Tuesday, November 30, 2010


Clemson: I need your guys' help.
Sister: Ok...
Clemson: What do you get a guy who has everything? His birthday is coming up and I'm stumped.
Sister: Well, what does he like?
Clemson: I don't know how to go about this one... because everything he likes he can buy. And he likes all that expensive Gucci/Louis Vuitton stuff. I can't afford that. I want... I want to get him something clever.
Sister: Hmm... well, you know where this is headed, right? You're going to have to bang him.
Clemson: I thought of that... but I want to make it clever. Plus, I don't think he's going to be in town for his birthday... so I won't know when the right time to... you know... "pop out" would be.
Sister: Too easy! Just make up one of those stupid "redeemable" wannabe gift-cards he can redeem for one fuck. Problem solved.
Clemson: But I want to give it to him in a very clever way. Have little stocking stuffers like some of his favorite movies and all that.
Me: Ok... so what does he like? Do you guys have some sort of inside joke or anything? Think of something close to both you guys and we can go from there.
Clemson: Well... his favorite movie is that one movie "Kick-Ass." He thinks it's awesome... and that little girl, the one that kicks ass, he thinks she's awesome.
Me: Ok, so let's work with that.
Clemson: OH! I know! He loves that scene where the little girl does this crazy thing with the knife... know that part? What if I get him like... a bunch of really cool knives and placed them in a really cute basket on his bed with a blue-ray copy of the movie... and the "gift-card" somewhere in there? I bet he'd love that!
(Sister and I look at each other)
Me: I don't know how he'd feel about coming home to a basket full of knives chillin' on his bed... you'd be better off greeting him wearing nothing but a purple wig and just banging the shit out of him. You're thinking Kanye-West-music-video type shit right now. Calm down.
(one night, while in Paris, all three of us were up doing yoga while watching French MTV music videos. We were stunned when that one "Flashing Lights" music video came on... you know, the one where the girl gets that shovel. Yoga stopped ASAP, since our minds were blown for the rest of the night. Clemson: I will not be able to look at a shovel the same way again...)

Clemson makes me laugh. You'd think she'd say these things to be hilarious, but she's being genuine... which only makes it that much funnier.
Just like the Mormon inside joke we have... she just keeps on giving us more material.
On a serious note, I'm glad she found a guy. She was SUCH a penny-pincher in Spain (she's the girl who told me her damn bread story about three times in the month I was there), I'm glad she has found a guy who can make her money issue (that made life so difficult for EVERYONE) obsolete (he's a pro football player. Girl surrounded herself with a couple of good guys... some with whom we actually had the opportunity to skype with while hanging out with her).
Perfect way to end my night (things started looking up after Barça raped the shit out of Real Madrid. I may love CR, but words cannot describe how much I detest his football club. Plus, Barça's my Liga team. Their team's cohesion makes shit look like a beautiful choreographed dance on the football field. Una maravilla).

... Knives on a bed... dear Lord.

Monday, November 29, 2010


Secrets are playing a role in your romantic affairs, Pisces, but this time the secrets are yours, aren't they? The issue that has been leaving you perplexed and upset with love has been coming from within, and so you will never move forward until you nip these things in the bud. It may be that an honest conversation with the person involved is required, and if you think this will lead to a loss of some sort, consider how things are being left as they are without this conversation. You are clearly not moving forward with the person that you wish to be doing so, and this is because you have not had as much honesty on the table as you should. In this case, honesty is scary for you, but so long as you remember that this person is more understanding and forgiving than you think, you will sail through this talk easier than you think. They are waiting for just a smile, and if you can accomplish that, everything else will work itself out very positively for you.

Things with love for you Pisces have not exactly been coming up roses lately, have they? This however is a period of discovery for you, and you may find these issues change if you make the right action choices to do so. It is possible that something that has been lost or hidden will come to light for you, and you may find some secrets or long buried feelings to contend with today. In fact do not be surprised if some of these buried feelings are your own, and if you are discovering this during this period, it may be time to take those feelings out and do something with them. Whatever you engage yourself in during this period, your intensity and drive will be high. These feelings are intense enough to be the real thing, so why not harness some of your infamous drive and energy, and put that into your romantic affairs for a change? You will be surprised quite pleasantly to discover that someone has been waiting for you to do just that.

I'm not much of a bluffer with my poker game. I stick to sharking. I calmly wait for someone to try to bluff me... and I pounce.
I learned this because the rare times I do bluff, someone always calls it... then I'm shit out of luck and broke.

It's not that I lie... I just... well, I guess it's technically lying by omission.
I could have had pocket aces and folded to a possible flush... or I could have had 7-2 off-suit, and it was all just an easy fold. You'll never know. I'll never tell.
Risk vs. Reward... and I'll only take the risk if the odds are with me.
Well... that's only the majority of the time...
There will be days when I'm being a dick, I'll play reckless like an asshole, and lose it all in one or two hands.

If I quit playing poker with my love-life, maybe what you say could be true, astrology.com.
But the risk is never worth taking.
That doesn't mean I haven't taken risks... it's just that the odds work against me. Every time. And I'm left wanting to just auto-post blinds, leave the table, and automatically fold to any raise. Y me quedo sin nada.
I'll try and shark when I think I have the game beat with a flush-- ace high, but someone busts out the straight flush.... with 7-2 off-suit, deuce being the winning suit... and I lose it all.
Broke and disillusioned.

So... you'll never be able to convince me otherwise, astrology.com. I refuse to open up... in any sense of the word. It's never worth it.
No one is waiting for my "conversation," so just shut the fuck up.

I concentrate on empty spaces,
A passive pondering of blankness.
Sit down, shut up, controlled obsessions.
Your absence, it exhausts me.
I can't control my feelings.
I sip on dreams and choke on real things.
Detach myself for preservation.
I struggle to not want you.

I always panic when I'm left.
Is it healthy that we met?
If you stop coming, will I forget?
I always panic.

Today is going to be simple,
Today 'cause you're not around.
My heart will pound lazy,
No one to impress,
No smile is required
Today 'cause you're not around.
Today you won't be around.

She asked how we are...
She asked If I was all weird again.
And of course I am,
But I'm trying really hard,
So I lied to her.
And I was wearing this prisoner face
So deep inside, she had to know:
Once again I've lost control.

For everything, there is a reason.
Everything, I hope in time, will come.

Lying in your bed,
I am a refugee you try to love.
But the love that he killed
Keeps coming back and haunting me.
Am I wasting all of your time
And all my cute days on regrets?
Is it healthy that we met?
Is it wrong holding on too much
To my best friend, my faded lover?
Who knows?

Cinderella Hope
And it's all because he made me laugh.
Coincidence or fate,
Running towards a catastrophe...
Save me.

What some bullshit on an astrology page does to me...
Why couldn't I have been a cold-hearted Virgo? Fuck.

Sunday, November 28, 2010


Mooney, where do you get these things? HAHAHA!
Reminds me of when I was unwillingly in a fight-club. Makes me wish we would have had rules... maybe that way I wouldn't have ended up with a damn hammer lodged in my right quad.

A much needed giggle for a pretty rough day, dude. Thank you.

Saturday, November 27, 2010


So, remember Obnoxious Guy from this story and this story?
Well, turns out the mystery behind his "AWKWARD!" outburst can now be explained.

The day of the wedding, OG was walking with my cousin when I *tried* being cordial/polite.
I did notice they spent the night canoodling at the table next to me (to make shit more "AWKWARD!"), and thought "Oh, they haven't seen each other in a couple of years... maybe they're just catching up."
Plus, no one else was giving OG the time of day... not even when he was cutting people in line for the buffet-style dinner (sweet baby Jesus, if I ever go to another wedding with that shit, I'm walking out. FUCK. THAT. SHIT).

Anyway... obviously I'm FB friends with the girl he was canoodling with (she's the cousin with all the bad tattoos... the one who LOVES gossip), since we're related and all (but I'm not friends with OG... I will transversely stab my trachea with a screwdriver before I befriend that moron).
WELL, this cousin recently went to Hawaii... so of course, I was interested in the photos.
I went through all 200.
Everything was fine and dandy, with me commenting the photos I liked and all that shit... an overall pleasant experience, until I reached the very last photo:
uh-oh... now you know his name starts with an I... the same name as a certain "terrible" of history.

And I saw OG was tagged.
No way....
I went to her "info" part... and sure enough... they are officially an item on FB.

You precious little bastard! You think I liked you, and that's why our exchange at the wedding was "AWKWARD!"? That's almost cute! HAHAHAHAHA!

First off, YOU were the one trying to hook up with my sister, then me... then finally, two years later, you managed to nab my much more love-starved cousin. Give me a break, bro! HAHAHA!

Quite "terrible" if you ask me.
I thought that facial hair style was only appropriate on a swashbuckling pirate... or musketeer... or a pizzeria baker.
And while I'm all for guys grooming their eyebrows... you take that shit to another level. Your eyebrows are far more groomed than my own, I doubt I can keep up.
And pasty white... well... I'm not really... I don't... it doesn't... look, I once read Wuthering Heights...

I probably would date a pirate, musketeer, pizzeria baker, or Powder-look-alike... as long as he showed some sign of intelligence... or wit... or even sarcasm, for fucks sake! You have the personality of a goldfish. You get lost in your own reflection, Sexy. I can't handle that... because I get the urge to punch you back to reality... and who likes an angry AnoMALIE?

If by me alluding to you being gay gave you the impression that I actually wanted you... I apologize. I always thought guys hated that shit... even hating any girl who ever dropped such hints in their presence... but apparently I was wrong. I'm so sorry. I can see where the miscommunication could have occurred... with reverse psychology and all that shit.
I just assumed the six feet of distance I maintained between our bodies would aid in the point I was trying to make: I would rather contract malaria than get my lips anywhere near yours. I would rather touch a hot stove than accidentally bump my hand into yours.
I guess I didn't try hard enough to get my point across... and I totally deserved that wanna-be dis at my cousin's wedding in front of all the guys at the bar. Well played.

But with some effort, I will survive, Casanova.
Yes... I am a little upset over you no longer being available... and the fact that I'm going to have to continue seeing you at family gatherings-- it's going to tug at my heart, and tears will forever sting my eyes (I wanted you to be the father of my babies. I've been saving my cookie-box just for you!)-- but I will be ok.

I'll just try and avoid reading the continuous status updates, similar to this one (courtesy of your now girlfriend) to avoid any further pain:

Hmm I wanna go buy some cute boots and a lil somethin somethin for someone special! ;)

(I'll spare you the photograph)

Why lie? I'm going to mourn this shit more than the MGH-AnoMALIE disintegration.... I mean, you DO have better teeth and all.
And you will absolutely dethrone Darcy from his spot in my heart... because... he could never gossip in Spanish about Mexican novelas quite like you. I will now burn the candle for you, and only you, my Alabaster Re... Rey.


Excuse me, I'm gonna go cut myself now.

Suck my balls, OG.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Raf-isms and Brontë

A couple of Raf-isms:

1) After picking him from Passenger Pick-up at the airport:

Rafa: Oh man! I haven't had sushi since I got back from Japan. We gotta hit up Yama ASAP.
Me: Damn... that was like... what? Almost a month ago?
Rafa: Ha. Yeah. But I ate like a beast in Japan, boahhh! (His stint in the Army got him saying this instead of "boy." He's somehow under the impression that he is some sort of southern "boahhh")
Me: I bet.
Rafa: I fuckin' ate whale sushi when I was out there!
Me: Ugh. Didn't you feel bad? Most of them are endangered, come on now!
Rafa: Well... I mean... it's illegal and everything... but it's supposedly for "research purposes," and somehow it ended up in my fuckin' stomach.

That animal.

2) I'm sitting in my room, getting ready for Thanksgiving dinner, when Rafa walks in and watches a little of the movie I'm playing ("Love Actually," a MUST for this time of the year. I think that badboahhh's gonna be watched another two times before Christmas. Too many memories, dude).
Rafa: What the hell is this gay shit?
Me: LOVE ACTUALLY! Idiot. And it's NOT gay!
Rafa: Look at that little fag... yeah, right, like he can run around in the airport like that. I'd clothesline that little bastard... BAM!
Me: ... what did he ever do to you?
Rafa: He disrespected airport security!

That guy... he can make me laugh.
Pobrecito has been in his room all day, reading and writing essays.
It's as if he isn't even here...
although he did make his presence known in the early morning... when he broke into my room to shake my head and scream "Wake up, ya lazy bum!" in my ear... at 8 in the morning. He's like a fucking hungry toddler... that I can punch and ask to "Shut the fuck up!" without going to jail.

To get even, I made my sister and Mom tease him along with me about a certain female friend of his... his fellow Social Chair partner. She made her profile photo on FB be of her hugging my brother... with a suspicious caption, and I just took that shit and ran with it.
Me: So... why didn't you bring Erica to Thanksgiving dinner? I wanna meet her...
Mom: Oh... who's Erica?
Sister: Let me show you! (busts out laptop) She's cute! And look at that... she lovessss him.
Mom: Mijo! Why didn't you tell me? You guys are cute together!
Brother: SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND! She has a boyfriend! And she's a little annoying, actually... she's really annoying.
Me: You're the other man?! How could you?!
I then move behind Mom. I'm flicking him off with both hands and mouthing these next words off, like a menacing cholo... Raf-ism to the max.
Me: Ha-ha muthafuckaaaa!

I learned from the best.

And now, because I'm in the mood to laugh, something I found via Mooney... and I had to share... because it made me giggle:

Wuthering Heights is one of my all-time favorite books. The moment I saw this, I laughed. I remember reading this book in 11th grade, and the whole time wondering "WTF? WHY WOULD YOU STAY WITH HEATHCLIFF?!" But after a few chapters, I wanted Heathcliff's wild-ass... bad. Who the fuck wants a sickly pale dude... when you have a buff, barbaric, violent man with dark features? Mmmmm. That book fucked me up real nice.

So yes, I too have a Heathcliff complex, Mooney. Thanks for sharing! :)

Thursday, November 25, 2010


Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday from the time I can use my memory, until I was a freshman in college.
I didn't love it because of the obvious: the food... since I've never really been a fan of food.
I loved it because:
- the weather is awesome.
- having so much family gather for an occasion where we give thanks and appreciate each other is always welcomed by me. Plus, I got to run around outside and kick boys in the nuts... long story.
- the memories made every year (like kicking boys in the nuts) warms my heart...

Of course... then came college.
I noticed how my father's side of the family was so... carless and... well, we pretty much were a burden to them. They threw parties, but would always "forget" to invite us. When we'd throw parties, they wouldn't even call to let us know they weren't showing up.
Fuck you guys. I'll give you the same importance you've given me: zero.
They fake a unity that isn't there... just so outsiders can think we're all merry and all that bullshit.

By college, more people were also drinking... so... more people were drunk... and more people were fighting... or mortifying others.
I don't exclude myself from this one. I'm guilty of at least one angry outburst, of which I'm not too proud.

Then there was the infamous 2007 Thanksgiving, where Dad massacred Mooney's dinner party mood by announcing he had cancer... that was fun.
That year my favorite chemistry teacher passed away after a hefty Thanksgiving dinner... no lie. It was heart-breaking. He made Biochemistry a little less painful with his stripper jokes. He will always be remembered.

Today, I can honestly say, it felt as good as when I was a fourth grader.
The weather was cold... warm clothes were worn... and only the family members I really care about came over (except for Mooney's brother... he was sorely missed).
We're all "grown up" so to speak... but we still laughed about stupid shit. We still cracked jokes about Pokemon... watched crazy YouTube videos... and we all snuggled over to the 60-whatever inch TV to watch the very family-oriented "The Godfather" while we finished our dinner with the world's GREATEST flan (no, there's no arguing... it is THE best).

My maternal side is THE flan of my life. Gracias. Los amo! :)

And no, no balls were harmed during the making of this wonderful memory.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

She let go

It was the summer of 1998, but "Titanic" was still the movie to talk about.
We'd all hang out at "El Alamo" late at night, and the nights were spent playing all sorts of games.
El cinto, el doctor (not that doctor), freeze tag, el bote.
Alo liked a particular game: the Titanic game. Two of us would hold hands and violently spin in a circle... you know, that thing Rose and... Leonardo DiCaprio's character do in the movie.
After days of playing the game with only my sister and I, Alo finally got the guts to ask Rafa to spin with her.
I still remember her face... I still remember his.
He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!!
I like her, I like her, I like her!

Today finally marked the death of this relationship. The point of no return.

Alo garners a lot of male attention... I can't even begin to count the number of guys who claim to be in love with her. My brother though... he was there from the very beginning.
She once told Pacemaker that Rafa was the only guy she ever loved... and my brother, well, we all know where he stands on that.
I really, really hoped this would have a better ending. If there was one relationship I cheered for, it was this one. I saw it begin from a little kid crush of an 11-year old girl who gushed over my 14-year-old brother... to the lasting guilt of a 23-year-old woman who's bottom lip quivered at the sound of my brother's name. An 11-year-old teeny-bopper who would steal my brother's deodorant stick when he wasn't looking... to a 23-year-old woman who would take a deep breath each time she "accidentally" walked into my brother's empty bedroom.

But all chances died today.

One of the many dudes who "loves" Alo called my sister today.
Guy: Hey, so... I just got back from Atlanta... have you heard any news about... you know... Alo?
Sister: Well... just that she's in Switzerland right now. Why?
Guy: So you haven't heard about... her getting married?
Sister:... n...o...
Guy: ChildhoodFriend told me Alo went down to city hall a little before heading out to Switzerland and... married the dude.
Sister:... what a dumbass.

This news came six hours ago... and I'm still trying to process it.
Mom, Sister, and I are debating whether or not to tell Rafa. We get to pick him up at the airport tomorrow at noon... and we have no clue what to do. I mean... anyone can read I have bad news from a mile away-- I wear it on my face.
But I don't want to hurt my brother... I already did that seven years ago, when I told him Alo was cheating on him. His face turned red... he locked himself in his room... and when I walked by a couple of minutes later... I heard him sobbing... hard.

He still has this "secret" corner in his room, where he has everything she ever gave him, including letters from the time she was 14... he still has her reply to his break-up letter-- many words smudged by tears.

Stupid, stupid girl.
Didn't know how to wait.
Her vanity, his pride.
Y así termina todo.

Man... I was in such good spirits this week.
Now I have to debate whether or not to break this guy's heart on Thanksgiving weekend:
Our news to him is more painful than this... hopefully he'll be just as lit.
Of course I won't... I won't.
I'll just have to make sure to stay sober.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


Entry from 04/15/09 titled "Inadequate, to say the least." Uhh... my apologies in advance:

Still sad.
Ok, it's worse than that.
I've spent the last couple of hours crying.

First of all, I had a semi-confrontation with MGH thanks to facebook.

He added a photo consisting of him and 2 buddies, plus a chick he tagged as "the mission."
Then he added a comment mentioning what a... I guess warrior he was.

I found the pic rather disturbing, since clearly he was beyond pissed (drunk, not angry)... and the chick was just... well, here, you be the judge:

Well, I had a chance to talk to him later that day.
Me: Dude... WTF is up with "the mission"?
Him: ahahahaha... oh, that... well... I (gives me some weird Mexican slang).
Me: ??
Him: Basically, I had to take one for the team.
Me: You fucked her?!
Me: That's fucking... wait... was this over the summer?!
Him: No, it was a year ago. Why? Did I do wrong? Brave of me, right?
Me: No... that's fucking dirty... Who does that shit?

And you get my drift.

Nothing against the girl... I mean.. shit... not cool to have your photo posted all over the internet to have dudes laugh and high five each other over how "brave" one of the guys was for "taking one for the team." But this is the second time I put up with MGH gloating about his less-than-ideal hook-ups with random ass chicks.
Which makes me scream and cry:
Gaaaaaaah! So fucking frustrating and demoralizing!

So... yes... I've been crying quite often since that moment up until gym time (I actually got teary-eyed walking into the gym. I had to stop myself... because gym = temple. I will NOT cry over a guy at the gym... that's pussy shit).

And that's where I end that entry. I had posted it back then, but took it down a day later because I couldn't read it without crying... or wanting to vomit (I also had other drama with it, which should no onger get me in trouble).

Reason I bring it up now is because:
1- I can finally read it and sort of laugh. It still pisses me off, and would I have MGH in front of my face, I'd still kick him in the balls for it. But... I no longer feel the need to cry after thinking about it.
2- My friend did this today... the warrior thing.

It weirds me out, the behavior. I don't understand what drives a guy to do that sort of shit.
It's really, REALLY frustrating.
He's a handsome guy-- sure, a little short, but still handsome-- who shouldn't have trouble finding a chick... and for some reason, he decided to take down one of these bisons at the bar... as if it were a sport.
And the thing that creeped me out most was that he was in MY company when he decided to do it (as well as his two guy friends... who were "cheering him on" like fucking cavemen). I was front row and center to see this shit go down.
WTF?! You invited me to see this?
The moment I saw this going down, I decided to peace out.
I love the guy, he's my childhood friend, and he makes me laugh... but... I don't enjoy seeing a chick get toyed with.
And I don't know why he thought I was going to approve of the behavior... but he gave me a thumbs up as I left the bar, shaking my head.

Guys: I dig y'all... I enjoy the company... but... what the fuck goes on in your mind when you do this?

I also don't enjoy the look of "victory" these woolly mammoths throw my way when "my dude" goes for them... ok, fuck it, I think that's the main thing that irritates me... the bison thinking she has me beat.
Not cool, bitch, I was trying to stick up for you... hoe. But go ahead, take him. I'm in NO rush to give that motherfucker head any time soon. Especially not when I look like I'm on my way to taking him to day-care. He's all yours, babe. Enjoy. 
P.S. This trophy boy you just "stole" from me... we just pigged out on some spicy-garlic buffalo wings. Enjoy the taste of that "protein."

Monday, November 22, 2010

PB and Cookies

We have an inside joke in the family where we exclaim "PEANUT BUTTER?!" (actually pronounced "Pea-nah BAH-D'O") whenever someone asks a question we don't want to answer.

Back when I was five, one of my cousins of the same age was over at my house, but refused to play with any one of us. She was fresh from Mexico, and all awkward and shy.
She kept bugging her Mom to take her home. My sister and I were playing with her younger sister, and WhinyCousin would only sit next to her mom and whisper something in her ear.
This girl cousin is from my Mom's side, so when my Dad's uncle came over, he met these little girls for the first time.
Uncle: And who's this lovely lady?
WhinyCousin'sLittleSister: Vanessa! ::Smile:: ::looks in his hands for candy::
He then turned to WhinyCousin.
Uncle: And what is your name, sweetie?
She looked up with watery eyes.
WhinyCousin: PEANUT BUTTER?! (actually pronounced "Pea-nah BAH-D'O")

This makes us laugh... every time.
But today, I do believe I found a new favorite interjection.

I walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes, when I heard Mom and Dad talking about religion.
Dad: We talked about that one movie... how it shouldn't be watched if you're a Christian because it's about a magician and monsters and witchcraft. But there you have it... breaking records at the box office. Sign of the times... the end is near!
Mom: Huh?
Dad: You know... that movie that came out the other day. Those little kids... one is a magician... they're into witchcraft... it's really popular right now... what's it called... it's a little boy.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?!
Dad: That damn movie about the little boy magician!
Mom: COOKIE MONSTER?! (actually pronounced "Koo-key Muster")

The correct answer we were looking for was: Harry Potter.
But I was too busy trying to catch my breath after laughing so hard... as was my Dad... and we totally forgot to argue over how STUPID Fundamentalists really are.

God bless my mommy and her... mentality.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

No Broke Joke

Pacemaker: Your dad got a new truck?!
Me: Huh?
Pacemaker: I saw it on your sister's page.
Me: Oh... yeah. I thought I told you the other day when you called (no, I omitted that on purpose). My folks were out in Washington buying the truck.
Pacemaker: No, you didn't tell me! What is this? Like, the third truck in the last three years?
Me: Umm... yeah?
Pacemaker: Man... your dad... you guys are gonna go broke soon.
Me: (laugh) umm... nah... not any time soon... that shit's tax deductible. Dad could buy a new car at the end of each year if he wanted to, as long as it meets the required weight limit.
Concept you'd probably understand if you owned the Kiehl's you so often brag about.

Prior to this exchange, I had been having a pleasant weekend:
-New truck (which was supposed to stay a secret. Bragging about that sort of shit I don't enjoy... since people are quick to hate-- Pacemaker serving as a perfect example).
-Rainy, cold days (fun to stay home and be all warm... driving in it, not so much).
-Middle school crush still remembering me (although it was brought to my attention how much he looks like a very butch female... which is... true. The androgyny is... there... just like Justin Bieber's. Man!).
-Multiple 10-year-old children vying for my attention as opposed to making my life a living hell with their music/television/conversation topic selections (winner was the 9 year-old who managed to get the house dog off me).
-Lady's Night with fresh tamales and spiked punch (tamales were lacking in taste... but the liquor totally compensated for that).
-Darcy making me laugh... and then finding out he'll be in town soon (needless to say, all this had me smiling, even after I spit hot tea up my nose and all over my chest. Who gives a fuck about burning yourself when this guy makes you laugh? Not this girl)
-Sushi with Mooney (always fun to go out and listen to random strangers complain, all while getting your raw-fish fix, right?)
-Two of my three lovelies submitting their recs three weeks in advance (the third has a hectic life, but she's more dependable than anyone I know. This shit warrants a giant fist-pump).

So... thanks, Pacemaker for being snarky, and ending my good vibe... just like getting your rag in the middle of a beach vacation.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Tear Drop

I wasn't a total loser in middle school.
I was friends with both the nerds who loved school, and the "cholos" who thought they were too cool for school.
While I had a ton of crushes from both sides of the nerd-cholo spectrum, I never had a legit boyfriend, unlike the majority of my friends.
I'd be cool with the guys, but they would be more interested in hooking up with the easy girls... and I'd be shit out of luck in the "friend" category. My middle-school curse.
Today my 8th grade crush found me on Facebook. He found me.

That guy... he was a major flirt (totally popular. He won that superlative in 8th grade), and not TOO smart (he was smart, but he was more interested in being cool), so I didn't have much to speak to him about.
However, his locker was two down from mine, so very often, we'd bump into each other and have awkward exchanges. I'm sure he figured I had a crush, since I'd blush like crazy, stutter like Porky Pig... and shove my face in the locker until he left.
One day, one of our mutual friends took my folder from my hands, and noticed how on the inside pocket, 8thGradeCrush's name was written in huge bubble letters (oh... those bubble letters... hahaha).
I guess he told, and instead of being a prick about it, the 8thGradeCrush was very sweet. From then on, he'd flirt with me when we'd bump into each other at our lockers.
The delight didn't last too long, since he moved to another part of town that year, and I never saw him again... until today.

Oh... sweet childhood crushes.
I don't know about anyone else, but I know I always like to think the best for others. Such is the case for 8thGradeCrush. I made him out to have some sort of lovely, if possibly, quaint life... working some 9 to 5  and raising a family or some shit.
Well, while my little 8thGC is still the lovely, sweet boy I liked back in the 90's (at least, that's what I got out of our little hour-long back and forth)... he does have a new addition:

OF COURSE someone in my past had to acquire a motherfucking tear-drop tattoo on the side of his face. Of course... or else it wouldn't be AnoMALIE-related.
C'mon kid... what the fuck? I thought the Blood In, Blood Out shit was a thing of the past...

Friday, November 19, 2010


I've been having weird nightmares for the last week or so.
I've woken up in a cold sweat twice, and with my heart racing once.
Today I woke up wanting to barf... ok, not really, but I did wake up feeling embarrassed, of all things.

The cold sweats and racing heart came about because the nightmares have been very "pick-your-own-adventure" like. Basically, you have me back in Hometown, stuck in a drug-lords mansion with his goons trying to find me... and I have to go through all the mansion's secret passage ways and look for weapons to defend myself. Tomb Raider shit, pretty much... and we all know how little I care about adventure bullshit, so I wake up scared, and bothered... I even pray a little, why lie?
Obviously, I'm not down with the idea of getting massacred.

Then we have last night.
I went to bed thinking about MGH and our group trip to Cancun last summer.
Stupid on so many levels, I know.
It appears my head decided to teach my heart a lesson for being so stupid.

The dream started off incredibly pleasant: I had just arrived at some nice hotel where I was going to be staying. It was at some beach, but since I had arrived late at night, I decided to wait until the morning to see the ocean.
I enter the room, and what do I see?
Mooney, my sister, Kelley, Darcy, and one of his friends were already in the room.
Vacation with all y'all? Cool!
Well... it was... kind of.
It was obvious they had all been drinking for a while... and I was, like always, cranky and irritated by everyone's inebriation.
I sat on my bed, and turned my back to everyone as they sat in the living room playing King's Cup.
That was my mistake.
Next thing I know, Darcy taps my right shoulder and I turn to my left, where he was standing.
Darcy: Ha. You didn't fall for it.
Me: I'm not retarded.
I recoiled.
He proceeded to ask me a question about my "other dog" and as I sat there trying to figure out who this other dog was (When did I get another dog? And if he exists... is he still alive? Because I haven't taken care of another dog besides Tyson. I have another dog out there possibly starving to death?! I'm a horrible person!) he leaned in and went for my mouth. I was all "Woo-hoo!" when next thing I know, he projectile-vomits... in my mouth.
It was so realistic, I swear I can still taste it... all vodka-y and bile-y. So sick.

To top it all off, the people in the living room started to wonder what the hell was going on.
That was when Darcy decides to totally pass out on top of my head.
And I try to play it all off.
What? Me... with vomit in my mouth? That doesn't belong to me? No. What are you talking about? My neck hurt? Why should it hurt? 

I woke up saying "What the fuck?!"
Then I felt embarrassed as if it had really occurred (I do find solace in knowing that even all drunk, and stupid, and passed out, Darcy was still dreamy. I would have been hell of pissed if the drunken idiot would have been someone like... JC. No thanks).

Now... interpret that, dreammoods.com!

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Those Rascals

Pacemaker: So, has JC called you recently?
Me: No... was he supposed to?
Pacemaker: So he hasn't told you about Emma?
Me: No. You were the one who told me about that one, remember?
Pacemaker: Oh, well... that's weird.

God... when that girl calls... she gives me a weeks-worth of material.

Today--for the majority of the time--JC was the topic of conversation, since he has a new girlfriend... and apparently, people in the bay area think I'm going to be devastated over it. They seem to have been under the impression that there was a thing going on between JC and I. Even my parents and brother are of that persuasion.
Totally not the case. Sure, we did some things that could make others think we were in a relationship... like how I'd sleep in his room each time I visited the bay, or how he'd throw his boxers at my head before he'd go in to shower and shit like that... but it was more of a sibling-love thing, at least from my behalf (there were certain occasions where I'd get a little freaked out as we'd sit alone in his car and he'd make "meaningful" eye-contact with me. I could sense him getting courage to go at my face, and I'd be figuring ways to dodge his body. Of course, our sibling-love would always win-- thank God)... especially since the guy I was having a somewhat-secretive thing with was his brother.
Mom: That's not how others would interpret it.

Anyway, Pacemaker bringing up JC and MGH was weird, since yesterday Dad asked me about MGH and JC out of the blue. I was trying to check him in at one of those stupid kiosks at the airport when he asked.
Dad: MGH hasn't called you or anything? Told you what he or JC are up to?
Me: Nope. I have no idea what he's doing with his life, Dad.
Dad: I miss him. I miss those rascals.
Me: Yeah... well...

That's what sucks about how well our families meshed.
My poor Pops got dumped along with me.
Sorry about that, Pops.

It squeezes my heart a tiny bit... because... I'm pretty damn sure Dad isn't going to like any other dude I may get, quite as much as he liked MGH. My Dad was a huge fan... apparently he still is, seeing how his eyes light up when he talks about those kids.

Why do guys ruin a good thing? It's like they don't enjoy being loved.
(This post also came about because, oddly enough, I'm really pissed over the Longoria-Parker breakup. Fuckface HAD to be French. Prick-ass bitch... and with an ugly hoe, too!! WTF guys?! What. The. Fuck?!)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Quien los entiende?!
Mom and Dad are gone for the next couple of days. They're on some road-trip that will get them from Spokane to Vegas. Dad decided to buy a truck out there (don't ask me. The man has weird ideas) and so they have to drive it back home. I opted not to go because I'd rather be stabbed in the face, repeatedly, than go on another road-trip with both my parents.
Anyway, I had to wake up at 4:30 in the morning today to take them to the airport. Mom was still shoving shit in her bag, so I told her what crossed my mind.
Me: Make sure you pack some rubbers. I'll be SO pissed if you give me a baby brother at this age.
Mom: What the hell do you think we're going out there for?

What can I say? I'm hell of selfish when it comes to my parent's affection. I already have to fight with a fucker who does this kind of shit:
My bro is 6'1", how tall is the dude next to him?! Anyway, this was two weeks ago. Lucky ass.
And a baby sister who is quite the pretty lady... with her dimples and giant eyes.
I'm just the quiet, good girl... pretty much the wallflower who isn't missed whether she's home or on the other side of the Atlantic.

I need to catch a break somewhere.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


This whole Harry Potter thing is getting crazy...
Ok, I shouldn't complain, since I'll take Harry Potter over Twilight ANY. DAY.
However, it doesn't mean I like it.
I remember trying to get into it... but the moment I opened any one of the books, Rowling's condescension turned me off... immediately. I don't enjoy being treated like a retard... trust your reader to understand what the fuck you're trying to say, don't beat them over the head with your bullshit.
Prime example:
While in Chicago, my now-goddaughter, Beca, was reading "Pride and Prejudice." I asked her how she liked it.
Beca: Well, I've only read a few chapters. So far... it's different.
Me: Oh, trust me, the story's awesome.
Beca: Really? So it's worth reading, then?
Me: Yeah. I mean... if you like happy endings. It's sort of like Cinderella... minus the magic, or mean step-sisters, and shit like that. Actually... it's not like Cinderella at all. Still good, though.
Beca: Ok. It's just really different for me because I'm used to Harry Potter... you know... where she just tells me everything.
Me: Yeah... apples and oranges, Beca.

But... whatever, I guess as long as it gets people reading-- just like the articles in Playboy-- it can't be too bad (unless it's Twilight. FUCK. THAT. SHIT. That just turns people into little twats).

Anyway, off-topic:
I'm currently at that stage where I'm getting sick... but it's not full-blown illness just yet. I'm lethargic, with inflamed joints and all that shit... but my nose isn't running, I don't have a cough, I'm not running a fever... I'm just dizzy and dealing with the headache that won't go away. It makes me sad and angry at the same time.
But it all gets better after this:

I'm part of the Noble gang.
Although my much-smarter chemist/physicist/mathematician cousin informed me of something WAY cooler
"I always thought you were more like Technetium: A special substance amidst the boring transition metals with very unique properties."
And that's why I'd fight bitches who talked shit about his gentle, intellectual nature... and I may have said I was going to marry him back when we were toddlers...

Monday, November 15, 2010


LAFriend: So... should we see if Sabroso (friend who gave me the "Sabrosa" nickname back during the World Cup) wants to come out with us?
Me: I doubt he can. His license is revoked... so unless one of you girls wants to drive him around...
LAFriend: Don't act like you don't want to.
Me: Oh yeah... then I could take advantage of him in my car, since I want him so bad.
LAFriend: His sexy voice... his impeccable style... his broad musical knowledge... how could you not love him?
Me: Well, besides the fact that he got multiple DUIs, and that he smokes... that fool made fun of Conan. Fatal mistake.

Conan got me through some tough shit back in my college days... I'll defend him until the day I die.
Anyway, that was pretty much what the weekend was about... my friend trying to hook up any girl in her company. She somehow made up her mind that I should be hooked up with Sabroso, even if we don't have much in common besides our freakish similarity in Spanish music taste... and our giggle over shit like this, courtesy of his friends:
Sabroso shall never learn of LAFriend's intentions. God, no.

In other news:
My aunt who randomly buys me stuff is at it again. She never had a daughter... well, she had one, but she died when she was a couple of days old... so she sometimes gets my sister or me stuff that catches her eye. Sometimes it's glitter-spray... other times it's a bright color-palate of eye-shadows.
Now, with my aunt's latest purchase, my dreams of some day becoming a Sugar Glider are getting that much closer.
Sure, being airborne is tempting...
... but WTF is this?

FYI- I never wanted to be a Sugar Glider... a horse, maybe... a Sugar Glider-- never.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Mortal Kombat

Sister: Wanna come with us to TAO tonight?
Twiggy: Eh... they're gonna have some European DJ tonight... they're going to be playing trance music.
Sister: So?
Twiggy: I mean, I love house music and everything... but this guy's going to be playing trance... like... hardcore trance. Those people are serious, they don't fuck around. It's like... Mortal Kombat shit.

This girl obviously doesn't know me. I love the "Mortal Kombat shit."

That whole P.L.U.R. thing... totally my thing. I'm guilty of sometimes longing for my "candy" days (I hear it's coming back... the candy shit, that is, not ME going back to candy. What the fuck is up with that?)

Bright clothing with childhood cartoon characters plastered on them, giant pants with fuzzy leopard-print pockets, bracelets galore, glow-inthe-dark-anything... blue hair.
Totally guilty.

I'd post pictures... but I'm tired... and it's late... and I think I'm getting sick.

Suddenly, I don't like the cold so much.

Saturday, November 13, 2010


It's finally that time of the year...
There are three blankets on my bed in which I find myself getting "burrito-wrapped."
I have late-night tea-time with Mom where we talk existential shit... or just gossip.
I can rock leggings under any stupid dress I may be forced to wear, and no one can say shit.
Best of all, after two months of waiting, I can finally wear these bad boys:
My two loves: Boots and Little Mac.
I spy... 2 more loves: my violin and my camera

It's cold outside... and I fuckin' love it.
I'm so happy, I'm even giving myself manicures just for the hell of it.
"Zombie hands" (funniest thing I've heard, BTW) 
Life is good.
Beautiful weekend, here I come!

Friday, November 12, 2010

Gotta Jet

"No need to be so uptight, AnoMALIE."

I wouldn't say I'm uptight.
I'm very polite around people, especially when I'm visiting others.
I don't demand things from others, ever. I'll drink tap water if that's all they have... I'll sleep on wooden floors if that's the only spot available.
I have no problem with getting dirty and playing around... I've ripped plenty of shoes and pants running around being an immature 20-something year old.
I put up with guys being guys... and sometimes even participate.
I feel I'm very chill and easy going.

However, I guess I get "uptight" when it comes to... dealing with the opposite sex in a "romantic" sense.
I don't know how to put it. I'm just awkward and rarely interested in interacting with them... in that sense.
I don't care for hooking up, and I don't care to be "checked out." It makes me uncomfortable.
This of course, pisses off most of my friends, at least the ones looking for a guy.

It takes a minute to convince me to go to a club or some Mexican dance... shit, it takes people various days to convince me to go to a wedding. Once I get to the club/dance/wedding, I'd be lying if I said I was calm and relaxed. I will be the first to admit I have the worst stink-face around when placed in those situations.

This happened today.
My LA friend is in town, and I promised her I'd hang out. She wanted to go out since yesterday, but I was at the wedding and not in the mood to go guy-fishing afterward. I promised her I'd hang out today, after I was done with my day.
At around 4 in the afternoon, she texted me the plan:
F says we're going to JET tonight. You down?
Eh... ppl there are ghetto. Sorry.
Bam. She was pissed.
No need to be so uptight, AnoMALIE
Bam. I was pissed.

Let me explain myself:

So maybe not everyone at JET is ghetto... but my experience with the club is not too fantastic.
That club tends to attract a certain type... let's put it that way. The guys aren't my type, but it appears I'm their type.
Guys that I have bumped into at JET? Hip-hop lovers that have some sort of record deal "in the works," sneaker-heads who care way too much about their damn shoes, and guys who have developed their own English-butchering jargon. However, somehow, all these guys coincide in their insistence to refer to girls as "Ma."
Lucky me, when they see me, if they don't grab my ass or press their crotch against my ass when I walk past them... they'll look down at my tits while licking their lips and say those godforsaken words.
What up, Ma?
Baaaaaarf! Are you kidding me?
First off, quit licking your fucking lips! That shit gets them chapped!
Second, while it may appear my tits can feed a kid or two... I doubt they can sustain a grown adult-- they shouldn't look tasty AT ALL... if they do, you better look into that shit, you may just be a cannibal.
Third: my ass is attached to me... I'm sure it ain't going nowhere for now (their wonderful English skill is contagious), you don't have to hold it for me... EVER.
And last: the feel of your hardened dick against my ass does NOTHING for me. I'm cold and unfeeling. Don't believe me? I'm a 25-year-old Vegas-native virgin... it's safe to assume I'm not easily swept away by desire.

I'm a hispanic girl with big boobs and somewhat of an ass (I don't boast about it because far too many of my acquaintances have enormous asses that make me look completely flat-assed). I hang out with chicks that leave very little to the imagination... and come on, let's not fool ourselves, Latinas don't have the best reputation for being chaste little girls... far too many of them have a baby before they even graduate high school.
I can't really blame the guys at JET for being... well... guys at JET. Just like I assume they're going to press up against me and breathe down my neck the moment space become limited, they assume I'm a horny Latina dying to pop out a Jr.

So I choose NOT to put myself in the situation in the first place... I'm not going to be the uptight bitch at the club... because I won't even be at that club.

Other girls may enjoy the attention... may need the action... but I don't.

LA girl is not too happy with this logic.
She wants to drink. She wants to feel guys with raging hard-ons press up against her while she shakes it to some horrible hip-hop at the club.
Hence, I am uptight.

Boo-hoo. Woe is me. How ever will I live?

Thursday, November 11, 2010


He made me cry with his vows.
They were lovely song lyrics of his own authorship.
The way he looked at her wasn't doing much to stop the tears. I had to look away to gain my composure and look like my normal, cold self.
He looked like a kid on Christmas. Seriously.
He NEVER smiled.
When I met him, he was miserable. He was sick, literally. Fragile, pale, depressed... with a mystery illness no doctor could crack.
I befriended him because my best friend thought he was cute, so I wanted to help her reach him (I will go to extremes to hook my friends up, but I'll close myself off when it comes to my own happiness... go figure). I was like Lenny from Mice and Men in that relationship... damn near breaking him into pieces each time I hugged his poor fragile body. But I did get to know him, and he became Kelley's best friend... and he was my "Give me what your Oma sent you from Germany... you know... that weird spice thing I can't pronounce but I eat ravenously at your place... and some gummy bears" friend.
That was six years ago.
Then last year this chipper girl who looked at least four years older than us (she's actually three years younger than the youngest) approached us Three Musketeers... weaseled her way into our clan... and he fell madly in love with her. She was the epitome of his undesirable girl... and he fell in love with her.
Alright, dude... if you say so.

Anyway, it's his day, so I won't talk shit.
You know who was getting shit-talked the entire night? This girl.
Ok... it wasn't much "shit-talking" as it was... light teasing. I was the only "single" person there. Sure, Kelley's boyfriend went sans Kelley... but it was still weird.
Everyone was paired off... and everyone was talking "Alright, who's next?" And I'd be there like "Get the fuck out of here... I'm not even willing to commit to reading a book... much less marrying a dude." And OF COURSE I was pitied the entire night.
It was awkward. Extremely awkward. AND THERE WAS NO LIQUOR!
Fuck me in the ass! Shit!
There was kissing everywhere... girls sitting on their boyfriends/fiancés laps... hand-holding... it was my nightmare. No lie. Wherever I turned, there was some sort of PDA going on.
At least I wasn't the only person uncomfortable... Kelley's boyfriend was keeping me company. We spent the night occasionally flashing the Vulcan salute... since Musketeer is a die-hard Star Wars guy.

Wait... wait... I did have ONE male all over me: Musketeer's dog!
That little beast-- all two-pounds of awesomeness that he is-- was "defending" me the entire night. Sitting in my lap and growling at anyone who approached me.
So I guess I can't complain.

But I'm still sad.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The hospital, a wedding, and a funeral

One of my favorite older cousins passed away two days ago... one of my favorite uncles has been in the hospital for almost a week now... and one of my good friends gets married tomorrow.

This has me... a little... somewhat upset, and looking for some sort of escapism.
It lead me to one of my mom's old photo albums.
Great way to make my mind go elsewhere.
Little Mom
It freaked me out a little. I mean... I look... a lot like Mom. And here I thought I was unique and probably adopted because of my features. I'm a fucking spitting image!
Sadly, Mom didn't pass her creepy-colored eyes on to me. Hers are a creepy brown color... a little honey-colored. I have a scary "is that blood?" brown going on with my eyes. I'm also not a twig like she was. Damn it, Mom! Why?! And while I'm a calm, quiet, and timid girl, you can totally tell Mom was going to be a little Fidel Castro based on that photo...

Then you have something like this photo, where the little lady removes all doubt:
You done messed up now!
Person behind the camera better head for the hills... this woman is damn near close to beating the shit out of him/her. That is my mom's "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" face. I know to get the fuck out of the building when she flashes this look my way... the furrowing of the eyebrows sends chills down my spine. You don't mess with this woman.

Last, I found a photo of her with a boyfriend:
Raise your hand if you think he looks like a douche
While she does not refuse to talk about her ex-boyfriends (although Sister and I beg her to STFU whenever one of them is brought up), she does refuse to show us photos of the guys.
Now I understand why... 'cause they're ugly as fuck. Little conceited jerks. His smug little smile... blah.
I also understand why she'd pray she'd have a big-chested girl when she was pregnant with me. I no longer hold that grudge against her... I kind of thank her now... the power of positive thinking. Thanks, Mom!

Ok... back to being sad and weary for tomorrow.
It's gonna be interesting.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Loca, loca, loca

I saw this yesterday and I couldn't stop laughing:

It got me thinking about how crazy girls can be.
I mean, not even I'm entirely free of this behavior... hence why I laughed.
I have a story on here somewhere on how I went slightly crazy on MGH at the start of our "thing." It was somewhat justifiable, and not to the extent of the homegirl in the video (I've never slept with anyone out of spite... or self-gratification, for that matter)... but it was still slightly embarrassing and stupid. I found myself apologizing for a good week.
Me: Dude, I swear to God I'm not this psycho... I was just... scared. I'm sorry.
MGH: Scared of what?
Me: (internally) Of you finding out that I know what your dad's real job consisted of and how he really died... and that I've kept it from you (spoken) That you were... randomly... mad at me... ? (internally) Did you buy it? Please tell me you bought it...
MGH: Dumb. I could never be mad at you.
SCORE! I'm never freaking out like this again!

But then we have the chicks who don't apologize for their psychotic behavior.
Those girls are a pain to handle for both the guy they're harassing and the poor female friends they go to for "advice" i.e. hours of non-stop, one-sided shit-talk over how her guy is such a selfish, cold-hearted bastard.
Take today for example. My sister's BFF, Twiggy called my sister and had her conference call with me. I'm not too close with the girl, but even I get dragged into her male troubles... she talks so fucking much and to just about anyone who will be within earshot.

Twiggy: So I got into this mega fight with Miguel this past week while I was in Guadalajara.
Sister: Again? What happened this time?
Twiggy: I kept texting him and telling him stuff like "Aw, I wish you were here," "I miss you, baby," and stuff like that. Each time I thought of him, I BBM'd him.
Sister: Ok.
Twiggy: And you know what that asshole finally wrote me after god-knows how many of my texts?
"Leave me alone, you fucking leech"... ?
Twiggy: 'Party it up, girl!' Party it up? Party it up, girl!?
Sister: Ok...
Twiggy: So I write "Party it up? I'm over here telling you I miss you and that I wish you were here and you just blow me off like that? Just don't fucking talk to me if you're going to be like that."
Me: Wasn't he working?
Twiggy: Yeah, but couldn't he say something more personal? Like, how about a "Aw, I miss you too," or something like that?
Me: I guess...
Twiggy: Then he writes back, and you know what he has the nerve to write back? That fucking little "thumbs up" icon. I get a fucking thumbs up! WHAT THE FUCK?!
Sister: I'm surprised he had the time to even do that. Come on, Twiggy, Miguel works all day, every day... when he's not bar-tending, he's being the busboy or waiter at his restaurant.
Twiggy: But he could have found some time to pull out his phone and let me know he missed me too. Not send me a fucking "thumbs up." What kind of shit is that? It just shows me he doesn't care about me.
Me: Nah... I think he was just really busy. Plus... you were out of the country, I doubt he was even expecting you to be near a phone.
Sister: He was working, Twiggy! He wasn't going to compose a poem for you right then and there. Come on, his job is hard. Give him a break.
Twiggy: I don't think we can get over this hurdle. I don't even know if I want to.

This girl has wasted six months of her life trying to start a relationship with Miguel... and something like an image of a thumbs up via BBM is going to ruin her work.

Guys... I solute you. How the fuck do you put up with that shit? It's terrifying.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Damn, Girl!

Dear Andy-Roddick-Lookin-Gym-Dude:
It has been a couple of months... and I've been pretty patient with you. But I finally had enough of you today. I've had enough of your ego... and your incessant stares... that give me the vibe that maybe you think I like you. 
To solve this problem, I'll answer you now: NO, I DON'T like your attention. AT ALL. I'm as interested in you as I am interested in acquiring tetanus. Walk by my area as many fucking times as you'd like... but I promise I will not steal a glimpse of you any of the ten times you cross in front of me... even when you plop your ass next to me. There's a pompous, haughty air about you that I just can't stand... for shit.
Just so we're clear, saying "Damn, girl!" when I load up my squat weight isn't going to do much for your case... especially once you open your mouth to joke about volunteering to spot me. It's not like I'm squatting in the hundreds, I can handle it, big boy.
Sure, I smile nervously, but if I did what I really wanted to do, I fear my membership would be revoked. 
Yes, you look like Andy Roddick... if he could look any more like a meerkat... but uh... I'm more into the "Rafa Nadal" look. Sorry.
Now please, go bother some other chick on the other side of the room.
P.S. I really, really, REALLY don't appreciate you grunting so loudly when you bench press right next to me. You're benching fifteen pounds lighter than me... man up, for fucks sake!
People wonder why I prefer working out with gay dudes. There is your answer.
I go to the gym to get shit done and then come home and sleep... but this guy has been irritating me for the last couple of months. He just stares at me and then proceeds to miserably attempt, but fail, to out-do me at lifting. He's like... in his mid 30s and looks like an ex-quarterback for his high school football team who is now trying to re-capture his youth by hooking up with a younger chick... and somehow I've become his target. Apparently I'm the easiest one to hunt in the room.
I don't understand what the fuck is up with that... but I assure you, pretty soon I'm going to have some wack story over how I lost my gym membership and now have to serve a couple of months of community service.

(Mooney... if you only knew the mess you started after showing your fandom for the older man who loves jumping in Zumba. He too struts in front of me... and it's... ok, it's funny. He flexes... A LOT when he has to walk by me. I swear he thinks I dig him or something. It's quite comical... I think he misses your attention ;) COME BACK! hahaha)

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Fives and Twos

Much to my own chagrin, I'm taking up running again.
I catch myself concentrating on the way my feet make contact with the ground, and I'm rather unhappy.
Is my... left leg... shorter than my right?! 
I have no clue just how true my observation may be, but I do know my body was NOT built to run... by any means. I'm highly inadequate at that shit, hence why I was a fucking post in my short-lived high school basketball career. I just stood under the basket and had others pass me the ball so I could lay that shit up. I wasn't about to run AND dribble... that's what the forwards were for (what I tell myself to feel better about my refusal to dribble).
Anyway, as lousy as I may be at running, I have to do it. It's a necessary evil.
Lucky for me, the treadmill is in the garage... and that place... well, there is never a lack of shit to observe to keep my mind off my unsymmetrical, clumsy body.
While Mom isn't "hoarder" status just yet, she is a pack rat... and boy! the shit I spot as I pant my ass off on the devil's machine is awesome.
My sister's first communion crown is still in there, there's a bag full of my barbies (I can still name some of those hoes off the top of my head-- Kira... Teresa... Esmeralda... Courtney... umm... Ken), a bag full of my sister's baby dolls-- actual dolls, not the lingerie, GOD NO--, shoes I wore in sixth grade and could have sworn I threw away but Ms. Mom over here decided to keep... in case they came back in style and my foot shrunk back to a size 6... ?
All interesting shit, nonetheless, but nothing compares to what  found tonight:
Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!
I don't know how many people know what the hell this is... but to the ghetto Mexicans, I can almost assure you 90% of them will know what's up.
Back in my ghetto days, we stole cable... obviously. Go to a ghetto, and I guarantee you that shit is going on. That lovely box up there is what we used to view the channels.
La caja. The box.
God... I still see it and I want to puke.
I only have one negative memory of this thing, but it's that disturbing.

I was younger than five... because I remember I still didn't go to school... and my sister still didn't crawl.
Mom would entertain my brother and I in the living room by making us sit on our little plastic chairs to watch cartoons. Rafa had a blue chair, I had a pink one... and when Mom wouldn't be watching, we'd race to the television, climb up on our little chairs, and try to change the channel.
Rafa somewhat knew his numbers... he clearly knew what the hell ESPN was (yes, he has been making my life a living hell since then when it comes to that damned channel!)... as well as... I think it was FOX (it had "boy" cartoons... and NOT CareBears, which I mean, HELLO, I was a toddler, OF COURSE I liked the CareBears). I just pressed random buttons after Rafa had changed the channel to his crap.
All I really knew how to do properly was turn on the box... which was accomplished by just pressing down on that big blue "Enter" button (I just knew it was blue).
Anyway, Mom would hear us fighting, she'd run in, and she'd change the channel back to some tame shit like Univision and we'd be forced back into our chairs to watch programming that neither of us liked.
Mom: DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT BOX! I'm listening!
Well... one day, I had had enough, and I was like "I'm a big girl... I know what I want to watch! I want to watch the fucking CareBears!"
I remember saying something like "Let me turn on the TV! And I want to put it on my cartoons! I know how!"
Mom wasn't in the best of moods (of course) but she was like "Fine... go."
She was sitting on the couch, watching me approach the box.
Ok... Rafa has done this plenty of times... the numbers look like each other on the box... they're in the middle row... the swans... are they facing each other... or floating apart?
What were the swans? The numbers 2 and 5. Was is it 25 or 52?
I stood on my little chair... pondering what to press. Rafa was getting exasperated, and quickly offered to take me down and change the channel himself.
Mom: NO! Let her do it. SHE SAID SHE COULD DO IT! DO IT, AnoMALIE!
Me: (internally) Oh no...
Rafa: LET ME DO IT!!!
Me: (internally) OMG... what is it?!?!
Mom was the fucking devil by now,standing right by my ear, her voice totally turning me deaf... so I just pressed the buttons to get out of the situation.
WORSE YET... Disney was channel 25... channel 52 was the Spice Channel... and... wehhhhll... that didn't go over so well.
Mom was irate, Rafa was frozen in place-- watching the porn on TV-- and I jumped the fuck off my chair like it were a land mine, and took cover behind the couch.
Mom was Godzilla now, and since I wasn't around to get smacked, she grabbed the next best thing: my chair.
She smashed the hell out of it. She just grabbed that pink chair and smashed it against the floor like a drunk dude smashes glass bottles to attack an enemy. The pink shards flew in the air and landed everywhere.
My chair was decimated.
(HA! My brother's blue chair ran a similar fate about two years later... but this time, Ms. Mom destroyed the chair because we were all knocking on the locked front door furiously. The ice cream truck was coming and Mom was busy inside the house showering, but she had locked us out. When she ran to the living room door in nothing but a towel to unlock the door... and saw that we were knocking like maniacs for popsicle money... well... Godzilla made a special appearance once more and blue chair was the casualty... as well as one of Rafa's toy trucks which she kicked out the front window. And people wonder why I'm a timid person who fears people...)
Mom switched it back to Univision. I ran to the bedroom and hung out under my Baby Sister's crib... while I whimpered and cried in the dark.

I never volunteered to do shit from then on... and I never asked her to help me with anything for a while... you know... up until I had to learn how to drive... and that was some shit (shit I waited for until I was 19, when I felt prepared for the verbal abuse. Obviously, I was wrong, but that's another story).

Saturday, November 6, 2010


I've had a pounding headache for the last week now. I blame GaGaHater for it... ever since I was subjected to listening to her for over an hour, my brain hasn't been the same. Her voice should only be used to torture POWs.
Anyway, I've spent the day reviewing old diary entries (among other things, like staring a one-eyed man in the "non-eye," finding out one of my middle-school acquaintances is a porn star, and going to the hospital-- no event being related) to see if I get some sort of idea for a new story (I want to give UNLV a new short story, since I feel a little guilty giving everyone else my archived shit).
While I can't say I hit a goldmine, I did find myself laughing a lot. I read many of my entries going down to '04 (not ready to read the '02-'03 shit yet). If I read what I wrote, then what Kelley wrote around the same days, I'd laugh even harder. Just so you understand what works for me, it was shit like this that made me giggle and made my headache disappear for a minute:
Example 1-

i was pissed off the entire english class... they took kelley's seat... and i felt threatened... and pissed. these kids are fucking asshole jerk faces who think they're too fucking good and educated for the world... when in all reality... i can't find better fitting words for them that PRETENTIOUS, condesending,pompous assholes. most of them. not the old school kids... but the new ones... and not the nice girl who giggles all the time. she's cool... but the other kids are fucking jerks.
anyway. they made me cuss and sit in class quietly because i was afraid of exploding on them and slamming their face repeatedly against the desk if they did as much as glance at me.

Example 2-
This new batch of kids are more pretentious than the last... they have them beat by a ten fold (one guy keeps boasting about having his book edited so that he can publish it... he's been working on it for six months. each time he mentions it, I wanna throw my book at his mouth to shut him the fuck up. Kelley said she'd punch his jaw, so my book throwing would just be for dramatic effect). so far, four of the 11 kids in class have mentioned that they're in the process of writing/publishing a book. Cocksuckers. I'm in the process of shoving my foot up their tight ass.

Now wasn't I a ray of sunshine?
That's how my last Creative Writing class made me feel... so irate, my grammar would go to shit. Kelley was right up there with me (I particularly LOVED how you remembered all their names-- or the ones WE gave them-- and went on random rants. I swear, some of the stuff we'd talk about made me have horrible fits of laughter).
I also got the real quote from Darcy that upset me:
I wouldn't normally read about this if i had a choice
Then my thought on his comment:
well, i don't want you reading my shit in the first place... you were the one with the fucking bright idea.
Hahahaha! Good laugh, good laugh. Jesus Christ, I was upset... and that's what makes me laugh the most... how angry I became... fuckin' Hulk over here. In all reality, I'd melt for the guy (now I just... no, I still melt)... that was just stupid, angry AnoMALIE speaking.

Kind of made my night... so I'm just going to succumb to sleepy time and hope the headache stays away.