Thursday, September 30, 2010


The case of the fucked up dress has been solved!
Ok, the process has barely begun, but it will be solved come Sunday. My lovely and trusted tailor of 12 years is fixing it. Yes, I have a tailor. Sort of.

I hadn't seen him since I was 17... that's the last time I had him work on a quinceañera dress for me. It wasn't that I didn't like him, I was just part of weddings that forced me to get other tailors to work on me (none as great at their craft as this man).
I was saddened to learn he's going through chemo... for the second time. I sat there and acted as if everything was fine... and I played with his dog, which happened to piss on my left leg. But, it was the cutest little Chiuahua alive (must clarify, since the cutest Chihuahua to have ever existed was Petey, my guy buddy's chubby, whore-tastic Chihuahua who recently passed away), which loved me from the moment I walked through the door... so I let her piss on me. I appreciate love that much (however, dogs are the ONLY thing I will EVER allow to piss on me as a sign of their affection/fear/submission. Fuck all that other bullshit).
I made sure he tightened my girls... a lot. This bitch ain't finna breathe October 9th! I'm excited about this now... ha!

I may (hardly) have a fancy tailor and everything, but you'd never guess that if you caught a glimpse of my sleepwear.
I don't know what it is about the damn thing... but I have these patchwork pajama shorts that no matter how fucked they get (hmmm... maybe I should find a better word for that), I refuse to throw away. They have a total of eight holes. All, oddly enough, on my left asscheek (I have no idea what the hell I do in my sleep). The number should be nine, but two have fused into one major hole directly over the spot where the cheek and thigh fuse (yeah, so sexy... or trashy... or sad, whichever way you choose to see it, I will not get offended). This is way better than the new hole that I noticed last week. It's... right in the middle... right... you know... there.
So! Even with all these holes (which I see as extra ventilation), I choose to walk around the house in them. Mom complains- I don't care. Sister complains- I get even more in her face. However, I do have moments where I suddenly turn into a crab and walk sideways--ALWAYS facing forward-- whenever Dad enters the room... nuisance I full-heartedly accept.
Sorry, family... but these shorts... they're staying... until they fucking disintegrate, you hear me?
(Or if some poor, unfortunate soul happens to enter the room while I'm in those damn shorts, and they just so happen to not share DNA with me)

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

One Forty

Heartbreak is in the air.
All I have to do is look at my FB or twitter to notice.
Many people's lives are falling apart.
Sure, it's reassuring to know I'm not the sole depressed person in my circle... but it's getting fucking annoying!

I only say that for the constant bitchers who go on twitter and post sad music lyrics, followed by "please hear it @bitchwhoisbeingshady." Or write shit like "I give up..." every two days.
Amigo, how is that possible? I thought you originally gave up last week. That's not how giving up works... unless you're giving up multiple things... like smoking, then coke, then heroin, then corduroy pants.
I have to go through my phone notifications and watch this soap opera unfold at six in the morning.

But, hey! I am glad I'm not alone.
Now let's all quit bitching, yeah?

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?! I'm a habitual offender.
Well... not that I tweet sad lyrics or any of that shit-- I dedicate my 140 characters to ranting... obviously... since that's all I know how to do: bitch (that, or post photos of my cocktail of the day. Half of my photos are composed of martinis or scotch on the rocks... and an occasional weakass wine).
But I do find myself complaining a lot about my romantic misadventures, how it sucks knowing that I'm going to die alone, how no one loves me, and all that nonsense, all on a different venue...
I do the annoying tweet thing, but in blog form. I can only imagine how obnoxious it must be to constantly read different excerpts of "Falling Away With You" (go kill Minnow for that one... he introduced me). I also "quit" and "give up" on things every other day... but I always go back on my word.
Is this bitch really ever going to stop falling for dudes who couldn't care less about her?! She promised last week!
The answer here is... N-O.
So... for all that, I do apologize. I just hope you do realize it's never going to stop (although I did give up corduroy pants for good).

I propose we all cheer up for now... and laugh at the video from yesterday.
I even have an update on the whole thing!
I went to Corey's page... where, as expected, everyone was ripping on him. His response?

"they think I stuck something up my ass and it was between my crotch!! Its all slander!! And I'm taking action!! It was pills that fell out of my tights and I got arrested for possession!! Real talk!"

... and I suppose that makes it better... ???

Obviously a man's intelligence didn't make it to the top of my list until after I went to college.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


Once upon a time, I was a high schooler.

Freshman year of high school sucked, as I've previously stated, since I was new to a predominantly upper-middle-class WASP community. I spent that entire year crying my ass off, alone, and wishing to die, seriously.
Sophomore year came along, and people were actually being a little nicer to me.
I had THREE friends this year, and all three were pretty Latina 11th graders (how that happened... I'm not quite sure. I think I had one of them in my trig class or something).
The fact that these new friends were pretty, meant cute boys would come around and join the group. This ultimately lead to the cute boys being nice to me, that is, if they wanted a shot with one of my friends.
I knew these guys weren't in the circle for me, but it didn't mean I couldn't crush on them.
There was one dude in particular that I would stare at in amazement. I practically worshipped him.
He was about 5'10, very built (football player), and super popular... Corey (sigh).
He'd talk to me once in a while, but remember, I was a shy, 16 year old outcast who didn't know how to interact with others... so... I'd be more than awkward around him.

Well, one day, my BFF of the group (girl Corey was crushing on but my friend hated because she thought he was a tool) let him in on my crush. It was not mean-spirited in the least bit-- no sarcasm there. She did it as a way to help me out, I suppose... and he seemed fine with it, almost happy about it. ??? Something that totally blew my mind.
Saddest part of this entire thing? The secret was divulged the LAST day of school, more importantly, it was MY last day at that particular high school. I was being transferred to a new school that was (supposedly) closer to me... and Corey wasn't going to come along, since he would be a Senior. Bummer.

Fast forward nine years (Jesus Christ!) and you have me watching Tru Tv today... some show about a certain pool at a certain hotel/casino near my old college.
Who do I see? Corey. What is he doing? Well... I'll let you see for yourself:

What can I say? I had questionable taste as a teen (and my friend was correct in her judgement of character).
To think... I could have been those wristbands... (ewww... NO. No... no)

Monday, September 27, 2010


Today is my brother's "Golden Birthday," which officially makes this photo 20 years old:
Fake-smiling since 1990! hahaha
If only we could go back to those days... I totally schooled him back then.

In 20 years, that little guy graduated elementary, middle, and high school. He completed four years of active duty in the US military and four years of inactive duty.
Proof that we all DO love each other
He graduated Magna Cum Laude from Notre Dame... and is two semester away from graduating Princeton Grad School.
That little fucker is quite... successful.

However, no matter how famous, or successful, or important that my brother may become, he'll always be that one kid who would be my partner in crime, even during uncomfortable situations:
We still feel this way about weddings
The dude who would make me laugh with his stupid faces in photos:
The "tame" photo I don't feel too ashamed to post
The kid who would risk his life right along with me:
haha... hahahahahaha! This photo will never get old!
The guy who helps me have a great time anywhere I may go, regardless of how miserable HE may be:
The depressed pedestrian in brown, behind HDT, would be Ruffles.
I love this guy!
I wouldn't risk my life for just about anyone... especially someone who would ever agree to get a boat tattooed on his chest... but this guy... he's too legit.

Happy 27th, hermanito!

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Back on the pole

Bambi's being a little slut again.

Dad had to turn in his truck because of some weirdo malfunction... and I have no clue when he's getting the replacement.
Sister's Jetta's headlight is out... and I have no clue when she plans on fixing it.
Mom's GX no longer has a working speedometer... or ANYTHING else on that part of the vehicle.

That leaves Bambi... my baby.
I treat her right... and it shows. This, of course, has its drawbacks. Its awesome condition makes my car the sole vehicle available to be shared amongst four people.
So she's being whored out like back in her first couple of months of life. Just when I was starting to love my car. I guess it's back to resenting that bitch.

In other news, last night was alright. I guess. I did go back on my word and had a drink. It was my all time favorite cocktail... I would have been hardcore retarded if I would have turned that down.
Oh well. At least I didn't cry... I didn't laugh either... hmm... I may just be turning into a robot.
Ok, maybe I'm not.
While I didn't cry, yesterday's outing did make me feel like shit.
Things were fun, up until the fussy bitch of the group decided to sit at my table at Benihana.
It was my first time at the damn restaurant, and I wanted to have a great time.
Then, of course, the bitch girl had to bring up her allergies.
"I'm allergic to eggs."
Ok... that's fine... do your own thing, I guess.
Then, right as the chef is going to begin cooking for us all (I'm leaving out the process where we all chose our food and this cunt took HALF AN HOUR to decide on what she wanted... that's on top of the half hour we had been sitting at our table waiting for the other eight people in the party to show up... all the time WITH MENUS IN OUR HANDS), she informs him she's also allergic to shellfish.
Bitch... get your genetically inferior ass away from my table!
So we had to wait on the chef to cook ONLY her food first. Another half hour.
The whole time, she was giving the poor man attitude... especially over his accent.

After the cooks finished their thing, it was time for all 16 of us to start talking.
Things started off rough... a little awkward, since many of us only knew two or three of the girls present... then the topic turned to marriage, then everyone bonded... except me.
Everyone there was in some sort of relationship.
Except Sister and I... and she's talking to two dudes (Mike being one of them... and ughhhh... I still hate it!). I was the one sitting there thinking What the FUCK is wrong with me?!
Attention was turned to me... and that was when my "I don't give a fuck!" armor came on.

Soon-to-be-Bride: I'm the first girl to get married... on both sides of my family.
Mutual-Cousin: That's so funny... you'd think AnoMALIE would be the first on our side, since she's the oldest.
Me: Fuck that shit.
StbB's Co-Worker: Oh, you four are cousins then? (points at Sister, MC, StbB, and I)
Sister: Yeah. And in April, MC's getting married. It'll just be me and my sister as the single ones after that.
MC: And there are no boys in sight.
Me: Nope. Fuck that shit. Single for life! (internally) Fuck. My. Life.
SCW: Aww... really? That's weird.
StbB: You know... the whole time I've known you... I've never... you've never... have you ever had a boyfriend?

AND ONCE AGAIN the interrogation began. Each answer I gave, the more other girls bonded as they criticized it... or straight up laughed.
I had to explain my situation ("I've always been a nerd. I went to school my whole life. Thought I was going to be a doctor... but learned to hate it. Now I'm just a confused Bachelor-Degree (in Biology)-Holding nerd with conflicting interests... boys were never in the picture until... well, now. etc"), sit there and hear the girls take pity on me or laugh, and then I had to act like I was not interested whatsoever in finding any sort of love... or attention.
It was pretty fucking rough... and that's why Mai Tai's found me last night.

... There were no knives on the table... luckily.

Saturday, September 25, 2010


The countdown has begun.
In two weeks, I will be irritated as fuck... probably crying... and totally uncomfortable.
It's my cousin's wedding... and her bachelorette festivities have already begun.
Tonight is nightclub/???? night. I agreed to an hour or two of nightclub, and none of ????.

I'm trying to be a sensible bridesmaid... especially since a couple of them are already fighting over shoe-color... so I'm refraining from partying too hard.
I'm really worn down, especially after this recent Chicago trip and all the shit that occurred there... so it's best if I steer clear from alcohol. Give me liquor right now, and rest assured I'll be that drunk girl in the corner, blubbering about heartbreak and drinking to oblivion.
I try so hard!!! But no one loves me!!! I hate my life!!! 
While I don't mind doing this in a private setting (nah... actually, I do), I think it's best if I don't get a drop in my system for my cousin's big day... or any of her festivities. I'm considerate like that.

SO, it appears I will not be drinking... at all...
I'm going to handle all this shit sober

Friday, September 24, 2010


Qué puedo contar... si ni siquiera tengo ganas de respirar?

I got in a fight... outside of the gym... with a dude.
That was fun.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Your Status

So... how about today's world-wide Facebook outage?
Ha. I blame it on the miracle of me uploading a photo album the day after returning from a trip.
It was too much for FB to handle.
AnoMALIE being punctual? #$%# whaaa?

Sorry, world.
Good thing it didn't last too long... I didn't keep people from status gems for too long.
I personally like my batch of status updates FB presented to me after the outage... these two being the most remarkable:


And numero dos:
to anyone else named (*Darcy*) : go die in a hole. i'm better. :D

Wanna play the guessing game?
One was written by a 14 year-old, the other by a 24 year-old... both males.

The first status made me laugh... because nothing makes me giggle more than a person who is overly confident in his/her own intelligence.
I'll usually be the first one to admit to being a dumbass. I often don't understand pop-cultural references... I shove my foot in my mouth more often than the average bear... and my common sense, while not the worst... is... sort of... not good-- I'm WAY too gullible.
However... I can be an asshole when it comes to correcting self-aggrandizing pricks. I sort of thrive on it.

The self-aggrandizing prick with a worse grasp of clichés than yours-truly? The 24 year-old.
I especially love how it appears gum has been stuck under his shift key. If that's not it... then I feel forced to ask:
I'm glad you leave the job of being surprised by others' stupidity to the rest of us... by informing us of your inability to be amazed at the degree of "dumbness" a person may possess.
Son, you amaze me.

That leaves status number two to the 14 year-old.
That little fuck.
If anyone should crawl in a hole, it's him.

The two other people I know with the same name are awesome dudes... I highly doubt he is better than either.
One started his own company from scratch... entering the country with (the very cliché, but true story of many immigrants) only the clothes on his back and a few bucks in his pocket... turning the $30-whatever in his pocket into millions. This awesome dude's my father.
The little 14 year old needs to get out of his basement and quit playing Rock Band before he thinks he can ever be better than my Pops. Biaaatch!

The other person who, lamentably, must share his name with the little twat is Darcy Darcy.
Once again, this Darcy FAR exceeds little Emo-darcy's (oh yeah, the 14 year old is an emo little fuck) supposed "greatness."
While Emo-darcy spends his afternoons not shutting the fuck up about Kid Cudi (I fight the urge to stab my eyes out each time the little idiot goes on his FB music rants over which musical artists Kid Cudi can dominate-- answer here is "ALL," in case you were wondering), real Darcy is abroad researching some really interesting genetics shit. You know, stuff that matters and can REALLY change the world... not analyzing Kid Cudi's well-planned lyrical content that have abilities to touch the human core... and make Eminem cry after feeling so inadequate.
Plus, I like my Darcy... I'd be pretty upset if he died... anywhere... especially a hole. Come on, man!

I thought about telling him to die... but I mean... come on... I'm a 25 year old... I do my fighting in person... or on a blog.
I'll leave it to his mean little middle-school peers to cyber-bully his ass... I hear it's kind of popular.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Early to Rise

I love waking up early, especially now, that people don't expect it out of me.
Today, I just so happened to come across a little nugget of love thanks to my unexpected early awakening.

I felt like being productive today, so I was unpacking in my room.
In the middle of putting away my camera, I stumbled upon some of my sister's belongings.
Being the good person I am, I decided I'd go look for Sister and show her what I had found... as a way to surprise her... because she had thought the items were lost.

Sister was in the living room, on the phone with her back turned to me, so I didn't open my mouth.
I was going to keep walking towards her, but right before I emerged from the column that hides my hallway from the living room, I heard her mention me.

Sister: Yeah, she just went upstairs and didn't come down until everyone was gone from the menudo.
(I knew this was me, because the night of the quince, everyone came over to the house in order to have menudo at around 1 in the morning. By this time, I had noted Sister was all interested in that one guy I had been crushing on-- let's call him Mike. He was in the house, and I kept bumping into him, and I kept feeling like shit because... who likes bumping into their crush knowing he has a thing for your sister? I decided to extricate myself from the situation and I just went upstairs to my God-sister's room and began getting ready for bed... and crying just a little bit)
Sister: So you know when people are pissed and they refuse to admit it? My sister was like that all day. Yeah... the day after the quince. She wouldn't say a word, and she was constantly on her phone, texting someone. We were downtown and she wouldn't even tell us what she wanted to do. I just knew she was pissed because Mike was talking to me.
Sister: Yeah, it's STUPID. I mean, I knew him first! And I know she was pissed about Mike because at the Quince she told me she liked him. Then he asked me to dance, I said yes... and now we're talking.
Sister: No, I don't tell her anything now. I don't mention ANYTHING about him around her.
Sister: No, she doesn't know anything. Yeah... I know... it's stupid. She's fucking stupid.

I stood there wanting to cry... and why lie, I wanted to walk in there and beat her ass... at least pull her hair and call her a cunt.
I don't understand why she can't be clear with me, but instead, chooses to vilify me with her friends.
She's on the rebound, playing hard-to-get with her maybe-Ex dude who STILL wants to be with her --as does she-- and meanwhile, she's using this cool dude to give her attention AND make maybe-Ex dude jealous. I could easily vilify her if I chose.
Sure, she can try to use the same argument on me. However, who is she going to use?
MGH? He has been in a steady relationship for six months. How long must I mourn that shit? It's ok for me to move on.
Darcy? She can suck my balls. Homeboy rarely remembers I exist, much less knows about my crush. Issue there would just be "Boo-hoo, I like a dude who doesn't give a shit about me... let me hang out with this guy who at least flirts back."
Must I pine away for a dude who doesn't know I'm alive in order to keep my sister happy?

So... I won't hate... I'll just tell it like it is.

Dear Sister:
I am upset. Well, more like, I was upset.
I did get quiet after Saturday night because of what went down with Mike.
No, I don't feel he's the love of my life... how fond of the guy could I have grown in the matter of a week? Not very. Yes, he's cute, hilarious, and sarcastic... and really, really tall... all attractive qualities in a dude, but not something that would shatter my world once I realize it ain't gonna happen.
I'm upset because of what really happened:
I liked a guy. He was weighing the options of going with one of us... and like with everything, you threw me under the bus so that you could have fun. You never throw me a bone.
You are so consumed in feeling pretty... feeling worshipped, that you don't give a fuck how badly you hurt me.
You made me feel hideous... and you didn't give a fuck.
I told you I liked the guy, and instead of trying to hook me up, you broke it up.
The fact that you've done this five times to me doesn't make me feel any better.
So... call me "fucking stupid" all you want... I pretty much am for ever opening up to you over the guys I like.
Enjoy your new puppy.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Casa, casita

Home... after the weirdest vacation in a while... especially awkward these last two days.

However, even after being stranded on the tarmac for an hour due to a serious thunderstorm at Midway, I don't hate Chicago at all now... just some people in it.
I'm also ecstatic about being on a computer, but above all: I HAVE A BED AGAIN!
Fuck, sleeping on a hardwood floor for  eight nights in a row REALLY sucks balls. I feel I have to readjust my hips or some shit. How does a person go about that-- fixing their hips? I'm surprised I can even walk upright... or that I have an ass at all, since those poor muscles were working over-time trying to cushion my aching bones.

Whatever, I need to sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow uploading photos and all that Facebook fuckery I tend to neglect.

Monday, September 20, 2010


I was pretty upset for the majority of yesterday.
Social occasions tend to do that to me. They remove that facade I put on and well... you usually get to see that upset side of me. Things like weddings and quinceaneras make me realize I play the "I'll hurt you before you hurt me" game and it wears me down.
As I sit there and note all the dudes in that room (that are remotely attractive) are only interested in my baby sister... I'd be lying if I said I don't feel like slitting my wrists longitudinally while sitting in a tub with running water.
NOTHING makes me feel this way or even note how shitty single-hood is until I attend a social gathering.

I counted how many times my sister has flirted back with a dude I dig, or straight up took him from me to be a total of FIVE times.
So, I do apologize for being a downer. Lucky for me, I was fed sushi... and it appears the mercury did wonders for my mood.

I'm still serious about not liking anyone, though. That game was NOT made for me.

Sunday, September 19, 2010


"I always wanted to ask you out... but I was... kind of scared of you."
Famous words uttered last night by my good friend... who outted himself as gay last year.
What do you say to that? I sat there and smiled nervously... then laughed like a horse. I always found him attractive, and when I see him, I feel warm and fuzzy... but the moment he admitted to being gay, I clicked that "unavailable" switch in my mind.

I never knew I had such powers... ha! In all reality, it made me feel like shit. I like him, and hearing him say that put a lump in my throat. Of all the missed opportunities, this makes me feel like a horrible person.
I'm sorry, dude! Never meant to frighten you gay.

In other news, I died a little inside last night when the boy I've been crushing on my whole Chicago stay chose my sister at the dance. I should know by now that when up against her, I ALWAYS lose.

Therefore, I hereby give up.
I 'm DONE liking anyone... or at least having that lame ass illusion.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Michigan Avenue

It's the night before the big day, what should we do?
Why, let's power-walk all the way down Michigan Avenue, of course! And do it in your pair of flats that are one size too large.

I. Am. Pissed.

Not only that, but it appears the Dumb Bug has bitten the family. Not all of it, mostly the females.
They're fighting... for STUPID reasons.
One female in particular has never been the sharpest tool in the shed, and she's the one to thank for the most awkward moments.
She is hardcore retarded. She suffers from the Middle Kid Syndrome... where she claims nobody loves her and feels the entire fucking world is against her.
That, and she wants her kid to hook up with his FIRST cousin... because "she's pretty."

I'm... dude, I don't even know how to continue...
I can't wait to get home.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Block Party

I've begun to lose track of time.
I'm growing increasingly aggravated with everything.
Last night I got to experience a block party in Pilsen... I think that's how it's spelled. This one dog wouldn't leave me alone (Max <3), which was fine by me except his hair kept getting all over my leggings.
Of COURSE my godfather tried hooking me up. Everything was cool up until then, since Sister and I had been talking to the dudes without his help (about Home Alone... but still). Once we were being forced to talk about our real lives, things were more like
"So... you like science..." "Yup." "That's weird..." (no, motherfucker, you wearing skinny-jeans with Nike high tops at the age of 30 is weird).

To compensate, the old men of the block made the most delicious carne asada I've ever seen, smelled, or tasted. Those old men can wear skinny-jeans all they want as long as they keep cooking the way they do.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

El Grito

I'm so fucking retarded.

So these last few days, I've gone running around the neighborhood with my godfather (the more time I spend with him, the more I realize I made the best decision of my life by dropping med school). Eveverything's cool... except that on Monday he took me running out of the blue, and I just so happened to be wearing some Vans... sock-less.
Now I have THREE blisters from hell that not only feel like shit, but they're also ugly as fuck.

OK, now let's fast-forward to yesterday.
Godfather took my sister and I downtown for the Mexican Independence thing. I knew it wasn't going to be THE smartest idea, but I'm bored of the suburbs (no one warned me of their creepy-ness).
So Downtown we go.
Let me say, as a Mexican, I apologize for my people. They are SO fucking obnoxious.
And why is it always the ugly bitches who scream when the person at the mic asks "all the pretty, single ladies" to make noise (I stay quiet because I don't want anyone to make that observation about ME)? Anyway, in the middle of looking for a place to hide from the annoying guys,my sister managed to backup into me. All of her weight landed on my right toe, she proceeded to grind her three-inch boot heel on my toe. In anger, I pushed/punched her... Almost making her fall but totally making her cry.
Yes, I made a scene because someone stepped on my blister.
My night further went to shit once this Puerto Rican cunt squeezed in front of me and started smoking in my face.
My godfather had to pull me away... Because I was about to throw down... In public... Because NO ONE blows smoke in my face.
I guess I'm no exception to the rule- I turn hood in the presence of multiple mexicans.

I've had enough of Chicago.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

He lives THERE.

It appears this week has turned into "find AnoMALIE a guy" week.

Godmom: Ah, I have to show you *dude*! He lives there (points at giant, secluded home as we stroll down the neighborhood). He's about 25. Decent looking.
Me: What does he do?
Godmom: I don't know... but who cares? He lives THERE!

Godfather: So are you coming with me tomorrow for the Mexican Independence thing? It's VIP...
Me: I don't know... I don't want to be alone.
Godfather: But everyone there is going to be... "high society," and Mexican. I also have a couple of Dr. friends who have sons going. I could intorduce you to them.
Me: ... yeah... I'm a little too shy for that.

Cousin: Go with your godmom! She's gonna go pick up R from school. Go with her... check out the scene!
Me: What scene? HIGH SCHOOL?!

I can't do one thing without someone mentioning how I could or SHOULD meet a guy.
Get the fuck out of here.
I thought by now they'd catch on to my eye-rolling and note I don't give a shit about meeting anyone.
Muchas gracias.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Home Alone

We're straight up "Home Alone"-ing shit right now.
There are 10 people living under one roof right now, sharing 2 bathrooms.
Last night was spent sharing the floor with 3 other people. My shoulder had a blast... woo.
Come the weekend, it'll be 12 people under one roof.
...and at one point, rest assured 10 of the 12 will be drunk at the same time.

Fun shit.

Monday, September 13, 2010

windy city- more like sleepy city.

I'm sleepy. I'm walking around this place and randomly falling asleep.
I'm definitely getting too old for this shit.
... but I am having a good time. Carne asada, hot dogs, burgers, cake, ice cream, and an assortment of fresh berries.
Being Mexican can be fun some times, I guess.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Slow dancing in a burning room

I leave at six in the morning tomorrow, although I have to be at the airport way earlier than that.
I haven't packed... and it's... what o'clock right now?
I've spent the last three days shopping like a maniac for this trip... but not nearly as psycho as my mom.
It appears the little lady has lost her mind. She actually forced me to purchase not one, or two, but three purses.
All that shit, on top of yesterday's crazy (but AMAZING!!) gift.
Mom... are you ok? Do you have to give me some world-shattering news? Oh my God... you and Dad are getting a divorce, aren't you?! Please don't! I know I'm 25, but that's my worst nightmare! You guys are supposed to stay together forever!

She claims to be fine... but we'll see what's up... we have to see how these next nine days work out.
Who knows, I may come back the owner of a new penthouse in downtown Chicago.
Ok, I'll  NEVER agree to that. I dislike Chicago far too much to waste money like that.
I'd rather... do what this Spanx advertisement encourages me to do in nothing but... the Spanx:
Cook a meal, win a race, put out a fire... diffuse a bomb, perhaps ?
I'm particularly fond of the "Put Out a Fire" idea.
As a scientist, I feel obligated to plead to the general public of idiot, gullible females: Please don't... just.. stick to going to your cubicle, Bat Mitzvah, Quinceañera, or club in said undergarment... preferably with more clothes covering.
And stay away from fire.

Of course... the biologist in me thinks Darwin, baby.
Go ahead, young ladies... enter a burning building in nothing but your Spanx. I don't mind having more guys left for me to choose from.

Saturday, September 11, 2010


So I was going to be thoughtful and somber, considering today marks the 9th anniversary of that horrible day in U.S. history, but...
Ok, no, I'll keep it short and still pay my respects:
Nine years ago today, I woke up at 5:30 in the morning and turned on the radio like every other morning.
I was groggy and moody like always, and then I heard them interrupt the morning zoo. At first, they thought it was a joke.
"Some dope crashed into the World Trade Center."
I just thought "Well, that sucks for that poor pilot," and kept getting ready.
Then I heard them groan. They turned serious, I ran to the television.
I turned on the news channel and there it was, the second plane crashing into the second tower.
I was petrified.
We had planned to leave at noon to Fort Sill, Oklahoma for my Brother's graduation from Basic.
Sister and I had to go around from class to class to collect signatures from all 8 of my teachers and any homework they expected us to turn in the following Monday, upon my return.
Each time, the teachers would sound very upset. They somehow thought I had lost a relative in the attacks.
During lunch time, I sat at my usual table with all my friends, and we were all serious. My best friend at the time told me how they had seen the towers go down in her class. I freaked.
My brother!! He's graduating basic... fuck dude!
Mom picked me up from school after lunch.
I remember getting home and immediately turning on the news, seeing footage of people jumping out of the buildings... papers scattering everywhere.
It was the quietest any of us had ever been. It was the only time I shed a tear.

We packed up. Mom, Dad, and one of my aunts sat in the front of the truck.
Sister and I were forced to be in the camper... and we drove off for Fort Sill.
The entire drive out there, I remember all I really did was read George Orwell's 1984... novel we had started to read in English class and only homework I really had (besides some crazy homework for AP U.S. History involving... dam power. That thing I don't really remember). I finished the book.
I have never been so creeped out.
I, like many Americans, will never forget that day.

Now onto the more self-centered and frivolous:
Yes, I nearly pissed my pants.
I look at it, and I almost barf out my heart.
And oddly enough, it was 9 years ago that I learned I wanted something like this. I was starting out in photography class and I thought "One day... one day..."
I am absolutely smitten!

Friday, September 10, 2010


I am once again brother-less.
Yesterday we spent the day together and "bonded."
At our "last meal," aka "stuffing our face at noon with sushi to eat jack the rest of the day," Rafa got a call from his Notre Dame BFF and ex-roommate.
Rafa: For real, ChingChangCheezy? (he has a thing for giving EVERYONE a nickname. They are not always the most politically correct, either. This guy is a hardcore "ginger." Give him a green suit and hat and he might as well turn into the ND mascot)
Rafa: You couldn't wait for me to get there? Shiiiiiyet.
Rafa: Yeh. I get there tomorrow. Yeh. I'll be there.

Turns out ChingChang got enganged to his chick of 6 months and he was asking Rafa if he was going to be able to make it to the engagement dinner at South Bend. Well, it's more of an "I'm engaged, let's get shitfaced this entire weekend!" dinner.
Rafa was excited... then his face turned sour.
Rafa: Fuck.
Me: What? Did you forget something?
Rafa: Fuck! Amanda (CCC's new fiance) is best friends with Katelyn.
Rafa: ... ... (grabs face) yes.
Sister and I: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Ok, backstory on Katelyn Riley:
Last year, when we went for Rafa's graduation, we noticed him a little uneasy while we were taking photos near Touchdown Jesus.
Then, this really pretty blue-eyed, blond-haired girl emerged from the crowd and smiled at my brother.
Chick: Rafi!!! I need a picture with you!
My brother looked like the executioner had just come to take him to the gallows, and they disappeared into the sea of black grad gowns.

Later that night, when we were hanging out with his best friends and their family, we noticed all the guys making fun of him... even some of the parents.
They were busting his balls over some Katelyn chick.
Ruffles would try to change the subject, but one of the guys would always manage to add a Katelyn jab.

Once it was time to go, Mom and Dad left in their car, and Rafa drove Sister and I to our hotel.
We had to ask about Katelyn.
Me: Why are they making fun of this "Katelyn?" Is it that really pretty blonde girl who took you away from us during photo time?
Rafa: I WISH!
Sister: Well... then who is Katelyn and why does her name make you blush?
Rafa took a detour and took us to the ND dorms.
Rafa: Ok. So I live here, right? Well... you know how my friends get so frustrated when I get shitfaced? We were at the pub I took you guys earlier, I was drunk as fuck, my friends got irritated with me and left without me noticing. I was bored, and knew few people... but I noticed this chick Katelyn. She has been in at least one of my classes every semester, and her friends told me she had a crush on me... but I would have preferred if they hadn't.
Me: Why? Is she a bitch?
Rafa: No. I guess she's cool... but she's not my type. But at the pub, she kept following me EVERYWHERE. This was in December, and it was snowing. I wanted to leave, so I went outside to get a cab. Katelyn and her group of friends followed me. They were like "Oh, well, we need to go back to our room as well. Let's all just get a cab together. We got you, Rafi." I was drunk and everything, but I kept thinking "What the fuck? These bitches live on the complete opposite side of my dorms... wait... do they want to know where I live?!"
Sister: Eww! She's a stalker?!
Rafa: Wait, it gets better. So I somehow manage to sit in the back of the cab. I'm between two girls and another one is in the front. It's really dark, so I don't know who's who. Next thing I know, I feel this girl grab my head and then her lips are on mine, and she just starts going at it. And I was like "What the fuck is going on here?!"
Me: Did you push her off?
Rafa: No. I mean... who rejects a kiss, right? The girl was down to make out, so I just sat there..
Me: ... and took it.
Rafa: Pretty much. She was down to make out with my drunk ass... and I didn't know who it was, so I just closed my eyes and let her have her way with me until the taxi stopped at my dorm. When it was time to get out... she opened the door and stepped out. I was horrified. It was Katelyn. And she wanted to go up to my room. So I was like "Umm.. no, I can't. The RA is going to see and you know we're not allowed to have girls in our room." And I bolted. I sobered up instantly.
Me: So what's wrong with Katelyn? She likes you... obviously.
Rafa: Well, when I got to my room, CCC asked me what was wrong. And I told him. He laughed so hard he woke everyone in the room... and I had to tell them the story.
Me: What is so wrong with Katelyn?
Rafa: She's a redhead... a curly-haired redhead... with the most freckles I've ever seen on a person. FRECKLES! After the day she dropped me off at my dorm, I didn't talk to her in class again.

Sister and I laughed pretty hard, because nothing appalls Rafa more than freckles.
Our laughter only grew wilder when he told us there was a second part.

Rafa: Then this March, it was St. Patrick's Day. Once again... I was drunk. Once again, it was that pub. ONCE AGAIN Katelyn was there. I don't know why I did this, but I went over to my friend, and I told him "I bet you anything, I can make that girl over there in the corner make out with me. I'm just going to walk up to her, and I bet you she's going to make out with me." He was like "Alright, D, fifty bucks. Go." So I walked over to her, tapped her shoulder... and who was it?
Sister and I: KATELYN RILEY!
Rafa: Yes. I tapped her shoulder, she turned around... and I was like "Shit! Why?!" but then I thought "Fuck it. 50 dollars." She smiled, and we just started making out.
Me: Was she drunk?
Rafa: That's the crazy part! She wasn't!

So, now knowing the story, we were eager to see her during our stay in South Bend, but we never had the pleasure. When we returned home, we couldn't even see her facebook.
That elusive little Katelyn Riley.

Ok, now let's fast-forward to yesterday.
As Rafa was lamenting over having to see Katelyn this weekend (Sister: Duuude! Imagine if you're paired up with her for the wedding! Rafa: FUCK YOU! Hell no! I won't show up to that shit), Sister and I remembered we had yet to see this girl.
We made a deal with Rafa: I'd pick up his tab AND give him a pedicure if (once we got home) he got on his facebook and showed us this girl with nerves of steel.

We get home, he tries to act like he forgot, but no. No, no, no. I don't forget this sort of shit.
He signed in to his Facebook and started to look.
He was still friends with Katelyn, but he wasn't allowed to see her photos.
Rafa: Oh, I know Amanda will have a ton of photos of her.
I knew he had found a stash once he covered his face.
Rafa: There... there she is... Katelyn Riley. Ergh.

There she was. In all her freckly glory.
I'd post a photo, but that's fucked up. Let's just say she looks like... umm... this:
Is that Katelyn, or Randall C. Weems?
Just add a shitload of freckles and long hair to that... and that's the girl.

There were photos from that St. Patrick's Day she made out with Rafa.
Me: Damn... I see why you hit it and quit it, Rafa. She has a decent rack. Look at that low-cut shirt. Someone was trying to impress that night...
Rafa: (covers face in exasperation and some disgust) Man... no. Nah. Don't even... let's not talk about this.

Is my brother a jackass?
I don't know. He really does get distressed when he talks about her.
I'm even a jackass for joining in the ball-busting.
I'll go a lot easier on dudes from now on... I didn't know it was this fun to harass guys over such things.
Also, I'll definitely never tell another guy I like him, at least not publicly.
I don't want to be anyone's Katelyn Riley, with all due respect to the poor girl. I'm sure she's popular in... Ireland or something.

Thursday, September 9, 2010


Today, the little lady best known for giving birth to me turned 50.
It's weird for me to say, but not for her.
For the last two years, Mom has been going around telling everyone she's 50 when they ask for her age.
You were not born before Michael Jackson, Mom, chill!

She does that to stress the supposed fact that she does not feel old at all.
"I feel like I'm 25! I'm more active than you are, AnoMALIE."
Whoa... slow down there, cowgirl, you might hurt yourself. I wouldn't take it that far, short lady.
While she doesn't run fast, I do give her the fact that she's built like an ant. She can lift about twice her weight without much of a problem... and she definitely works just as hard as an ant... and when you piss her off, she can inflict similar pain.

It's hard to believe she's my mom sometimes, because she's quite cerebral as opposed to my very... emotional demeanor. Clear examples in these short scenarios:

(I'm crying in the pantry as I'm looking for some cereal to eat for dinner. I had just gone through the whole MGH sort-of-break-up that night. Mom intercepts me, and my tears appear to enrage her)
Me: Because I loved him, Mom!! It hurts that he did me dirty like that.
Me: ... ?? But... I really liked him... my heart hurts ::sob::
Mom: That is stupid! So stupid! Shut up. Don't cry. Let him go to hell. Have you seen how many men there are in this world? That is no reason to cry.
Me:... I feel stupid.
Mom: If you're crying over a guy, guess what? You kind of ARE.
Me: ... ... ... (walk away with my cereal and cry some more, out of her sight)

(She finds me crying in my room after coming home from school freshman year of high school. School sucked BALLS this year. I was new to a SUPER predominantly white school and had ZERO friends)
Me: Because I hate school... I have no friends! It sucks!
Mom: What do you go to school for?
Me: Because I can't drop out yet without you going to jail...
Mom: No. You go to school TO LEARN!
Me: But I need to talk to people sometimes! ::sob:: They're so mean to me!
Me: Oh my God... ::bury my head in my pillow and scream::

(Mexico 2008, the summer of my epic fight with Pacemaker and the gang. It's the second day Pacemaker, Lau, Alo, and Jaz have publicly ignored Sis and I at the park. We're driving by our usual hangout spot after a long afternoon of volleyball, and see all of them standing there. They turn their back to us when they realized it's our truck. Sister and I want to jump out of the truck and kick all of their asses)
Mom: (locks doors automatically) You stay in here, damn it!
Sister: But Mom!! Look at them! They're fucking laughing at us.
Me: I'm going to beat their motherfucking ass right now... I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!
(I pull at the door handle violently)
Mom: Look at me, look at me, damn it! They are NOT going to see they have this much power over you! You're going to sit right there and SMILE when we drive by! You be fucking civilized.
Me: ::tears streaming down my face:: FUCK THOSE BITCHES, MAN! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!

Maybe I should have called her a robot, because this woman can control her feelings like... the Terminator.
Sometimes I wish I was that imperturbable, but... nah. I like having some kind of emotion and showcasing it occasionally. Plus, it gives me the opportunity to try and make the woman a little more humane.
She never really wanted to be married or have children... which she appears to have passed on to me... she wanted to study and be a doctor (ta-da! and so you now know why I was supposed to be a doctor) or a writer (this surprised me. Because my Mom is the WORST story-teller EVER. She gets lost in detail, gives a shitload of useless dialogue-- beginning to sound familiar?-- to the point where I'd rather stub my toe than listen to her recap an episode of a soap opera). Grandpa was a hard-core machista, and although Mom would win first place in any state competition she entered, he told her she had to learn her real place. Learn to cook, clean, and be a wife. That's all women are good for. 
She never wanted to do any of that, until she met my dad and thought Fuck it. I give up. Let's have babies and maybe I can turn them into little machines.
She (illegally) migrated to the U.S., didn't know a lick of English or any person in Vegas, so she just spent most of her time playing with her babies.
She bought us toys with her enjoyment in mind... case and point being all of the gaming systems she ever purchased starting with the NES, back in '89.
She'd have all the kids in the neighborhood coming to her and asking for tips.
Look... I'm only going to say this ONE MORE TIME: It's the WHITE rectangle near the end of the level. You CROUCH DOWN UNTIL YOU FALL BEHIND IT. STAY CROUCHED until it happens. Then you fly and get the flute that will SKIP YOU AHEAD.
I had the fucking Wizard living at my house, so Ruffles and I were forced to sit there and watch Mom get worked up with Super Mario Brothers 1, 2, and 3 (she fucking recorded the end of SMB 2!) while speaking on the phone to one of the neighborkids or her partner in crime-- Ruffle's BFF's mom.
She's kind of... more of a friend you want to hit the gym with, instead of the nurturing BFF you wanna go to Starbucks with and have a nice cry-session after a breakup.

Ok, it appears I'm clowning on her instead of praising her on her birthday.
I'm sorry mom. You're actually really, really cool.
I love that you're so witty, and smart, and your common sense surpasses that of any person I know. You're quite resourceful, especially considering you only went to 6th grade.
You know how to clean any gun... and you can shoot an apple off the top of my head any day, ma'am...
I love how you passed on the love of sports to me... especially since the dudes who participate in them tend to be quite stunning young men.
And yeah, I like video games thanks to you. I can even sit there and watch people play games for hours... as long as it has jackshit to do with sports... unless it's on the Wii (because in that case, I LOVE it. I love watching the loser get worked up because they're getting schooled at tennis).
I also excelled at school because you helped me focus my angst and depression over not having friends into kicking ass at math and science... so I could later laugh at jerky dumb asses in their basic math and environmental science classes.

So, thank you Mami.
I'm glad you dealt with life's unfair nature and agreed to procreate and give me life.
I hope you live another 50 years...
but pleeeease, please, please understand your strict self gave birth to a Pisces... don't get too exasperated with our dreamy nature... or the fact that I cry over dumb shit. Yes, it bugs me too, but having you scream how stupid it is doesn't help much in the "Stop Tears" department.
Go scream at the dick who caused my tears... that will probably be more productive.

I love my mom.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

...with 5 inch heels

I was having a difficult time at the mall deciding between three pairs of shoes when my phone started to ring.
I don't know about other people, but I'm a little self-conscious about my ringtone... well, my ringtone for certain people.
I've already talked about this, since that whole "Miss Murder" argument went down.
Anyway, point is, "I know you want me" came on my phone and I turned into a clumsy moron trying to get it out of my pocket to shut it up.
Fuckin' Pacemaker... quit calling me! I'm in the middle of something!
But it was a guy's voice on the other end.
Hey. How are you?
Me: Hey. What's up? (internally) No. No. No! What are you doing?!
MGH: Oh shit, I'm sorry, are you working?
Me: No. I'm shopping.
MGH: For Chicago?
Me: Yup.

He kept asking questions. I kept it curt.
I dropped a pair of shoes and proceeded to the counter.

MGH: What's wrong?
Me: Nothing. Why?
MGH: You're weird right now.
Me: Me? Hm. Well, I am shopping. (internally) And I do kind of still hate you.
MGH: I'm going to call you later... when... you're not shopping. We still need to talk.
Me: Alright. Later.

And that's why I stared at my cellphone all afternoon... and night.
No call, just texts.
Of course, I could end all of this and just get to the point,
Look, dude, what the fuck do you want from me? My heart can't take this shit.
But it physically hurts to cross a word with him.

My tone was low... like I was scared... and I stopped moving altogether once I heard his voice.
Then, I caught myself looking over my shoulder as if I was doing something illegal and I was looking for cops. Once I noticed my sister was near me, I began to nearly whisper.
Then I dropped my favorite pair of shoes from the three I was holding and I didn't care about getting them back... the hottest pair of pink leather/suede combo heels... "AnoMALIE heels," how Chase would probably refer to them.

I don't know what upset me more: hearing his voice once again and realizing I still miss him with all of my heart, or the fact that hearing his voice messed me up so bad that I rejected the best pair of heels I've ever laid eyes on.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


I leave for Chicago next week, for a week, and I have yet to fix my bastard dress for the wedding that is taking place on the second weekend of October.

I can't even begin to describe how much fucking anxiety that piece of shit is bringing me.
I talk to my friends, and they often worsen my panic.
Pacemaker: Oh damn... tube-tops... those suckers need to be tight to keep your girls up, but not out.
Lau: AnoMALIE, form experience, I tell you- secure those puppies... even if you can't breathe in the fucking dress!

As if I want to walk around in a burlap sac. Correction: a cognac burlap sac.
Sure, it's my fault for not speaking up when the dumb cunt at David's Bridal suggested I get one size larger in order to accommodate my girls... but come on, it's me. I can't help but be a doormat. I'm a timid idiot like that. I assumed she was speaking to me from an expert's point of view.
People (including myself) weren't counting on a parasitic infection fucking me up for a month and actually making me drop some more weight. Now I swim in that goddamn awful dress.
Should I just get fatter and finally fit in that piece of shit?
No... 'cause I'll still have problems with it.

I'm 5'8"... not a spectacularly tall height, especially not in the U.S., so why the fuck is the stupid dress too short? Last time I checked, the standard used for dresses is that to accommodate 5'9" chicks. Shorties just get that shit trimmed... easy fix. But when the dress is too short, what do you do?
My feet stick out of the dress when I'm barefoot. There go my hopes for wearing heels... it appears I'll have to find some flashy sandals or some shit.

And one last thing: apparently, my torso's too long.
I always felt quite average in that aspect... although I never really stop and think about my torso beyond "Fuck... I wish I had a six-pack... I hate my gut!"
But I guess I should have been more mindful of it... since it appears to be on the long-ish side... when it's not too busy being cushioned in fat.
This fuck-up of a dress starts making room for my hips halfway down my waist. It looks like my freak of a waist is the mast and I'm about to set sail with the ugly cognac-colored burlap sac.

I don't know... maybe I'm overreacting.
Maybe my expectations for a $150 dress were too high.
Do you know what I can do with $150 (besides buy an ill-fitting dress that drives me crazy)?
I'm the chick who feels horrible for spending more than 10 bucks on a shirt.
Forty dollar jeans are NOT in my wardrobe (except for the two pairs my sister gave me). I spend $25 max on my jeans.
Shoes... well, I do splurge on shoes... but never anything over $100.
And handbags... my "handbags" are Roxy and Hurley brand. I can buy myself a lifetime's worth of bags for $150.
Far more entertaining, much more pleasing things can be acquired with $150.

I can't talk about this anymore, it makes me sick.
I'll keep pondering whether or not to get fatter to fill in that monstrous dress while in Chicago... while I'm stuffing my face with pizza... and churros... and pupusas... and hot dogs... and tortas... and tamales.
Oh... looks like I have a plan!
(NOT! But I'm so fucking angry, I probably could do it out of spite)

Monday, September 6, 2010


This Mexico Summer was different from all others.
I thought I'd be able to handle it... her absence, but I couldn't.
Within minutes of entering my aunt's house, I felt the tears building.
I told myself I'd imagine my grandmother was in the U.S., visiting my uncle... but it was impossible.

I would fight back tears at random times of the day... in random parts of town. Everything was connected to my little grandma.
I expected to hear her voice, see her little body on her bed...
Pero nada.

Mom would wake up at the crack of dawn and head over to Grandma's bed. She would lay there and cry until her eyes puffed. Every day.

Today marks a year... and I still miss her. I miss her bad.
I can't really come to terms with the fact that she now only lives in my heart.
I'll never hear her shuffle her feet... or whistle some imaginary song of hers... or even catch her staring at me on Sunday mornings as I get ready for church.
If I ever want to visit her, I must come to terms with seeing this:

But I do have a secret weapon when it comes to beating the sadness.
I just have to think of a very pleasant memory made back in 2008:

It was a gorgeous, Mexico afternoon with a slight, cool breeze.
It had rained the entire night prior.
The rose bushes in the front yard were in full bloom, and even the birds were chirping.
Mom pulled out a chair to the front yard and invited grandma to sit outside in the shade, which she did.
Sister and I decided to join, but we sat on the grass next to grandma.
Grandma, Sister, and I looked out at the roses, while Mom peeled mangos in front of us.
The fresh smell of mango...

Mom started cutting the mango into cubes and adding lime and chili powder... placing the skin on a separate plate to "throw away."
Mom gave us the cubes to share with grandma, while she ate what was left on the seed.
Grandma went straight for the skin... and started to eat what was left on it.
Mom: Mom!! That's going in the trash! Eat the meaty part of the mango that I cut into cubes for you!
Grandma: Oh, you shush! I like the skin!
Me: Oooo! Mom got scolded! Take that, little lady!
And we all laughed... even my very quiet grandma.

Clear blue skies to stare at... the mixing of the smell of roses, wet dirt, and mango... the cool breeze on our face... the bittersweet taste of mango con chile... and best of all, the sound of laughter.
There we were, three generations of Garcia girls... having a moment (EWW! I just realized there's a fucking movie about this!! Way to kill my fucking memory, America Ferrera! But that's what happens when you have the Spanish equivalent of English's "Smith" for a last name. I guess I just found my much needed comic relief for the day).

And that soothes me... that is where my grandma lives.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

AnoMALIE in movies

I've had a longass day.
I don't say that because I was being a productive member of society. Far from it.
I have a rolled right ankle and tendonitis on my left knee, so I have spent the weekend trying to  stay off my feet for as long as possible.
This resting period culminated today, with a day dedicated solely to the Tennis Channel while studying some more GRE shit... while lying on my stomach, on my bed.
So uh, to tell you the truth, I got nothing today.
I just saw some hot Spanish boys running around, sweating and grunting... while I worked on ratios and antonyms.

Well, no, I do have something to talk about:
I spent my Saturday watching movies.
The order?
-Pan's Labyrinth
-La Môme (La Vie en Rose)
and, just so I wouldn't end the day bawling my ass off,
-Love Actually.

And I realized this makes the perfect combination of who I am as a person.

If I could describe my heart and soul in movies, the first three of the list have me covered... the fourth only slightly because I, like Natalie, can out-swear a sailor ("Where the fuck is my fucking coat?!" If that isn't me, then I don't know what is)... and I did live in the ghetto in my younger years... and I too have thighs as large as tree trunks... and Hugh Grant films are possibly my guiltiest pleasure.
Ok, so this movie basically covers my humor.
I also have some of Laura Linney's character... since my fucking phone never stops ringing when I'm out (although the person blowing up my phone is not my mentally challenged sibling, but rather, my extremely possessive mother). And I also harbor these super long crushes on dudes but refuse to act on them... and they never work out... ok, yeah, c'est moi.

Then Amelie... well, that's my namesake, kind of.
yeah, I once had that haircut.
It all started after my first haircut... well, the first time I ever cut it in a bob, and I was hiding at school. Freshman in college... trying to hide between classes... not the best thing. Then my bestie tried to make it all better. We passed notes in Bio lecture.
Chase: Your hair looks cute!
Me: I look like a fucking dumbass!
Chase: Now you're like... a Mexican version of Amelie!
Me: Pshh... yeah... a fucking... anomaly... I'm fucking A(NO)melie!
And bam... the name was born.
And as far as the character goes... ufff... well, it's nearly... I'd say it's 85% me. ONCE again, there's that crush issue... the stratagems... it's my calling card, dude. Ha!
I even do the traveling gnome shit.
And the part where she kind of... keeps to herself... yeah. I'm also too concerned about fixing other's lives, that I tend to neglect my own.
The idiosyncrasies... :)
Yeah, I feel super identified with this movie.
Oh Amelie! I LOVE YOU!!

Now the sad part of my personality: Ofelia (Pan's Labyrinth).
I identify with her because, well, growing up I had to invent my own world while living under not-so-awesome circumstances.
I had this crazy imagination while growing up, that even to this day my siblings bug the shit out of me about.
Ruffles: So, do you still want to be a horse when you grow up?
Me: Hey, fuck, I was a kid! I said I was a horse for that moment that we were playing!
Ruffles: Yeah, just like that time you asked us what "meat" was.
Me: I WAS ACTING!! I was trying to make you guys think I had lost my memory after you fucking hit me in the head! At that moment Mom was cooking, and she asked me if I wanted meat, and I asked "What is meat?" You didn't understand because you didn't use your goddamn imagination... your creepy ass was too busy trying to be an adult!
And shit like that... I get worked up, sorry.
Anyway, back to Ofelia, that girl breaks my heart.
Lucky for me, I don't have a terrible end like that.
That story crushes my heart... absolutely crushes it. And the music... that little lullaby... I can turn away from the screen when Ofelia dies... but the little music plays, and I still bawl my ass off.

Then we have Édith Piaf... I can't... it's... yeah, she was incredible. I hope to one day have a heart like that. That woman was strong.
Also, she wasn't considered beautiful... which to me is like, "Umm, hello, my name's AnoMALIE, I'd like to join your club."
Her advice at the very end led me to cry... uncontrollably.
Right here, man ::points at heart:: right here.
I tried to ease up on my cynicism after that... which only lasted a few hours... but still, it made me a little better.

I don't know... it's hard to explain... but when these four movies are combined... it's straight up AnoMALIE'S Essence.
There's comedy, tragedy, love, music, betrayal, hope... cussing. It's me.

(I promise to stay away from injuries from now on. These entries suck)

Saturday, September 4, 2010

I love the 90's, but...

Dear 90's-born boys:
I'm flattered, really. I appreciate the attention, especially since I can only call the attention of boys my age by... falling down a flight of stairs or inflicting some sort of bodily harm relatively similar to that.
However, I think there's a slight misunderstanding going on here.
Yes... I am older than you... and yes, I talk freely about drugs and sex with you... but uh... please understand I'm in no way interested in participating in either of the two activities... especially not with you.
You're cute, and funny... but I'm gonna keep my cookie box over here... while you keep your flashlight over there.
No hard feelings?
Look, because you do make me laugh, let's make a deal: I'll let you stare at my chest all you want... I mean, it's not like you touch it. You can stare at my tits for the entirety of our conversation, do whatever you want with that mental image... but my hand, mouth, and/or vagina (shit, I might as well add my ass to the list) will never get close to your dick.
I'm sorry, that's just the way it goes, brah.
Feel free to keep making me feel pretty and funny though. 

Being around MGH for so long, and visiting him so often, I started to befriend his hometown buddies.
They're hilarious boys, and I do enjoy their company, but they're all 20 (which I guess is better than when I met them, at 18)... they have two things on their mind: weed and sex.
I have told them I don't do any drugs, but not the other thing. I'm sure the thought of a 25 year old virgin is quite... farfetched to them.
Do I tell them they're barking up the wrong tree when they insinuate things? Nope.
Why else would I write that note? Because it's easier than saying "Yo, homes, I'm uh... I don't do any of that stuff. No, I'm not gay. I just don't want to get attached to any guy that deeply... and trust me, if I allow any guy near my cookie box... that's... something. I don't even let dudes see me in a bathing suit."
That's just too wordy and, quite frankly, border-line neurotic.

I assume they don't suspect the truth behind my little secret because I'm not a prude. I'll talk about any of that shit freely. Come on, I'm a scholar (haha), I went to college... I have slutty acquaintances... and a brother... and lots of guy friends/cousins... the fountain of knowledge is there.

I hear shit. I see shit. I read shit (leave it to me to only read smutty shit as opposed to real literature). Come on. It's in my nature to study shit (after all, I am a med-school drop-out. I know how things work).
I mean, I didn't get my driver's license until I was 19... and that was because everyone around me pressured me to do so. I just need time to feel... quite fucking awesome at something so... is it vital? Important? Which ever. Point is: kids, I'm sorry, I cannot be your sensei there. I know the theory, I just don't participate in the practical.

Poor, unsuspecting boys... trying their best to get in my good graces in hopes of at least getting some mind-blowing head from an older woman... poor things.
But it does make me laugh... then get uncomfortable.

Oh, MGH, the remnants of our... "thing."
It's fun... really... as long as YOU quit butting in like I'm an ex-wife of yours. You're the one who chose to go with Olive Oyl. It ain't my fault you later found out I was the cooler choice.

Ps. How many times did I say "come on" and "I mean" in that entry? I need to fix that shit. Oh yeah, and I'm sure "shit" made it on there more than ten times. No? Shit. Shit. There. :) I need to fix that too.

Friday, September 3, 2010


When my brother returns from wherever the hell he happens to move to, we love him for about six hours.
We are enamored, and we'll listen to him like I'd imagine anyone listening to God.

He is allowed to pinch us, push us, bite us, etc.
Then the six hours are up...
He starts taking up residence in my room...
and he hijacks my television.
Alright motherfucker, this is my room... let me watch Tosh.0 or get the hell out.
Then he'll do his thing where he sneaks into the room, and starts pulling me by my ankles... or he'll scratch his balls and proceed to shove his hand in my face... or he'll start flicking my arms and ears... or he'll straight up bite my head (yo, your guess is as good as mine when it comes to that. Why the head? I don't know. Does he bite down hard? Yes... he genuinely bites the top of my head).
Why does he do this? His room only has basic cable... there's no SportsCenter anywhere there... so he's trying to smoke me out of my room.

That little bastard sound "Do-do-dooo, do-do-doooo" at the beginning of the show can wake me up from the deepest slumber.
If I hibernated, my metabolism would speed up, I'd wake up enraged, kill whoever made the sound, then die from the cold... or whatever happens to animals who are awakened from their hibernation.

My reason for the hatred? Let me take you back to my years of the ghetto.

I slept in the living room, remember? Curled up next to my sister in the sofa. Ruffles slept in the bedroom with my parents.
What's in the living room? The television.
Sure, we had a television in the bedroom, but Ruffles knew better than to walk over to the TV and turn that shit on... Mom would choke-hold his ass until he passed out. NO ONE wakes up my mother and comes out a winner.
So, here we have Rafa turning on the living room television at six in the morning on a weekend.
Idiot... it's Saturday morning... what the fuck do you think happened in the sport's world in the last couple of hours that you may not have heard about?
Little Sister and I would be agitated 98% of the time Ruffles did this, because we most likely spent the previous night scared out of our minds listening to some prostitute scream at her pimp.

So we created a system.
It was based on tag, but turned into a two-hand-touch football type deal... that of course, usually ended badly with one of us crying or throwing punches.

The television would be shared between us... but only like this:
Diagram to help ease the mental image.
First person to touch the remote control--that would ALWAYS sit in the corner table propped up by it's... propping thing-a-ma-jiggy-- and say "Es mi tele" (It's my TV) would have the TV for the day.

However, this wouldn't be fair if the King of the TV would not be at risk of losing his/her power throughout the day.
How to lose the TV?
By walking out of the living room.

Sounds unfair, yes, I know, and that's why there were stipulations to this rule... because we all needed to go for a piss sometime during the day. Mom would be furious if we wet the living room carpet... that's why we never had dogs.

So, if the moment came where the King of the TV had to go pee, or eat, or take a nap, he/she would have to "prestarnola" (lend it). He/she would have to tag us while saying "te la presto!" (I'm lending it to you) before crossing the doorway AND cross the doorway without the tag-ee tagging him/her back and "giving it back" ("te la doy!" Failure to utter these words would result in the nullification of the tag) to him/her.

This seemed logical enough... I think... but there was a problem: there were two girls and one boy in the family.
Little sister and I were pretty much in sync when it came to television programing... so, if any one of us was King of the TV, poor Rafa would be shit out of luck.
If I was the King, I'd just tag my sister and calmly stroll my merry way to the bathroom as Little Sister would lounge on the sofa in a NickJr-induced coma.
I would do the same for Little Sister.

When it was Rafa who was King of the TV, Little Sister and I became tag-team pros. One would impede his crossing while the other tagged him back while pushing him out of the living room.
Poor guy... we'd fuck him up.

This would enrage my brother... so he changed the rules: "The person the television is lent to has to attempt to give it back!"
So Little Sister and I would "attempt" to tag each other... i.e. stand up from the sofa while going "Oh no... watch out... I'm gonna get you."
So Rafa would nearly cry from the frustration... and once again, he changed the rule:
"I can take the power from the person you tagged, so then I'm the one who the TV was lent to, and now I can tag you."
That's when shit got real... and each time we had to piss, we practically just let it all out right then and there.
Ruffles would tackle us, push us, trip us... there would be bruises, screams, blood, and an endless amount of tears.
So Little Sister and I quit.
Rafa's King of the Television? Fuck that... I'm not even gonna try... guess we'll have to put up with listening to some more shit on Jose Canseco... and Michael Jordan... and Phil Jackson...
The moment that "Do-do-doooo, do-do-dooo" came on, we'd wake up knowing we were losers.

I only remembered this "game" because Rafa tried reinstating that rule in my room yesterday.
Fuck you. This is MY room... you already took over MY car... you're not monopolizing my shit. 
I don't give a fuck about the Raiders, or the Cowboys... I don't care about that motherfucking draft... I DON'T play fantasy football and I don't give two fucks about doing research for my "fake" team. 
Go visit the family or something, they only see you around once a year.

Do-do-doooo, do-do-doooo!

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Fuck the boat!

I've heard people complain about having to watch photos of other people's vacations.
I'm quite the contrary.
I fucking love it.

I was ecstatic on Tuesday when my brother finally got to showing us photos from his trip.
I was so elated, that I was stupid enough to allow my mom to watch along with us.

Everything was fine... except for the fact that my brother steered the ship. I was a little weary over this because he was on my computer... which is automatically logged in to the pages that require a password... like, say... my blog.
Not that I would mind if he knew of the existence of it... no, who am I kidding? I would care, A LOT.
Back in 4th grade he discovered my "journal" and he'd recite some of my entries out of the blue-- for example, doing something as mundane as tossing the football around:
Ruffles: Izzzzzzzzak!
Me: WTF?
Ruffles: Are you going to see Izzzzzzak today?
Me:... uh... it's Tuesday... no, I'm not.
(This was when I had this intense crush on one of the altar boys. I didn't know how to spell his name back then, so I'd just fluctuate in the spelling each time he made it in my journal. We all can guess what the name was)

Anyway, aside from the thought of my brother going through my shit the moment I'd leave his sight, I was cool... we all were.
We saw his safari shit, 
"This was the oldest elephant in the reserve. His wrinkly ass was all like 'this is MY house!'"- Ruffles
His visits to historic mosques,
That chandelier in the Aya Sofia? Mom wants it.
His I'm-a-drunk-tourist-at-the-World-Cup shots
He met the love of my life... CryBaby DosSantos
Set aside our love/hate relationship with Donovan
Even the HDT shots he got for me (this one deserves its own entry some time later).
Then we saw a photo where he was... bustin' some Blue Steel or some shit:
Too sexy for his shirt? Calm down, Zoolander.
He tried to explain his pose.
Bro: It's 'cause I have this friend... Mark. He like... has all these fucking poses on Facebook... they're all serious and shit... but so fucking hilarious. So we were imitating him... here, I'll show you what I'm talking about.

Ruffles proceeds to get on FB, page I was still logged in, and seeing that, he just went to the guy's page anyway.
Bro: A shit... you're not his friend... so... let's see if we can see any photos.
He clicks on the Photos tab... and Mark has three albums I can look at.
The very first album?
"Hossfest: The Many Faces of King Rafa."
Album cover?
I knew that fucking boat would get us in trouble some day!
Jesus Christ...
Anyway, who was over Rafa's shoulder at that very moment?

Oh, hermanito... you fucked yourself real nice with this one...
Bro and I sat quietly, back turned to Mom... and using our peripherals to toss "OH FUCK!" looks at each other.
Ruffles acted as if everything was normal, and he clicked on Mark's profile pictures tab.
Mom was silent.

Does she know about the tattoo now? Oh yeah... she knows.
Did she rip Rafa's skin off like she had once sworn she would if she caught any one of us with a tattoo on our body? No.

Needless to say, we are all living in fear right now... ready for a surprise attack.
Will she blind-fold us one night and drive us out to the middle of the desert... only to put a bullet in our head then catch the car on fire?
Will she handcuff us to our bed, rip our tongue out, and proceed with the skin-ripping promise?
Will she feed us GHB, then drive our unconscious bodies to Lake Mead and throw us into the water?
Who knows.
All thanks to Rafa for being the dumbfuck with the boat on his chest... and Sister and I for being dumbshit accomplices.

Thank you, Facebook!