11-11

I pregamed for the New Year's festivities at home... with my mom. How's that for weird? AND I did it per her request.
I was just going to head out with some friends for dinner, shots, and the countdown... but Mom was all up in my business wanting me to get drunk since the previous day.
Some people may not find this strange, but see... MY mom asking me to get shitfaced for New Year's is like having Mother Theresa ask you to get smashed. It makes you worry.

So, I was only following orders when I took a double shot with her... and I was downright threatened into drinking some champagne with her before heading out (when this little lady tells you to do something, you do not ask questions... you just do it before you wake up in the ER with missing teeth and one eye).
Me: Para que quiere eso, si ni siquiera son las doce todavía? (what do you want that for, if it isn't even twelve yet?)
Mom: Oh, porque quiero! (oh, because I want to!)
I turned my glass of champagne into a mimosa, 'cause the shit Mom bought was gross.

Anyway, I left Mom to get trashed off the bottle of champagne on her own (which she did. She told me this morning that when she went to bed, she nearly fell because she felt the bed turn into a waterbed. That was cute).
The plan was to be calm and spend a couple of hours with my best boys... you know, so I could keep from debating whether or not to crash Darcy's fun (which I wouldn't do [sober] because I really have no business being on that side of town, my side is far more poppin' so to speak, since I live a hop and a skip away from the awesome beer palace known as Yardhouse), 'cause these guys keep me from thinking about, well, guys.
The boys were great and everything, dinner was pretty (I'd say "good" but I wasn't feeling so great, so I didn't really enjoy eating anything. But it all looked nice), the conversation was hilarious... but I was just a little irritated with some of the guys there because they fucking swear they're part of Kanye's posse or some shit, let's just put it that way (the way they dress and speak).
The dude who randomly kissed me at the posada the other day was also there... and he was joking about New Year's kisses and shit... and all I could say was "Homie, you ain't touchin' me" (apparently I too think I'm part of Kanye's crew).
I was also a little bored because the shindig was a total sausage-fest... with about three guys for every girl... and I... well... I don't really enjoy being in that position... 'cause I'm sure if there'd be more chicks in the picture, they'd ignore me and allow me be the wallflower I really am. Those thoughts rush to my head all the time, so then I turn into a bitch and I respond to flirtation with sarcastic, caustic shit that would make anyone wonder what the hell was wrong with me. I'm sorry, I'm just fucked up like that... my bad.
SO! Before I turned too much into the Ice Queen of the room, I left and met up with my sister at The Cosmo... where the ratio of girls to guys was far more favorable, and I was able to relax.
Who was there? Jay-Z, Coldplay... and I think Kanye (how fucking ironic).
The vibe was nice... until one of the girls of the group came up to us crying, because apparently she lost her wallet that had her entire life-- except her phone-- in it.
It was horrible to see the poor girl that messed up... we even tried cheering her up with a Mexican Hot Dog (the ones that are wrapped in bacon. Bacon fixes everything, at least for a couple of minutes).
Once the crying girl was slightly subdued, I called it a night. The parking lot was a mess to exit (as always), and when I came home, what was I greeted with?
MENUDO.
HOMEMADE MENUDO.
MY MOM made menudo. That woman NEVER cooks. Fuck the world ending in 2012, I think it's going to happen in the coming week.

And that was my weird New Year's Eve celebration.

During the dinner, we all started talking about resolutions, and more than half of us were of the "FUCK LOVE!" crew. I even blurted out "Fuck it, I'm getting married to the first fucker that asks this year! I'm done!" but I blamed that shit on the Agavero. Marriage... pshhhhhhhh!
In all reality, I haven't even thought of resolutions. I never really follow through... like that one year I swore boys off (not that I was going to start seeing girls. I just meant no relationships), I broke that one off within days and I paid DEARLY for it.
So... no resolutions so far. Maybe just... less thinking about boys and more thinking about school. Simple enough, right? Blaaaaaah.
I also resolve to be more of a girl. This tomboy shit is starting to bug me.
And maybe I'll talk to Darcy about something other than Cristiano Ronaldo being a dick... and I'll quit being so sarcastic and full of "HA-HA!"s when writing back... I don't know why I do that.
On the physical aspect... I guess I can gun for a 150 bench-press (here I go talking shit no one wants to read). I've been meandering in the 100's like a chump for too long (last week one of my friends accompanied me, and when she saw what I was lifting, she gave me that "Ughh... muscles on girls are so gross" talk. I just laughed... 'cause this was coming form a girl whose high school sport was bowling... get out of here)... and I'll work on keeping my thighs under control, 'cause I'll be the first to admit that with those bitches, along with my ass, I could have saved all 87 members of the Donner Party that tragic winter of 1800-whatever.

Anyway, nice day.
While I was never the kid to wish on 11:11, I do find it cute that today is written "1-1-11."
Make a wish, suckaaas!