Monday, January 31, 2011

Girls and their Apples

Once again, a decent entry has been foiled by my sibling pissing me off.
Wooooooo!

I'm going to try to steer away from the anger by mentioning a story that made me laugh pretty hard today:

I asked Mom if she was ready for her cruise. I'm taking her to the airport Thursday night, so I was expecting her to say "yes..." But no, she's not ready (needless to say, my procrastination prowess comes from this little lady).
Me: Do you even know your itinerary?
Mom: No. Your dad lost it.
Me: That man...
Mom: He took it to work and left it there... now we can't find it.
Me: So now you don't know jack shit of what's going to be happening during the cruise?
Mom: Nope.
Me: God... my dad... I don't know how you've been married for so long. I would have divorced him after two years, max. No, no... I would have asked for an annulment within hours of the actual wedding.
Mom: And that's you not even knowing what happened during the honeymoon...
Me: EWWW! I don't need to know that shit!
Mom: No, not that. While we were on our honeymoon in Mexico City, we were in the Zona Rosa... it was all artsy... with shopping... and street artists. A group of us were being entertained by a mime... and as part of the act, he made an origami rose and handed it to me. I took it, smiled, and I was going to give him some change... but instead your father grabbed the rose and tossed it back at him!
Me:... what an animal. That would have been the end of my marriage. The end!
Mom: Ah! I didn't take it that bad. I had heard plenty of honeymoon horror stories from friends and family to be shaken by this. I got off easy.
Me: Horror stories? What the hell? WHY would anyone get married knowing there are "HORROR STORIES?!"
Mom: Well, not "horror stories" but they were... messed up stories. Like your aunt's story.
(Mom starts laughing)
Mom: She was on her honeymoon, sitting in a park with your uncle... and he bought an apple (she starts laughing harder now)... and he didn't get her one. He didn't even offer her a bite. She told me she just sat there, seeing if he was going to buy her one... or offer some of his to her... I mean, it was a FUCKING APPLE! They cost cents! But no, she says he just sat there, leaned AWAY from her... like a dog with a bone... trying to hide the apple, and slyly tried taking bites without her noticing. All she could think was "I CAN FUCKING HEAR YOU CHOMPING AWAY AT THAT FUCKING APPLE, ASSHOLE!"
Me: Oh man!! And she loves to eat! I can only imagine how pissed she must have been! HAHAHAHAHA! Tio took that Adam and Eve story WAY too literal. HAHAHA!

With stories like these, Mom just keeps encouraging me to get married. I can't wait to see what barbaric, ridiculously retarded shit my husband can do to me. Right.

It did make me laugh, though. The mental image had me laughing until I cried.
That's always appreciated.

Which reminds me, still keeping in tune with the "guys can be fucking retarded" topic: WHY would you (seriously) tell me you jackoff to my photo? Am I... supposed to be honored? Excited? Happy? Well, I'm not. This only makes me realize how SLOW you are... considering there are SO many beautiful women out there you could beat your meat to. Me? Jesus Christ, quit being lazy and google Sofia Vergara or something... dumbass. WHY do I attract these guys? Is it the flag? Is there some sort of flag fetish I'm not aware of? And just look at my teeth... I'm a fucking horse, man! It's like jacking off to Julia Roberts... people jack off to Julia Roberts? Such horrible taste, son. (this is exactly what goes on in my head. This would be my "flow" if I were a rapper... hence why I stick to... drawing?)

Ok, end rant. Goodnight.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Euro Barf

Alright, I'm gonna fucking die or something. I've been writhing in pain since yesterday and it's not getting any better.
It's not my appendix, I know that... the region were I feel the pain is nowhere near that quadrant.
I didn't eat yesterday 'cause it would have been pointless, seeing how I couldn't hold anything down.
I've been laying belly-down for as long as possible, it's the only way I feel some sort of comfort (it's times like these where I think "Shit, I could NEVER be a mother. Imagine my kid walking in on me... as I lay on my stomach in my bedroom, wishing only to die. My mom never did that... she was a fucking iron lady who never felt pain!" I'm such a fucking wuss).
BUT, there is one good thing out of all this:
Since I couldn't do shit yesterday besides lay on my stomach whenever I wasn't too busy dry-heaving into a toilet, I was forced into finishing my UNLV application.
That shit is DONE.
I haven't submitted it though, since I'm giving it a little time to simmer. I'll re-read my shit in a couple of days (if I'm still alive, of course) to make sure it's coherent and not full of random "I'M GONNA DIE!" "FUCK THIS SHIT!" comments or anything like that.
Now excuse me, I gotta go back to alternating between the inadvertently-cobra-stretch position and the fetal position... while feeling sorry for myself and fighting the urge to vomit.
Happy thoughts.

I wrote that this morning.
I was a total ray of sunshine. Such a drama queen.
The problem subsided in the afternoon. I only threw up once today (such gory, disgusting detail. As if anyone wants to listen to my vomiting stories).
In order to keep my mind off the pain, I went ahead and proof-read my final application (I decided no Boston for me. That was hard, but hey, had to do it. This shit is getting too expensive and my parents aren't too supportive of what I'm doing, so I'll save all of us the grief of another school). I need one of my recommenders to complete his letter before I send it off, but I do have the satisfaction of knowing I completed everything for which I'm responsible.
After all this, I was still feeling some spasms in my stomach, so I got off the floor (I did the whole application thing while on the floor, belly down... the position I had been in since waking up... not that I slept on the floor, I slept face-down on my bed. Such an unnatural position).
ANYWAY.
I was looking over the CW programs I applied to and nearly passed out. Did you know UNLV only accepts about 6 people for the fiction CW MFA? They have a 4% acceptance rate.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Suddenly the clouds disappeared and the sun shined bright.
Maybe that's the reason why I'm suddenly into barfing and sleeping in the fetal position... ?

... I'm gonna start looking into nanny jobs in Spain starting tomorrow.

OH! This reminds me: this whole "Euro movement" bullshit going on in my twitter (and FB) feed is driving me CRAZY. CRAZY!
Wherever I turn, this group of six gentlemen is talking incessantly about their goddamn european aliases.
And everything they do, they have to mention something about "euro life." They wake up, they eat, they shit, they sleep... everything has to be related to Europe (I'd add some of their actual tweets, but I don't want them to google that shit and find me). And once again, let me reiterate, NONE of the people involved have gone to europe.
SO, these guys all have "european" aliases. They all chose different countries from which they supposedly reside and get names from there (names that are supposed to be refined and whatnot. They're serious about this shit!). It's quite ridiculous.
So far, there are four countries involved: Spain (obvious), England (one guy's first name is a JOKE! And his last name... is L'Oreal. Like, seriously, dude? I'm supposed to refer to you by this name with a straight face?), Italy (last name involved here is ALMOST "Vaseline." Once again... I'm expected to refer to him by this new name without busting out laughing), and the more recent country/name is the thing that got me in this recent little... scuffle. The country is Germany.
Now, the guy (who is half Mexican, half Cuban) chose the country, but he was having trouble coming up with a name (because he knows jackshit about Germany!), and he ASKED for help.
I didn't add my two cents because the only names I'd produce would be mixed up versions of the German national soccer squad (my choice would be Christian Schweinsteiger. Try saying that last name, suckaaa! Oooo! Say it WHILE intoxicated! Yeah, that's what I thought, naco. Ok, I won't be mean... I'd probably give him something with a lot of A's and W's... 'cause the sound those letters make usually makes me giggle... then to hear a Cuban try to make those sounds? HAAAA! I'm having a laugh attack already. Haaaaaans... somethingwithalotofWs).
Once I woke up (because the Q and A took place right before I went to bed) I saw Cubanito had chosen a name: Po (gimme a minute, let me add some shit in here so he won't find my page if he googles his alter ego) Garcín.
?!?!
I had to comment, I just HAD TO.
Me: PO?? As in... the teletubby? WTF, yo? I didn't know that fool was German.
Him: I give that name swag (hashtag) euro boy (connected. Like I said, I don't want someone to google that shit). (hashtag) Po (no space) Garcín. (I'm HELLA paranoid. I don't want to cause any more friction with this stupid crew)
Me: P.S. Nice last name. I hear it's kinda French... nice syndrome associated with it, too ;)
(Nigga forgets I was supposed to be a doctor. Pshhhh!)
Him: Hater! (RT's my comment)

Seriously guys, you're as european as a motherfucking tortilla. CUT IT OUT!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Napkins

Fuck... my condition isn't getting any better. I'm now throwing up at the sight of food.
Exactly why I don't fuck around. I'm paranoid enough without having to worry about unwanted pregnancies.

In slightly funny news: I have a thing where I don't mind telling dudes what I think if I find something attractive about them (unless it's Darcy or anyone of that status. I don't say shit around those guys). I do it matter-of-factly, without any intention of hooking up... I just tell it like it is (whereas any compliment I pay a guy I do like, it goes horribly wrong with my attempts to cover up my real attraction. "You have lovely dimples... not that I like dimples... dimples are gross... have you seen how they get with age? Those straight lines down the cheeks... Ugh... Oh man... not that YOURS will get like that. I'm sorry. I think yours will be lovely forever... not that I think of you in like... 'forever' terms... oh my God... I'll shut up now. Bye")... but discreetly.
I'm known for scribbling compliments on napkins to my servers... as I'm about to leave... kind of like a hit and run.
"Wow! Your eyes are amazing! :)" is the more popular one.
I don't do it in hopes of getting lucky or any of that shit. I don't compliment the dude then wink at him, or proceed to touch him, I just share information... but never shit like my name and especially not my number.

Leads me to last night.
I was out catching up with some middle school friends when I did the whole "you have dreamy eyes" thing to my server... 'cause he did.
Next thing I know, he's friending me on Facebook.
O... k...

I don't have the heart to say "Whoa... this is a one time thing, bro. I just think you have gorgeous eyes and I wanted to pay you the compliment... but it's not like I'm DTF or even DTCAM (down to catch a movie)." So now I have a friend with pretty eyes who I've only seen once in my life.

Needless to say, I'm done with scribbling shit on napkins... and then paying with my fucking credit card (I'm retarded. I know).

Friday, January 28, 2011

Casi un...

Intense day full of fights for me.
I'll leave the heavier one (literally) for tomorrow, I think. I'm low on time.
I'll go for the light-hearted-ish.

I got in a verbal altercation over Ricky Martin.
Yes. I did.
And I'd do it again.
NO ONE trash-talks Ricky in front of me. No one.

It all started because one of my high school buddies (who is a total hardass. Her only weakness is Ricky Martin) mentioned how she was excited about Ricky Martin's new concert. She then mentioned how he was the "most beautiful creature" she has ever seen. I agreed (because he is. Gay or straight, that man has the most beautiful face I've ever seen. His eyes, his nose, his lips, his hair... oh my God... everything. He is GORGEOUS). ALL the girls agreed... then one (ugly) bitch goes "Eww! Am I the only person who finds him gross?!"
Bad choice of words, cunt.

Me: Gross? Why? What exactly makes him gross?
Her: Everything. I don't get why everyone loves him so much.

So... I went on a tirade over how such an ugly bitch needs to shut the fuck up, because this "gross" person is actually very kind and quite the humanitarian... not to mention hot as fuck... FAR hotter than the thing she wound up settling for.
I then turned the conversation super hostile once I asked if she was grossed out over his sexual preference. Turned out she was. Then the rest of the group tore her a new one.

All in a day's work.

Dumb bitch.
Get the fuck out of here with your hate.
Typical... motherfuckers hating on people before getting to know anything about them.

All they get is the Bon-Bon shaking dude in leather pants that the US wanted to present (truth be told, I DETEST that album). The guy's actually pretty successful with his Spanish releases. His songs are deep (true, most are written by his bff, but still. Those two make a wonderful team) with awesome music arrangements.
My music library is loaded with Ricky Martin (slow) songs.

You try hating someone who sings this beautiful song (I put the instrumental version on because 1- It shows my one true love: Barcelona. Although after watching it, the person focused WAY too much on the tourists. 2- The video with Ricky's voice was lame, since he didn't make a music video out of the song. BUT, the important thing here is the actual music. It's wonderful):


If that doesn't make you wanna fuck, then... you might be made of ice.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

discombobulation

It's official: I REALLY want to get into UNLV.

My body is ALL discombobulated.
I've been leaving the remote control and my cell phone in random places like the vanity drawers and even the fridge.
This morning I also got in the shower while wearing my socks.
I'm doing that thing where I'm holding a conversation with someone, and then I say some random word that has nothing to do with the topic (So I was like "What the fuck" and the potato was like... Wait, where the hell did this potato come from? What potato? You just said "potato" That sort of shit).
I've been vomiting and feeling faint.
Ah... that good ol' days.

I wasn't aware I wanted this so bad... but there it is... undeniable proof. My subconscious is letting me know "Fuck this up, and I'll fuck YOU up."
Fun, really.
Funny thing? I did not vomit ONCE when looking into med schools. Not once.
Take that, med school! I never loved you! 

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Left Right

As a kid, I really enjoyed playing games that heavily relied on running.
I liked playing regular tag, freeze tag, red-rover (I think that's what it was called. Since I grew up Mexican, surrounded by nothing but Spanish, the actual pronunciation of this game--and many others-- may be a little off), kickball, dodgeball, baseball... I even played this game called "El Cinto" (aka "The Belt" where one of the players was in charge of hiding a belt. Once he/she was done, it was his/her job to guide the rest of us toward the belt by playing "hot or cold." Once one of us found the belt, he/she would run after the other kids, smacking them with the belt until everyone reached "home base." I last played that game three years ago.. that's how much I love that style of mean-ass, violent game-- not to be mistaken as an enjoyment in running... 'cause now as an adult, that's probably my most hated activity. YOU try running with double Ds).
I had a rough time with tag/freeze tag each time it was a boy's turn to be "it." Why? Because the fucking asshole would chase me on purpose just so he could see my ass bounce (as long as it wasn't my brother. He'd never chase me, for obvious reasons). I wasn't aware of this, I'd just run my heart out and think "FUCK! I"M FAST! This bitch can't get me!" However, I finally realized the perverted intentions of the boys once a new boy joined our game of tag one day. I was about ten when this went down. The new boy was nine.
Rafa: Damn it, Nick! Tag her already!
(Nick's still chasing me. I'm running behind cars and all that dangerous shit that should have gotten me killed)
Me: HAHAHAHA! Yeah, Nick, TAG ME!
Rafa: QUIT RUNNING AND JUST LET HIM TAG YOU, FAG! This shit is boring!
Me: NO! Why don't YOU let him tag YOU!
At this point, Rafa started running after me, and when he managed to get in front of me, he pushed me into Nick... ultimately making me get tagged "it."
Instead of running after someone to tag them, I bent over to catch my breath. So did Nick and Rafa.
Nick: Damn... all I could see... was AnoMALIE's... butt bouncing... left, right... left and right. It was... I was hypnotized.
Me: ?!?!!? WHAAAAT?! YOU FUCKING PERVERT!
Nick said the last part of his sentence while moving his hands left and right. I grabbed him with one hand, and punched him with the other.
Boy2: You just... have to try to ignore it...
Left-Right hand movement.
Me: Fuck you guys!
Everyone laughed at me... those jerks.

I wouldn't call my ass "spectacular" or anything like that. Yeah, it's there... and it's not inverted like some chicks I know... but... it's not an onion like those on other chicks.
Back in the day, I did have an unusually perky butt for a kid... someone would always be pinching or smacking it during my early years. There's even a video out there where my older cousin and her husband are commenting on the awesomeness of my ass (I had a HUGE crush on her husband. I was 7, he was 27. Needless to say, I was mortified when I heard the conversation years later).
As the years passed, people started noticing other girls with wayyy better asses, and they finally started to respect my backside and leave it alone... with the exception of the occasional cock-graze at night clubs and metros.

But not today.

I was putting away my weights when an onslaught of human traffic walked my way.
I don't know if this was intentional, or a case of mistaken identity... but as I was bent over, minding my own business and picking up the lighter weights, a dude punked me... sort of.
It wasn't a graze... oh no. Not at all.
I felt when the guy walked directly behind me, so I tried to pick up my pace to get all the weights.
But it was too late.
He... he thrusted... in an "I know this ass, so it's ok" kind of way.

I claim to be so hardcore and "I'll beat your motherfucking ass!" but honest to God, I was scared and confused.
Whoa... What. The. FUCK.
I stood up immediately... and looked over my shoulder. My face was burning hot, I'm sure I was blushing beyond... any shade I've ever reached.
I'm also sure he saw the fear and confusion in my face, so he apologized-- repeatedly-- saying he thought I was a friend of his.

Me: ...O... k...

I walked away with my ba-gillion weights and tried my hardest to appear calm and collected.
I almost ran to my car.
And that was that.
Yeah.

Needless to say, I'm now going to take the "elevator" approach to bending down... as in, I'm going to descend by lowering my entire body... cocktail-waitress-style, whenever I have to reach something off the floor.
Or just act like a paranoid ex-prison inmate who got ass raped after dropping the soap.

I knew I should have paid more attention while watching "American Me."

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

LIKE a girl, not like A girl

Today, in an effort to get distracted from the letter-writting process, I played around with a test.
It informed me my brain is balanced between the male brain and the female brain.
Surprise, surprise.
Apparently, I can sympathize like a girl... and notice differences like one too (I scared myself by getting 100% on that part of the test. I noticed everything that was moved around. I didn't know I was that observant. Such a nosey bitch). I can also pinpoint what people are "feeling" based on looking only at their eyes. I got all of those correct... how's that for fucking awesome? Haaaaa.
I then went off and scored just as high on the male-dominant tests dealing with... guy shit like shapes and stuff. I was lucky to be in the 10% of chicks who get all questions correct on one portion of the test.

This leads me to a text I received later in the day.
I took the test, posted it on my FB, and laughed about it. OF COURSE someone took it out of context and she had to confront me.
She understood my "It only told me what I already knew: I can think like a chick AND a dude. " comment to mean I LIKED chicks and dudes.

Her: Waaaaait! Te gustan las mujeres?! (You like women?!)
Me: WTF? Who said that?!
Her: You did!
Me: When?! Was I drugged? What???
Her: On Face! *HerSibling* told me. I got on and read it too
Me: Huh??? When did I say this? Did someone hack my page or something?
Her: That sex ID thing.
Me: OH! NO. I did that. I meant I THINK like a dude... not that I LIKE girls like a dude.
Her: Ok. I was worried...
Me: No. I like cock.
Her: EWWWW!!!!!!!
Me: I WAS KIDDING!
Me: No. No. Let me correct myself: I was joking in being so vulgar. I LOVE GUYS. Period.
Me: Enough. The end.
Her: Wow.

Something tells me she still thinks I'm a carpet muncher.

One day, I'm going post a photo of myself in a t-shirt that says: I Love Dick! To finally end all speculation.
Who the fuck am I? Queen Latifah? Calm down, people!

Monday, January 24, 2011

Letter of what?

Best Australian ever: Philip Dearest 

I want it. I want it BAD!

Anyway, right now I'm really crunching down on the final application. I get so mindfucked the moment I have to focus on something I really, really want... and in this case, it's entrance into UNLV's writing program... so... I'm... sort of retarded right now... and I can't really think clearly... much less write anything coherent.
I've been trying to write this goddamn letter of application for the longest time... to the point where I find myself frowning involuntarily. I googled how to even write a fucking "letter of application" since I've never been asked for one. Fucking UNLV... always so fucking weird when compared to the other schools. NYU and Cornell weren't this asshole-ish about their application requirements.
I was supposed to have this done by today (self-imposed deadline. This shit isn't due until February 15th), but here you have me... looking at DeviantArt and handpicking valentines-related bullshit like your typical spinster.
Oh God, I have to stop. Is this more than 100 words already? I need to go back to idling in front of my laptop as I tug at my right earlobe while sucking on my bottom lip. Hey! Don't judge me. 

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Annoying status

Anyone else notice that new feature on FB where it shows you some of your past status updates on the sidebar?
Well, I did.
Now that I've had the opportunity to go through them, I feel I must make a new update, giving everyone a heartfelt apology.
Here are the first couple of random gems FB showed me:
AnoMALIE is a maniac, maniac on the floor... and she's dancing like she's never danced before. haha (Jesus...)
AnoMALIE has a long day ahead of her... in this freakin' sun... man. (I wish I could remember what this was)
AnoMALIE Noooooooooooooooooooooo! Why, FotC?? WHYYYY?! (the day I was informed FotC was cancelled. Horribly sad day)
AnoMALIE sat next to the CRAZY at Notre Dame's commencement. look for me on the news ;) p.s. my bro's the muthafuckin' shiiiit! :D (such a creepy bastard... the crazy heckler, not my brother)
AnoMALIE can't believe they covered Kanye's "Heartless"... and she actually likes it... wtf? (I'm not a fan of covers, but I did outplay this one)
AnoMALIE is ready to drop! So. Freakin'. Tired! (but it was all worth it! haha) (I wish I could remember what this was all about)
AnoMALIE can always depend on South Park to make things all better :] (Mom would beg to differ, haha) (still holds true)
AnoMALIE I'll be happy with whichever outcome AS LONG as the winner takes it fair and square. Tripping, pushing, and injuring a rival who's outplaying you doesn't make you a great champ... it makes you a desperate, pathetic chump. (watching the Netherlands go up against Spain was driving me crazy. Van Persie's aggressive style of play was... it still... I go on cussing rampages when I see the homeboy play)
AnoMALIE can't remember when it was good... moments of happiness elude... [why does everything simultaneously decide to suck $#*% ?] (I still ask myself this question)
AnoMALIE guess who's gonna be a really grumpy girl this entire month.... Man, I had forgotten how much I hate waking up early (y luego para hacer corajes... no mmn) (anything for the love of futbol)
AnoMALIE making enemies left and right! man, i love my life! :D (delusions of grandeur, obviously)
AnoMALIE is loving Chicago and everything... but she can't stop thinking about texas hold 'em. Vegas girl. (luckily things have changed.. sort of)
AnoMALIE might be a TAD bit aggressive today. I'm sorry... not really. (almost every day)
AnoMALIE fuck... time to fix my World Cup bracket. I gave Mexico too much damn credit- seriously, TOO MUCH credit (On the bright side: those black jerseys are AWESOME. I'm still gonna rock one). (jersey is now a pajama top... only the natural progression of shit like that)
AnoMALIE will say it loudly and proudly: I. LOVE. SCIENCE (I do love it... just not mammalian physiology or biochemistry... I'd rather get in a cage with lions than go through that shit again)
AnoMALIE is glad to see Bret and Jemaine back at it again! XD (before I knew what was in store... the cancellation of the show, obviously)
AnoMALIE quiere un mundo contigo... :( (de lo que me salve)
AnoMALIE thinks Ron (aka, her mailman) needs to calm the fck down (There are rules to owning a mailbox? Well, I'll be damned!) (that mailman was such a prick)
AnoMALIE wants to barf :( (feeling I learned to live with)
AnoMALIE apologizes in advance if tonight she's... well... a bitch. (that was a lie. I damn well knew who I was being a cunt to and I definitely didn't feel bad about it)
AnoMALIE is off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of please-don't-kill-me! I'm-only-here-to-visit-my-family! [Have a great summer guys! I'll be in Durango, unnecessarily risking my life, for the next two months] (since I made it back alive, I can laugh about this without feeling too bad)
AnoMALIE needs a wall to punch... (I wound up kicking a wall and breaking my toe. Such an idiot)
AnoMALIE is convinced Paul the Octopus talks to God... OLE, OLE OLE OLE!!! Those little old people at the Barça game knew what they were talking about... Puyol is the MAN!! (RIP Paul. You made my summer unforgettable)
AnoMALIE ya llego, ya llego... :) (California makes me happy)
AnoMALIE will suck it up and embrace those crooked brows... (they're still crooked, only thicker)
AnoMALIE is ready for Californ-I-A! :D (see... I can barely contain myself)
AnoMALIE is the owner of a 116-pound Pit Bull... (don't be mad, Rafa!). (poor Tyson. He no longer looks like a little cow. He's so sad and... sick :( )
AnoMALIE Oh, Big Bang Theory, how you make my day! <3 (SILL! That fucking show COMPLETES me)
AnoMALIE thanks her Bay Area friends for the fun, pre-b'day shenanigans of these past couple of days. It made me forget I'm getting old... hahaha thank you, thank you, thank you! (one of the best birthdays ever)
AnoMALIE thinks the room in "vacancy" has nothing on hers here in South Bend... :S (there were bullet holes in my room! Fucking ghetto hoodrats)
AnoMALIE favorite gym character: boob-tastic, conceited, skinny girl that makes you think you're for sure in the presence of an off-duty stripper... then she starts lifting/running/dancing and you realize she has the rhythm of a rock. NO Vegas strip club will EVER hire that, homegirl. (this update got me in a huge fight with someone... who obviously likes boob-tastic, arrhythmic bitches)
AnoMALIE is NOT "flamboyantly latina." (another update that got me in trouble. I only said it because someone was expecting me to shimmy while rolling my R's mariachi style. That had me upset)
AnoMALIE is becoming increasingly frustrated with growing out her eyebrows... it's sick (negative connotation here), not to mention embarrassing! (since then, the process has grown on me. No pun intended)
AnoMALIE correction: FOUR. Hahaha! The massacre I was asking for. Pelensela, Argentina! AND Messi left scoreless! My wish FULLY granted. (one of the happiest days of my life. Germany making my wish come true when it came to kicking Argentina's ass)
AnoMALIE only smiles in the dark... (my only comfort is the night gone black... I didn't accidentally tell you that?)

Hmm. Suddenly I appreciate my friends a lot more for putting up with that shit.
(Long day. Sorry)

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Racoons

Sticking to the marriage theme going on here (and since it's the early afternoon and I doubt this will give me nightmares later on), I give you my reason NUMBER ONE for refusing, vehemently, to get tied down:
I love how "resealable package" is legible and STILL disregarded.
Seriously... how fucking hard is it to OPEN THE GODDAMN BAG (THAT IS ALREADY OPENED) FROM THE CORRECT, ZIPLOCKED END?!
My dad can be such an animal. It's like I live with a fuckin' racoon... that I can't beat with a broom each time he rummages through my shit and destroys the bags. Yes, he's Mexican, but he knows how to read English... he has lived here for 41 years. I think I'd get the hang of Arabic if I lived in Iran or Syria for 41 years.
People may argue "But not all men are like that," but fuck it... knowing me and my luck, I'll be stuck with the animal who just... uses his mouth to rip shit open.

Living with men... get the fuck outta here (even if they're not like my dad, my experience with living with guys has never been pleasant. The month spent with Sister in Spain had me living with two boys... and both were gross in their own way. The hairy Italian boy would use Sister's loofa and leave his pubes as evidence... and the other guy... that one... he was special. He was a hairy Mexican-Indian mix. He'd shave his entire body and never clean up after himself. Hair would be all over the toilet, the sink, floor... it was a mess. And that was still acceptable. What BUGGED me was how he'd release his load every morning in the shower... and NEVER clean up after himself. I understand it's a necessity to some people, and what better place than the shower, where you can clean up whatever mess you may leave... but not this guy. I'd have to decide: Do I want to run into wet cum... or dry cum today? Nothing like going in to shower in the morning, to grab the shower handle and feel hardened cum. That was nice. Or the time I bent down to grab the soap and realized my ass touched the wet cum on the shower wall... that was REAL nice. He did it EVERY. DAY. Even when he'd hear me scream "AH! COME ON, MAN!" every single day... although, putting it that way, I may understand where the misunderstanding began. Get a better vocabulary, AnoMALIE).

Now that I'm talking about my dad, let me move on to his latest shenanigan:
My folks are going on a ten day cruise in two weeks.
It's the first time for both. Mom didn't want to go, she pouted for a good week after she found out Dad purchased the tickets without her consent (while telling her "Well, SOMEONE'S going with me, whether it's you or someone else. I'm going to be on that boat!"). Mom's argument is "NO ONE MAKES ME DO WHAT I DON'T WANT TO DO! And being on a boat is something I just KNOW I'm going to HATE!" and since Pops laid it on her the way he did, Mom was like "Shit, if I let this man go on his own, God knows if he'll even come back alive. He can't do shit on his own without getting taken advantage of."
So Mom is going for my father's own safety (or so she likes to claim).

Dad invited me... but seeing how magnificently I get along with the man... I turned that shit down without giving it a second thought.
1. I don't want to be responsible for whatever he decides to share. He has a tendency to be SO racist... even against his own kind. I fear I'll jump into the ocean the moment he says something TOO embarrassing.
2. My dad eats like an animal. Case and point being that photo above.
3. Dad is the gassiest man I know. No. Really. He is. That shit rivals chemical warfare.
And
4. I'm going NO WHERE near volcanos... I hear they do bad things to girls like me. PASS!

Married life... gross.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Alo. Alo? Adios.

Today is Alo's 24th birthday.

Sister and I debated whether or not to call her.
She's our friend... regardless of what she decided to do with her love life.
She'll always be the girl whose stuffed animal we had to hold for ransom over the summer so she'd agree to our massive slumber party:
Rough night for Tony.
 The girl who would take on nopales (cacti) with nothing but a rock, all for the sake of our group's entertainment:
She hella lost that fight.
 The girl who'd jokingly threaten to molest us during our lazy summer nights:
Holding Sister down in oder to proceed to lick Sister's face.
 The girl who'd walk the deserted Hometown streets with us during the lonely days in June:
I MISS THIS!
The girl who'd try the delicious, but deadly, Mexican food a DAY before going on the 30-whatever hour-long drive back home.
Entirely too excited about that torta.
The girl who'd race the rainstorm with us because we would stay too long at the park playing volleyball.

We all lost here. That rain pounded the hell out of us within seconds.
The girl who would help us win heated flip-cup championships, regardless of how shitfaced she may have been:
Muthafuckin' PRO!
Did I mention she liked molesting us?
Shamelessly showing me how she was gonna ride my sister that night! jk
And she'd make us the liveliest girls at the Summer Weddings:
She got me into throwing the peace sign.
She got us all the free Modelo, which I was a little embarrassed about.
still embarrassed...
Ah, fuck it! I learned to embrace/appreciate it. Fuck being known as the drunk table. That shit was F.U.N!

We called.

The voice of a young man answered.
Sister: Is... Alo there?
Guy: Yeah. Hold on.
Sister: (whispering to me) Fuck... I think her husband answered.
Alo: Hello?
Sister and me: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Alo: Awww, thanks girls!
Sister: Why did that dude answer your phone?
Alo: Oh... my brother? He answered... because... it's his now.
Sister: You have a new number and you didn't tell me?
Alo:.... no. I... well, you know... I'm... disconnecting myself from the world for now... you now. I... don't have a phone anymore.
Sister: Hmmm.
Alo: ... a lot of things changed after I got back.
Sister: I see...
Alo: Yeah... I mean... A LOT. A lot of... life-changing events... HUGE life changing events.
Sister: You fucking bitch... you better not be pregnant.
Alo: ... no... no, I'm not pregnant. But... I... got... I'm married.
No shit. 
Sister: Oh. When? Where? Why? Before you left?
Alo: Yeah. Because... well, we wanted to travel... and you can't travel when you're just boyfriend-girlfriend.
Me: SURE YOU CAN!
Alo: ... well... we got married.
Sister: So he went with you to Switzerland?
Alo:... yeah.

I left the room after that. My stomach could no longer take it.
It's weird, but I was getting sick just listening to it all.
How can you do that? How can you give up like that? WHO are you?

After I left, Sister kept talking to her, but was cut short.
Alo: I have A LOT to tell you... but... I have to do it when I'm alone... you know? I can't... really talk right now.
Sister: Your husband?
Alo: Yeah. But I'll call you back when I'm alone. Thanks for the call. Bye.

Her tone of voice... when I think of it... I feel... I want to cry. It's not the little girl I met back in '92. Not the same silly girl who'd always greet me with a "A la de rojo me la cojo!" whenever I'd wear red (a little perverted rhyme meaning "I'll fuck the one in red"). Not the girl from my memories.

I replay what was said, and I want to vomit.

Getting rid of her phone? Not being able to talk freely with her friends on her birthday? What the fuck is that about?
It's just... all wrong. All wrong.

I feel as if I attended the funeral of a good friend. An awesome friend... has disappeared. Not even a glimmer of that girl to be found today. Our Alamo Crew is officially dead.

My brother will never know of this. It will kill what ever is left of his heart.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

No Love

I'm never again talking about marriage before going to bed.
I had a horrifying nightmare last night where I dreamt I married some random dude. I was disillusioned with love (which is true, I suppose) and just agreed to marry the first schmuck to ask me (something I claim to be able to do). Within minutes of saying "I do," I felt like shit. I asked for a divorce... actually, I clearly remember saying "I WANT THIS ANNULLED!" and he was refusing, so I screamed "I DON'T LOVE YOU!" and he was like "I DON'T CARE! YOU'RE NOT GETTING ONE!" and I started to cry.
I was having a damn anxiety attack when I woke up with my heart beating out of control... at six in the morning.
Ugh... horrible.... just horrible.

Anyway, to forget all this, I'll write a story about what comes to me first: Basketball.
That Rebels game last night... I was in pain for most of it.
What bugged me most was this one relative of mine who is a clear-cut example of a fair-weather "fan."
He will lick UNLV's balls when everything is going great:
When the school gets ranked.
When they're on a winning streak.
When they make it to the big dance.
He'll be looking for anything UNLV related. He will rock UNLV, tweet UNLV (when he's not too busy hashtagging "eurolife" at the end of all his fucking tweets. Shit drives me INSANE, considering he has never stepped foot outside of the US. How the fuck you gonna claim Euro Life when you've never even seen it? One day, when I was in no mood to hear his bullshit, he eurolife'd a photo of pho [which, FYI, that shit's VIETNAMESE]. Sister and I had enough, and we openly mocked him and his eurolife buddies. We hashtagged "rancholife" meaning... well, "Ranch life," 'cause that's what we are-- we're Mexican hillbillies, regardless of how many fucking blazers and oversized sunglasses we may own... it's just in our blood to know how to start a bonfire, how to pick out ripe fruit, and we'll always love the smell of wet dirt after it rains. We're rancho people. Accept it! Embrace it! Sorry, that was a very long tangent), claim UNLV (he DIDN'T go to ANY college)... basically, he'll be an obnoxious motherfucker.
But Jesus Christ, the moment the Rebels fuck up in the slightest, he's the first one to put them down. "I've said this all season: UNLV IS OVERRATED!" "It's official: UNLV SUCKS!""UNLV DOESN'T KNOW BASKETBALL." 
Yeah, ok, prick, and that's why we have one of the top ranked basketball programs in the country and why we're one of the winningest teams in history (I feel my grammar sucked dick in that sentence... I just don't care to fix it). Shut the fuck up!

This hater-ism brought me back to my basketball days.

I wasn't on the team back in my Durango days... because I detested my time there and all I wanted to do once the first bell of the day went off was return home and get as far, far away from the kids there. They were MEAN.
No, my basketball days began at my other school, which was brand new when I was a Junior.
Since we were new, guess what... we SUCKED.
It wasn't that we wouldn't try... it's just that we were all so young, we had no chance against the well-established schools who had Seniors on the squad.
Our practices were brutal as hell, too. Every single day.
The entire season, I vomited twice. I cried once... and I would have cried more often, but each time one of us wimped out and began to cry, we'd have to tack on a suicide (that drill where you run back and forth, at intervals, the entire court. The biggest pain in the world). FUCK. THAT! The girls already hated me because I was once responsible for TEN of their suicides (consecutive, no break in between. They wanted to kill me by the third suicide)... all because I couldn't make a left-handed layup (SO. HARD. I still get cold sweats when I think about making one). So crying was out of the question.
Anyway, I can still remember which games we won, and what the final score was. Why? BECAUSE WE ONLY WON TWICE! Once against Clark (worst. team. ever) and another time against Durango. I remember the Durango one most because I scored the first 14 points of the entire match (I did that shit out of spite. Fuck you, Durango!).
During practice (you know, as I gasped for air and complained of side cramps and all that typical shit losers complain about), the coach always "encouraged" me to play ALL my games like the Durango game (she would have encouraged me to play like I did the Clark game, but that game I was ejected for elbowing a stupid fat bitch in the face after she charged me. Fuck that shit. I ain't scared of no goddamn rhinos), and I'd be busy fighting the urge to say "Awww... but I like losing! There's nothing quite as fun as faking an injury to be able to limp off court as if you only lost because you severely rolled your ankle as you were going for a rebound. Losing's fun! It's the only reason I do it!"
Of course losing sucks! Of course I wished I could be rebounding every fucking ball. Of course I wished I could make buckets from all angles of the court. But shit just doesn't work out sometimes, and that's when you need your people the most.
I was lucky to never have any of my people during the two games where I kicked ass OR the rest of the season, where I'd be benched for missing an hour of practice due to me choosing AP History study sessions, but I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't make me sad.

Ehh... all this talk made me forget the point of the entry... so I'll end with this:
Bandwagon, fair-weather fans: EAT A DICK.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

DENY!

Dudes I really do like ignore me as if it were their job, but middle eastern dudes... those guys, they don't hesitate to send me messages out of the blue.
My favorite so far is the one I received this afternoon:
i am shy to ask u ,r u engaged ! 
if not i hope we can be friend and know each other 
i hope to hear from u 
and hope u not get me wrong e 
so so so sorry
That had me laughing for a good minute (I particularly love the exclamation point at the end of "r u engaged !" I close my eyes and I can just see this cat act that out. Too funny). The message was sent to me on a languages-related place where I'm learning Portuguese and Catalan, and refreshing my French. How the hell my answer to that question is even relevant to the shit I'm on the site to do is beyond me, but whatever, being that I'm nice, I wrote back:
hahaha. No, I am not engaged. Don't worry about it, I wasn't offended by the question
Then he wrote back.
maybe my question creazy ..lol 
coz if i see my gf or my wife talk with any other men i get so creazy 
even i not have no gf or wife 
some time people get me wrong ,, 
i just ask and take permition from u 
so can u tell me about u and ask me if u want 
Wow.

Of course I only get the fucking crazy guys hitting on me... of course.
Craziest thing of all is Alo married one of those crazy guys.

Now, still staying in synch with the subject of dudes and the internet: Facebook.
I'm encountering a problem which seems to be escalating in severity. Well... I shouldn't put it like that. The problem is more of a nuisance, since my life isn't at jeopardy or anything like that, so I should ease up on the theatrics.
The problem is the fact that everyone and their damn grandmother is getting a FB account... these people are Hometown people.
It's really frustrating, especially since I've turned down three requests from Hometown dudes this week (starting Sunday). That is WAY too much for a town of like... 200.
It bugs me. A lot. I leave my Mexico shit in Mexico. I don't want them to have the ability to rummage through my photos, see what I talk about, or see my friends.
Damn, AnoMALIE, aren't you a bitch.
It's not even like that, Captain. Well, it kind of is... but I have to be.
Small town folk talk MAAAAAAD shit. They'll talk shit about me even when I don't give them reason... I can only imagine what will occur if I let them in on a tiny piece of my world.
I just think of them seeing my occasional scathing rants I leave as updates, and I get a little panicked.

Then they place me in the predicament of accepting them or denying their ass. Either choice is WRONG. I accept them, and they'll forever have shit on me. I deny them, and they'll forever talk shit about what a stuck up cunt I am.
Then I rationalize: Ok, so... if in real life I...
hug you... ACCEPT.
kiss you... DUH!
would have/have had a drink with you... ACCEPT.
play video games with you... ACCEPT.
joke with you... ACCEPT.
was invited to your wedding... I'll mull it over another week.
shake your hand then walk to the opposite side of the room... DENY.
shake your hand then walk back to my room... that's a big FUCK YOU, while I press DENY.
walk past you, while uttering a "hi." Yeah, that's a DENY.
walk past you and act like you don't exists... why the FUCK did you want to add me, retard? That deserves a "WTF?" message before the DENY, then pressing the "don't know this guy" link where FB no longer allows him to contact me.

So... with these Hometown boys...
I take a deep breath, wave at the computer screen, and press "IGNORE"... with my eyes closed.
Then I laugh and flick off the computer screen.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Tripas Corazón

My sister, as much as she may deny this, has a "type." I do too.
However, Sister has a "type" of dude... I have a "type" of movie.
Sister like dudes in the 6' - 6'5" height range. They tend to be bald. They tend to be latino/medium complexion. They tend to hold a high school diploma, max... on the rare occasion, they took a semester of some college course. The guys also dig hip hop OR Mexican classics in the Vicente Fernandez/Antonio Aguilar range.
That is her type.

My movie "type" goes like this: adorable, kind, sweet, witty boy meets free-spirited, ambitious girl. Couple falls in love. Couple marries. Couple has baby. Baby turns out to be a hope/soul crusher. Happy couple is now bitter couple. Bitter couple quarrels A LOT, usually because the girl ends up being a crazy bitch. Love dies. A LOT of smoking takes place. Couple splits... either by painful divorce or untimely death... I prefer death.
I leave theater crying.
And that's my "type."

I don't know why my sister is into undereducated cholos, if she's such a bright, pretty girl... and I don't know why I love movies about marriage ruining people's lives, when I've never even been in a relationship where I freely refer to the guy as my "boyfriend," and neither my parents nor aunts/uncles are divorced.

Anyway.

I watched Blue Valentine today... and while I didn't cry like I usually do with my "types," I did leave bummed out. It was one of those movies that just crushes your soul... and makes you want to slap a bitch.
Without giving the entire movie away, I'll mention the two things that spoke to me most:

1. Gosling's character meets girl (Williams), and while she doesn't give him the time of day, he can't stop thinking about her. At work he mentions her to his coworker, and tells him how from the moment he saw this chick, he felt this familiarity with her... like if he had known her his entire life, and now, no matter how hard he tries, he just can't forget her.
His coworker tells him he just needs to get some pussy and forget about that bullshit.
Uhhh... has someone been reading my diary? When that part came on screen, I felt like doing my "retarded seal" clap... then I got sad. Don't trust a "feeling," that's just some bullshit.

2. Gosling mentions to this same coworker how he thinks men are far more romantic than women. Men marry the chick they meet and think "I can't live without this woman." Women marry a man they don't feel too bad about settling for. "Women spend so much of their time looking for their Prince Charming, and only wind up settling for a guy who isn't 'that bad.'"
Ouuuch. But he's right. I always told myself I'd only marry a dude I loved, but now that time is passing by, I find myself not giving a fuck. I have found myself scoping out a prospect and thinking "Yeah... I guess I could tolerate that." But that shit isn't fair to anyone. I'm not a fan. I doubt I could actually go through with something like that... hence why I choose to be alone. 

I watched most of that film "haciendo de tripas corazón," or "making a heart out of guts." I felt my heart getting ripped out and I was left trying to fill that void with my guts.
I could relate to a lot of what was going on, oddly enough... and with both characters. I was getting repulsed with myself.

While the film won't be one of my all time favorites, it was still worth my 10 bucks, and I'd definitely watch it again to see what other minutiae I can pick up on.

Damn you, Ryan Gosling... always making me feel pity for you... you lovely, lovely man.

Just find yourself a little pussy and forget about that bullshit... 
Maybe I should...
He totally should have.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Anger

I was robbed of a good entry.
I'm pissed now.

I lose my appetite when angry... I lose my thoughts while angry... I lose everything.
I do, however, gain a giant headache... so BRAVO! Gracias.

So, instead of making this the pleasant, lighthearted entry I had planned, I'll just write about what's currently overpowering my system: Anger.

Honest to God, I'm a nice, peaceful, downright submissive girl. I really am. I am as calm as they come. I brush things off my shoulder more often than not. I shrug shit off.
But I have this really mean streak, where once I'm pushed to the edge, I just fucking lose it. I let my anger get the best of me... and it consumes me.
It'd be a fallacy to say I "don't know why" I let my "angry" go so Hulk... because I absolutely know why that occurs. I turn into a vicious animal because I let my anger build.
I let offense after offense, slight after slight, tease after tease, word after word build for days, sometimes months... and then, when I finally have my damn fill and can't contain myself, I damn near die from the bile I've collected.
I try so hard to be pleasant and keep others from feeling bad, that I wind up tolerating WAY more than I obviously should.
And still, I tend to (fuck, this goddamn headache is only getting worse. My left eye is pounding) ONLY vent in writing. I don't go up to the jackass (who managed to piss me off to tears) and tell him/her exactly what I think about him/her.

I would get physical back in my very early years. I was the sweet, respectful little girl who'd listen to the teasing quietly... but once I'd have enough, I'd go straight to the punches. I mean, I did this since I was three.
It's so weird, even I would sit there and wonder "Why... am I elbowing this girl, again? What am I getting out of this?" mid-fight (I wouldn't stop though. I never stopped. The bitch would have to cry and someone would have to pull me off her. Every. Single. Time). I don't get a particular joy out of it... in fact, I often find myself crying in the middle of the fight, even when I'm winning (very a la Ralphie on "A Christmas Story")... not that I've lost. I won every single fight I was in (not considering that one year in 4th grade, because I never swung back. I'd just sit there and take the abuse... but that's a story I'd rather not get into).
But I hear a lot of professional fighters have this issue as well. In their private lives, they tend to be timid, kind people, but in the ring they show no mercy.
Sounds kind of cool... but it's ugly. And sad.

Now, in my "I can't get into a physical altercation 'cause I'll go to jail" years, I've taken to internalizing everything (one again, there was that incident where I fist-fought my brother my junior year of college). I try my hardest not to have a violent outburst, refraining from even screaming... but I don't always win those.

"Take deep breaths," "Count to ten," "Do yoga," "Visit your happy place." 
People should really say "Punch a wall!" "Take up boxing" "Go for a run" "Break a mirror" "Break some concrete" "Throw rocks!" "Go to a batting cage" "Go to a deserted area and scream at the top of your lungs." Now that I find relieving.

I need to quit being so damn polite, that's what I need to do. It seems people really zero-in on those who purposely avoid conflicts. They keep instigating, testing limits.

I think I'm rambling now. My head isn't getting any better... although the heaviness in my chest is dissipating.

So, to end, I do sincerely apologize for all my ranting and the anger I always seem to possess. It's an ugly trait... but regardless of how hard I try to smother it, it just doesn't go away.
I'm so, so sorry.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Buk-anas

My sister has been trying her hardest to get me involved with her group of friends. The girls are her age, but the dudes are my age, maybe a year or two older.
I have mingled with the group... but I just can't stand it.
I can't really explain my resistance to befriending her friends (besides the fact that they're conceited, mean, and horrifically shallow... and not very smart... they are very witty though... but their snobbery erases any redeeming quality), so my sister came up with her own conclusion: I don't hang out with her group because I hate Mexicans.
Yeah, OK, I hate Mexicans, moron.
Sister: who's the last Mexican you hung out with?
Me: That was... fuck you, man! I'M the token Mexican of my group, OK? We don't need any more!

This got me thinking. It's true... I don't like Mexicans.
I'm a fucking Malinche!
Ok, it's not that bad. I just don't hang out with them, because... I don't really fit in:
Mexican on SO many levels.
While I don't mind waterfalling tequila once in a blue moon... during one of those days when I'm sad (like, say, I got a bad haircut and I now feel I look too butch for comfort or something like that) I DON'T get physical proof of that shit. 
Doesn't that just look classy?
I do love me some Scotch, but Buchanan's is definitely not my drink. It's all about Glen Taite, you tasteless whores! Of course, they don't understand that... so I end up being the snobby girl at the end of the table, chewing on saltine crackers like some hungry, angry horse... planning my exit route.

Now, not all Mexicans are tacky like that (those are the tackiest of the tacky, I must say. If you ever hear the term "naco" just envision these photos for the rest of your life, K?), the Mexicans my sister hangs out with are the arch rivals of "nacos," they're the "fresas."
I don't fit this grouping because fresas are snobs, plain and simple. They get joy out of belittling anyone, and that's just not my style (unless I'm drunk, of course. I turn into a jackass philosophy professor when under the influence. I can't even stand it).

SO... I just stick to my trustee gringos and asians when I'm in Vegas.. which oddly enough, are a lot like my Mexican friends who don't live here, but are neither nacos nor fresas. They're just silly and easy going (no, I'm NOT in here, although I wish I had the meanass abs of the one in the middle):
Yeah, they're Mexican, ain't that crazy?
So fuck that. I hang out with people, regardless of nationality... solely based on behavior.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Chips

Ok, I cheated here. I actually wrote this up at one in the morning, technically Sunday.
I couldn't get to a computer today... until now. I thought I'd be back by 11:30 PM at the latest, but no... I got caught up.
By what?
I was working. For free. Doing this:

Looked simple enough. I just had to add stickers to the chips:
I chewed that bubblegum until it turned to liquid.
But I didn't stop to consider how MANY fucking chips there really were:
20X10X5X2.5. FUCK. THAT.
I wanted to stab myself by the third hour of it.
The box-cutter was calling to me.
Now I can't think of anything other than poker chips. We did 600 ("we" being Mom, Aunt, Sister, and yours-truly). After that, I gave the fuck up.
I did immigrant work... for free. On A WEEKEND.
My aunt is supposed to finish 2,500 by Tuesday. Ridiculous.

My aunt was surprised at how BOMB I was at applying the stickers. She said I did an impeccable job.
Aunt: Wow... this is your first time doing this?
Me: Yeah... (no, I spend hours of my free-time applying stickers to random shit. Of course it's my first time!)
Aunt: Perfection.

Damn straight. Whenever I do anything, it has to be awesome or I don't fucking do it. My work is art, damn it!
In all reality, I'm just good at that work 'cause I'm ADD-prone, and tedious work like that keeps me engaged/entertained. I'm like a freakin' trained monkey.

Now I have to sleep. I think my fingers are on fire.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Birthday Cake

Today is my Pop's 57th birthday.
Like every year, we had dinner together, chatted, and then ate cake.
However, this year we all took it up a notch and had some wine with our dinner (I HATE wine). I also learned something new about Dad: He never had a birthday cake until he married Mom. She made one for him their first year of marriage, and has done so ever since.
Me: Awwww! Daddy! Not even as a little baby?!
Dad: Never. I didn't even know what a birthday cake looked like.
Me: Daddyyyy!! :(
This made me frown, damn near cry (maybe it was the wine?), and I squeezed daddy's face, then kissed his forehead.

It's easy for me to lose my patience with Dad, call him a troglodyte in the middle of an argument... because I forget about his rough childhood.
His entire neighborhood was poor... so no one there ever had a birthday party... and Dad never hung out with kids from other parts of town, so he never got to see a birthday cake (after telling me all this, he went back to telling me his bicycle story and how he never got one/rode one, all sad. Little Dad really wanted a bicycle as a child... proof being he still remembers that shit on his 57th birthday).
How heartbreaking is that? Makes me feel like shit for taking stuff like that for granted.

So, after getting sad and having my heart break a little more for my pops, I just hugged him violently and bit his cheek... 'cause that's how I do.
I love my dad.


Totally off-topic, but still worth mentioning:
This afternoon, as I drove home from gym-time, I saw a text from Mooney:
MGH!!!!!
Me: What he do?
(I rolled my eyes, expecting to hear some embarrassing shenanigan of his or rude comment from him or something. This kid is unpredictable)
Mooney: He's single
(I almost crashed the car on the Warm Springs' bridge... thanks Mooney! jk)
Me: NO WAY!
Mooney: Yep

I'm crossing my fingers I don't get a message from him soon, 'cause I'm done with that shit... although I help him out at the drop of a dime the moment he needs anything.
I'm a sucker like that.
But I'll only help in making him laugh. None of this flirting shit.

2011, you're being a fuckhead right now.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Apologize to who?

Jesus Christ. 
I officially give up on SPEAKING... or communicating, more like it.
I can't say one fucking thing without someone getting their panties in a knot and causing drama.
This time I have this whole zodiac brouhaha to thank.
Me, being the sarcastic girl I am, posted it on Facebook (the root of my motherfucking problems)... "freaking out." It was OOZING sarcasm. Of course, since too many people don't bother to understand that about me... because all they get is the quiet AnoMALIE who sits at family get-togethers, staring at her phone... or the fucking table cloth of the table I'm forced to sit at for these godforsaken parties. They don't understand that half of what I say is drenched in sarcasm, thanks to the twenty-whatever years I've been forced into being an observer rather than a participant in their tiny little world. I see things, and I exaggerate. 
Yes, I am "entertained" by astrology... but come on. It gives me adjectives I often lack in my repertoire.

I came home tonight to a load of pretentious updates and comments (that I deleted, of course) about how stupid/ignorant people (and I) are for liking astrology (one of these coming from a pizza delivery guy. Which probably pissed me off MOST. This guy thinks he's SO smart, yet his dumbass never had the drive, determination, or dedication to finish a motherfucking semester of community college. Get the fuck out of here trying to scold me, you fucking quitter) and blah blah blah.

Wow really? People are really worried about their zodiac signs changing? First of all it didn't change and second of all there are other major worries in this world! 'Come on maaaaan!
-THANKKK YOUUUUU! Holy fuck! There r more important things in life!

Pause.

We're gonna play this? You suuuuuure?
Ok. 
First, I DO care about other shit in this world. I DO read the news. I DO post about it. But guess what? People DON'T want to hear it. I get the whole "That's toooooo depressing" bullshit. So how the fuck can anyone try to be "worldly" and talk about the horrific floods in Australia (just today I read the story about that boy who gave up his life for his little brother. That made me cry), the incessant narco wars in Mexico (today, I read about this horrible situation that went down on the 28 of December near Hometown, where 60 masked gunmen terrorized an entire town, killed a man, and torched the homes/cars of the townspeople. The people were forced to retreat to the fucking mountains to be saved from the mayhem. News of this didn't break until yesterday. Did you know that, oh Mighty Erudite?), or the tragedy in Arizona (I read about that as well), if too many fucking pansies don't want to be made aware of the misery in the world?
Two: I AM A FUCKING SCIENTIST. The degree hanging in my living room says so. I was subjugated to countless science classes since middle school. I breathed science for way too many years of my life. Don't YOU (pizza maker. Wannabe hustler. Sneaker head. Wannabe-lawyer. Stay-at-home-dad. Strip club bartender) try to patronize/chastise me and talk about "real" science, because I will school the SHIT out of you. Suck. My. Dick.
Three: I AM SARCASTIC! SARCASM! You know who complains about sarcasm? Assholes who are too stupid to understand it... or don't know how to pick up context clues (like the overuse of punctuation marks or eeeeeeeelooooongaaaateeeeedddd words, or preposterous scenarios: "You'd eat babies?!" No, you FUCK! It's called satire! Don't read too deeply into it).

The bomb exploded once I took to my twitter page. 
Me: I love the ppl trying to talk down to me bc of my zodiac post. 1. I have a BIOLOGY degree. 2. I'm sarcastic. Go condescend someone else.
Him: If you even dream of beating me you'd better wake up and apologize.

OH. HELL. NO.
People know how I feel about apologies.
I don't take those shits lightly.
And to demand one form me?
OHHHHHH NOHHHH (there I go with the elongated words. This time I'm not being sarcastic, just furious and loud). NO. NO. NO.
Not gonna happen, son (I've taken on his tone of voice. This is his speak, just FYI).

This guy turns everything into a competition. His entire family does. We've been made aware of various occasions of some of their shit-talking (like: his dad went around telling everybody the only reason my brother joined the army was so that his college tuition could get paid... because we could never afford it on our own. That entire family talked shit about my bro over how "Stupid" he was for joining the military. This guy's brother tried snaking Alo from my brother one summer... and talked mad shit about him to her "Rafa's... so immature. He acts like a boy, not a man." And now with their new house, someone commented on their marble floors, being the opposite color of ours--they have white, we have black-- and he quickly mentioned that ours was laid shitty/shitty condition. Someone once mentioned how Shittalker Dad had a similar truck to MY dad. He quickly dismissed Dad's as shitty because it "made too much noise". It's a diesel engine, you fuck, of course it makes noise. I could go on, but I'm only inciting my own anger now). They turn everything into the one-upping game... even when we AREN'T TRYING. We're just living our life, so we just shrug it off.

SO, I was NEVER trying to "beat" you. I was just saying it like it is: Boy, if you're going to try to talk down to me for "freaking out" over a fucking zodiac change, don't waste your breath. I was joking... and I don't let this shit rule me... I FOLLOW REAL SCIENCE, and if you were in the least informed about me, YOU'D PROBABLY KNOW THAT.
Now shut the fuck up and-- if you're standing-- find yourself a nice place to sit as you wait for my "apology," 'cause that shit ain't EVER COMING. 
ESPECIALLY when you take photos like this: 
What's wrong? WHERE DO I START?!
P.S. My dog is infinitely times cuter/more badass than yours. Uh-oh... did I just agree to this competition? Oooooooh! I think I just did!