Se van

Fuck... my right thigh and right forearm have been driving me crazy lately. It's the most... irritating, inexplicable feeling going on in my forearm and quadricep that sort of tickles... especially when I flex either muscle. It tickles, but in the weirdest, most fucking irritating way EVER, and no matter how hard I massage, it continues to annoy me.
I just hope it's not my body telling me I'm about to have a heart-attack...

Anyway, here's my weak, half-assed attempt at writing on this last day of August (so, it's midnight and technically the 1st of September, but I was busy as shit today... and this ticklish muscle problem has been quite frustrating, as well).

Today was the last day before two of my friends leave the city.
One leaves for good (waaaaa!) and the other for... I think he comes back in December... ?

I'd write something deep, maybe meaningful, and sweet for the guys, but I just can't with these ticklish body parts making my life miserable... goddamn, I wish Dr. House really existed!

So you'll have to settle for this:

Minnow, I will honestly miss you. I liked knowing I had a person like you to call my friend. 
You make me laugh during some rough times, and others, just letting me know you sympathize really helps, more than you can probably imagine.
I truly appreciate you, and I'm so, so glad I bumped into your blog that one fateful day during my 5-hour gap at school. I'm sorry I played around like that... but honestly, it was fun. 
It was an absolute pleasure knowing you... and thanks for laughing at my lame jokes... it makes a quiet wallflower like me feel useful.
I really, really hope you find happiness... I don't know very many people who deserve it nearly as much as you do... even if you do crack so many jokes at the expense of fat girls... ;) that was a joke.
and THANK YOU for introducing me to such great songs... those too have helped me through some tough times... 
and thanks for not passing me a copy of your "suicide mix"... wait... you did... no... never mind, that was your "happy mix"... no... you did give me your suicide mix... no... a fuck, I'm confused. Point is: Thank you.
Now research the hell out of them there fish in Utah... no, I don't know why Utah-natives sound like hicks in my head.
:)
Oh yes, one more!! Thanks for making me comfortable with emoticons... that shit I thought I'd NEVER get used to.
Sincerely, 
Me :)

OK, let's see if I can stay focused for the last note, which I can go a little easier on since this guy doesn't read me like Minnow, so technically, it's pretty much a letter to myself:

Umm, well, thanks for the FB back-and-forth (something not too common when you're away doing your thing). The notifications made me simper in front of my friends... and clap like a retarded seal when in the privacy of my room... eww, well, ok, let's make that mental image a little less disturbing... more like... Laura Linney's character on Love Actually... when she finally gets Karl to her house.... you know, the part where she hides behind the door, away from his sight, and she does that little victory dance. Yeah, that's a lot closer to the behavior exhibited by me, nix the seal example. 
At a time when all this crazy drama is going on in my head, all this demoralizing pressure to get shit done, it's always nice to revert to the golden age of middle school... all with the simple hello from my crush. It's refreshing and that too, greatly appreciated.
The crush/retarded behavior is not reciprocated, but hey, after 25 years, a girl learns to live with it... kind of... there's always girl's night outings to help beat the sadness out of anyone... for at least a minute.
Oh, and thanks for the cynicism, and the sarcasm... Jeez Louise! Thanks for the sarcasm! Too many people get offended by my sarcasm and too often I find myself apologizing for my words... I'm stoked I have yet to go back and explain my hideous sense of humor to you.
So, like with Minnow, I wish you the best... 'cause sheesh, I think you're so fucking brilliant! I really can't put it any other way.
Maybe I'll grow some balls by December and ask you to chill... although, that mental image is also quite disturbing... the growing balls part.
Kick ass, kick ass, kick ass.
Sincerely,
Me :)

Another note to myself: Never write this late at night... your mental images get pretty unattractive.
Sincerely,
Me.

Return of the Blaaareyouserious?!

Wow.

I had been GREAT at not contacting MGH.
I did not comment a photo, I did not "like" his statuses, I did not get on any sort of on-line messenger... I had ceased all contact.
I mean, it was what I had to do to stay sane.

I would love to remain friends, and I don't doubt some day I will be able to look at him and not feel like someone's tugging at my heart... but not yet. I need to maintain that heavily-guarded wall... and keep away from anything related to him. I have to act as if he doesn't exist.

But... he broke that barrier today.
He ended the stalemate-- he initiated contact.
And my stupid heart... and my stupid brain got a jolt. Thoughts swirled my head uncontrollably... and my heart raced.

I was at the airport, pretty pissed about my brother being the last idiot out of the gate... surrounded by boring-ass Brits... and I saw his message pop up.

MGH: Hey.

Me: que onda morro. (stay calm, AnoMALIE... show no emotion. Be detached) como estas?! :) (you. fucking. idiot.)

And I knew I was a goner.

It sucks to know that no matter how hard I try, and how much control I feel I have over the situation, this guy can still turn my world upside down.
It breaks my heart to know MGH knows this, and he still ever-so recklessly fucks with it.

I was having such a fucking awesome day.
My brother came back from South Africa...
Henry David Thoreau returned to my loving arms...

I missed my little love, HDT!!

I even had a great morning! Do you know how much I hate mornings?

MGH, you will never learn... and apparently neither will I.

Moreno

My brother comes home tomorrow! Wooo!

It's crazy that I talk so much about the kid, even crazier that I miss him so much, but I'm glad he's doing his thing and visiting so many countries.
I envy the fact that he gets to live in such diverse areas-- he brings such incredible stories.
He even made boring-ass Indiana seem like a fun place to live:

Doing the "Rafa," his "WTF is your problem?" look.

His friends are fantastic. However, as cool as his friends may be, and as funny as his photos are, my trip out there last summer was a total snooze-fest... although everyone was cool and everything... I'd rather live in Vegas.

But, it's thanks to Notre Dame that he got his start into International Living... and then came his awesome stories... and the awesome assimilation attempts made by that little Mexican.

First came Italy.

(2007, Milan) You're telling me there's a Mexican in that group of people?

He came home cooking all sorts of pasta, screaming in Italian that left the rest of us in the house wondering what the hell was going on, and he had this immense hate for gypsies.
You mean you would never fall in love with The Hunchback's Esmeralda?
Fuck that shit! Gypsies can go to fucking hell!
It took about a month of Mexico living to get him to speak with a Mexican accent... and for him to quit complaining over how much fresher the cheese and tomatoes are in Milan.

It tastes like I'm eating paper right now!

He also came home with a... rather trashy tattoo over his heart. I call it a boat... but it's actually a "shield" that says "Dio, Familia, Love" or some shit like that-- "God, Family, Love" in the three languages he speaks: Italian, Spanish, and English.
 Well, good luck to you. Hope you didn't catch hepatitis from those very clean needles, ass.
My folks have no idea the tattoo exists... so my sister and I go through hell to keep him from taking off his shirt each time the idiot gets drunk around my parents.
Fun shit.

Then came his life as an intern at England's parliament.

(Jan-June 2008) "I'M practicing proper beer stein grip. One hand only! Freakin rookies!"

That semester... I'm surprised he came back with his liver. I did manage to visit him that time... and I was surprised to see how his skin was so pale... yeah, that's pale.
Ruffles! You sure you don't have jaundice?
He immediately forced me into using the term "rubbish," and I was hooked on referring to any apartment as a "flat." He didn't acquire much of a culinary gift like in Milan... but... he did teach us a lot about beer... and pub crawls.
This semester he also decided to join the dark side... and by "dark side," I mean "he became a Chelsea FC fan"... punk bitch.

Now it comes to this summer.
Being that he lived in South Africa from May to... the other day, I'm eager to see how he has changed. I was able to see a little of him on that first day of the World Cup back in June, but not much else after that. However, from what I've been able to gather based on his FB status updates, that guy has had a blast.
All good up until there...

After his internship was over in South Africa, he moved on over to the Middle East... just for fun.

Lebanon, Jordan, and Turkey.

Mom wasn't a fan... neither was Dad... I thought they were exaggerating.
Then I saw the single photo he updated his FB with, all the way from Istanbul:

I will shave my own head if Ruffles was sober here.

Hermano!! What. The. Fuck.
Is it me... or does he genuinely look like a terrorist?
Ok, I'm exaggerating... but he totally looks like a native. I now understand why people ask us if we're some sort of Middle East blend (technically, we'd be closest to Moroccan's, since the D's and M's are from the southern portion of Spain... where the drama unfolded between the Jews, Christians, and Muslims back in the day. I already have the Jewish ancestry, I wouldn't be surprised to have some Muslim in there as well).

Anyway, back to the story, want to know the caption to the photo?

This is what happens when you walk the backstreets of downtown Istanbul and run into a guy selling tequila shots to passers-by. Then, walk a few more steps to one of the random photo kiosks provided by the municipality at strategic points throughout...

I can't wait to hear his stories.

... and that camera in his hand... guess who owns that camera...
Right here.
That shit better be intact.

Where's the Piñata?

You know what sucks balls? Being forced to attend little kid parties.
I understand, you're stoked to have babies, and yes, the anniversary of the kid's birth should be celebrated... but... forgive me if I'm not as fond of celebrating the occasion.

I'm 25, single, and childless.
I have zero interest in sitting there-- in your living room-- as I watch you hold your baby, who is probably wearing a stupid little cone on his head that he obviously hates since he keeps tugging at it like "WTF is this shit? Get it off my head or I'll scream at the top of my lungs into your ear... and his ear... and her ear... and especially her ear."

I don't care if he likes his cake. I don't really care for any type of cake... unless it's made of ice-cream... or tres leches... but babies don't usually like those flavors.

I don't care if he likes his gifts. You do know he probably prefers the gift wrap a lot better, and he is most likely going to shove it into his mouth in attempts to eat it, right? And that box the gift came in... I'll put money on the baby digging that box a lot more than that damn talking Winnie the Pooh that came in it.

Oh, what's that? No, I do appreciate the fact you'll have liquor at the party... but what good is it going to do me if everyone else who's going to be drinking is going to be sitting there complaining about things having to do with parenthood?
I can't relate to that. So, I usually end up sitting there, listening to more baby stories that I really couldn't give less of a fuck about... as I drink... drop a little bit of the drink on my clothes... and drink some more, on this fine Saturday evening.
No, I don't know the price of diapers... I don't care about the price of diapers.
Potty training convo isn't something I can contribute much to, either. I hear it sucks... and quite frankly, it's kind of nasty.
Talking about how tired you are after holding a play-date for your kid and your friends' kids? Ooooh! I think I know what you mean... is it kind of like the tired I'd get after three hours of fucking around with an IR spectrometer and being frustrated because I couldn't figure out what compound I was looking at? Like... my brain really, really hurt when I'd have to do that. Oh... I said fuck? My bad, I forgot I was in front of babies... I'll just... this martini's really good... let me go get another one... k... bye.

But I have to do it...
... because... I'm happy they're happy... ?

Yeah... this is going to be a very long day.
I should have charged my fucking phone.

Spoiled

I'm sister-less for the weekend. She left to L.A./Malibu for the weekend, but not before giving us this little gem:

Sister walks into the kitchen to show Mom and I her new razor.
It's the one with the regular blade on one end, and a bikini-area trimmer on the other.

Sister: Oh my God... look at this!
Sister turns on the trimmer. 
Me: What the... does that shit vibrate?!
Sister: Yeah! It works like a freakin... it's like what they use at a barber shop to give fades to guys!
Mom: What's it for?
Sister: Well, you know... to trim your bikini area... or maybe something more like your face, now that I see how it works...
Mom: Hmmm... I think I'm gonna use that to cut your dad's hair from now on.
Sister: No... I think you better not.

Oh, my sweet little mother.

Anyway, that was a nice break from yesterday. At least Sister's back to laughing now.
Last night she came home crying... and I mean crying... runny nose, puffy eyes, and really loud sobs.
Holy shit... what the fuck happened?! Did someone die?! 
I found out why ****** dumped me. Wanna know why? He said I'm spoiled.
I was still confused over my interview experience to say much, and quite frankly, I'm clueless when it comes to giving good advice after someone's dumped. I mean, I don't even know how to handle myself after getting dumped.
I just sat there and stared at her as she sobbed and rubbed at her eyes angrily.
Well... that's... fucked up. Wait... you had a boyfriend?
And I was like "FUCK YOU! Just because I don't have to worry about a mortgage... and that my car is fully paid for... I'm getting dumped because I have no bills to worry about? FUCK YOU! My dad worked his fucking ass off to give his family the lifestyle we live now. YOU DON'T KNOW ME!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT MY DAD HAS BEEN THROUGH! He didn't want his kids to go through all the pain and misery that being poor brought him!! YOU CAN'T FAULT ME FOR THAT!"
... Oh... wow... well... don't cry over a guy who judges you like that... his loss. Seriously. Stop it, dude. Te quitaste una nopalera. (my favorite Mexican saying, which basically translates to "You didn't get rid of a thorn... you got rid of a cactus")

I don't think Dad ever imagined his daughters would have the opposite problem he had in his dating days.
He was dumped by the love of his life for being "un muerto de hambre," a poor, working-class immigrant boy.
We get dumped for being "rich."

To us, the worst adjective anyone can use to describe us is "spoiled."
It makes me violent, actually.
To me, a "spoiled" person never had to get clothes from the salvation army... or hand-me-downs from the extended family.
Growing up, they owned more than one pair of shoes a year.
They slept in a room, even if they shared it with a sibling... and slept on a bed, even if it was shared with a sibling.

Just like Dad dreamed of eating two eggs in the morning when he was growing up, I dreamt of sleeping in a bed, in a bedroom... which I wouldn't mind sharing with my sister AND brother.

Until the age of 14, I slept in the living room of my one-bedroom house, and shared a sofa with my sister. Mom, Dad, and brother slept in the one bedroom.
Sister and I would hug on to each other at night whenever we'd hear gangsters fighting/shooting outside... or prostitutes getting beat by their pimps/Johns, or drug-addicts breaking into our car to steal anything they could sell to feed their habit.
We heard more than one person get killed in front of our house. We'd be "lucky" enough to see the dead body in front of our house in the morning on our way to the bus.
Drug-addicts pounding on our door in the middle of the night, screaming some stranger's name... my heart pounding so hard I can nearly taste it.
We were restricted to one pair of shoes a year... we'd have to tear them apart to get new shoes... that were on sale of course... and never a name brand.
Clothes shopping was... a rarity, since our clothes were usually hand-me-downs from members of the extended family (thank you, Mooney!) and once, during a particularly rough year, we were given Salvation Army clothes.

All this never really bothered me while in elementary, since I thought it was normal, considering all my friends were... ghetto like me. But once middle school came around, that was a different story.
We were predominantly ghetto Latinos in the neighborhood, so we actually had kids from the East side of town bused in.
They were all in advanced classes... how many ghetto Latinos were in the advanced classes? Just me.
They were cool and everything, but I felt too embarrassed to ever have any of them over at my place, and I felt too ghetto to go to theirs.
I was in orchestra, and during concerts, I'd be given a ride home from my East side friend (who gave rides to the rest of my East side friends) because my family was "too bored" to go to my concerts. I remember when her mom would drop me off, I made her drop me off at the cross street, so she wouldn't know where I lived... it was too mortifying. No one in the car was allowed to get off... because... well, the mom wasn't stupid, that place was bad.

I had one family member who KILLED my front.
One day, during gym class, she told the entire fucking class about my house. How it was infested with cockroaches (it was true, but still... don't say that shit!), how we didn't really fit there because we had no room to put our clothes anywhere, so it would just sit in the "hallway" between the kitchen and bedroom.
Everyone laughed and "Eww"ed. My sister cried... I just stood there, mortified... wanting to smash her smug little smile off her face.
She'd go to Disneyland and six-flags, and buy all those stupid things you can get there... like that photo they take when you're riding the coaster... and she'd show up at our house wearing a shirt that had her photo riding the coaster stamped on it.
I'd get so jealous. I had to wait until I was 14 to go to Disneyland... do you know how gay it is by the time you're 14?

Do "spoiled" people have memories like those?

Now, as an adult, I'm blessed enough not to have to struggle to make ends meet.
I was poor... as a kid.
I know about struggle... I know what "life" is about... I know the "cost" of money.
My childhood (as well as my siblings') was robbed of peace and a lot of innocence-- details I'd rather not get into on here... but trust me when I say some things that were said/done/taken from us should never be experienced by any child.
We had to grow up, and fast... and honestly, no money can ever erase some of the pain acquired during those years. After all this, it kills me to know someone still has the gall to call one of us "spoiled" because it's only now when we can finally go about our lives without a fucking care in the world.
It was years of sacrifice, and finally, we are allowed days in the sun.
I'm sorry if that offends you and makes you hate me, asshole... but there wasn't much I could do. I was born to these parents... and I'd be a fucking idiot to tell them "No, quit giving me shit. Thanks for the offer, and nearly killing yourselves working so hard to give us a better life... but I want to go out there on my own and know what suffering is really like... oh wait... I do! But I'm going to do it anyway! Destitute living, here I come... again!"

Shit... I just hope someone calls me "spoiled" to my face... I will break their fucking jaw so that's the last word they mutter for the next six months.

jokes DO come true

Yesterday had to be one of the strangest days of my life.

Supposedly, the plan was going to go like this:
Wake up, check e-mail, register for GRE, gym, shower, eat, study, sleep.

Instead, it went like this:
Woke up, checked e-mail, noticed three job offers from a science-related job-finding agency thing I had not heard from in MONTHS, got strange phone call... asking me to come in for a job interview because they're in need of a chemist, I said "Oh damn, ok... sure?", set up interview for Thursday morning, hung up, screamed, texted Chase and thanked her for the hook up, screamed some more, texted three more people for a couple of hours, gym, shower, got mail and noticed another science-related job offer, threaded eyebrows and had the hook up because I was the only person in the room who understood why the eyebrow threaders were tired, sleepy, etc... Ramadan--duh!, had a pleasant conversation about islam, ate, went shopping, geeked out a bit more over the interview, went to bed.

I find this incredibly bizarre.
Why on the day I was going to finally register for the GRE?
Umm.. God, I appreciate the interaction and everything... but why are you so confusing?!
Last year, when I was ready to take the plunge into the science field, all this drama occurred, where I was even forced to leave the country.
Instead of crying out of confusion and desperation, I took it as a sign.
Ok, I guess science isn't for me... ? Writing, here I come!!
Now, when I'm about to take the plunge into English, science comes stampeding back into my life, tossing not-so-subtle hints that maybe I should go back to looking its way.

Science is like that one fickle, possessive ex-boyfriend with whom you have an on-and-off again relationship, your highs are really high, lows are incredibly low. He hurts the shit out of you, you break up and cry a lot, but then he wants back in once he sees you're moving on quite nicely without him.
I'm that stupid, abused ex-girlfriend who thinks "He's really sorry... and he was my first love... he promised never to hurt me again" and I go back to that damn executioner.

The job is cool, though. It's a nutrition corp that is looking for a chemist. He/she will be in charge of synthesizing/formulating health supplements... i.e. protein shake powder and all that good shit. He/she even gets to invent flavors (!!! An inside joke I once had with Chase back in college involved this job. She was going to be a famous rockstar traveling the world, I was going to move to the Greater Manchester area in England and become a "flavorologist." Somehow, I'd find Cristiano Ronaldo, get married... or just fuck him... and live happily ever after. Dream big, AnoMALIE!).
Not only that, but he/she will have to interact with the buyers and the celebs who will endorse the product, "like... UFC fighters and... all sorts of athletes."
??? Jesus Christ... are you serious?
The whole time the interviewer was speaking to me, I kept thinking "How the fuck... did they contact me? I... oh my god... I'm in over my head." But I just smiled and laughed at the guy's jokes.
Put on the charm, AnoMALIE... you are so not qualified for this shit...

Would I want the job? Sure, I love lab work... it made my entire science experience bearable. If the class didn't have lab, then I surely damn near failed it.
And athletes? Duuuuude! Don't even play with me like that. I live for those bastards!
Athleticism in general has always been an interest of mine (believe it or not. "Fuck you!" if you don't).

But see... I have plans... and I'm actually moving forward with them for once.

Do I take back my ex-boyfriend/ex-husband?
Or do I stand my ground and say "FUCK YOU! I made up my mind, motherfucker! You can't have me now!"

I have to be in Chicago next month... well, I don't have to be in Chicago, but I already paid the $400 round trip plane ticket... the thought of having to give that shit up feels like someone's shoving their foot up my ass while their buddy is punching me in the gut.
I have to admit that's sort of playing a role in this.

I'm so confused... like... no, seriously, nothing has confused me this badly before.
It's a horrible dilemma!!

Why the fuck was I born a Pisces?! My interests are so diverse and random, I end up miserable not knowing which path to choose.
Artsy or analytical?
Use my head or use my heart?

It should be illegal to fuck in the month of June... why create more confused Pisces children for the world? Shit.

Much better that way?

One week left...
and yes, that's me lamenting over not speaking up and asking him to a beer or something (I say that as if I can actually hold eye-contact with the guy for longer than three seconds. Also, beer? Why don't I proceed to invite him to a strip club and then shoot some craps at the Wynn... I'm such a dude).

I'm not nearly as put together as DINO

Last time I actually saw him was my last semester of college back in '07. I hadn't noticed he was in the class before my geology class (yeah, I took Rocks for Jocks my final semester just for the hell of it... I mean, growing up poor, one grows a strange affinity for rocks, since they're pretty much the only playmates one can find for free 24/7. They're pretty, you can chuck them at people... you can draw on cement with them... all that good stuff. I even have a "pet" rock [that I painted with nail-polish] called "Dino" because its shape reminds me of the skull of like... a triceratops or something) until about the last month of school. Bummer, because I spent the entire semester looking like shit... getting up early when I finally didn't have to (the only class I really needed started at 5PM), sometimes heading to class freshly rolled out of bed and half asleep... basically, not giving a damn. When I finally did bump into him, I remember snapping awake and thinking "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Really, universe? On the day I come dressed like a boy?"
Always a lovely image to be left with- AnoMALIE: the boy.

Anyway, even after all this time of not seeing him, Darcy remains the guy I use to compare other dudes.

-He's alright... but he's not as smart as Darcy.

-Yeah... I guess he's funny... but not as witty as Darcy.

-I guess he's hot... but he doesn't smile like Darcy.

-He's ok, but he doesn't understand sarcasm... how the hell am I gonna work with that? You know who got my sarcasm? Darcy (Or so I think... it's what I tell myself to keep from feeling too bad about being so sarcastic around him-- something I've noticed I can't control around him, and have a tendency to over-do)
I even did that with MGH towards the end of the relationship.
This guy... with him, I only care about drinking, playing video games, and poker... sure, he makes me smile, but he also makes me dumber... I'm not motivated to be smarter, like I am when I think of Mr. Darcy.

Yeah... I know, I sabotage myself... there aren't duplicates to people. But what can I say? My affinity for Darcy was immediate, straight up inexplicable.I get this strange sense of familiarity with him, as if I've known him my entire life. I'm drawn to him, despite having hardly crossed a word with him in person (well, it's not like I've only said "Hi" and "Bye" to him, but still).
This attraction is a little difficult for me to slap back into check. No other dude has had a similar effect on me yet... no offense to the dudes I've been involved with in the last 6 years (y'all were fun, and I appreciate the attention and the memories).

Ok, enough of me being mushy and weird... I promise it'll go away after a few days when my brain comes to terms with the fact that my "Darcy" only considers me an acquaintance. He's just a cool, interesting friend... who kind of only remembers me if he... I don't know if anything reminds him of me, well, besides me being a pain in the ass and writing to him to ask a question (because I was the weirdo who saw something and thought of him... anything Tim Burton-related, or I rode a tightly packed elevator, or someone brought up necrophilia--don't ask--, or I heard something in German, or I see black nail polish... or well, the list is long. I'm a pre-teen at heart, remember?).
The waters had been calm for quite a while, I had accepted my place as an "oh yeah, I know her" girl. It was only recently that everything started reminding me of him and I lost my cool

ANYWAY! I'll quit being pathetic now.
Here's a little something more in my style:

(Mom, talking with my Godmom--who is, coincidentally, my first cousin-- about our upcoming trip to Chicago next month. She's in the kitchen, I walk in to get a drink)

Mom: Yeah, we get there on the 13th. Me, Din, and AnoMALIE.
(listens to Godmom talk)
Mom: No, he's not going... he has to stay and work.
(I notice dad walking towards us from his bedroom. Mom has her back to him. I raise my eyebrow... my universal sign for Shut the fuck up!! that apparently doesn't translate so well)
(Listens to Godmom talk)
(Dad is now directly behind Mom)
Mom: Yeah, it's much better that way!
Dad: Have you cooked anything yet?
(Mom's makes her Oh, Fuck! face and turns around. She shakes her head)
Dad: Let me know when you do.
(Dad walks back to his room. Mom and I stare at each other... I shake my head and mouth "Damn..." as I run my right index finger down my right cheek)

With a dad as indiscreet as mine, and a mother so prone to putting her foot in her mouth... shit. When it came to procreating, they clearly didn't think that one through.
They fucked me real nice.

MExico

So... Mexico won Miss Universe...
does that make me pretty now?
Ha.
I love it.

While I'm not a fan of beauty pageants, I knew the outcome of the Miss Universe contest within seconds of the winner being announced. People called the house.
Damn, do I know the girl? WTF?
It appears anyone and everyone that is somehow Mexican is proud, which, of course, is understandable... even I got carried away by the celebrations yesterday.
My favorite people beaming with pride, however, happen to be the McDonald's-rockin cholas.
"Us Latinas are hot!"
Grow some eyebrows and we can talk this one out, homegirl.
They're great. I'll quit talking shit now...

No I won't-
I'm Mexican, I'm proud, and blah blah blah, but let's face it:
It's Mexico's bicentennial this year...
Mexico was the only girl wearing a bright color: red.
The crown had red accents.
Hmmm...
Not taking away from the girl's beauty-- she is quite stunning-- but guys, when you rig something, try to make it a little less obvious.
That being said, I propose Lupita Jones as Mexico's next national soccer team's head coach.

And now, what I think is Mexico's most beautiful attribute to the universe: nature!


My favorite video of the nine videos they've released commemorating the bicentennial of their independence, centennial of their revolution, this upcoming September. This is all they would show during commercial breaks this summer.
Each state gets its own 3 minute commercial, and so far, that one has been my favorite- Veracruz... because I like snakes, and all that greenery elates me.

But the most beautiful video, by far, is this one- Chiapas (it's only 3 minutes, watch it, damn it! And tell me you don't wanna go there! Shit, I'd even venture to pet the black jaguar... they make it look so cuddly):



I have no idea what the song says, but eh, I watch the videos on mute.

Far cry from what news channels cover nowadays whenever Mexico is brought up, huh?
I don't know whether to laugh, or frown... it's a fucked up situation.

Anyway, hooray for Mexico's beauty.

First day jitters

First day of school... for everyone else!!
Bahaha!
Ok... actually, I'm super envious. I miss school... terribly.
So, in honor of this first day of college for some people, I post some gems from MY first two days of college, my freshman year, which I actually wrote about and saved (with some current comments, of course):

August 25, 2003:

"so... i got up at 6:35... those 35 extra minutes being a delicious prize for me... ahh... after 4 years of painful torture known as sleep deprivation.. and now.. waking up at that hour is glory!"

(I still don't know how the fuck I'd get up at six in the morning for high school... it seems crazy and exaggerated now that I look back. How the fuck were we expected to function at 7 in the morning? I'd always be lucky and have physics or chemistry, you know, classes that don't require much of your brain, as my first period. So mean)

"to make things better, tomorrow i wake up WHENEVER!! AHAHAHAHA! i got class at 5pm... till 9... which makes me a good candidate for a good ass mugging if you ask me.. i'm scared now..."

(I never got mugged... luckily)

"i sat in chemistry banging my head because i have already done all this crap from last year.. from the same book.. so i wanted to beat myself."

(Oh, AP Chemistry... you didn't help me FOR SHIT, but I did have some fantastic note-passing days that semester in class)

"in english... my next class... i fell in love with my professor and he didn't like me. the punk ass. he can't understand my writing. prick. and so... i sat there, shared crap about me to a bunch of pricky ass kids.. and umm.. then called my momma to come pick me up.. i felt retarded."

(Umm... it appears I was extremely fond of ellipses, still am, but goddamn, I killed it-- negative connotation)

"it's funny how in high school, the "cool kids" ignore your ass.. make fun of your ass.. and.. alienate your ass.. but all of a sudden, you see 'em in college and they're like "oh my god!! like, HI!!" while you just stand there like "umm.. ok? why are you talking to me?"

(Apparently, I was a bitter ass)

"when i got out of my chemistry class... the cool jock, the boy i had a crush on my junior year, talked to us. he was the one who talked to us and i was like "umm.. do i know you?" because i was walking down my very silent hall and he goes "HEY! HEY!" and i had to look up.. and there he was.. he goes "why, hello!!" and i stood there.. mute and sort of pissed. why is he talking to me now? and like if he knows me? in high school.. i wouldn't have gotten a word out of him unless i spoke of beer.. big boobs.. or parties. and now he's talking to me?! wow. so... i said nothing and walked off."

(I also think my keyboard had no Shift key)

"then, i saw another jock. he said "why, hello there guys!!" and with this guy i had to say hi... cuz he was in my physics class and math in my junior year and also in my calculus class last year. he helped me bend a hanger... long story. so i acted like a bimbo with him."

(Umm... I don't know how to defend this)

August 26, 2003:
(My second day, remember, my day started at 5PM and ended at 9PM)

"this is weird. i really don't like it. maybe it'll get better when i drive? and hopefully i don't get mugged today after school. if i don't write in here tonight... please, someone, anyone call the cops and alert them that a student is missing!! i don't want to be found in some dumpster or something...."

(Ah, yes, that bright little optimism that has always characterized me)

"my biology class is full of old people. they make fun of us.. 5 freshmen in the class. and umm.. this one man.. guy.. whatever.. that is so incredibly gorgeous and built (that i wonder if he's at all interested in females.... ya know.. wink wink..) is in that class and he takes my attention away from the very cool (seriously now) teacher.. i didn't get her name."

(That teacher wound up being the worst fucking cunt on the face of the planet. On her eval, I wrote "This woman made me want to slit my wrists every single day," you know, to get my point across)

"i went to calculus and the annoying bastard who is alway yelling out the wrong answers talked to me.. more like.. tried to mack on me... i don't know.. he was throwing his game at me.. and i was like 'nah... i'm only interested in school.. '"

(That kid... he was such a pain in the ass. And he was hell of rude. I'd ace the exams and he'd always peek at my test once it was returned. He'd be such a fucking asshole about my grade. "A 96%?! How the hell did YOU do that?" Umm, maybe because I get the subject, dick face. Now quit putting it on blast, I like being anonymous)

Jesus... would anyone ever believe that girl would acquire a biology degree four years later?
If anyone read all that, bless your heart... you have a strong stomach.

Is that normal?

Pacemaker: AnoMALIE, I found the love of my life. He's the most handsome man I have ever seen... he's young, he's successful... he lives in the Oakland hills... I'm in love!
Me: Oh wow. How'd you guys meet?
Pacemaker: He drops by work once a week to make purchases. I can't tell you how many times I've stared at his number on my cell... debating whether or not to call
Me: WAIT! He gave you his number? And you haven't called? What the fuck is wrong with you, idiot?
Pacemaker: For work purposes... so I just took that shit and added it in my phone.
Me: Eww... you little creep. I'm not friends with stalkers, fool.
Pacemaker: Oh yeah? Well, I'm not friends with girls who refer to their crush by last name... Mr. Darcy, really?!
Me: It's a military thing, genius.
Pacemaker: Where you in the military?
Me: No.
Pacemaker: Exactly, so how the hell is that normal?
Me: ...and stealing numbers from work is very normal.

Hmm... I guess I'm not very normal about Darcy.

It's not that I was a soldier at some point in my life... that I live some sort of militant life... but I just grew accustomed to calling Darcy by his last name (along with a ton of other people).
First, Bro joined the Army, and most of our conversations revolved around his army friends. Last names were all we used.
Then I met Darcy in a class with a professor who used to be in the army... so we all just referred to each other by last name.
Understandable, right?
Do I think it's weird that I refer to Darcy by last name? A little... but, it's better than constantly saying my dad's name (yeah, not the business).

Also, I guess referring to him by last name helps me put that distance I need... because the feeling isn't mutual. (Rejection's never fun... and let me tell you... rejection's my middle name!)
I practically pass out with a minute of his attention. He forgets if I ask a question.
This last-name basis helps tell my brain "RELAX, idiot! The guy barely knows you're alive."

I remember he'd be chill in class, while I'd be looking at anything but him... the entire year.
I could probably draw the pattern of the fake wooden table we sat at before I could tell you the color of his eyes.  
Does he have super dark colored eyes, or are there flecks of light brown somewhere? God... I don't know. BUT! He did have this really cool belt buckle... no, really, I was staring at the buckle and only the buckle, ok?
It took me a minute to notice the guy even had dimples... I think... I don't know... no, yeah, he does.

I don't know what it is about him that turns me into a 12 year old... it's not like he did anything... I was just automatically smitten (even if the comments the teacher made regarding his stories might have made any other girl sort of cringe and think "WTF is up with this dude?" I'd be disappointed about not being able to read it).
The room gets brighter, I forget to breathe, I get light-headed... all that shit when he's around... I'd even have to fight this really weird urge to hug him when I'd bump into him. ??

And here, you have me referring to him by the name of an awesome protagonist in a classic. No, I don't think he's arrogant like the guy in the book... but dreamy and awesome like Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy? Hell yeah.

I try to be cool, calm, and collected around people... make them think I'm devoid of feeling, but Darcy totally kills that aspect of me.
I can pull off being cold-hearted as long as no one brings up Darcy-- something possible up until now, since so few know what's up (although there are some trippy coincidences there... like how one of my cousins went to third grade with him... and I'd always fight with her and I remember her once saying something along the lines of "I wanna go back to *elementary school*! My boyfriend's over there." "You don't have a boyfriend, loser!" "Yes I do!!! His name is *Darcy*" and then we all laughed because we thought she pulled that name out of her ass to impress the rest of the neighbors. Sure, Crystal, your boyfriend's name is my dad's name... lame ass! 
My middle school BFF also "dated" him... for a day, I think she said. Funny stuff).

Do they see the twinkle in my eye when I mention his name? Maybe.
Can they hear a switch in my voice when I say his name? Absolutely.

Do I like the fact that someone can get me like this? No... and Yeah. Yes because... it feels nice to smile and know that hey, at least I bumped into someone who made me all stupid and giddy without even trying (or knowing). No because... it's just one-sided. It's creepy (not "I'm gonna steal his number from work" creepy... but I might as well be his version of the Puppy-killer. Approach him while I'm intoxicated, reeking of Barrilito beer, and ask "Hey... what's your name again?" "Darcy..." "See, I knew that. I just wanted an excuse to come talk to you... you're so beautiful." Oh, I didn't mention Puppy-killer's opening-line with me? Well, that was it. Magical, right?)... and that's why I just... I need to put the wall up. I can't get attached... and knowing that pretty much sucks.

I'd rather keep this image of Darcy, this quiet little... illusion (delusion? Ha!), instead of receiving that rude awakening.
I don't want the walls to crumble and see that he was just a guy I shared a class with for a year, talk to sporadically (in the six years of knowing him, there have been moments where it takes years to cross a word with him. Ha, this would make the greatest movie ever... or the most common movie ever. Girl meets boy, girl is instantly smitten while guy is aloof, guy and girl go separate ways, over the course of the years the girl keeps bumping into guy or things that remind her of him... the end is still unclear, but I can pretty much assure you the end would be sad), and that I actually sort of bug him.
I don't want to hear that Yeah, no... sorry dude, but you're just like... an ex-classmate... I'm flattered, but... chill the fuck out.
Because that's what happens to AnoMALIE. To dudes, I'm just cool, that's it.

Just keep it at he's awesome... he's incredibly intelligent... I smiled like an idiot around him... my heart-skipped a beat... but I never let him know... so my bubble never burst.

And that's why I relate to him on a last-name basis.
"Entre vivir y soñar, está el despertar," pero en este caso, prefiero estar soñado.
Call me weird if you'd like... I don't care. However, none of this "No, tell him! maybe..." bullshit, because we also know how that works out.
Who the fuck do they think I think I am? Megan Fox? Pshhhh!

(See, Mooney, right there with ya... No se me aguite, que ahi estamos muchas)

Bye bye birdie

I'm going to fkn puke.

... Yeah...
How the hell Mom has managed to remain married to my pops for 28 years is beyond me.
Does any grown, adult man living with another human behave like this?

Look at the damn thing just chillin' (no pun intended) in the fridge... not only is it unsightly as fuck, but more importantly, it's next to MY grapes!
Cross-contamination, dude!

My dad is a caveman!

Am I overreacting? Maybe... I mean, I'm sure many people have skinned pigeons (which were killed in the backyard by a BB-gun-toting father) sitting in their fridge...
But it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to gag... or yelp a little, each time I open the fridge.

Home, sweet home.
I need to barf...

Al otro lado del mar

"That's so far away..."

A year ago, I was in a place many consider paradise, fighting with MGH, and crying on a balcony.
Blue. Blue. Blue.

Don't worry, MGH is a dumbass. He doesn't know what he's doing.

It's not... it's just... I had never noticed how... big the ocean really is.

Tanto azul... tanto, tanto azul. Mas allá de lo que pueden ver mis ojos. Mas allá.

I took a stroll with him at night. I sat in the white sand... and drew a letter... not an M.
He noticed.

What? I like the Jonas Brothers... didn't you know? Joe.

Gay.

Next night, I danced the night away... he went from girl to girl, I stayed in my circle of friends... he was drunk, I was sober. He was happy, I was sad.

What's wrong? Did I do something?

Nope. You did absolutely nothing.

Laying on the same bed, our heads resting against each other.

Woo! I leave to Kassel in a month! Beer and girls, beer and girls!

Really? That's all there is to do in Germany? Hope you have the time to do both.

No me digas eso... no me robes la esperanza.

Ilusa. 
No English word has the same feel. "Delusional" is too negative... "naive" not sufficiently poignant.
Ilusa... eso es lo que soy.

Una optimista con disfraz de pesimista.
Siempre soñando: Mañana sí... quizás mañana...
Y solita me chingo la vida.

(Don't worry, this type of post will be over next month... it's just that right now, it's all that is really occupying my mind. El saber que esta aqui... me tiene mal. Tan cercas, pero tan lejos, ya know? It doesn't help that I just spent my Friday night at a funeral. It just makes me think.. sad shit, really)

MEDitating

Oh Chicago...
Had I been the responsible adult I'm supposed to be, I would have the tickets booked by now...
but it's such a fucking drag!
The closer September gets, the less desire I have to visit that city.

Am I weird for that? You know, for not liking Chicago?
It's humid. Parking is expensive as shit. Food is... eh. Their taste in music is... debatable. And their toll roads can go suck a dick (hmmm... did someone get a ticket? Not just ONE, but FIVE!!!)!

I had originally planned on being there for the entire month of September, but that's just insane. I'm starting to think three days is over doing it.
I visited the midwest last year, and that was enough.
But I promised the birthday girl I'd go to her cute little party... so I can't go back on my word.

I think I'm also dreading this trip because the girl's dad, aka my godfather, is a doctor.
The man's on the Harvard Med admissions board... and he doesn't go easy on me. The man has been grilling me about medical school since I was in middle school.
You know, you can't go off having any sort of distraction... parties... jobs... boys... all off-limits if you want to get into med school. It's not easy... you better start NOW.
Last year I sat in the kitchen talking about "my dreams" for about four hours... until I almost cried, but acted super interested in the behavior of a squirrel that was running up a tree by the window.

It's not that I can't handle med school... no, actually, that's part of it.
I don't think I can handle it, because I'm sure by the second week in, I'd be researching rope sturdy enough to hold my limp body from a ceiling.
My mind can handle med school, but not my soul.
It makes me miserable, absolutely miserable, to study that shit (medicine, not suicide... although researching that shit must be depressing, I'm sure). I don't sleep, I don't eat, and all I do is vomit... because I want to ace shit.
I can pass, I don't doubt it, but see... what good is it going to do me if my heart isn't in it?
I can handle the studying and all that bullshit, which appears to be what everyone around me suspects I can't handle, but the point is: it doesn't make me happy.
That environment makes me depressed... angry... downright despicable.

Also, I get far too affected when I bump into people entering the medical field for the simple fact that it pays well, not because they want to help people. It's upsetting. Here we have people needing help with their pain, and Dr. IdiotAssholeWithConnections over here doesn't give a fuck... he just wants to get paid and go on his merry way.
You be the change, AnoMALIE.
Seriously? How fucking naive do you think I am? The greedy assholes far outnumber the good-willed.

Can I use MY connection? Damn fucking straight I can, that's what Godfather wants me to do. I also have the score to get in most med schools... not to mention, I'm a PRO when it comes to kissing ass on essays, but do I want to do it? Hell fucking no.

It took me 17 years to realize it, but once I accepted I didn't have to go to med school like everyone else had planned for so damn long, I convinced myself it would be ok not to pursue it.
It's about time I make myself happy... who cares if others think my happiness is found in the stupidest thing in the world (oh boy, and do they). I like... art... all forms of it. I'm the happiest person imaginable when surrounded by it... even if it's 3 in the morning and I have to turn in a 15 page story in 7 hours and I only have 2 pages written down. I LOVE it. Drawing until my palms are raw from rubbing against coarse paper for hours makes me happy. Taking photos of the craziest shit that no one understands fucking completes me.

I have ONE life to live... and I don't want to spend it in a sterile environment, hating myself from the moment my alarm clock goes off, to the moment I pass out unconscious on my pillow. I don't want to face misery every single day.

Others think I'm stupid for doing this? Fuck them... I'll school them in whatever subject they prefer, shut them the fuck up whenever they want...
unless that person baptized me as a baby...
then I just sit there and stare at squirrels-- wondering if they're friends with chipmunks-- as I fight back tears.

Oh yea... this is going to be a blast.

Not gonna happen to me

No need to call the cops, I survived.
I didn't have much of an issue yesterday, especially since I have heard horror stories concerning the de-parasite-ing (what is the correct fucking term for what I did yesterday?!) process.
I should start buying more medications with cartoons on the cover... I'm lookin' at you, gummy (!!) Flintstones vitamins.

Anyway, I went to bed at a freakishly early hour last night, since that's all these pills did to me... got me drowsy.
Once I woke up, I did the usual: checked e-mail and FB.
I noticed one of my high school BFFs had changed her FB status to "engaged."
Punch to my recovering stomach.

Then I find out my old "brother" is not only getting married in December, but he's going to be a dad.
"What a difference a year makes: I went from having nothing to live for, to having every reason to live longer."

I'm seriously turning into Bambi, here.
All my friends are dropping out of the "Not gonna happen to me" line, as I keep walking along clueless.
However, instead of getting my antlers caught in a branch only to be "licked in love" by my other half, in a couple of years I'll go from Bambi to Carrie Bradshaw.
I won't be Carrie in the sense that I'll be a successful writer. Ha! I wish that were my case. I mean it more as in "This bitch ain't ever getting a dude... she's just gonna keep buying ugly shoes!" 
And let's all ignore the part where she ends up with Big... because we all know I'll spend the rest of my life pining away for Big... continuously wishing for Big to "talk to me, please just... notice me!" But we can keep the part where I watch Big get married to a huffy bitch... and shit, let's just add the fact that I'll probably be invited to the whole shebang. Big will be married to a beautiful, arrogant chick while I keep fending off drunk puppy-killers-- the only dudes who will ever find me "beautiful."
A couple a years after that, I'll go from Carrie to The Simpson's Crazy Cat Lady.
I'll probably reek of cat piss... and I'll scream at all the neighborhood kids... but it's ok, because I hate kids.

An inevitable progression.

En una de esas...

I need to get in the habit of avoiding third-world countries.
But it's SO hard...

I had never dealt with a parasitic infection... I mean, a parasitic infection as an adult. I have a faint memory of being nearly deathly-ill as a two year old, along with my three year old brother. We were both sick as hell, and while I could walk around moping, crying, and hiding behind sofas as mom searched for me to "fix" me (insert the doctor-prescribed suppository [Worst. Feeling. Ever.]), my brother was not so lucky. He would be lying in bed, too dehydrated to move or cry, and only uttering "Ya dejenme morir!!" (Just let me die!)

Twenty two years later, I finally caught a case of worms as an adult, back in December. Something that was fixed around my birthday... with home remedies.

NOW, on my second week of vacation, I was lucky enough to catch a mild case of Giardia.
I begged to be cured then and there, since Mexico is packed with anti-parasite meds. However, it was recommended I hold off another week, until I'd be back in the US. Once home, I could "deparasite" myself with these magical pills (cartoons of giardia, tricha-whatever, and other worms, on the box. On commercials it has a catchy jingle: "Si tu sientes que te pica la colita... en una de esas, tienes lumbrices." I was curious, ok?), but only a week after being back.
You can always catch another case while still in Mexico, so just wait until you've spent a week back home... a month would be ideal.

Fuck. That.
A month? Who the hell do they think I am? Maybe they can put up with an extra month of giardia holding a rave in their gut, but I sure can't.
So today, exactly a week after coming back, I grabbed the two pills they gave me and I popped them in (orally, FYI).

Now I have a sweet ass headache going on... I feel the room spin once in a while... and I lose my train of thought every other minute.

That'll teach me to eat pulled-pork sandwiches while in Mexico... I should have stuck to my usually kosher diet.
And next time, I'm drinking soda... fuck this "I'm only drinking water" bullshit, sugar withdrawals be damned!
Next time... like there will ever be a "next time"... no, wait, there is... I have to get my wisdom teeth puled out in December... what a vicious cycle.

I can't think, my brain hurts. Let's hope I'm alive tomorrow.

Good call

Something weird was in the air this summer...
something that made guys fight... a lot.
I blame the cartel wars.
Dudes try to put up a brave front... when in real life, they're pissing their pants just like the rest of us.

This year, I witnessed three fights... and all three where out of the blue.

Two fights occurred at the park. Both times, they were over "bad calls" which I made... hahahaha! I'm horrible. But hey, they WEREN'T bad calls!
Anyway, the fights would leave me sad, oddly enough... because you can tell these kids don't want to fight... it just happens. There's this really sad... shame on their face, especially from the innocent party. They want to cry, but they'd be ridiculed for it... ugh, it makes me sad thinking about it.

Then there was the third fight.
That shit was GOOD.
I say that now, now that I know the whole story. At the time of the problem, I almost had a heart attack, I almost pissed my pants, and I couldn't control my legs.

Let me start with the basics:
I live two houses away from the town Cantinas.
I've never been scared of being home alone, but this day I had been alone since 6 PM and it was already 10:30 PM.

I hear faint voices arguing... the voices get closer.
Should I turn off the lights and go to bed... or sit here and listen? Ah, fuck it, I'll let them fight.

No me hables asi, cabron!!

Vete a la chingada!
Hmm... they don't sound familiar...
I hear the two guys run down the street, and stop in front of my house.
It's pitch black outside, I can't see shit.
I hear punches... then someone getting kicked... all kicks now... a beer bottle breaks!
They scream into my door, at the top of his lungs:
ME ESTAN MATANDO!!!!
FUCK!!!! WHAT DO I DO?! Someone's getting killed!

CALLATE, HIJO DE TU CHINGADA MADRE!

Oh my God, oh my God!! WHY AM I ALONE RIGHT NOW?! What do I do?!
So I did what any normal person would do: in one swift motion, I turned off the living room light, then the television, and I ran into the bedroom with the thickest walls. I stood away from the door, in case a stray bullet came in... duh!
(Last year a similar fight had ended in an AK47 being shot... and I can't even begin to describe the horror I felt then... I was hoping the story didn't repeat itself this time around)
I sat there, my legs shaking to the point where I had to kneel on the floor, listening to the sound of a guy getting the shit beaten out of him.

After about two minutes the sound stopped, and I heard one person limp away... then I heard someone SWEEPING in front of my house.
Jesus Christ, they're getting rid of the evidence... please don't knock on my door... please don't knock on my door...
I sat in dark silence for ten more minutes, until Mom showed up, and I screamed at her.
WTF MOM? WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!
I was... what the hell is wrong with you? What happened?
Was there blood outside?
I don't know... I couldn't see...

So I went off and told her what I heard.

The next morning I saw one of the guys involved.
How did I know it was him? His foot was bandaged up and his face was swollen... along with his hands and arms.
I asked around to see who else was fucked up, and it turned out it was my sister's ex who had gotten into a fight with one of my neighbors. My neighbor had called him a fag and all these other derogatory terms, and when Sister's Ex finally had enough, he started beating his ass.
Well, then Neighbor threw a bottle at him and wound up cutting him in the foot... which sparked Sister's Ex's ire and that was the ass beating I heard.
Sounds stupid, now that I know the complete story... but at the time of the beating, I was scared shitless (I dare anyone NOT to be, if placed in my situation: not knowing who's fighting... and considering Zetas are running around doing shit like "La Corbata" to their victims. What's "La Corbata?" "The tie," where they slit your throat and pull your tongue through the slit as you sit there freaking the fuck until you bleed out. Fun shit, right?).

And that, ladies and gentlemen, made me realize: I'm glad I'm not a dude... I'd be so gay.
(That, and my staring problem when it comes to dudes with nice smiles would out me. Speaking of liking dudes, trip to Mexico was a bust as far as "not bugging Darcy" goes. Well, I didn't bug while in Mexico... but... ha... I'm weak, ok? He asked a simple question, and like always, I ran at the mouth... probably a little weird to him... I'm sure he has to think "What the hell is wrong with her?" at some point, but I can't help it)

Beggar

Aunt: So... ??

Me: What?

Aunt: Is there... did you...

Me: ... ?

Aunt: GOD! No need to say more! What is wrong with you, AnoMALIE?!

Last night, my aunt didn't take too kindly to the news: I did not find a boyfriend, I didn't even hook up with a dude, while in Mexico.

"How the hell are you ever going to get married?! Are you SCARED of men?!"

No, I'm not scared of guys... I absolutely love them... but I'm just not interested whatsoever in hooking up with a guy from Hometown... or the area around it.

And marriage? Get. The. FUCK. Out. Of. Here.

There are people in this world made for marriage... they grow up playing with dolls and playing house, then proceed to look for a guy to marry in their teens.

Others... not so much.

I'm of the latter, even if this doesn't sit well with Hometown people.

Knowing this, I told her what did happen this summer:

There was one dude who wouldn't leave me alone.
Apparently, he's the only dumbass who doesn't understand I don't date Hometowners.
He first hollered at my sister a couple of years back, and she shot him down... he earned the moniker of "CockBlocker" that summer.
He's a big idiot... a BIG BIG BIG IDIOT. He'd ditch school all the time, he would bully any boy smaller than himself (which meant nearly everyone in school--oh yeah, I know this because I went to second grade in Mexico) and he would kill birds, puppies, and kittens... no, I'm serious.
He has always been of the "school is stupid/boring, I think I'm Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn but I'm too psychotic to really be him" type. He dropped out after 6th grade... if he even finished that shit... and he proceeded to spend his life drinking and smoking... and killing more kittens and puppies.

Anyway, he would hound me during volleyball matches this summer.
He'd always try to be on my team, and when AGAINST me, he'd throw all the balls my way... even spiking on me some times (flashing that "Puppy-Killer" smirk that sends cold chills down my spine).
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, RETARD?!
Once I screamed that at him, he quit playing, and would opt to stand on the sidelines and stare at me while drinking (proceeding to smash the glass bottles against the volleyball court... which was like "WTF, imbecile?!") or smoking (which again, was like "Umm, isn't that counterproductive, asshole?").
Is he plotting to kill me? WTF?
This of course, would agitate me because 1- I hate smoking, 2- What kind of retard, besides a bum or high schooler playing hooky, drinks at a park when there's still sun out? and 3- People staring at me drives me insane.

After about three days of this shit, my agitation led me to commit the dumbest mistake: On the fourth day of his bullshit, I didn't play. I stood in the sideline while all of my friends played.
Now I won't be giving this asshole a show each time I go for a dig.

I stood and kept tally of the match, arms crossed.

He approaches me... I give him my REAL stink eye... and he continues with his annoying, moronic conversation, while reeking of Barrilito beer.
Why do I only get the crazy, drunken idiots talking to me?
He kept asking stupid questions with obvious answers... then he proceeded to try and talk soccer, since I had been talking about ManU the day before. OF COURSE he knows jack shit about soccer.

Then, after various sighs and looking up at the sky on my behalf, came the golden moment:

Him: Am I bothering you?
Me: Yes.
Him: Did I do something wrong?
Here comes my idiot nice side...
Me: No... I'm just... irritable today.
Him: So is your anger directed at me?
Me: (internally) YES, YOU FUCKING MORON! (Spoken) Nope.
Him: Well, I've been trying to find a way...
Me: (internally) no no no no no no no... why... WHY?
Him: To ask you to... you know... would you like to... you're so beautiful...
Me: (internally) LAAAAAAAME!!! You just had to say that in front of everyone, didn't you?
Him: I would like you to be my dance partner for the wedding.
Me: No.
Him: Even if I ask you at the wedding, you'd turn me down?
Fuck being nice, apparently people only understand CuntAnoMALIE.
Me: YES.
Him: Why?
Me: Because I hate the music, I hate weddings, and I don't like you.

Yes, I made a scene at the park, in front of my friends and family... and I couldn't live that moment down the rest of the summer.
The longest week of my life.

Aunt: What's wrong with you?! He's a nice guy! That was your chance!
Me: HE HAS THE BRAIN OF A SECOND GRADER!!
Aunt: Beggars can't be choosers...
Me: Between THAT and nothing, I'd rather have nothing.
Aunt: You're going to end up alone...
Me: Well, it appears I'm already old... so it's quite possible.

So, true to my old lady nature, I excused myself from the table and went to bed at 11PM.

I'll put off buying a cat for a little longer, though, I'm not sure I'm ready for that commitment.

Voice

Sometimes, I go so long without talking, it takes me a couple of hours to normalize my voice once I do begin to vocalize.
Same goes for my writing... the longer my gaps between jotting down thoughts, the worse my spelling, syntax, voice etc gets... and regularizing that takes longer than a few hours... so sorry folks.

I really, REALLY want to write for the rest of my life... but if I get this fucked up with taking three weeks off, then how the fuck am I going to be able to make it work?
And it's not even like I didn't write AT ALL for three weeks- I'd write in my real journal at least once a week. I also studied like a beast while in Mexico... I'm damn near done with all my study material, and oddly enough, English was the thing saving my ass instead of math.
Hmmm.

For the first time, I was admitting to people in Mexico my real intentions when it comes to grad school. No, I'm not going to med school, you CAN'T PAY ME ENOUGH to go to med school... no, I'm not going to grad school for Biology... I'm... I'm going to write.

You like to write? Like... essays and shit?
No... I don't enjoy research papers, essays... shit, I don't even like poetry, but writing down thoughts... now THAT'S fun.

I swear people gave me the crazy look each time I told them of my intentions... and... well... I don't really give a fuck. They don't see me giving them the crazy eye when they tell me they work at a casino... or when they talk for hours about their job at a produce company.
Produce? I'm supposed to be interested in the trading of produce? You went to school for that? Alright... whatever floats your boat, homie.
Anyway, this tiny break sort of kicked my ass into gear. Now people know what I really want to do... so they know what to expect... and the pressure's on not to fail.
Gross.

And that is why I never talk of future plans with ANYONE... well, except Chase... but she's like... my brain (because she knows what goes on in there better than I do)... and she never revels in my failure like others.

Still there

"Did they ask about us?" - Pacemaker
Ummm... no. Where they supposed to?

I've tried... really, really hard to recover from the drama of '08.
I thought two years would be enough, but this summer proved me wrong.

It was the first summer I met up with Alo and her sister after the drama. I was cool with Alo, no resentment present there... but her sister... I couldn't be natural around her. No matter how much I tried convincing myself to speak up a bit more, and be my usual jokester self, I just couldn't.
Chill, AnoMALIE, she was a 16 year old idiot kid... she didn't know what she was doing.
Then my resentful side would chime in.
Fuck that, I don't care! Now I know what she's capable of. She has known me her entire life, and she chose sides... and it was with the two girls she had barely known for two weeks. Where are those two bitches now? NOT HERE! Are they so fantastic now?

While I was still bitter about the situation, and I was having a hard time even speaking to the 18-year-old instigator of that epic '08 fight, I was growing even angrier with Pacemaker.
In the entire fight, she was the only one who came out unscathed... the only one who had NO reason to lash out... but she chose to turn the situation acrimonious, instead of helping to solve it and cool down tempers.
She wanted so badly to be popular, to be liked by Alo and her sister, that she opted for destroying my sister and I in the eyes of not only Alo and her sister, but that entire family.

I'm 25, I should be an adult...
but I just can't get over being double-crossed. I can't act like I'm ok with the fact that Alo and her entire family chose to believe the newcomers-- girls who took their daughters to the outskirts of town to get drunk and high... yet I'm the bad influence.

Did they ask about you... ha.
Get over yourself, buddy.

Cuento

Know what I love? Having all these crazy Mexico stories floating around in my head and then totally forgetting the majority of them because too many people are texting/calling me to ask about Mexico.

For the most part, people are eager to know what went down with my brother's ex, since we practically lived together for the two weeks we were in the same town.

I'll confess: I went to Mexico with a goal... to get Alo (bro's ex) and my brother back together again.

After so many years of being broken up (about 7), it upsets the shit out of me to see these two kids still love each other, yet avoid each other because their little hearts still break at the sight or sound of one another.
When I mention her name around Bro, I'll see his face light up... but a frown makes its way to his mouth by the end of my sentence. The hurt is still there. Same goes for Alo... her eyes twinkle each time I say Bro's name... and she ends up fighting tears by the time we're done talking about Bro.

My brother has been asking about her a lot lately. I believe this is largely due to the fact that he'll be done with Grad school next summer... so he's ready to settle down come that time... and he can't see himself with any other girl but Alo.
Alo is my brother's lobster... my brother is Alo's lobster.
Yet they can't be together.

Bro wrote her an extremely long e-mail while we were in Mexico... he told us to please talk to her and let her know he "still loves her... no girl will ever compare to her. Even if she turns me down, I still thank her, because it's thanks to her that I KNOW love exists."
My heart broke once he said that. My Bro NEVER talks "love," so this shit was serious.

My sister was with Alo when she read the e-mail.
Sister's jaw dropped, Alo cried.
"I waited so long to hear this from him... I... I don't know what to say.... I mean... he was my first everything... but... I have a boyfriend now."
She didn't write back.

Yesterday she called us.
"I think he's... gonna ask me the question."
WTF are you talking about?
"The question.... he's gonna ask me."
MY BROTHER?!
"No... my boyfriend."
Aaaand... what are you gonna say?
"I think... I'm gonna say... yes."
But what about my brother?
"It's... I... I just... I can't do that to my boyfriend..."
Do you love him, your boyfriend?
"... I guess..."
Do you see yourself being with him for the rest of your life?
"Ummm... yeah... I guess I could..."
Well... if that's what will make you happy... just be happy.

And I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach.
I need to quit believing in fairy tales.
No one gets a Prince Charming... and Prince Charming never makes it in time to save his Princess.

Mexico catch up

Ok, so I've slept, taken a few showers, threaded my eyebrows (yeyyyy!! I didn't touch them at all the whole time in Mexico. I was a mess by the time it was time to come back home), picked up my bridesmaid dress (ugliest piece of shit ever. The color closely resembles rust. Best of all, the bastard dress is too big... extremely ill-fitting. Fuck my tits, man!!... wait, NO! Let me be less vulgar: Curse these breasts of mine! Since the stupid dresses are pre-made, I didn't fit into the stereotypical shape made for my size, 'cause my tits were too big. So, they ordered one size larger, and I can totally wriggle out of it now, since it's a tube top. Really sexy... fucking awesome... I love it... shit. Ok, I'll quit ranting), and even dealt with Mirage's Lost and Found security for a buddy.

I'll now proceed to quickly, and somewhat concisely, summarize my vacation. Let's make an outline!

Things that went down in Mexico:
- Fuck riding the bus!!
It took us 36.5 hours to reach our destination. There were FOUR drivers, and all 4 were pigs... they were messy as fuck, always eating, AND dirty fuckers who would flirt like nobody's business. I was unlucky enough to be sitting in the front seats... so... I was first in the line of fire... so gross.
My ankles were swollen like never before... since I never swell... at least, I never did before.  Goddamn, I'm getting old!!! :(
Our trip back, while only 30 hours long, was still uncomfortable... since this time around the 2 bus drivers were going a lot heavier on the flirting thing. I was, once again, unlucky enough to be sitting in the very front. I was wearing a black baseball cap, my hair in a braid, no makeup... with a bandaged wrist... and the two dudes still wouldn't shut the fuck up. I was so uncomfortable, I couldn't even sleep. I had to act like the movies "Terminator 3: Salvation" and "Mission Impossible 3" were the most interesting films ever created to keep them from trying to speak to me... I even acted like I couldn't speak Spanish for a while.

- Once again: fuck riding the bus!!
On a scarier note, on our way TO Mexico, since I was sitting in the very front, I saw two freaky things:
Once in Juarez, it was like 3 AM, totally desolate, and suddenly, to our right, a truck full of 7 "La Línea" members drove by. Me, being a dumbshit, made eye-contact with one of them... "Look at this loser" type eye-contact... then the bus driver pointed out the fact that it was a truck full of the gunmen... and pointed out the AKs in each guy's hand. I nearly puked my heart into my hand... I closed my eyes and began to pray... until their truck finally sped out of sight.
Scary Moment 2 occurred when we were between Chihuahua and Parral, a stretch of road that's pretty straight, but desolate. On one of the curves... the 3 "drivers" NOT driving looked at each other. I looked to the right and saw what had caught their eye: a dead body. It was a man, in a pool of his own blood... clearly not murdered by a car, but by gunshots to the face.
The bus drivers then proceeded to add him to the tally of murdered people they've seen on the side of the road during their trips. He was number 7 for the month.
Scary shit. Subject matter I won't joke about.

- Happier thoughts! Second night in town, boys were outside our house and they serenaded us.
They literally sang us five songs in total (well, five different songs, since they repeated two of them... because I guess the ringleader was feelin' 'em):
"Un Indio Quiere Llorar"
"Arboles de la Barranca"
"Tu Solo Tu"
"Volver" (Vicente Fernandez's version)
"Aca Entre Nos"
It was quite sweet... especially since they were really trying. My favorite part was listening to the feeling they were adding to it... listening to the distinct singing voices. It was cute... but clearly meant for my sister, since the lead singer was her... I guess he's now officially her ex 'cause some shit went down last week between them that I'm pretty sure my sis isn't going to allow to slip by.
It was greatly appreciated, since we spend most of our nights worried about soldiers breaking into our house and murdering us all... them or Zetas, same shit.

- Old ladies were bugging the shit out of me. 
"When are you getting married?" and "When are you having kids?" were questions that made me cringe... not to mention they made me violent, but I'd hear the question each and every day.

- I hung out with real life felons! 
There were two of them, actually, who are now living in Hometown because the US deported them for (what else) drug trafficking. I, however, really got along with one of them because he was my brother's childhood friend who had a crush on me when we were little, so he has always been very sweet to me (not like other friends of my brother... who, in the past, totally don't mind being vulgar when it comes to their... "feelings" towards me). He told us shit that goes down in federal prison, the shit he encountered while trafficking, the number of years each drug gets you, etc. It was quite interesting and educative.

- I was knocked the fuck out by parasites YET AGAIN. 
Each time food entered my system, regardless of what it may have been, I could feel the bastard Giardia throwing a rave in my "abandoned warehouse" of a gut... new DJ making an appearance each time I tried eating something. Not fun.

- I was sunburned, AGAIN. 
I'm such a dumbass... I'm just asking for cancer. I seriously underestimated the sun's strength when I walked to and from the cemetery in a tank top. An hour under the sun, and I was a lobster. Much to my dismay, it appears I am indeed a white girl. Bummer.

- I re-injured my right wrist.
I proceeded to visit the famous little masseuse lady who supposedly has magical hands. My right shoulder was slightly dislocated, so I welcomed the massage. She had her way with me... making me scream in pain, snapping my bones into place... then it just started feeling good... and I turned to mush. She then bandaged me up and told me not to mess with water for the next 24 hours. I obeyed... why? Native Americans lived healthy lives (up until the nasty Spaniards came along with their flu and syphilis), they didn't have all the knowledge we have now back in the day, yet they made it out ok... not counting what happened when they met the Europeans.
The masseuse lady is Native American, she tells me "No water" and you better believe I won't even piss, if that's what it takes for my wrist to get better. Med-school, Sh-med school... I'll listen to the little indian lady, thank you very much.

- I'm a young boy magnet. 
"Illegally young" boy magnet... NOT to be confused with "this can be considered pedophilia" young, though! There were these 14 and 15 year old boys who wouldn't leave me the fuck alone! One in particular would go out of his way to sit really close to me, sometimes ON me, he'd look down my shirt the entire time, and he'd kiss my cheek at all fucking times... like... KISS kiss... not the usual air kiss. It was so awkward... especially since he was about 5'5" and so scrawny!
I ask, once more: WHY, GOD, WHY? Why weren't 15 year old boys interested in me when I was 15? (Oh yeah, that's right, I was a B-cup at 15)

Oh man, this is getting far too long... I'll leave it at this for now. I got tired and sleepy writing it up.