no amount of make-up makes ugly pretty, so stop draining the world's supplies and just live with your genetics.

Homegirl... where do I begin?

The chick who posted this on FB is my friend ONLY because she's my friend's fiancé. I love him-- as a FRIEND-- and so, by default, I respect whoever he wants to spend the rest of his life with.
She has taken a few jabs at me before, most recently being a comment I made about the Mexican flag being the most beautiful flag in the world.
"Umm... why??"
Because an international poll said so, you fucking confrontational brat. The story behind that awesome Eagle-eating-a-snake is badass... you'd know it if you were half as cultured as you feel you are.
Instead of saying what I really wanted to say, I bit my tongue and acted as if I didn't know what she was talking about. I changed the topic to the first half of my comment, which was something along the lines of "I'm so fucking excited!" Because I don't want to cause friction between my friend and I.
But... I can only take so much of her insolent, vapid remarks. Eventually, I'm going to go off on her. One day, ONE FUCKING DAY.

The idiot is 22, she didn't go to college, and she takes issue with everything. She feels capacitated to talk about ANY topic as if she had a PhD in ALL subjects... which I guess would be possible if sitting at home and watching TV all day counts as getting an education.
Chase and I have accidentally zinged her a couple of times while hanging out. It's just too easy... and she's so fucking opinionated, that sometimes, we can't help it.
I guess she has harbored some sort of resentment, and she resorts to taking it out on us via FB (this is what happens when too many fucks are allowed to join facebook).

Both Chase and I have Lady Gaga listed as a favorite on FB. This idiot only has 27 friends on FB... gee, I wonder at whom she's directing this diatribe...

I'll start by saying my taste in music is CRAZY eclectic. I have everything from English death metal to French rap, Mexican mariachi to Italian pop. I try not to demerit music too much, because I honestly try to find a redeeming quality in most.
Lyrics repetitive and nonsensical? Well... does it have a decent beat? If yes, then fuck it, I'll dance. If the answer is NO, then fuck that shit, I won't listen.
Is the beat slow/boring, but the lyrics meaningful? Ok, I'll listen right before going to bed (only to be woken up by my horrible shuffle that proceeds to play "Sweating Bullets" or some shit).
Sure, there are artists out there that make me want to slit my wrists and pour gasoline all over myself while smoking, all in order to just end the experience... but I don't go off and pick a fight with people who DO like them.

Why do I like Gaga? 1- she writes her own shit. 2- she has the most unique sense of fashion... as outlandish as it may be. 3- her register of voice is interesting. 4-  she is the sweetest girl to those who love/support her.
Lady Gaga, basically, would be my friend in real life. She's weird and she doesn't give a fuck to please dumb, critical jackasses like Friend'sFiancé.
Yeah, they over-play her like nobody's business, but if I'm not in the mood to listen, I change the damn station.
The fact that Gaga can get so many people to love her is amazing in and of itself... I couldn't even get all of the 10-12 people in my damn college creative writing class to like me.

Oh, and as for Beyonce having jerky dance moves... are we watching the same chick? The girl can throw down! I will PAY to see YOU out-dance her. I don't really care for Beyonce, but I will give her credit any day for her dance moves. So, it's not the foxtrot or a Viennese waltz... who gives a fuck? Who the fuck dances to that shit in today's world? Go ahead, try it at a club, Friend'sFiancé... I'm sure you'll show those idiots.

P.S. "World's supplies?" Umm, you mean "Earth's resources?" Quit trying to showcase this supposed superior intelligence, it becomes painfully evident that you CLEARLY don't posses this trait within seconds of you opening your mouth (also, makeup tends to be composed of oils and pigments that are quite abundant in this world. What the fuck are you talk about?).
Think you're better than I am? The only subject you're probably more advanced in is sucking dick... and that's only because I don't participate. I'm sure if you give me some time to practice, I'll trump you there as well.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Not enough time

Next time I agree to play tour-guide, please... PLEASE, please, please slap me in the face.

This sucks. I'm so fucking tired.

I just want to go to Mexico, is that too much to ask?

On a bright note, at least the Germany and Spain victories today sort of made me more animated... although Spain made me cuss like nobody's business... and now I'm sad thinking of Germany raping the shit out of Spain like they did Argentina.

Ok, now back to irritation with being a tour guide.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Interrogation 101

I knew it!!! I knew it had taken them too long to butt in!

(Conference call between Pacemaker, her cousin, and I. First we start talking about MGH's brother and his friends being in town, then the whole Spain prospect... then I make a comment to myself after reading something outrageous on FB... and then FB takes center stage)
PMsCousin: Hey! So I was meaning to ask you, what's this I've seen going on between you and Lito on there?
Me: My cousin's friend? Nothing.
Pacemaker: Oh yeah! I saw that! Why's he calling you "Sabrosa?" What the hell is that about?!
Me: It's a joke. Sabrosa's a dude.
Pacemaker: Hmm... sounds fishy.
Me: No... he's my sister's dude. That'd be fucked up.

Of course, I don't tell them how he first greeted me...

I've seen the guy around for the last... three years of my life, since he's friends with my cousins. It wasn't until last year at a family reunion (he was there, because, well, he's like a brother to my cousins) that we actually talked to each other.
After arguing about music and playing some beer pong (he, not I. I'm only good at Flip Cup), it was time for me to go. He was going to shake hands and pull me in for a kiss on the cheek, but he miscalculated (at least, that's what I tell myself). His hand accidentally slipped into the deep V of my shirt, and he wound up cupping my left tit and pulling me in for the kiss.
It was in front of my cousins, my sister, and my uncle.
He apologized and I acted like I was fine... no blushing or stuttering.
I should have won an Oscar for playing that off.
But Pacemaker and her cousin will never know that.

Anyway, after my first successful dodge of their interrogation, the conversation around FB dudes still wouldn't die.

Pacemaker: I thought that guy making fun of Ronaldo was funny.
Me: Darcy?
Pacemaker: Hahahahaha! (mimicking me) Darcy?
PMsCousin: Heheheheh! Don't even try playing that off! Your own voice betrayed you!
Me: No it didn't. He's my friend.
Pacemaker: Hmmm. Right.
Me: Hmmm. Right.
PMsCousin: Do your eyes get wide when you see him? Feel like your heart will beat out of your chest?
Me: No. (Yes...)
Pacemaker: And her knees probably get weak!
Me: NO! (...yes...)
PMsCousin: She probably forgets to breathe and shit...
Me: Shut the fuck up guys... y'all are so gay (well, I do get lightheaded sometimes... because... ok, yeah, maybe I do forget to breathe)
PMsCousin: (in a sing-songy voice) She got ma-ad. She has a cru-ush.
Me: What are we? Ten? I met him in one of my English classes. I thought he was cool and his sarcasm made me smile. Later I found out we had this random connection through mutual friends. He's pretty hot, but I get the feeling I bug him because I never manage to shut the fuck up on facebook... But anyway! You don't see me making fun of your guy friends. I see how *CholoDude* comments you, PMsCousin. Now that nigga... none of my friends call me "boo" (oh my God, and if they do, I will kick their ass) or say I'm "lookin' fine, girl." What's up with that??
PMsCousin: Hey, that's just how he talks. Can't blame a guy for representing East Los... wait... did you just admi...
Me: Shut up.

And this is how my friends ambush me in the middle of the night, when I'm sleep deprived, and get me to flip right before going to bed... just for fun.

At least they didn't get to see my red face...
did you know Mexicans can blush?

Thursday, July 1, 2010


Pacemaker: Aww... so are you sad you're no longer going to see your loverboy?
Me: What are you talking about?
Pacemaker: Isn't he out of the World Cup or whatever?
Me: Oh... you mean that. No, I don't care. He has creepy hands.
Pacemaker: What the... AnoMALIE, this is why you don't have a boyfriend. Creepy hands?
Me: Yes, creepy hands. His fingers are too short. I don't know, maybe it's the violinist in me, or... I don't know. But short fingers DON'T fly. I don't care how fantastically muscular your thighs are, or how ripped your abs may be... short fingers remind me of Willow... and that little guy ::shudder::

I don't think I have extreme demands when it comes to dudes... I've just never been a fan of Vienna Sausages.

And now that we're on the subject of Pacemaker, I have a new dilemma she introduced me to last night:
Pacemaker and her cousin are planning to live abroad next fall... however, they're only up for it if my sister and I go with them.
While this excites the hell out of me... I'm pretty upset about it.

If everything goes according to plan, I'll be in grad school by the fall of '11.
Recently, I've been getting into far too many fights with those around me because they keep pestering me about my future. Add to that, the fact that my parents have recently referred to me as "out of control" because I don't cook for THEM while I'm home (ME, out of control... HAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Say that when you bail me out of jail after getting caught giving a dude head for money in a back alley in order to feed my crack addiction. But because I don't cook for them?). So, I REALLY want to get out of here... and grad school's my ticket.
The reason why I've been putting off the grad school step is because I've been too addicted to traveling... and that whole MGH misstep.
Now they spring the idea of going to Barcelona in 2011? Jesus... ahhhh! (and my other hesitation with that is the Spanish economy. Those fools are a step away from turning into the next Greece... I don't think it would be the brightest idea to be there for that. But it's SPAIN!! I LOVE IT! Why have they done this to me?)

So... I don't know what the fuck.
I'm still going to go through the whole grad school application process and see what the deal is. I just hope this new adventure doesn't sidetrack my mind too much... 'cause we all know how ADD-prone I am.